#like way better than I ever imagined that it could

[glamourscat]

Could you please write Bruce and batboys getting jealous when they meet their crush's ex boyfriend? Her ex is as rich as Bruce, handsome and a total green flag. But they broke up in a friendly term. Upon meeting him they got jealous seeing reader and her ex are still super close. Thank you ❤️

Batboys + Bruce and their jealousy while meeting your ex

Author's Note: I decided to do a mix of a headcanon and a drabble for this one, I think it fits the vibes of the request. i hope you like it :) This is also so damn long but i am a yapper at heart

DICK GRAYSON

I see Dick as a very confident individual. I mean, he is self aware, he is beautiful, rich and overall a good guy. A catch right? (let's ignore the cheating for a moment...)

Though, Dick grew up in a rather unstable situation, to say the least. I see him as a person who craves his s/o attention on him, not necessarely 24/7, but enough to remind him "hey, I am here and I love you"

Still, when he does get jealous ━━ for example in this scenario where you're his crush and he is meeting your ex, who's as equally as handsome as him, not that he would admit to it. Rich as Bruce and a green flag on top of that?━━ damn, he is cooked lol.

His jealousy will probably stem from insecurity. Because, if this guy is rich, beautiful and a green flag too, what does Dick have to offer now? If they are on the same level, or worse, your ex is slightly higher than him ━━ truly, what cards are left for him to play?

And so, I think he would feel insecure for a moment and thats where being overly into PDA comes into place. MORE UNDER THE CUT

"You’re awfully close today. I mean, it’s not like I’m complaining, but… are you sure you're alright, Dick?" you say with a small, soft chuckle as you look at the black-haired guy who just linked his arm with yours.

"Yeah… yeah, of course! Why wouldn’t I be?" he says, offering a smile that’s a bit too tight, a bit too forced for your liking. It’s not like you're a fool; you know exactly what the problem is. You saw the way he reacted when, walking casually through Gotham, you two happened to run into your ex by pure coincidence.

His eye twitched slightly, and his gaze was darting back and forth between you and your ex. You noticed the way his arm tightened around your waist, as if to say, Back off. If you had any doubts about whether he liked you before, now you have your answer.

JASON TODD

When I think of Jay, I imagine a healed version of him. I know people like to imagine him as this broken soul, and I’m not saying he isn’t; he has his fair share of trauma. But I like to think that from coming back as Red Hood to now, the present Jason Todd, he is a changed man.

He’s no longer the insecure, abrasive teen who swore nothing but vengeance and payback for what happened to him. He has accepted what happened; that doesn’t mean he forgot, nor does this mean he forgives Bruce. It just means he has the emotional capacity to be more confident in his own being.

So, how would he react upon meeting his crush’s ex? Well, chances are, if you’re Jason’s crush, you two are friends. He’s good at many things, but flirting, romance, and putting himself out there are not some of those. By being close friends, he is probably already aware of some aspects of your past, including your ex.

Thus, when he meets your ex, he is probably as nonchalant as ever. Does he feel a bit jealous? Maybe. Will those insecurities that have haunted and stained his past try to resurface, making him second-guess himself? Also yes. But he has grown enough to know he’s better than that.

"Jay?" Your voice is soft as feathers as you look at him. His green-blue eyes are focused on browsing the books on the shelves in front of you two, as silence fills the air in the small bookshop where you two had, by chance, met your ex just moments prior.

"Hm?" he hums, not taking his eyes off the books, but keeping an eye on you with his peripheral vision.

"Are you okay? You're awfully quiet. Did I say something wrong, or…?" You trail off, but he cuts you off.

"Nope, nothing's wrong. I'm just looking for a book," he says, moving to the romance section. "You like this?" His voice is quiet, yet it holds a softness to it as he shows you a book he damn well knows is your favorite.

"I mean, yeah. It’s my favorite. Why?" Your tone is slightly confused, just as quiet as his.

He shrugs as he places the book in the small hand basket he’s holding. "Nothing. Just thought I’d buy it. I trust you and your opinion. If you say it’s good, then it is."

He knows that in that moment, not giving in, not allowing those negative emotions to resurface as they did in the past, was the best choice he could’ve made if it meant seeing your smile—so timid yet flustered—with those rosy cheeks of yours, as you try to hide your giddiness from his words.

TIM DRAKE

Ah, my favorite little gremlin. The issue I have with Tim is not with Tim himself, but with the fandom that constantly mischaracterizes him.

I’m not even going to get into the coffee addict recurring joke, but I want to focus on one thing. "Precious bean Tim". This guy is absolutely unhinged. Dick, Jason, and Damian all had their moments, but Tim? His whole being is centered around being a sarcastic, witty little shit who does the most unhinged things, and somehow, people always give him a pass. (I mean... do we need to talk about his red robin run? Or when he was dating two people at once? Or when it's canon that at first impression people feel judged by him?)

My point is, Tim is literally out of his mind lol. He struggles a lot with his emotions, we see this in his Red Robin run, how obsessive he became over the idea of finding Bruce, someone he cares for. He was spiraling bad.

His jealousy manifests in possessiveness. Mine, mine, mine. Let's not forget that Tim lost his mother, watched his father die too. He is messed up emotionally, because everything that was his has always been taken from him one way or another. First his parents, then robin mantle by Damian and even his best friend (or lover) Kon at somepoint.

"You're pouting."

"No, I am not." He says, while comically enough, pouting more. It had been about 30 minutes, give or take, since you two came back from the movie theatre. Where you and Tim had to sit through an almost 2 hours long movie with your ex as the main lead.

Was he pissed? no, no, no... why would he be? Absolutely no. Him? Tim Drake? Jealous? Pff. Definitely wasn't. And yet, he kept pressing each key of his keyboard so hard, as he typed, that you feared it might come flying at his face very soon.

"If you're jealous you can just say so you know." You say with a half amused grin. If he wanted to act like a brat, might as well enjoy it. "I mean, who wouldn't be right? My ex is after all, rich, handsome, a great ac-" your words are cut off as his face he is pretty much pressed against yours.

When the hell did he come on the bed? He was sitting at his desk just a moment ago...

"Shut up" he scoffs as his cold nose nudges yours, his hand goes to the back of your head pulling you in for a kiss. and what a kiss. His lips, slightly chapped and cold, meet yours with such ferocity you're left stunned. His body has yours pressed on his bed, as he straddles your lap. Your tongues meet as he lets out a quiet little moan as your hands go in his soft raven hair.

"fuck- i am sorry" he pants gulping, cheeks red and eyes wide, as he pulls back after a few moments in a panic. what the fuck had he just done?

"You shut up now." you say with a little grin, equally as breathless as him, as you bring back your lips against his. Losing each other in a kiss that would be just the beginning of a beautiful imperfect thing.

BRUCE WAYNE

Now, Bruce was hard to crack, for me at least. Because, I think depending on the person, the situation and how he is feeling at the current moment, he can be like any of his sons.

His jealousy is not driven by insecurity or possessiveness in the conventional sense, like Dick’s or Tim's would. Not necesseraily.

I mean, we are talking about a man with his fair share of lovers

I think his jealousy would stem from his deep emotional connections and the high stakes involved in his relationships. Sure, Tim, Dick and Jason are all vigilantes too, but Bruce is the Batman. he cannot afford, he does not have the luxury, of dating who he wants just because. It's either flings or a deep emotional connection with him.

We see him getting jealous with Selina, for example, when he feels his emotional connection getting threatened by other men she is flirting with. His jealousy is so damn complex and subtle and sometimes it shows up as in actions and decision making rather than extensive show off of jealousy.

That's why I think if he has a crush on a woman (or man), his attidute will depend on the situation they find themselves in. He might become overall more vigilant, assertive or distant base on how the event will play out.

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[theonottsbxtch]

HEYYY SO HAPPY YOU HIT 1.5K

sososos proud of you!!

can I order one 🥐 croissant with either mafia max or mafia Oscar where it’s a marriage of convenience and the reader gets kidnapped and prior to her being taken away they argued and it hits harder for max or osc just super angsty I know you’ll do amazing

🤠anon

omg!! bro JUST IMAGINE MAD MAX RAHHHHH

the silence of the monaco penthouse was louder than any argument they’d ever had. she had slept in the spare room last night, the cool detachment between them a sharp contrast to their usual fiery exchanges. his words still rang in her ears: “you always think you know better. just stay out of it next time.” he hadn’t meant it—not really. she had snapped back, accusing him of arrogance, and stormed off before either of them could apologise.

now, max was pacing the vast, empty living room with a glass of whiskey in hand, he felt the gnaw of regret. she always managed to make him feel something—whether it was fury, exasperation, or the quiet pull of emotions he had never intended to feel. but today was different. the eerie calm in the air made his skin itch.

she was late.

the call came just as lando burst into the room, face ashen. "she’s gone."

the whiskey glass shattered on the floor.

“what the fuck do you mean, gone?” max’s voice was a low growl, the kind that sent men running.

lando hesitated. "there was... an ambush. two cars intercepted her. we’ve tracked them to the outskirts of nice, but they’re gone now. it’s—they’ve taken her."

his world narrowed to a singular point of rage. he didn’t ask who “they” were. he didn’t care. whoever had dared to touch her would regret it for the rest of their brief, miserable lives.

he tore through monaco like a storm, leaving destruction in his wake. contacts who dared stall for information found their livelihoods—and sometimes their lives—torn apart. the once-calm leader was now a man unhinged, driven by a need he couldn’t even name. when he was young he’d been known as max, and now he felt that same young man leading.

“where is she?” he demanded, pinning george against the wall of a seedy nightclub hours later. blood dripped from the man’s nose, his breath wheezing as he stammered, “th-they wanted leverage! to make you back down from the port deal—”

“wrong move.” his voice was a death sentence.

george’s screams echoed in the alley, but he didn’t flinch. all he could see was her face—the way she’d glare at him, lips parted as she spat out a retort. the way she’d softened lately, brushing his hand absentmindedly as they passed each other. the way she’d kissed him once, unguarded, like she wasn’t supposed to but couldn’t stop herself.

his chest ached, a sensation he wasn’t accustomed to. it wasn’t just fury driving him—it was fear. a raw, unrelenting terror that something might happen to her before he could say what he should have said last night: “i don’t hate you. i never have.”

hours later, he finally found the hideout.

the air inside was damp, the walls crumbling. he moved silently, his gun drawn, his jaw clenched. when he saw her, tied to a chair in the center of the room, blood marring her temple, something inside him snapped.

the ferrari guards barely had time to react before he gunned them down.

when it was over, she looked up, dazed, as he knelt before her.

“you’re okay,” he murmured, his hands trembling as they cupped her face. “you’re okay.” but he was comforting himself more than her.

her voice was hoarse. “took you long enough.”

despite everything, she managed a weak smirk. he huffed out a breathless laugh, his forehead pressing against hers. “don’t ever do that to me again.”

“pretty sure it wasn’t my choice.”

he untied her carefully, as though she might shatter. when she finally leaned into him, letting herself collapse into his arms, he held her like a lifeline.

later, as they sat in the car, her head resting on his shoulder, she murmured, “you know, i wasn’t really mad at you last night.”

max tightened his arm around her. “neither was i.”

silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable this time, but loaded with something new.

“i thought i lost you,” he admitted softly.

she tilted her head to look up at him, her fingers curling into his jacket. “you won’t.”

and though neither of them said it, they both knew they’d crossed a line they could never go back from.

he didn’t mind.

i would commit CRIMES for mafia!max

[eddiegettingshot]

i'd love it if you reposted it! thank you so much 💚

all 2.8k (+ nsfw) beneath the cut just for you <3 <3 <3 we'll see if i ever come back to it

Despite being caught in a perpetual rush of his own making, Eddie is very rarely late. He’s always a little bit convinced that he might be, though, which is why it’s so endearing that every day, without fail, he finds the time to text: Morning, Buck.

Sometimes, Buck likes to wonder where Eddie had paused in his routine to make that kind of room for him. 

It could never be right after waking up, of course, but maybe he’d tapped it out one-handed as he brushed his teeth. Just before calling for Christopher to get out of bed, since Chris frequently sleeps through all three of his alarms. While waiting for his bagel to pop out of the toaster, or maybe after burning something on the stove, because it’s possible that he’d look at the remains of his breakfast in his pan and think, It’s easier when Buck’s around to make my eggs. 

Buck imagines this most often, even if it’s the least likely scenario.

He could have also decided to text right after he finished making his bed; in the middle of trying to find his misplaced wallet, which is usually forgotten in a pocket somewhere, although in that case he’d complain and ask Buck if he had any fucking idea where it could be; or once he was finally, firmly behind the wheel of his truck, about to put on the shitty country playlist he listens to on the road. The options are endless.

Buck’s phone vibrates, like clockwork. He closes his eyes. 

Apropos of nothing—nothing at all—he decides it’s possible that Eddie has just finished working out, which means he’s about to get into the shower, because he’s hot and sweat-damp all over. He’s probably peeled his shirt off already, if he’d deigned to wear one at all, after which he’d raked his hair out of his eyes and, still panting, remembered Buck.

Yeah, that’s probably it. That’s what’s most likely. Eddie’s been working out a lot. Probably what inspired that dream, too—the first one Buck’s had in months. Just him, processing all the ways Eddie’s changed lately. 

He sighs. He has to wipe himself clean before he can respond.

***

Most of Buck’s dreams are not about Eddie. The dreams that are about Eddie tend to hurt, leaving him off-kilter until the real thing, flesh and blood and smiling mouth, recenters him. 

He wonders if Eddie’s the same way. It would explain the ritual text, if the habit were a Hope you’re not actually dead! thing rather than the My best friend is always on my mind! thing Buck accidentally turned it into, as he does. He’d be okay if it were the former; he understands the impulse all too well, since he’d nursed a similar compulsion with Bobby for the same reason in the surreal months following his coma.

But, admittedly, it’d be better if Eddie loved him enough to think of him, always. 

Anyway, because dream-Eddie is generally riddled with bullets or riddled with bullets and drowning or otherwise suffering some amalgamation of all the terrible things Buck’s ever seen, it’s far less disturbing when Buck’s subconscious paints a picture of them sleeping together.

At least the version of Eddie who fucks him doesn’t exist, and never has.

***

He knows it’s Eddie marrow-deep, the way anyone knows anything in a dream.

Buck opens his eyes to light everywhere, so radiant the entire bedroom shimmers, a pale beam of it crossing Eddie’s long golden fingers where they’re clasped around Buck’s forearms to keep him in place. Eddie’s draped along his back, unapologetic about letting Buck, prone and practically immobilized, bear his full weight. Buck can’t see him, and he doesn’t say a word, just rubs his mouth into the spot beneath Buck’s ear and digs his thumbs into the insides of Buck’s wrists, but Buck is certain Eddie’s smiling. His mustache, which he’d long-since shaved in real life, is bristly, but nice. Really nice. Softer than Buck had thought it would be.

Then there’s the matter of Eddie’s cock, which he rocks slowly into the cleft of Buck’s ass. Buck can’t see that either, but it feels nice, too, stiff and hot and already soaked at the head. Buck tries to arch into him, give him something else, make it better; Eddie just laughs and keeps working him into the mattress, a lazy pantomime of a real fuck.

Dissatisfied, Buck struggles beneath him. Eddie bites him at the nape like an animal, hard enough to sting, and flattens his chest between Buck’s shoulder blades to settle him. He flexes his grip on Buck’s arms. Trapped like this, Buck can feel all of him: his ribs expand, and his belly presses into Buck’s spine as he sighs. 

The restlessness—whatever it is, that under-the-skin itch to stay in motion—drains away, defeated by Eddie’s wordless command. Buck sighs, too, turning his cheek into the pillow. 

The thing is, he knows it’s Eddie because it couldn’t be anyone else. 

“Good. That’s good,” Eddie says, low, dragging kisses across Buck’s jaw and cheek.

Buck’s not even doing anything. Eddie won’t let him, so he doesn’t try—even as mouthwatering want seizes his gut and pours blistering heat through his pelvis. He can’t stop shifting his erection against the sheets. The praise still doesn’t feel entirely unearned.

“It’d be better,” Buck says, “if you would actually put it in.”

“We ain’t got time for that,” Eddie says. Then (and he’s definitely smiling—the shape of it curls around his words): “Morning, Buck.”

It’s the familiar, beloved rasp of Eddie’s voice, that mundanity paired with getting almost-fucked, that makes Buck groan with impatience and spread his thighs. A blunted ache throbs behind Buck’s sternum. It’s dirty to let himself be overpowered this way, he thinks, except for that it feels closer to being held than pinned. With Eddie—his warm skin, his steady breath—it doesn’t matter. It’s all the same.

“Come on, Eddie,” he says. “Quit humping me.” 

“That’s usually my line.”

“Woof,” Buck huffs, and they both laugh—Eddie’s, shaky and breathless, his cock nudging right where Buck needs him; Buck’s, a little awed over this quotidian exchange alone. 

Buck noses to the side and opens his mouth against the back of Eddie’s hand, licking at the thin salty skin. He imagines there’s a vein there. He imagines he can feel the blood inside of it pulsing on his tongue—onto his tongue—and follows it to Eddie’s knuckles. Scraping his teeth over them, he tries again: “We could make time.”

“You might be off today, but I’m gonna be late for my shift,” Eddie says. He’s wrong. He’s never late. Buck hitches his ass up, insistently seeking contact.

Eddie groans, long-suffering, dropping his over-warm face into Buck’s shoulder.

“You won’t. And if you are, I—I’ll tell Cap it was my fault,” Buck coaxes. 

He doesn’t have to, since Eddie’s already letting go of him, spitting into his palm, drawing away just enough to reach down, wet his dick, and guide it firmly into place. But it’s nice to beg so freely, even nicer to chase down that singular moment where Eddie gives in. To keep pushing, just because he can—because Eddie allows it, every time.

“Please don’t,” Eddie snorts. He rubs up against Buck’s hole, purposeful rather than teasing now, and Buck shivers, clenching under the contact. “I’m pretty sure that breaks the station law against oversharing, and I don’t have enough cash left for the Buck’s Big Mouth jar.”

Buck’s shameless snickering dissolves into a wavering moan as Eddie eases forward, opening him on just the tip first. Even that feels like a lot, feels fucking good, the first couple inches igniting nerves that make the backs of his thighs tingle.

“Fuck,” he says. Whimpers, really, kind of airy and tremulous.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“This what you wanted?” Eddie’s pressed all the way into him, flush with Buck’s ass. He grabs Buck around the hip to maneuver the angle, tilting him perfectly into place as if by instinct. The first firm thrust wrenches all the air from Buck’s lungs.

“Eddie,” is all he manages, naturally.

The slide is effortless, too easy with spit alone, but Eddie’s cock fills him up so well that all Buck can think is that if this is real, if this is happening, then maybe it was just meant to be right here, taking up all this space inside him, and that Eddie was meant to be here, too, the whole of his body an anchor. His hips begin to snap, hard and focused enough to get Buck panting. 

“W—Wait,” Buck gasps. “Go slow.”

Eddie obliges, of course. He kisses the nape of Buck’s neck, the sore spot he’d used to bully Buck into submission before. It tickles. 

“Slower,” he begs—for the first time in his life, probably. It’s a sudden, inconvenient desire, considering they really don’t have much time. 

Incredulous but uneven, Eddie asks, “Seriously?” 

Buck grins. “Yeah,” he says.

Eddie’s got a grounding hand clamped tight and high on Buck’s waist, fingertips hooking beneath his ribs. Buck reaches around, takes him by the wrist, and guides that hand up to his throat, choking off his own desperate moaning mostly because he knows Eddie finds it unbearably hot. 

“Buck,” Eddie maybe mumbles, although it’s hard to decipher through the hazy head rush. He gives Buck a loving squeeze, but that’s not enough; after squeezing his wrist in return, Buck tugs him up until he can wrap his lips around Eddie’s forefingers and suck. 

He’d asked for slow, so Eddie’s barely even fucking him anymore. His hips remain crushed to Buck’s ass; he’s rocking forward in small, tight motions like there’s any way to get deeper. There isn’t, there can’t be. Stretched raw, speared apart, Buck already feels disassembled. 

Eddie shifts, and it’s—“There, right there,” Buck groans, garbled with his mouth full, but Eddie understands. 

He must take it as, like, permission, or something—God, that’s a nice idea—because he presses down on the ridge of Buck’s bottom teeth and pushes his nose against Buck’s ear and gives it to him. No more of that indolent grinding; he slams in, smooth and ceaseless, unforgiving on Buck’s prostate.

“I love you,” Eddie says, hoarse with sudden emotion. “You know that?” 

Fuck, yes—with Eddie’s broad, calloused palm holding his jaw fast, and Eddie’s fingers down his throat, and Eddie’s sweaty cheek brushing his, and Eddie’s big cock ripping him wide, he does. He feels it everywhere. He cries out, muffled, guttural, and deliriously pleased as the heat builds. 

“Answer me,” Eddie murmurs. He slips his fingers out of Buck’s mouth. A strand of drool keeps them connected to Buck’s lower lip. One particularly rude thrust punches a strangled noise out of him. 

“Fuck, Eddie, I—I know.”

“What do you know?”

“You love me,” Buck says. “I know you love me.”

“That’s right,” Eddie says, pressing a sloppy, proprietary kiss under Buck’s ear. “I love you, Buck.”

“I want—”

“You ready to come?”

“Yeah,” Buck moans, and then, “No, I—” 

Somehow, with Eddie surrounding him, it hadn’t occurred to Buck how badly he needed to breathe his air and touch him, too—to kiss his mouth, taste the sweat on his mustache. To thumb at his furrowed brow. To watch him come and bask in the blazing heat of his satisfaction. 

Eddie would like it—filling Buck up, flooding him inside. He does like it. Doesn’t he? Likes laying his claim, more than anything. 

That’s what it really is, after all, when he gives Buck his cock, and his come, and his bite, and his hand around Buck’s throat, and every spare, hard-won minute he’s got. I love you really means that Buck’s his to keep, and Eddie even says that in his sleep sometimes, mumbled into Buck’s hair and occasionally broken by his embarrassing snoring. 

He must like that Buck belongs to him. He has to. More than anything, Buck needs to look Eddie in the eye when he says everything he wants to say, so he can be absolutely certain of this. He was certain, a moment ago, but Eddie’s grasp on him is weakening, or maybe Buck’s slipping out of his hold. 

Buck tries to tell him, “I want to see you.”

Ideally, Eddie will grin when Buck turns in the cage of his arms and begs: Don’t go anywhere. I love you, too. Let’s just do this forever. I can take it. He’ll make that sound he makes, that quietly amused “Hm,” that has a million meanings, all of which Buck has memorized. He’ll dutifully argue that they’d probably miss their real life eventually—plus they’ve got a mortgage to pay and Buck would get bored without the thrill of saving lives. Eddie’s good at choosing the right moment to be a little bit terrible, so he’ll grab Buck by the thighs to stifle any retort, haul him into position to pound him just right, and say something irresistibly dirty, like, Give it to me, sweetheart, show me how you come. 

And Buck would. He’s already close; it’s knifing through his belly, the only palpable feeling left—

Forget an orgasm; he doesn’t even get to roll over before the whole scene washes away, taking Eddie with it.

Panting, Buck blinks the afterimage of Eddie’s hands out of his head, but he can’t banish the thought that he wouldn’t let Eddie try to convince him of anything. He’d pull him down, kiss him hard, lick his canine teeth, and plead again, and again, and again, until Eddie agreed to use his body as a dwelling; to live inside him, and nowhere else.

***

It’s not weird that he jerked off. 

The dream was near-cinematic and left him with a desperate hard-on; he obviously couldn’t walk into work in that state. And, actually, in a way it’s less weird that he’d jerked off thinking of Eddie over anybody else. He’d bet real money that anyone who’s spent more than thirty seconds in close proximity with Eddie has done the same. Buck is a self-respecting bisexual man and Eddie is devastating on his worst days; of course the image of him ruddy-cheeked and slick with sweat was going to get Buck across the finish line in—what, thirty pathetic seconds?

In fact, it turns out that envisioning Eddie was the most efficient choice, given that he walks into the station just shy of being late. 

He changes quickly, then heads out to the apparatus bay, where Bobby is currently holding court. Eddie’s eyes barely flicker as he slides over on the stairs to make room for Buck to settle in beside him. 

“Morning, Buck,” he says.

Buck’s stomach tenses. 

“H—Hey,” he responds, in the tone and cadence of someone who did not recently shoot off so hard he might have actually shed a tear, and all to the echo of dream-Eddie—only dream-Eddie—saying that exact thing. The corner of Eddie’s lips twitch as he restrains his smile; it’d have been imperceptible were Buck not already looking at it—his mouth, that is. 

He should probably stop doing that. Bobby gives him a good reason to turn away. 

Over the course of their morning briefing, Eddie begins to lean into Buck. He shuffles his feet until his legs are angled open wide and he and Buck are pressed together from their knees all the way down to the sides of their boots. Buck glances over occasionally, and Eddie notices each time; he doesn’t say anything, though, and doesn’t seem to think anything of it, his expression mostly unchanging. In every halfway moment between meeting Eddie’s eye and returning his attention to where it belongs, Buck is compelled to look down into the space between Eddie’s thighs, where his interlaced hands hang loosely. Those hands were all he’d gotten to see of Eddie, in the dream—all he’d gotten to touch and taste.

He wonders at Eddie’s fingers, how the shape of them would fit his mouth. Eddie’s knuckles digging into his hard palate. The unyielding edge of bone between his teeth. Would they make him gag? Would he care if they did? Probably not. There’s a small, still-fresh cut disappearing into the web between Eddie’s middle and ring fingers. The moment Buck imagines probing his tongue against it, he swallows hard against the feeling that there’s an immovable smoldering coal lodged in his esophagus, radiating unpleasant heat through his chest. 

Buck rubs his palm absently from his collarbone to his heart and back up again to scratch at his neck. He doesn’t realize he’s begun to chew his thumbnail ragged until Eddie nudges an elbow into his side to get him to quit. 

For some reason, he mumbles, “Sorry.” Eddie tilts his head and half-smiles, silently accepting this nonspecific and entirely unnecessary apology. Buck can bite his nails if he wants, but he shoves his hands into his pockets to stave off the urge.

[cherrycranes]

Religious Experience (Damien O'Donovan x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Damien O'Donovan x Fem!Reader Summary: You had always been in love with Damien, and now that he's about to leave, he decides to show you just how much he loves you too with God Himself as his witness. Word count: 4,060 Contents: (Minors DNI). Some fluff, reader is 20, Damien 24. praise & body worship, unprotected sex, cum eating. BLASPHEMY, lots of it. If you're catholic please just refrain from reading this I warn you. As a former catholic, I poured all my religious knowledge (and disrespect) here. Author's notes: My usual collab with my dear @fuckiingloser. Mandatory "english is not my first language" disclaimer. Pinterest moodboard at the end so you can visualize! Stream "Experiencia Religiosa" by Enrique Iglesias, the inspiration behind this fic title lol.

Ever since you could remember you had always had feelings for Damien, the handsome, slightly older neighbor boy who was friends with your older brother. Getting him out of your little head was impossible. Everywhere you went, you saw him. Around town, at church every sunday morning, in the open fields when you returned from school or even in between the fog of your dreams. It could have been just a silly little girl crush had it not transpired into your young adult years.

It was your 19th birthday about a year and a few months ago. By that time, your well established infatuation with Damien had learned how to hide in the depths of your heart, convinced that it might just never be. Still, something finally happened, something that made you see stars and feel heat in places nobody had reached yet.

After your birthday party had ended, and all your friends were making their way home, you and Damien shared a soft, passionate kiss in the barn, born from an impulse or maybe a secret desire. You felt like you were dreaming. Damien was as gentle and sweet as you had always imagined, even more so. He kissed you like you were made from the most delicate fine china, and you would have melted in his arms and told him everything you had always felt for him, had your brother not interrupted you by calling his name. After this brief encounter, nothing else happened. You even started to doubt it ever happened at all. You and Damien just saw each other occasionally on the streets and shared a couple of smiles and waves, and sometimes a few flirty comments, but nothing more.

You were 20 now, and Damien was set to leave for England in less than 3 days to go work and study in one of the best hospitals in the world, something he’d always dreamed of. Leaving your small irish town behind to pursue bigger and better things in life. And sadly, it also meant that you were going to be left behind too…

Sitting on your usual spot next to your family in the sunday mass, you couldn't help but feel Damien’s eyes burning into you. The O’Donovans always sat on the bench behind yours, and you were used to Damien’s presence there, quite often right behind you. But that day it felt… different… 

You slowly turned around to look, and sure enough, Damien’s pale blue eyes connected with yours. He gave you a soft little smile that made you blush and immediately face forward again, trying so hard to concentrate on the Father’s words and failing miserably. 

The rest of the mass, you felt Damien’s eyes on you, and not even the presence of Jesus Christ himself would have been able to prevent the thoughts that started to flood your mind… And the feelings that caressed you insides like a lick of fire. 

During the sign of the peace, when you had to shake hands with everybody around your seat, you felt less than holy when it was time to shake Damien’s. His body heat lingered on you, his gentleness made you drift back to the one kiss you shared, and his beautiful eyes made you tingle and blush once more. The mass ended not long after.

All the families congregated outside the church to talk before leaving to head home. You were hanging by the steps, waiting for your parents to finish their chit chat with some neighbors, when you suddenly felt a hand touching your shoulder.

“Hiya..” Damien said with his warm voice and with a gleam on his crystal blue eyes.

“Hi, Damien…” You whispered with a shy little smile, your head still reeling.

“You look pretty…” Oh, he could have killed you with that. More heat traveled to your face when you noticed his eyes roaming over you. “Couldn't help but stare…” 

“Thanks… You look handsome...” You struggled to reply, your ability to speak almost gone at the sight of his gentle smirk and his elegant dark blue suit that made him look even more mature and dreamy.

“My new suit for my new job…” Damien stepped a little closer to you, looking down into your eyes only a few inches from your face. “You know i leave soon…” he started again after an awkward pause and you nodded, a wave of sadness washed over the fire, reminding you once more that he was leaving everything behind, you included.

 “Yes, I know. Can’t believe you’re finally getting away from here like you always dreamed.” The sweet excitement in your voice was mostly just a facade, of course you were glad he was going to live his dreams, but the possibility of never seeing him again twisted your guts. Damien smiled, looking down at his feet silently for a second before making eye contact with you again. 

“It's not the only dream I have that hasn’t come true yet…” He whispered, his hand reaching out to graze yours softly. People shuffled by you but, at that moment, the entire earth was just you and him. Time slowed down and his touch left goosebumps on your skin.

“W-what do you mean?…” Your heart fluttered a bit, slight confusion clouded your mind as his eyes bore into yours. His hand came up to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, and you were almost certain he was going to finally address what had been going on between you for over a year now, when suddenly, you heard your mother calling your name…

“Meet me here tonight, around 8pm…” Damien whispered with a hint of urgency, his eyes checking towards your family. “Back entrance…”

“I promise…” You whispered, your mum walking up to you and politely greeting Damien before reminding you your father was waiting. 

“Bye, Damien…” You had to say, intrigued by the prospects of the clandestine meeting. As you reluctantly left, you gave him a little smile and a wave that he returned. 

The rest of the day was filled with overthinking from your part. You suspected something but you couldn't be certain of anything. Still, you trusted him, and as soon as 8 pm neared, you managed to slip out of the house and rode your bike to the church, hiding it in the trees and making your way around the back. There was Damien, still suited, leaning against the church backdoor, lost in thought. His beautiful gaze rose from the ground and met yours the second he heard you coming, and a lovely smile grew upon his rosy lips.

“You came…” He whispered, pulling you into a warm, protective hug, with your head gently laid on his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around you.  

“Of course…” You whispered into the fabric of his vest, taking in his scent for a moment before pulling back to look into his eyes. The cold autumn wind blew and caused you to shiver ever so slightly, Damien noticed right away and, with his charming smile, pulled out a key ring from his pocket.

“Seán’s an altar boy this year… He gave me the keys…” The metal jingled quietly in Damien’s hands, and without much struggle, he found the key to the backdoor and opened it for you. He ushered you inside the dark yet familiar empty church. The darkened faces of Mother Mary and Saint Patrick stared at you from their dim candlelit spots. The full moon shone beautifully through the stained glass art, where several more saints looked at you with neutral expressions. Saint Thomas, Saint John, Saint Matthew and all the other names you had forgotten about for being so busy thinking about Damien during mass, neither of them judged you for being here. They just radiated in color and stared from their high spots.

“What did you wanna say?” Your whisper broke the silence, Damien’s hand made its way on top of yours in an act that momentarily made you fear he was going to break bad news to you. The flames of the candles flickered on his pale blue eyes, he released a soft breath before finally speaking.

“Well… I just wanted to tell you the truth…  The truth about how I feel for you…” Damien squeezed your hand gently, he could almost feel your pulse quickening. “How I’ve felt since we were kids… It's always been you…” 

It was a soft, gentle and very much awaited for confession. It felt like the saints above you had finally had mercy on your heart. Your gaze softened and the butterflies in your stomach reproduced en masse. If this had been just a dream, you would have spent the rest of your life asleep in hopes to dream it again.

“Ever since that kiss in the barn last year… I haven’t stopped thinking about wanting to do it again… And now that I'm leaving, I just knew I had to tell you how I feel…” Oh, but this was real. Very real. You could feel the warmth of his hands and the reverberation of his voice as he confessed. You could feel your eyes widening and your heart beating madly, ready to burst with his next words.

“When I come home this time next year… I want to marry you… Right here in this church.” This much happiness had never filled your chest before, you almost died and miraculously resurrected for all the saints to see. His confession was everything you ever wanted. “It’s you… It’s always been you…” 

In between your overjoyment, you could tell he was a little nervous, just as afraid to lose you as you were afraid of losing him. You eased his fears with a gentle smile and a squeeze to his hand that he reciprocated immediately.

“I love you, Damien… I've loved you for a long time…” You confessed, your voice soft and so dear to him. “I've thought about that kiss every single day too...” 

His beautiful eyes softened and he came much closer to you, holding your hand near his beating chest.

“I just want to show you how much I care before I leave…” He said sincerely. “I had to kiss you again, taste your lips one last time before I left… Something both of us can remember when i’m away..” 

He leaned closer, and you didn’t think about it for a second. Your soft lips met him halfway in a gentle, innocent kiss that made his hand come up to touch your cheek in adoration. You were his precious love, the woman he wanted to marry, the only one he wanted and desired… Carefully, his other hand tested the feeling of your thigh over your skirt, just gently, before pulling back a little.

“Is this okay?” He asked softly. 

“Yes, Damien… I want you… I want all of you…” You allowed yourself to admit after so long, the colorful lights of the stained glass windows colored your face in different hues, all matched the love in your eyes and the growing, unspoken desire between the two of you.

Another kiss followed, this time much more needier and too sinful for the sacred ground you were on. His hands held the small of your back and desired to go lower, his warm tongue licked your lower lip in search of entrance and you obliged happily. The candles had now been overshadowed by your burning passion. Something notoriously stirred in Damien’s trousers and something dampened between your skirt, and without much consideration for the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, you decided to take action.

“I want you to be my first… I want to make love to you before you go…” His breath hitched a bit at your words and his eyes widened. No more words were needed. Another searing kiss followed, his hand held the back of your head with gentleness and caressed you with reverence. Your tongues melted together with an obscene sticky sound that was followed by a groan of his. 

His hand reached up to rub your breast over your sweater, giving it a soft squeeze. You moaned softly into the kiss, every nerve ending of your wet cunt reacting sweetly to him. Damien chuckled softly against your lips before pulling away.

“Love the little noises you make… Need to hear more…” He smiled against your lips, before going in for another sensual kiss. His alabaster teeth nipped at your bottom lip gently, teasing just how much he wanted to devour you.

“You know… I've touched myself thinking about you..” You admitted without even really thinking. The colors of the stained glass mimicking the heat that rushed to your cheeks when you realized what you had just blurted out. Damien loved it, however. His smirk grew wider and his hand moved to gently squeeze your thigh and the fabric covering it.

“Is that so?” He growled softly, his cock twitching at your words. “Show me…please…” He whispered, his eyes traced every feature of yours as his strong hand traced every detail of your clothed thigh. With a gentle bite to your own lip, you discarded every bit of catholic guilt and fear of divine punishment in favor of your own desires. God forgive you both for breaking the sixth commandment in His very house, but two people this in love could never be sinful.

Slowly, you sat yourself up on the white marble altar, the intricate decor and golden crucifix behind you crowning you like the angel you were to Damien’s eyes. You pulled your skirt up around your waist, showing him your white cotton underwear and soft thighs. His gaze stayed glued to you as you moved your hand towards your covered clit, your index fingertip giving you both just what you wanted. You moaned softly, teasing yourself. A glance down towards his trousers allowed you to find an aching tent in there, and a glance up towards his chest made you see just how heavy his breathing had gotten. 

Damien’s eyes flickered adoringly over you when you slipped your hand under the waistband of your panties and ran a finger between your sticky folds, letting out a series of sweet little moans that were like music to his ears. 

He leaned forward, drawn in by you. He hooked his fingers on the side of your underwear and slowly pulled them off you, needing to see everything like he needed air. The fabric now laid on the altar steps and your glistening pussy was exposed for him, all the saints on the windows and God Himself to see.

“Every part of you is so beautiful…” Damien whispered with lust and love filled words. 

You smiled, your finger sliding down and gently slipping inside your pretty and eager cunt to give it careful pumps in and out. Slick covered all the way down to your knuckle, and Damien’s mouth watered.

“Holy fuck… You are unbelievable..” He whispered, eyes full of amazement. You let out a series of little whines and moans for every praise he gave. Confidence filled you and desire burnt through you. Your finger kept teasing you physically and him mentally.

“Damien…” You moaned softly. “Want you inside…” 

No more sweet begging needed, Damien’s hand immediately went to the button of his trousers and as quick as a flicker of the candle lights his pants were pulled down to his thighs. The tent in his underwear was painfully obvious. Your cunt throbbed around your finger at the sight.

After a second or more of your pussy soaking and squeezing your moving finger, Damien pulled his boxers down, his hard cock bobbing free with its head sticky with beads of precum. Like the moonlight that bathed the town, Damien loomed over you, parting your legs with his hands and gently grabbing your wrist. You whimpered at the loss of your finger inside your aching cunt. 

“My turn…” He whispered gently, blue eyes admiring the glistening slick on your index and how it reflected the dim lights. A little grinning devil inside you coaxed you to hold it up to him and offer him a taste. He smirked and gave in to the temptation, sucking your finger clean with eyes closed and with a satisfied hum. His tongue moved around it for every last bit of your taste, and when none was left, he pulled it out of his mouth slowly.

“You taste like heaven…” He whispered with a smile, a mischievous giggle left your lips at the humor of it all. The crucified golden Jesus above you would have rolled his metallic eyes at you two had they not been closed. But even then, He would have understood.

Needily, you watched Damien’s hand guiding his cock towards your folds and tapping the tip a few times against them. You whimpered from the anticipation alone.

“Ready for me, love?” He whispered and you nodded, feeling more sure now than ever before.

His eyes fell to his cock and, carefully, he positioned himself at your entrance. A soft gasp escaped your lips and he pushed into you, finding you warm, wet, tight and so delicious. He went in slowly, savoring you, each hand laid on the marble altar on each side of your hips. His handsome face contorted in loving pleasure was inches away from yours when he finally pushed all the way in.

Your arms snaked around him, holding him as close to you as possible. He let you adjust to his size, sweet little moans telling him just how well you were taking him in.

“You feel so good around me…I love you…” Damien whispered adoringly, and your heart did a jump that competed to be much more intense than the feeling of your little cunt. Hearing those words from him did everything to make you feel… Well, truly blessed.

After a minute of your folds adjusting to him, he started to move, his hips slowly pumping back and forth and setting a perfect passionate pace. You moaned with a pretty sound that resonated within the church walls like a choir, all the discomfort gone and replaced with pleasure. 

“Oh my God….” You blasphemed, looking right into his eyes. His hot breath caressed your face like his hands would, his needy groan met your lips quickly, your mouth granting his tongue entrance like your wet pussy had granted entrance to his cock.

Damien devoured your mouth with a hard, wet kiss. His hips pistoned a bit faster and harder into you, hitting spots no finger of yours could ever reach. You both moaned into each other's mouths, your fingernails clawed into his shirt and back and held you tight.

In search for air, he pulled away from your lips but kept fucking you into the warming marble, your face twisted in delicious extasy for him. The colors on the windows reflected over your bodies so beautifully, convincing you that God did not mind if His house was used for something like this.

“God, you are just perfect…  Your pretty pussy, pretty face… pretty body.” Damien panted as his hips continued to move into you, truly and dedicatedly making love to you.

“My perfect girl…” He cooed before burying his face into the crevice of your neck, leaving hot kisses on the skin. “I’m not gonna last much longer… You feel too good..” He groaned into your neck, nipping at it a bit. Of all sins he was committing on that altar, lying was not one of them. His hip thrusts did get a little sloppier, his release came closer and closer each second and his kisses to your neck became much more desperate, as if he tried to ground himself.

You moaned at the feeling, overwhelmed by the sheer realization that all your dreams and fantasies had come true. The man you had always loved and thought about daily for years was on the brink of an orgasm in your sweet little cunt and giving you pleasure. 

He moved away from the skin of your neck and looked into your eyes, his almost rolled back but he fought for control.

“Jesus, I’m gonna come…” He whined a bit, his thrusts getting slower by the second, and before you both knew it, and perhaps as a little punishment by Christ Himself for using his name in such a filthy sentence, Damien actually came. His eyes squeezed shut and everything spilled deep in your cunt just as quick as it had started. 

He gently lowered his forehead to yours, the last bits of his thick cum seeping out of his cock with a few more pulsations, leaving him out of breath.

“Woah…” He whispered in disbelief after a minute of basking in the afterglow of his orgasm. “I’ve never felt anything that intense in my life…” He admitted, nuzzling his nose against yours and making you smile. A soft kiss followed suit along with a loving caress to your cheek.

“It felt so good when you finished inside me.” Shyness had no place in you now that his cum was dripping out of you, but it still managed to make its way into your voice. He found it absolutely adorable.

“Same for me..” He admitted. Carefully, he pulled back, his now softened cock out of you. He groaned at the sight of himself covered in both of you, he spread your legs open just to get a good look at what he had done to you.

“Oh…” He breathed out, admiring your puffy cunt and the way his semen dripped out of you and tainted the marble surface “Jesus…” Damien was marveled, Jesus nailed up high probably wasn’t. Still, something stirred in Damien, and the way he licked his lips foreshadowed just what it was.

“What's wrong?” You whispered, unease finding you again.

“Nothing… I've just never seen something so erotic… My cum dripping out of you… Looks unreal…” Damien was still out of breath, his cock twitched and threatened to get hard again just from the sight. His words,while flattering and loved, made you realize just how exposed you were. Suddenly, the detailed eyes of all the glass art apostles were very much pointed towards you. Looking at Damien was the only thing that reassured you of just how beautiful and right this was.

Without another word, Damien he leaned his head down, arms hooking around your thighs as he dived into your pussy. You gasped loudly, his tongue swiped easily across your leaking hole. You heard and felt him groan at the taste of both of you mixed together on his tongue. 

Your hand immediately found his soft brown hair, gripping it for leverage as you arched your back into his mouth. Obscene, sinful slurping sounds came from him, and moans came from you. Nothing could have ever prepared you for this, it was maddening. 

He hummed into your pussy, communion happening right between your thighs as he devoured your flesh and drank you both. He was like a starved man, and your pussy was the purest manna. 

“Damien… Oh-oh my God…” Blasphemies poured from your lips in the form of lovely cries, your eyes were on the vaulted ceiling as if the hand of God had torn the skies open in front of you. It was the first time in this very church that you actually felt a religious experience.

Damien’s tongue slowed down a bit, moving slowly against you before stopping and slowly pulling back. He looked at you, his face completely flushed and so proud of himself. 

“Woah…” You whispered, completely astonished. 

“Just looked so good… And we had to clean you up anyway, baby…” He whispered sensually, his hand softly rubbed your inner thigh and he leaned in for one last slow kiss. You could taste the faint mixture of your fluids on his tongue, it made your head reel. When he pulled away, he took your breath with him.

“I need to have my girl again before I leave… Meet here at the same time tomorrow night?” He asked, hopeful. You smiled, catching your breath.

“Of course…” You whispered, filling his eyes with love and excitement. With his hands holding your face so preciously, and in front of God Himself, Damien repeated an earlier statement that was the whole truth…

“I always knew you were the only one for me…” 

Pinterest moodboard so you can visualize this fic. Made by @fuckiingloser!

[lustlovehart]

Soft Clipped Feathers

A/n: Really Self-Indulgent for Sundays realese today.

Pairing: Sunday x Reader

Summary: You’ve grown tired of staying in the hidden nest that is Sundays arms, yet you can’t bring yourself to really leave that comfort. So, you do the only thing that can alleviate this want, use Sundays infatuation for yourself. (1.3k words)

Warnings: [Yandere], Possesion, Manipulation, Implied NSFW & Suggestive, Reader lowkey plays with Sunday (And it backfires LMAO), Themes of codependency, Sunday and Reader get filthy? Very unholy you two, Tiny (Big) obsession from Sunday, Uhm they make out on the floor?? Idk if that needs a tag

There’s a certain petulance in the room you sit in. Stained windows filled with colorful sectors, unify into a beautiful image of a Dove… falling victim to the hunter who sang false truths in its flight of freedom.

“You’ve been staring at the window for quite some time.” The man who claims himself to be the representation of the holiest of days, speaks into the once-relaxing silence of the room. He displays himself as a savior, yet you know better than to trust hunters, they’ve always believed their prey to be the lone sustenance for their fortune. “It’s lovely isn’t it?”

“Not really. I just don’t feel like looking at a man flaunting his feathers.”

“You liked when that IPC worker did. Did you not?” Sunday takes a step closer, to the wooden bench you rest on, his gloved hand caressing your skin. He traces up your arm, thumb ghosting your lips, bestowing a gentle tap on your mouth. It’s akin to a kiss really, if you could count it.

It doesn’t matter though, you’ve kissed plenty of times, and it makes no difference whether you do it with or without clothes. Though, the remembrance makes you shudder. Fingers dancing on your skin, blankets surrounding your intertwined bodies. A romantic scene really, if it weren’t for the fact you imagined the cool cruel silver, to be a chilling night in penacony.

“No, that was just jealousy blinding you, Sunday.” The man pulls away, his wings fluttering ever so slightly.

“Jealousy is the trait of men with no virtues, inharmonious men.” He speaks the word inharmonious, like treason.

“Well, it seems this room is filled with impropriety then hm?” You lean further into the mahogany, hoping somehow, someway, the wood will take liquid form and drown you. Yet you know it won’t. A trio of buttons undo on your blouse from the action, Sunday watching with great intent.

A majority of your chest is now on full display, to Sunday and each piece of art in the room. The eyes in the stained glass, those sculpted pupils of those statues, yet the only gaze you feel is his. Halovian eyes dilate at the sight, he’s quick to look into your eyes when you notice his entrance.

The garment was far too tight on you, but you had no urge to change out of it. Perhaps an unconscious act of rebellion to Sundays put together attire, perfectly fitting his form.

“Your clothes are astray.” He points out the detail as if you didn’t know. You don’t have the chance to reply before you feel Sunday nudge his way into your spot on the bench, towering over you as gloved fingers quickly work to redo the buttons. “Still, it would be dishonorable, for you, if someone saw you this way.” He emphasizes the ‘for you’ as if you cared.

You clasp your hands around his, effectively pausing his movements. He inhales when you pull him down, wind rushing through his hair. This adrenaline is further ensued, when the only thing stopping him from touching bare skin, is the cloth he’s attempting to redo.

In truth, this is the only way you feel to have any control of your fate. His affections for you are wide, yet narrow too. Wide in a way you can feel yourself drown in this so-called adoration, but narrow to a point you could never fully move through it. The rare moments you have with him, where you have him in a cage, is when you entangle him in the love he sought from you so deeply.

Though, this cage will always be unlocked for a free bird like him. But for you, you’ll forever be doomed to roam on the floor, those soft feathers of yours, clipped to never breathe air again.

“If someone saw us like this, that would only solidify what you want.” Your voice is low, warm air blowing on Sunday's neck. His knee is placed between your legs, his elbow being the sole pillar from his ravish on your being. His eyes trail between your eyes and your lips, those golden optics widening when you suddenly lean up.

Now you’re truly testing a man of virtue. A dangerous endeavor indeed.

“What do you plan to do?” His question doesn’t match the look in his eyes, you should know, his eyes are centimeters from yours, and so are your lips. The wings from his head flutter down, gentle feathers caressing your skin; successfully covering the visage of your surroundings.

All that’s left to see is Sunday.

“Do you plan to do this, and go to sleep satisfied at testing my countenance?” You don’t answer him, yet again, he didn’t want a reply. “Or will you finally change your ways? As you’ve promised at confessional time and time again.”

Oh, he knew that was you?

“Sunday—” you’re cut short when a kiss is delegated on your temple, any retort dying immediately at his placating.

“It’s okay, I’ll forgive you,” His arm falls to brush your cheek, the leather from his glove squeaking at the movement. “As long as you listen.” he stops talking after the final sentence, only softly gazing into your eyes. It’s uncomfortable, and piercing. It’s a strikingly familiar gaze to that of a husband, which Sunday is anything but.

“You…” Your words are strained, it’s a pain to face the reality you willingly put yourself into with him. “Sunday…” You grit your teeth, roughly pushing Sunday to the marble floor, bodies falling in unison.

Once again, you’re left in the only position you feel comfortable, making Sunday fall victim to your charms. At this point. Your shirt has already fallen down your shoulder, and your back is on cold flooring.

You take a deep breath in, before enacting your act of rebellion to this so-called man of virtue. You shall strip this room of its purity. But, to be transparent…

There’s no purity left in this room, for it’s not a beautiful art gallery of glass and statues. It’s the home you’ve always lived in. It’s the cruelest joke of all, you have the freedom to go where you wish, but you don’t, you stay.

“This world isn’t kind,” Sunday kisses your palm as he lays his head on your chest, the soft beating of your heart turning his own. “Wait until I’ve made it so.” You’re not sure what he means, but you nod… at the time.

Maybe it’s because of his words, or maybe simply fear for the unkind world he speaks of. Sometimes, you wish for a reality where you step into this cruel world, only then do hatchlings grow strength in their wings.

Now though, wings that have been clipped, have no chance of regaining that opportunity.

In one motion, you take his handsome face into your palms, pulling him roughly to your lips, his own hands finding refuge on your waist, pulling you down into him. It’s filthy and self-indulgent, but all you can do.

When you disconnect to breathe, a trail of saliva connects your lips, a reminder of the everbinding hold he has on you. If you think positively, it could also refer to how deep this infatuation with you, has implemented itself into Sunday's core.

Maybe the simple sight of you, reminds Sunday what it is he strives to do in reality, create a sanctuary of peace. Not you though, he’s the only one allowed to feel your comfort.

You dive back in, ready to drown in the essence that is harmony, through his lips.

…

You wake up to the colorful sight of stained glass, the same sight of a Dove and a hunter invading your pupils. There’s something different though.

There’s a hole in place of the Dove's heart, the window shattered, but only in that sole spot.

The blanket draped over you slides off as you leave the marble platform, but you’re stopped when a firm forearm wraps around your waist, effectively pulling you back. You look back at the perpetrator with a glare.

“Sunday, you’re a man of manners, you’ll be late for… whatever you have going on today.” it’s a pathetic attempt to get him off. Of course it doesn’t work.

“You’re right, but I won’t be late.” you continue to stare at the image, only vaguely listening to Sunday's words.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?" Considering it’s only the morning after…. what you’ve done, your urge to be spiteful isn’t as strong as yesterdays. You wish that wasn’t so.

“You’re coming with me.” He says it so softly, it doesn’t register completely in your mind. But when it does, you wonder if the dove was attempting to warn you.

“You’re… Making me leave…?” You turn around, facing the man that continues to lay next to you.

“No, I’m making you stay, with me.”

…

It seems you’re no longer a bird with freedom to walk anywhere you want anymore either. You’re left flightless, and freedomless.

But…

“I see…” You don’t fight, not like he expected you to do. Not like… you expected to do so either. You lie back down, burying yourself into the blanket with him, burying yourself into Sunday. His arms surround you in a warm embrace.

Maybe it’s your own fault for flying into this hunters trap, with your own free will.

Hahaha, please come him with my 0 pity and 80 pulls Mr.Sunday :). Alsooo, I hope this is good, because, confession… I haven’t finished the penacony quest, only the first one 😬

[susiekern]

wife me up - Gojo Satoru x y/n

a/n: wrote that at work, obv not proofread, my first time writing an actual y/n x character, so any feedback is appreciated

summary: when you first met Satoru, you didn't expected things to go that way, but an heir must do what is expected from them, right?

word count: 4,354

If someone would ask you about your relationship with Gojo Satoru, you'd probably cringe and say it was... complicated. But no one ever asked. They just assumed you'd already clicked, and things were great between you two. You were to get married after all. Well, if only it was that simple.

But let's start from the beginning.

You first met Satoru during an exchange event. He was a third-year student, already a living legend. You were a second-year and an heir to the y/s clan, its future. But back then, it didn't matter. When your paths crossed during a team battle and he saw you fight against Nanami Kento, he was impressed. Nanami was strong, probably a semi-first grade already only in his second year of high school. So at first, Gojo felt bad for a much smaller girl that stood in front of him. Surely that confident smirk on your lips would disappear in a minute or two. Imagine his surprise when you had won that fight, Nanami soon faced flat on the forest floor, bonded by shadows.

For a moment, Satoru was tempted to fight with you to see how long you could stand before losing. Whether you'd lose was not up to question. He was the strongest after all. But he also wasn't as ignorant as he painted himself to be. You would be a refreshing challenge if only he had time for a battle, even a short one. He had to follow the plan and complete the objective. So he left, giving you a last glance over his shoulder, catching your shiny eyes for a second or two.

You wouldn't meet again for many years, until a week after the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons. As a first-grade sorceress, you were in the middle of the battlefield when hell broke loose. Dealing with a special curse, with none other than Nanami Kento only a few meters behind your back, having his own fight and taking on a few curses at once. You've met throughout the years, first when he wanted to ask about your technique after the event, later keeping in touch and becoming friends.

Forming shadows into the blades, you send the final blow towards your enemy. You've been fighting for god knows how long already, exorcised dozens of curses, and it felt like you're still far from the end.

“I'll kill Geto myself, I swear. It was supposed to be my time off!” Nanami chuckles hearing you complain. He finished the last curse around and stood next to you for a moment.

“I'm sure Gojo’s taking care of it already.” You nodded and wiped your daggers of a mix created by fluids you didn't even want to list in your head. “I can also bet we're in a slightly better situation than Team Tokyo. Geto’s probably keeping the worst curses near himself.”

“You're doing a great job at encouraging me not to move to Tokyo. Kyoto seems so peaceful compared to your stories, and now this shit happens, and of course, Tokyo is right in the center.” Kento can't help but smile, even as he blocks a curse user attack a moment later, standing back to back with you.

“Isn't that why you're moving to Tokyo after New Year's? More action?” You decided not to answer, focusing back on the fight. Nanami didn't need to know the real reason behind your move. Besides, if everything goes according to your plan, soon you'll be able to forget all about it and enjoy the capital city as you wanted to since childhood.

---

Nothing went according to your plan.

When the elders invited you to a meeting, you expected to see your grandfather and a few others from your clan. Not grandpa, fucking elders of the big three families, and a couple more from clans you couldn't even name.

“Can't believe you're all here to discuss how I'm still single.” Your joke was ignored, rude. Grandpa started the same speech you've already heard hundreds of times. You're an heir, there's a responsibility you need to take and stand up to the expectations, blah blah. What you didn't expect was for the head of the Kamo family, a man probably in his 60s with a long black braid, to speak up.

“I don't think you understand the value of your grandfather's words, y/n y/s. In current times, families like yours, with a long history and such unique techniques, matter more than your humors. That's why, as elders, we all decided what will happen. Either you marry a man from one of the Three Families in the next two years or Yume does it. The choice is yours.”

You could feel your heart stop. In two years? Yume would be barely 16 if they even allowed her to wait for so long. Your sister hasn’t even started high school yet, and they threatened to marry her off? You shot a look of betrayal at your grandfather, but the man sitting there wasn't the same one who taught you basic defense or how to control your cursed energy. You were looking at the head of y/s family, the one who'd do anything to secure the future and position of the name. Even if it cost him his granddaughters. Your heart started beating again, but this time it was powered by anger as you went over options in your head.

But there was nothing you could do to protect both you and your sister. Even if you rebelled, she was under your grandpa's protection and control, you weren't her legal guardian, and she was still in Kyoto. The memory of a lively teenager who blabbered non-stop about how excited she was to start high school soon filled you with almost physical pain. You took a deep breath in, trying to suppress the urge to hurt as many elders in this room as you could before they'd kill you and start choosing a wedding dress for Yume.

“Who am I marrying?”

“I knew you were more reasonable than you pretend to be.” The head of your family, once your grandpa, smiled at you, ignoring the way your face turned in disgust. “We have come to an agreement about securing both y/s and Gojo family lineage by this marriage.”

“Gojo? But... isn't there only one living member?” Your question seemed to amuse some of the elders.

“Yes. You're to marry Gojo Satoru.”

Fucking hell.

---

A few days later you were set to meet with Satoru in a cafe close to Jujutsu High, a place he chose, and when your grandfather asked if you agreed, you simply nodded.

So that's how you ended up sitting with a mug in your hands, eyes fixed on the view behind a wall-tall window. You barely made it on time, but you remembered how many times Nanami complained about Gojo being always late. And apparently meeting his future wife was no exception, you thought when the white-haired man finally stepped into the cafe, looked your way, and first ordered something at the counter before sitting in the chair in front of you. Seeing him open his mouth, you decided to beat him and have the first, and hopefully the last, word.

“I'm not going to become a stay-at-home and cook-the-dinner wife. I'm not giving up my career as a sorceress. And I'm not giving birth to any heirs until I decide to.”

Gojo closed his mouth and was silent for a few seconds. Then he giggled. Giggled.

“Gojo Satoru, nice to meet you too.” He managed to say between laughs and hold his hand out to you. “I know that situation is... inconvenient, but what happened to at least polite introductions?”

You sighed and shook his hand for a second.

“Y/n y/s. You know we've met before, right?”

“Of course. I could never forget a woman who beat Nanamin in less than five minutes. I'm just trying to do this right.” He grinned at you. The situation is shitty, but at least the views are pleasant, you thought to yourself, noticing the dimples in his cheeks.

“With that being said..." Suddenly he got serious, pulled his sunglasses on top of the white hair, and looked into your eyes, hands resting at the table. “I'd never expect anyone to give up their job because of a marital status change. Especially not a sorceress as talented as you, y/n. And I don't expect an heir, at least not now or anytime soon. I want you to understand that I'm not going to force you into anything. The only reason I agreed to this is that I've had enough threats and debates on how I'll keep my clan existing if I can't find a wife. And guessing by your words and evident repulse at the thought of carrying an heir now, you're not exactly doing it to make your dreams come true too.”

You listened carefully to Satoru’s words, and you felt like at least a bit of weight had been lifted from your shoulders. This whole thing could be a lot easier if you're both on the same page.

“It was either me or my younger sister. And I'm not letting these old assholes marry a 14-year-old off to god knows who.” Satoru nodded and leaned back in the chair.

“So, you're moving to Tokyo? Now that you'll have a fiancé here?” He asked, a little smile back on his face.

“Already on the move. Although the apartment I applied for rejected me, apparently single women in their twenties are not the perfect tenants.” You sighed, thinking about your stuff in storage and an uncomfortable hotel bed you've slept in for the past few days. Gojo seemed to be lost in his thoughts for a moment before a waitress pulled him out of it by putting his coffee and a piece of chocolate cake on the table.

“Thanks.” He smiled her way, and poor girl, bless her sweet soul, almost ran away, blushing and giggling.

“How exactly were you unable to find a wife if you just gave this girl a heart attack by just smiling?” The man in front of you almost choked on his salted caramel double sweet cream latte when he heard your question.

“I'm not… It's not like... unimportant." Wiping a drop of liquid from his chin, he grabbed your phone with his free hand, put it in front of your face, and smiled triumphantly when face ID did its job. You were too stunned with his audacity to even ask what he was doing, instead looking as he tapped the screen.

“Here.” Finally, he gave you your phone back, the maps app opened, and an address was saved in it.

“Here…?” You repeated, probably the most confused you've been in your whole life.

“Move in here.”

“Gojo, I swear to god, if you don't explain what you're talking about, I'll lose my mind.” Giggle escaped his mouth, and blue eyes seemed to shine with... you weren't sure with what. Excitement? Mischief? Amusement?

“That's my home. That will be ours anyway when we get married. And knowing the shitheads’ elders are, they'll try to monitor if we're not fucking with them and if we're producing heirs.” You cringed at his word choice, even though he was probably right. “So let's fuck with them for real and act like we're delighted about this situation. They'll leave us alone, and we can always say we're having... issues with making an heir. That's not really something they can verify or control.”

You couldn't believe you were actually thinking about it. As crazy as it sounds, it made sense. Elders had way too much free time, and if they noticed you two not even trying, they'd intervene immediately. But living with Satoru? You just met, and it sounded surreal to even think about. “I have like two spare bedrooms, and with my work, I'm barely home anyway.” He decided to add like he was reading your mind.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

---

And that takes us to the present moment. It’s been a bit over a year since you moved in. Satoru wasn’t lying when he said he was barely home, but during the rare days off, you actually got closer. You probably could say you’re close friends now. You were also two adults working a stressful job, spending most of your free time together, which caused awkward situations from time to time. A glance here and there, a touch that lasts just a second too long to come off as casual, jokes that stopped being jokes at one point, turning to propositions filled with sexual tension instead. But neither you nor Satoru went further with it, brushing it off and changing the topic to something painfully casual.

Satoru thought you were actually making fun of him and his evident crush, while you saw it as a challenge of sorts, wondering how far you could go before he’d make a move or stop you. And ever since Satoru got you a gift and a cake with “Happy Anniversary” on it, exactly a year after you met in the cafe, you got impatient. And bolder in your moves.

You’d accidentally leave your clothes in your room, so, oh no, you need to walk through the entire house wrapped in a towel. Laying your legs over his lap, just a bit too close to his zipper. Insisting on checking on ALL of his wounds if he ever got hurt on the missions (that one happened only maybe two times so far, damn infinity).

“Maybe he just doesn’t like me. You know, like that.” You said one day, sitting with Shoko during her lunch break. You’ve known Ieiri for almost a decade now, you’ve met when she patched you up after an encounter with a special grade curse. She was the only one who knew exactly what your situation looked like.

“I’d have to be blind to believe that. Last week when we went for drinks and you got ready at my place? He almost choked on his own tongue. And he might wear this stupid blindfold or glasses, but it’s easy to guess where he’s looking.” Your friend shook her head and checked the time. “I still think you should make the first move. Better now than in a few years when you actually decide to make an heir. That’d be awkward.”

“God, don’t even say shit like that.”

“Speaking of heirs. How’s Yume?” Ieiri smoothly changed the topic. She loved you, truly, but watching that weird dance between you and Satoru made her regret some life choices.

“Good. I think she likes Tokyo more than Kyoto, and Gojo said she’s getting along with others.”

Yume started school last summer, and after a few months, she asked you if there was any chance of transferring to Tokyo High. She didn’t fit in at Kyoto, and you weren’t exactly surprised. After being around Tokyo school so much in the last year, Kyoto felt like a military camp in comparison. Yume was way too fragile for it, and her moving also meant you’d be around if she needed you. That’s how she ended up here, joining Satoru’s first years.

“Okay. I’ve got to go. I have a mission with Nanami, and he’ll kill me if I’m late.” You got up when your phone vibrated on Ieiri’s desk, a reminder about the meeting with Kento soon bright on the screen. You still wanted to say bye to Yume, something you did before every mission, just in case. You kissed Shoko’s cheek as she wished you good luck and left her office, heading towards the stadium. Chilly March air didn’t exempt the kids from training.

The first thing you’ve noticed when you get there is Satoru lying on the bench, probably taking a much-needed nap. When he came back from a week-long mission two days ago, he barely made it to his bedroom before falling asleep, or maybe passing out, you weren’t sure. Yesterday he spent most of the day sleeping off, only leaving the bed in the evening to eat the dinner you’ve prepared and watch a movie together. From what he told you, he only took a few two- or three-hour naps when he was away, and after a week even his body protested.

“Oh, y/s-san!” Itadori was the first to notice you, your sister, who sat next to him, focused on watching Megumi and Maki spar, abruptly turned, and made her way to you.

“I was wondering if you’d make it before leaving.” Yume said while being pulled into your arms for a hug.

“Sorry, kid. Had lunch with Shoko, and I overlooked the time.”

“How long you’ll be gone?” She asked after you pulled away, letting her breathe properly.

“I don’t know. Probably a few days.” That answer didn’t make your sister any less anxious. She wanted to become a sorceress herself, and she knew it was a dangerous job, but every time you were assigned a mission, Yume wanted to stop you from going.

“Be careful. And text me. And watch out.”

“Oi, mini-y/n, your sister is one of the best first-grade sorceresses, and she’s going with a special grade partner. She’ll be fine.” The teenager frowned when Gojo appeared out of nowhere next to her, and he ruffled her hair. “You’re up next with Nobara. Say bye-bye and go to her before she kills someone.”

Yume got on her toes to kiss your forehead, and without another word, she ran off towards the rest of the students. You sighed and looked at Satoru. He ditched his blindfold for a pair of sunglasses today, something he often did after longer missions, you’ve noticed. His hands were deep in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, the same one you’d sometimes steal from his closet.

“She’s paranoid, but she’s right. Be careful.”

“You’ve said it yourself, first grade and special grade. I’ll be fine.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Mr. Protection, going with you makes me feel a bit better, honestly.” Gojo smiled as you laughed at Nanami’s nickname, but before you could make a joke about it, he leaned forward and left a gentle kiss at the same spot Yume kissed a moment ago.

“Everything’s going to be fine, chill out guys.” You whispered just as Nanami entered the stadium and yelled at you to hurry up. When you turned back to Gojo, he was already back on his bench.

---

Everything went wrong.

That sentence was stuck in your head for the past few hours, when after five long days you were almost back home. Your torso was aching under the warm hoodie, and tight bandages were constantly pushing on sensitive skin, a similar situation on your thigh. Nanami, sitting in the driver’s seat, looked only a bit better, but you knew about a tightly bandaged wound on his chest.

“You’re sure you don’t want Shoko to look at it?” He asked for the hundredth time, and you’d argue about his protectiveness, but exhaustion was taking over.

“I just want to be home already.” Kento only nodded, hearing your tired answer, and the rest of the journey was silent, only soft music playing in the background.

You agreed earlier that he’d drop you off at home and drive to Jujutsu High on his own to report to Yaga and let Shoko patch him up. Maybe in a different order. Half an hour later, you climbed a few steps to the front door and opened it with trembling hands, almost dropping the keys twice. Nanami drove off only after the door closed behind you. It was fairly early in the evening, and guessing by the darkness in every room, Satoru wasn’t home yet. You dropped the duffel bag on the floor, almost falling next to it. Instead, you’ve made your body move to the bathroom and draw a warm bath, something your muscles would thank you for tomorrow.

---

While you tried to relax at least a little bit, Nanami made it to the base and went straight to Shoko’s office. The report could wait a bit longer, his wound that just wouldn’t stop bleeding probably couldn’t.

“Fucking hell, what happened to you?” Ieiri almost dropped a glass when he showed her ripped skin. She quickly got rid of the blood-soaked bandages and asked him to lie down.

“First grade my ass. There were two and one that I’d classify as a special grade.” The blonde man groaned, lowering himself on the bed as slowly as he could.

“How’s y/n?” Before he could answer, the doors opened, and Megumi stepped inside, his teacher right behind him. Fushiguro was holding his arm with the opposite hand, blood dripping down his shirt.

“Shoko, can you fix Megu- Nanamin?” Gojo almost stumbled, noticing the man. He took one look at his wounded chest, and the playful smile he walked in with was gone. “Where’s y/n?”

“Relax, she’s at home. She wasn’t as injured, and the guy in Akita healed the most of it.” Kento said, and before he could explain any further, the white-haired man was already gone. “Knight in a blindfold to the rescue.”

Shoko laughed and signaled Megumi to sit in a chair before focusing on Nanami’s wounds, murmuring something about kids and blindness.

---

You were out of the bath, making a cup of tea in the kitchen. Your body felt a lot better after soaking in warm water, finally out of the tight clothes, opting for an oversized t-shirt instead, fresh bandages on both thigh and torso. Slowly relaxing in the comfort of home, the shirt that smelled like Satoru’s perfume, favorite mug on the counter.

Finally putting your guards down. That’s also why you haven’t noticed an outburst of cursed energy in front of the house, where Satoru warped, since walking or driving would take too long. And after seeing Nanami’s injuries, he needed to see you’re okay.

“Y/n?!” His voice pulled you out of the exhaustion, and before you could even answer, he was already in the doorway, having traced your energy. He took his blindfold off, making slow steps towards you, looking at every millimeter of your body he could see.

“Hi, Toru.” You said, almost shyly, fully aware of his intense stare on your bandaged leg, shirt not doing much to hide it. Finally, his eyes met yours, he took a deep breath in, and you could swear he was about to scold you. He didn’t.

Satoru took one more step your way, and in the blink of an eye, you were sitting on the counter, his warm body between your legs and arms around your back in a gentle embrace. You slowly wrapped your own arms around his neck, feeling him lean his head onto your shoulder.

“What the fuck happened?” He asked quietly. His voice was low and raspy, filled with emotions you couldn’t name properly.

“There were three curses instead of one. But I’m okay, really. Kento took the worst blows on himself.” Your fingers instinctively tangled into snow-white hair, nails gently scratching the skin. You felt how Gojo got tense at first, slowly relaxing. You were safe at home, you weren’t bleeding out, and he was holding your body in his arms. The nerves that filled his mind as soon as he saw Nanami were disappearing with each breath you took close to his ear, each pass of your fingers through soft hair, and every second he spent surrounded by your warmth and scent.

“I almost had a heart attack when I saw Nanami’s wound. All I could think about was if you got a similar one.” Satoru whispered after a few moments. One of his hands was now caressing your back, but he wasn’t sure if it was supposed to calm you or him. Another minute or so later, he gently pulled away, but he was still so close that if you leaned forward, your lips would meet. And Toru seemed to think about it too, his eyes now focused on your lips. “I’ll explain to Yaga why next time if you’re not paired with me, you’re not going.”

“Don’t blame Kento. He saved my life probably more times than I could count on this mission alone.” He smiled softly, like he was amused by what you said.

“I’m not blaming him. He looks like a damn Jigsaw played on his chest, obviously, he did his best.” His forehead leaned onto yours, and you can now feel his lips on yours, gentle touches, almost ghostly, with every word. “But I’m responsible for protecting my future wife. I can do that without getting a cut. So next time you’re taking your fiance with yo-” He didn’t finish. You didn’t let him. Grabbing the collar of his uniform, you barely needed to move to kiss him. And Satoru reacted in less than a second, cupping your cheek with one hand, the other one gently on top of the bandaged thigh.

After a year of thinking, wondering what kissing Satoru would feel like, dreaming about it even, you finally know. And you don’t know what’s with this man, but this feeling—his soft lips on your, tongue slowly exploring your mouth, a gentle bite on your lower lip—was addictive. Just one taste left you hungry for more, mind almost clouded as he pulled away slightly, pulling a quiet moan from you with him. He grinned proudly, looking deep into your glazed eyes, thumb caressing your cheekbone down to the jaw.

“I may rethink this whole producing an heir thing.”

And just like that, the thick mood is gone as you start to laugh, leaning your forehead on Gojo’s collarbone.

“I’m serious. Yaga can’t send you on missions like that one if you’re carrying an heir of not one, but two families.” You shook your head and looked up to him.

“Slow down, Romeo. We kissed after a year of engagement, at least wife me up before talking about any heir.” You joked and pecked his lips one more time.

“Next weekend?”

“Sure, love.”

Only a week later, you realize Satoru wasn’t joking.

[yanderes-galore]

Yandere Baelon i Targaryen concept

Well... He's certainly going to be a handful if his lore says anything....

Yandere! Baelon Targaryen Concept

(Son of Jaehaerys I)

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling/AFAB, Obsession, Manipulation, Touchy behavior, Courting, Possessive behavior, SFW breeding kink (AFAB Section), Violence, Murder, Aemon enables him a bit, Mature themes, Brief mention of Targcest, Pregnancy mention (AFAB Section), Blood, Murder, Some angst, Forced relationship.

Baelon The Brave... The brother of Aemon and rider of Vhagar.

He's always been brave and fierce, following his older brother's every move.

Actually, he and his brother were often considered inseparable.

He followed Aemon's footsteps and often trained beside him.

Baelon is described as being loud, brave/bold, and... lustful.

Yes, such a trait isn't uncommon in Targaryens, but...

He seems to enjoy it quite a bit.

Despite such a tendency, he was nowhere near promiscuous.

In his lore it seems like he was quite loyal to his wife.

Actually, I don't doubt he was, considering he never bedded another after her. Or even remarried.

Baelon is demanding... yet loyal, similar to his brother.

Yet Aemon was never as demanding as Baelon.

I imagine Baelon is more flirtatious than Aemon is.

He courts his obsession, yes, but also doesn't mind making certain comments.

Which ends up with Aemon knocking him on the back of the head.

I can see you being a friend of Aemon and Baelon, similar to Aemon's concept.

You're from another house loyal to Targaryen rule and often come for diplomatic meetings due to your father.

Which leads you to be close to the two princes.

That, or if you really want to go the full Targaryen way, maybe you're also a Targaryen.

Baelon would be obsessed with whether you were betrothed or not.

He no doubt knew you since childhood, so him being betrothed to you by his parents makes him ecstatic.

Even if you aren't into it.

If you aren't betrothed, Baelon will probably get Aemon to help him court you.

He's an excellent fighter... a dragon rider... What else could you want?

He even becomes Hand of The King later in his life.

Baelon may make flirtatious or lewd comments... but only ever acts on them when you're betrothed.

Oh, and he'll find a way to get you two betrothed.

Aemon will no doubt help him, as his older brother no doubt believes you two have a good bond.

Even if you're betrothed to another... Baelon is a Targaryen.

He's persistent... He'll find a way to have your parents cut off the engagement.

Maybe Aemon manages to convince your parents a marriage with Baelon would benefit them more?

Aemon is much more diplomatic than Baelon is.

He'll help his younger brother get the partner he wants with words before Baelon does anything hasty.

Yet words might not be enough for Baelon.

Baelon may still get rid of your betrothed with his sword.

That, or feed them to Vhagar, if he really doesn't like them.

Baelon would hunt down anyone who felt they had a chance with you.

He still would even after you're betrothed.

Targaryens are known for dealing with issues using Fire and Blood.

It's their saying for a reason, and Baelon's always been a fierce warrior.

It's said when his brother Aemon was killed, he rode Vhagar and burned countless men to avenge him.

In that case, I can see him deciding to burn those he doesn't like around you in secret.

Or if he really wishes... He'll dirty his blade in their blood.

Once betrothed to Baelon, he will try his best to get you used to him.

He promises to protect you and care for you.

He promises pleasures much better than any lover you could ever have.

No one will touch his beloved... not with Vhagar by his side.

Vhagar herself is rather neutral towards you.

She isn't really protective... but listens to her rider's orders (She might feel differently if you were Visenya's obsession)

Baelon is oddly patient when it comes to the months before your wedding.

He can tell you're worried but encourages you.

He's the second heir to the throne... being with a Targaryen is something most other Houses yearn for.

Most betrothals are just out of duty and are unhappy...

But to Baelon, marrying you is out of love.

While to you, it's a reluctant duty.

You know you care about Baelon, but the idea of being his spouse is daunting.

Nevertheless, Baelon always calls you brave for it.

Like you ever had a choice.

Your stress only grows as the date ticks down.

Baelon is doing his best to ease you, holding you close and whispering how he'll be the perfect husband for you.

But you no doubt have seen what he's capable of.

Baelon, like any Targaryen, is ruthless.

He's possessive like the dragon he rides.

You don't doubt by the time you're properly married... He isn't leaving your side.

In fact, with his nature, you may be spending most of your time in his chambers.

Sure, maybe you should consider yourself lucky...

Baelon loves you and would never take another partner that isn't you.

Yet part of you wish he would so you could have some alone time.

By the time you're married and he presses his lips to yours...

Your fate is sealed.

Baelon promises to be gentle, to worship you as his spouse as he does his duty as his father's Hand.

You only dread the thought... You wish you were married to another House...

Maybe then things would feel less daunting... maybe then no one would die because of his possessive tendencies.

AFAB Section (Slightly Mature)

As expected of Baelon's nature, he wastes no time in consummating the marriage.

As he said before, he's gentle, often praising you.

He tells you he wants many heirs from you.

He's similar to his father in that sense, always wanting children and being rather demanding.

You and your husband are often together when he isn't on duty.

Like most Targaryens, he no doubt has a thing for making heirs with his obsession.

He was always described as lustful, after all.

Baelon is very attentive to you when you carry his heirs.

If we're going based on canon... I imagine you'd give birth to at least Viserys and Daemon.

Baelon always wants to give you heirs.

It's like a strange form of bonding for him.

Yet he'll relent when you say you aren't into it.

He cares about you, after all.

While he's someone who enjoys heirs...

He doesn't want you in any pain.

It's sort of scary how similar he is to his father.

Although, he has admitted he wants a daughter too....

Baelon dedicates himself to protecting you and your sons.

Even if you miscarry due to pregnancy complications, Baelon is right by your side to reassure you.

"It's okay, love... We'll try again another time."

Baelon is overly affectionate, his grip tight as he sleeps beside you.

You're always smothered by him... always kept isolated...

Right up until one of you perishes.

Either one of you would free you from your isolation.

Yet part of you wants to stay with your sons....

Either way, Baelon is a possessive man...

You are his queen, even if he isn't king yet...

You will always be right by his side, even if he has to drag you, right up until you die.

[thesecondhandwoman]

Cowgirl Vi x reader? Idk the scenario but like imagine how cute she could be in a cowgirl hattttt

LINE DANCING

Cowgirl Vi x f!reader

Synopsis (Au): Vi takes you to The Last Drop for a fun line dancing night, where the two of you laugh, trip over each other’s feet, and enjoy each other’s company. Amid the chaos with Jinx and Ekko, Vi helps you find your rhythm, proving that dancing isn’t about perfection, but having fun together.

Request: Anon 🤍

The Last Drop had seen a lot in its time—a kaleidoscope of rowdy nights, fights, and the occasional gossip around the underbelly. But tonight, it was alive with a different kind of energy. The usual chaos of the Zaunite dive bar was replaced by the clink of cowboy boots and the twang of guitars, the sound of laughter echoing louder than any bar brawl ever had.

The neon lights bathed the place in a warm, golden glow, reflecting off the silver buckles and shiny spurs of the crowd. Vi adjusted her leather hat, smirking at her reflection in the cracked mirror by the bar.

“You ready for this, sugar?” she asked, glancing back at you.

You fiddled with your plaid shirt, nervously shifting your weight from one boot to the other. “I’m not sure line dancing is my thing, Vi. I can barely two-step without tripping over myself.”

Vi laughed, reaching out to gently tug on the brim of your hat while speaking in a forced southern accent, “It’s not about being perfect. It’s about having fun. And trust me, tonight’s gonna be a hoot.”

Before you could protest, she grabbed your hand and led you to the center of the room, where a crowd had already started gathering. Jinx was there, spinning in circles and somehow managing to avoid knocking over her drink. Ekko stood nearby, laughing as he tried to wrangle her into something resembling a dance.

“Y’all better keep up!” Jinx yelled, tipping her oversized hat dramatically before dragging Ekko into the line forming in the middle of the dance floor.

Vi shot you a grin, her warm hand squeezing yours reassuringly. “C’mon, darlin’. Let’s show those little goofballs how to actually line dance.”

The music kicked in, a fast-paced country beat that had everyone stomping their boots in unison. Vi led you through the steps, her movements confident and surprisingly graceful for someone with such a tough exterior. You, on the other hand, struggled to keep up, your feet stumbling over the intricate patterns.

At one point, you tripped over your own boots, nearly taking Vi down with you. She caught you just in time, her strong arms wrapping around your waist as she steadied you.

“Easy there, cowgirl,” she teased, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Maybe I should just sit this one out,” you muttered, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Nah,” Vi said, tugging you closer. “You’re doin’ great. Besides, I’ve got you. Always.”

Her words melted your insecurities, and soon you found yourself laughing as the two of you twirled around the dance floor. Vi was a natural, her boots gliding effortlessly across the worn wooden planks. She tipped her hat to you every so often, a playful wink accompanying the gesture.

At one point, Jinx burst into your little bubble, grabbing your hands and spinning you wildly. “Dance like no one’s watchin’!” she yelled, cackling as Ekko tried to pull her back into line.

“You’re gonna break something, Jinx!” Ekko groaned, though his grin betrayed his exasperation.

Vi pulled you back to her, shielding you from Jinx’s chaotic whirlwind. “Hey, this one is mine for tonight, sis!”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at her playful possessiveness, watching the way Jinx stuck her tongue out, making Vi break the act and chuckle as she enveloped you back into her embrace.

The two of you danced through song after song, each step becoming easier as you fell into sync with Vi. She was patient, guiding you with a firm but gentle hand. When you finally got the hang of a particularly tricky move, she beamed with pride, tipping her hat to you once more.

“That’s my girl,” she said, her voice low and filled with affection. “Look at you, sugar!”

By the end of the night, you were both breathless, your cheeks aching from smiling so much. Vi plopped her hat onto your head, adjusting it so it sat just right.

“There,” she said, leaning in close. “Now you look like a real cowgirl.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, tilting the hat back to get a better look at her. “I think it suits you better.”

“Maybe,” Vi said, her grin widening. “But it looks cuter on you.”

Jinx and Ekko stumbled over, both of them slightly out of breath. Jinx had somehow managed to lose her hat, and Ekko’s shirt was untucked, his suspenders hanging loosely at his sides.

“This was the best idea ever,” Jinx declared, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “We should make this a weekly thing!”

Ekko groaned, shaking his head. “Not unless you learn to follow the steps, Jinx.”

Vi laughed, her arm slipping around your waist as she pulled you closer. “What do you say, baby? Think you’re up for another round next week?”

You looked up at her, your heart swelling with happiness. “As long as you’re there to catch me when I fall.”

“Always,” Vi promised, her voice soft and sincere.

The night ended with the four of you sitting at the bar, sharing stories and laughing until your sides hurt. The Last Drop had never felt so warm, so alive. And as you leaned against Vi, her arm draped securely around your shoulders, you knew this was a night you’d never forget.

And the others were gonna be all the same.

Question: are we fine with the image I made for this or no? I’m still trying to decide if I should do it more often.

[libbybee]

CRAVING THE VAMPIRE'S TOUCH — SA.

summary: anticipation of the day the fantasy might become a reality. warnings: MDNI, female!reader, smut, dirty talk, porn without plot, mage hand spell, body worship, voyeurism fantasy, solo masturbation [F], oral fixation. word count: 960 masterlist . playlist . AO3 . IMG

a/n: english isn't my native language, sorry if there are grammar mistakes.

‎

Astarion. Astarion. Astarion…

His eyes, those gleaming rubies that promised danger and pleasure in equal measure. His attractive smile, the kind that made your thighs clench. That silvery hair, always so perfectly tousled, as if he’d just stepped out of some decadent dream. His face, conformed combination of sharp angles and soft allure, a testament to the cruel beauty of his perfection.

And those hands... oh, those hands. Long, elegant fingers that could wield a blade with deadly precision or trail down your stomach, leaving a path of fire in their wake. His lean and sculpted body, carved with the kind of meticulous care that seemed almost unfair. You’d caught glimpses of him when his shirt fell open or when he moved with that effortless grace, and every time, it left you aching to see more.

You imagined how his lips would feel against your skin, how his voice—smooth as silk, with that ever-present undertone of mischief—would sound whispering your name in the dark. The way he carried himself, with that confidence, only made you want him more. He was temptation personified, a walking sin you were powerless to resist.

“Mmm, Astarion...” You moaned softly, the sound barely escaping your lips as your mouth wrapped around spectral fingers. You sucked on them deeper with desperate fervour, swirling your tongue around them as though they were the sweetest treat you'd ever tasted. Savouring the imagined taste of him as if you could draw out his very essence.

You could almost hear him against your ear as he murmured, “Such a naughty little thing… Is this how you think of me when you’re all alone?”

The thought sent a shiver down your spine, your thighs pressing together in anticipation as shame flickered in the back of your mind, but it only fuelled your desire. You couldn’t explain this, not if your life depended on it. The thought of Astarion finding you like this—legs spread, touching yourself in his name—made your skin crawl.

Would he be disgusted? Would he sneer, cutting you down for your depravity? Or, the more tantalising option: would he find himself enthralled and aroused by the pure need you displayed? You could almost see it—the hunger darkening his ruby eyes, a wicked smirk playing on his lips as he watched you fall apart only for him.

Two spectral hands floated around you, their translucent blue glow illuminating your tent. One hand near your lips, with its fingers inside your mouth. You imagined they were his—or better yet, his cock—filling your cavity, dominating you. Though you'd never had the chance to see him fully unclothed, the fantasy was more than enough to stoke the fire of your pussy.

The second hand worked between your thighs, plunging its fingers into your needy entrance with a steady rhythm. Your slick coated the ethereal digits as they plunged deeper, curling just right to stroke your G-spot and make your back arch. The pressure was a perfect counterpoint to the way your own hand stimulated your swollen clit.

But this wasn’t enough. You wanted more—needed more. You wanted him. His hands, his lips, his cock buried deep inside you, stretching your cunt open just to sink fully until nothing left but the exquisite pleasure of his presence within you.

With every thrust, every swirl of your fingers over your aching clit, you imagined him there with you, his body pressed against yours, his voice guiding you to the edge. And as the pleasure built, you knew you’d give anything to make that fantasy a reality.

Your breath hitched, and you shifted your hips, seeking more friction, more depth. The mage hand’s middle and ring fingers pumped into you with a rapid pace, stretching and filling you as your pleasure built. Slowing your strokes each time you felt yourself teetering on the edge, prolonging the delicious torment.

Another desperate, needy moan escaped your lips. You closed your eyes, surrendering fully to the dream. You imagined him leaning over you, his cool hands pinning you down, his low, velvety voice in your ear as he praised you for being such a perfect, wanton mess for him.

“Astarion…” you whimpered again, your voice already thick with longing and your eyes shut. The image of him—his pale, toned physique hovering above you, his cock finally revealed and throbbing for you—pushed you closer to ecstasy. You pictured your fingers wrapped around him, stroking him as he groaned your name, his fangs grazing your neck as he kissed a path down your skin.

The spectral hand between your legs quickened its pace, now with a third finger inside, thrusting deep as your own fingers worked your clit in tight, fast circles. You were so close now, your body trembling as the pleasure mounted, every nerve lit up with the thought of him.

He was right there, watching you, smirking, “Come for me, darling. Let me see how beautiful you look when you fall apart.”

That was all it took. Your climax tore through you, your body writhing as ecstasy crashed over you. Your cries filled the tent and the silence of the night as both hands continued their commands, drawing out every last tremor of pleasure from your throbbing pussy.

Finally, you collapsed onto your bedroll, chest heaving, your bare skin slick with sweat. The magical hands faded, leaving you in a haze of pleasure, every muscle deliciously spent. For a moment, silence filled the tent, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing.

You licked your lips, the taste of your own desire lingering as you whispered into the quiet, “One day, Astarion... one day, I’ll have you for real.”

And gods, what a day that would be.

‎

[nerdyneko265]

Went on a rant about why throuple and thought I should share my rambling thoughts here too

Starting with Fiyero. Fiyero who’s given up before even starting. He doesn’t want to try. He likes Galinda because they can have dumb fun together, they both know how to charm people, how to brighten the mood, they are a social power couple. But as Elphaba points out, as much fun as he’s having, he’s still miserable because he hates being so shallow. Elphaba makes him think, makes him consider things outside of himself. And while Fiyero doesn’t want to try, both girls are going to try so hard. They’re both so passionate, it makes him passionate.

Galinda is a stereotypical popular girl. She wanted Fiyero because he’s a prince, that fits in her fantasy. But they genuinely have so much chemistry, have so much fun together. They’re so similar and that’s comforting. But it’s Elphaba that broadened her horizons. Galinda is kind, deep down, she’s just a spoiled rich girl who never had to consider these things before. Hell, the only reason she hated Elphaba is because she’s being a baby about having to share a room. When they first met she tried to be nice. It was condescending but Galinda genuinely didn’t even realize. She wants to be kind to everyone, she does want to help. And as the song says, they have been changed for good. Elphaba made her realize she was being shallow, that there’s more. Galinda always wanted to be kind, she was just going about it wrong. Elphaba helps her be good in a better way. Also the whole scene at the ozdust, that act of kindness that Elphaba extended to her made her realize she was being awful to someone who didn’t deserve it.

And then there’s Elphaba. Elphaba who’s convinced no one could ever love her. Of course she was going to be antagonistic to Galinda, she’s being defensive, she can’t imagine a world where someone like Galinda could ever be kind to her. She was just giving Galinda the same energy she was giving her. But once they overcome that, they so easily communicate. Galinda is so easy going, so open, she wants to know Elphie, makes her feel safe to open up. With Fiyero it’s the fact that he doesn’t care. She’s green? So what? What does that matter? But she’s clever and sassy, he likes that. He sasses back, they have a little battle of words. Fiyero likes to pretend he’s stupid, but he’s not. He can keep up with her thoughts. He sees what she cares about and is more than willing to help. Galinda gets her to smile and Fiyero gets her to relax.

Elphaba needs support and at two different points both Galinda and Fiyero give her that. Galinda gives her the push yo take that jump, gives her the cloak that says I can’t come with you but I believe in you. Fiyero holds the wizard hostage for her! They’re both so proud of their girlfriend!

[meowzilla111]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ “ GIRLS NEED LOVE TOO ”

pairings;; TOXICboyfriend!Toji x fem!reader

summary;; you’ve been feeling beyond neglected recently for quite a while now and you’ve had enough of it. You decide to call it quits with your man but well he has other plans.

content;; NSFW, toxic!toji, pure filth, nipple play, pussy smacking, established relationship, degradation, praise, thigh riding, oral (f. receiving), fingering, lowkey hurt comfort fluff idk weird mix tbh & sweet talking

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ a/n;; icl this is the first ever smut i’ve written but I lowkey put my whole pussy into ts so hopefully yall like it LMAO nah but im a huge sucker for hurt and comfort type shih and lil toxic mfs soooooo here we r wat can I say a girl got fantasies mayn 🤷‍♀️ but if any of yall have any requests send em my way ill write em if it’s something I write.

♬ girls need love - summer walker (drake) ♬

“I wanna break up.”

You couldn’t even look into his eyes. For fucks sake how did you even manage to get to this point? From all the missed calls, the ignoring, rejecting your advances that came with a desperate crave of his affection, his attention, down to all the days you’d rub your legs together imagining what he could be doing not what he was doing.

Instead of receiving that oh so sweet loving that had you feining over this man you would now spend your days pondering if he even loved you anymore.

You knew he was a busy guy, you knew that better than anyone but you were sick of it, it was like you gave your 100% all while you sat there like a pigeon begging for a morsel of bread. Fuck was that about?

At this point you wondered the point of allowing you self respect to stoop so low like this for a man of all things especially one who seemed to give less of a shit if you lived or died, were you just another place to crash to him?

He looked up from the TV, sat on the couch, tendrils of smoke escaping his mouth, ribboning around you, his legs manspread open.

You didn’t know what he was thinking, you never really did but with how the air went still and the atmosphere shift you sure as hell began to regret your decision- wait no- you couldn’t take it back now what’s done is done.

“I want you to take your shi-“ “Fuck are you talking about?” swiftly cutting you off, you locked eyes with him, his heavy green eyes boaring into your soul as if he were evaluating your whole existence.

Your breath hitched. Your voice caught in your throat. Fuck your knees felt like they were gonna buckle right then and there why’d he have to be like this?

“You know what I’m talking about. You’re not incompetent now are you? I think i’ve been quite clear with my words I want to break up and I want you out my house.” you crossed your arms your feet flat planted on the ground you needed to show you meant business and that you would STAND on business, you weren’t just any woman, you weren’t to be messed with to be played with this man needed to know that.

He hummed tapping out his cigarette on the ash tray on the side table leaving the butt in the ash. He got up the man now looming over you. The tension was high.

He looked down at you his eyes refusing to leave yours “Where’s this shit coming from?” his voice was raspy. You took in his appearance his expression was unexplainable you couldn’t tell if he was mad or amused or a weird mash up of the two. You looked away what were you supposed to say?

He grabbed your chin with light force turning you back to face him your cheeks squished against his hand. “Look at me when i’m speaking at you.”

You wanted to speak you did but you were just putty when it came to him in the matter of seconds you felt yourself crumble your walls died down his face coming closer to yours, you really didn’t think this through did you?

“Cmon speak up silly girl where’s that bite from before?” he smirked his mocking tone riling you up and not in the way you wanted.

You felt a sudden jolt go to your clit, wetness pooling between your legs. He knew what he was doing. Stupid fucking toji.

“I’m waiting sweet one” that same mocking sarcastic tone still present god you were feeling humilated now, you needed to speak you couldn’t let this cunt belittle you, even if you were into it. He needed to hear your truth you needed to speak your mind.

“You never make time for me anymore toji.” He raised a brow moving his hand from your face crossing his arms letting you speak. “I’m fucking sick of it, I know you get busy but what about me! Don’t I matter? I dont think you love me anymore not like before you dont even say it anymore for fucks sake!” You flail your arms feeling genuine rage seep into your veins, all that bottled up annoyance spewing out of you like a waterfall.

“You barely even look at me anymore toji you dont even fuck me anymore do you find me ugly or something???? This isnt even the first time ive had this conversation with you, I need a man who can pay attention to me who can love me like I deserve and well you ain’t fucking cutting it no more.” You rubbed your temples, these stresses had been eating holes into you day in and day out you couldn’t do this shit anymore.

“I want to be loved is that so hard to ask?” your voice broke, you really didn’t want to cry but you felt a tear slip quickly wiping it away you looked down at the ground.

There was a second of silence until he spoke up.

“so thats what this whole big ass tantrums about, cause ya feel neglected huh?” Tantrum?? was he fucking skunked. Your head shot up as you glare at him as he raked his hand through his hair his veins prevelant throughout his buff arm.

“Its not a fucking tantrum toji its how I feel atleast im communicating its more than you’ve ever fucking done.” You snapped at him as he chuckled amused sittin back down patting his thigh

“c’mere princess sit down”

you kissed your teeth who did he think you were? “Im not fucking doing that”-

As you were close enough he tugged you down onto his lap. His arm around your hip as his thigh was placed snug against your heat intentional or not it sent shivers up your spine.

“Dunno who put all these stupid fuckin ideas in yer head” He poked your temple with his index.

“But I do love you okay? How could I find sucha pretty lady like you ugly hm? Don’t ever say that stupid shit to me again.” There were still a few stray tears falling from your tear ducks, he swiftly swiped them away with his thumb his hand wresting on your face “Then why dont you show it anymore ‘ji?..”

Maybe you were easy to please but it was like those four words immediately put your body at ease though the way he caressed your cheek aided at calming your psyche.

“Y’know I didn’t mean to be so busy ma” he hummed softly admiring your pretty face “All that time I musta forgotten to take care of my sweet wifey and we can’t have that can we hm.” His hand moved from your face as he leaned in moving to whisper in your ear. “cmon lemme take care of ya show you a good time hm what’dya say?”

His big hand wrapped around your throat hitting the right spot as he raised his thigh pressing against your clothed cunt.

you’re breath hitched you had no clue what you had expected out of this conversation, you knew there was no way you’d be able to leave him. He always knew how to reduce you to a bitch in heat. you looked into his eyes and bit your lip “Please me then fushiguro”

. . .

in an instant you felt your cami top pulled down, you flushed as he took in the sight infront of him licking his lips how had he gone this long without fucking his woman? Who knew, but he’d definitely make up for it “No bra hm? Dirty girl you were expecting this weren’t you” he mocked bringing his head down his breath cold on your nips, your nipples pebbled at the new found temperature. His tongue swiped over your left nipple as the hand around your waist moved your hips up and down on his big thigh “Let go mama rub that pretty cunt on me”

“hhhngh ji…” you whimpered as you began moving your hips picking up the pace chasing the friction whatever you were mad about was long gone right now all you were only focused on was feeling pure pleasure.

He took your tit into his mouth sucking it swirling his tongue around your sensitive bud lapping at it his right hand moving to your right tit his thumb tweaking your harden bud playing with it circling then swiftly moving to massage your pretty boobs.

He was obsessed.

You felt yourself coming closer to undone as he moved your hips faster bouncing his leg to aide your pleasure but you needed more it wasn’t enough your pussy was aching for skin to skin contact.

You pulled his head up his mouth still working on your nipple but now his gaze was fixed up at you. The sight pooled your panties. “Ji need more… please not enough hgh” you whined bucking your hips.

Your man smirked with a mouthful now unlatching a string of saliva from his tongue to your perky nipple following suit raising his head up he smacked your ass. “Is it, tell me what you need doll”

You hated when he did this you never liked voicing what you wanted finding it embarrassing too bad for you since he knew what he was doing, embarrassing you was his favourite past time.

You squeezed your eyes shut trying to angle your clit on his thigh a lil more “Need your touch please ji please” you whispered covering your face embarrassed.

he laughed at your state “Speak up silly girl can’t even hear ya.” he chuckled finding it amusing how he’d already coaxed such melodic pleas out of you. She covered her face with her hands embarrassed now shaking her head. He just chuckled deciding he’d be a little kinder today.

He pried your hands off your face “Lemme see that pretty face” you blushed now this was exactly what you were missing “There she is. You can do better than that come on i’m listening princess” he accelerated the speed of which he was boucing his leg moving you up and down your face animating more with the speed he had you going.

“ahhhhhh- Sir please please need your tongue on my clit wanna feel you licking me up” You buried your face in his shoulder biting into it. He could feel your clothed cunt pulsing on his thigh he was more than happy to fulfil your desire “See now was that so hard dumb little slut can’t even control herself look at you trying to hide those sweet ass moans we cant have that now can we.”

he grabbed you by the hair, chunks of your lush hair wrapping around his hand as he pulled your head up off his buff shoulder with a strong tug your neck craining back as tears welled at your eyes you were so overly sensitive your tongue flat on your bottom lip as you strained out moans “fuuuck haaa but the neighbours they’ll hear toji” you both knew how thin the walls were but fuck if he cared. He smashed his lips on your shoving his tongue in your mouth. His tongue felt like magic wrapping itself around yours taking itself on an adventure in your mouth exploring every nook and cranny as you moaned curses into his.

Pulling away he looked into your eyes “Who gives a shit what those old bags think I want them to hear” leaning in and nibbling your ear pulling you in by the neck he whispered “and aint this what you wanted dirty slut? Flip over whore”

you got increasingly wetter at his words.

he pushed you off his thigh your head hitting the cushion. You looked up at toji your elbows sinking into the couch as you hold yourself up “I told you it was a good idea to get this big couch” Remembering how much he nagged you for buying such a big couch and how it was a waste of money.

you giggled slightly as he pulled at your shorts and slipping you out your pink panties “Yeah yeah shut up and spread em”

he placed your leg on his broad shoulder looking down at your bare soaping pussy. He could feel drool accumulate in his mouth. “Can’t believe you thought id give up this pretty pussy.” Giving your cunt a quick slap “This is my girl my fucking cunt.” He rub his fingers through your slicked up folds glistening as the dim light from the ceiling bulb hit it. He spits down your cunt a glob rolling down to your pulsing asshole making you jolt a lil.

Giving your cunt a quick lick he looked up at you as you whined “Cmon tell me who this pussy belongs to”

you grumbled “Tojiiii just eat it already” you just wanted stimulation your pussy was twitching with anticipation and the lack of stimulus was driving you insane.

Toji laughed giving your cunt a quick slap again “I said who does this fucking pussy belong to slut?”

“You! It’s your pussy toji please just touch it make me feel good”

You bite your lip as he smirked at your response you hated stroking the cocky bastards ego but you’d do just about anything for his tongue to be nuzzled deep inside your cunt

Without hesitation his head dipped down his tongue circled your clit “haaa just like that tojii” You threw your head back bucking your hips.

Starting off agonisingly slow he began to pick up the pace abusing your puckered up clit moving down to your entrance to scoop up your nectar to quench his thirst.

“Dirty girl bucking your hips like that you want it bad donchya” he mumbled into your pussy slurping filling up the room as he shoved his tongue deep into your vagina feeling your gummy walls encase his tongue. You moaned “Soooo bad!”

he knew the language of your pussy and he was determined to speak it. You tugged at his hair while he tongue fucked you, your moans were his favourite melody. He moved his tongue back up to your bundle of nerves suctioning on it sucking it into his mouth using his tongue to carefully trace T O J I claiming what was already his.

While he worked at your clit he decided to take the opportunity to stretch you out a little, his fingers found a home in your cunt as he thrust them into you his long but bulky fingers curling.

You were a babbling mess at this point toji had a way with you he knew exactly how to make your mind go blank and dumb, times like this he would practically put you into a brain cell deficit.

. “Shes taking my fingers so well” He mumbled again against the slurps of your clit. He found your g-spot immediately knowing your body like the back of his hand as he repeatedly pushed into you,

you roll your eyes back your other leg thrashing about. he holds it still curling his fingers feeling your gummy walls against his fingers your cunt consuming them. “hghhh- ah ah ah toji fuck fuck” you cursed biting your lip

he finally took his mouth away from his feast moving his body upwards to look at you clearly. The way your face contorted at his own manipulation- it went straight to his dick. Fuckkk he was so turned on.

“thas it good girl lemme hear those dirty sounds” his fingers fucking you frantically chasing your climax your moans and pants becoming more erratic “Im gonna cum gonna cum so bad please lemme cum” you cried out squeezing your eyes shut.

“go on doll cum cum all over my fingers baby gimme it gimme that release” waves of pleasure eroded at your senses as you succumb to a mind numbing orgasm creaming all over his fingers.

You panted your eyes still shut trying to recollect yourself. You slowly opened your eyes slightly to see his lick up his fingers.

“You don’t think its over right? We just got started.”

———

[acupofinkedblood]

Hyperlaser x reader [Familiar Stranger]

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The bar provides Hyperlaser a certain sense of comfort. Or maybe it’s just the alcohol speaking. He has been through different locations to get a drink, sometimes even in a complete different faction because of Katana’s invitation as well. But nothing beats his usual spot

Calling him sentimental isn’t really that fitting, he will admit. Yet who can blame him? He has been to this place before everything went south. This place alone is his precious memento of the pass. He can still imagine his comrades drunkenly laughing aloud while their hands on each other’s shoulder, those bozos are all his family, even when they could be so insufferable

And to top it up, this place is where you and him used to pull an all-nighter, chatting the time away whenever you got a chance

You, who is his senior. You, who he respects. And it’s still you, the one he loves dearly

This is where your memories are the most vivid

Old habit dies hard, they say, and the owner doesn’t even have to ask what does he want before slide him the usuals: One glass of whiskey — neat — and a glass of your once favorite. The owner has been there ever since he was a rookie. Or to be specific, it’s the son of the previous owner who used to watch you and him drink together, he’s also old now. That’s just something he finds interesting, how the son keeps his father’s legacy seriously even in this simple act

Even when you’re no longer able to savor the sweet aftertaste of it, your memories will live on with him. He will never allow himself to forget such detail about you

“Cheer,” he mumbles to himself, gently clinks his glass with the one that is supposed to be yours

Anyone who is a regular in this bar knows better than to question his odd behavior. They let him grieve and relieve the memories of someone close to him. Then again, no one in their right mind will approach an intimidating looking man whose face covered in scars. They simply let him be

Each sip he takes, he is constantly reminded of you. He still imagines you sitting beside him, going on about your work or another random thing to add on your wish list before you died. He has been doing that on your behalf: From going to Thieves Den, having someone to remember you to adopting a little cat. A black cat, just like you wanted. It’s like fate was behind all of that, he can’t help but huffing in amusement before savoring the wine down

But then something almost makes him choke on his own glass

A voice that despite the obvious change, he can still realize no matter what. It’s the same voice that orders your drink of choices ever since he was still fighting side by side with you

Hyperlaser immediately turns his head to the person who just takes a seat beside him — which is used to be your regular seat — and he can’t even believe his eyes when he sees that look

It’s you. His senior. His comrade. His love

He drops his glass right away, and you immediately catch it with ease before it breaks. Hyperlaser can see your arms have been replaced by prosthetics despite the long coat you are wearing. Your face is covered in scars, and dare he assume that those are burnt marks. From your eye to the visible part of your neck, they are all ruined now. Broken horns and damaged features — But hell, he still recognizes you — The familiarity in the way you look, he can’t never mistaken it. Is this a dream? Then why does it feel so real? Hyperlaser freezes on sight, his mouth goes dry as his mind functions the new information that is thrown into his face with no warning

“No proper greeting for your senior? How rude”

You hold his glass back to him, single the owner to wait before preparing your drink. It takes eternity in Hyperlaser’s mind before he mumbles

“This isn’t real, you can’t be real,” he denies “You are not—”

“I owe you an explanation”

That day, when you bided him goodbye to go to the other side of the battlefield as you were ordered to, a boom hidden under the snow exploded right underneath your feet. For some reason, your body is still there, minus the burnt flesh and disfigured leg. You couldn’t remember what happened afterward. Adrenaline rush kicked in, mixed with your wish to survive forced you to run, to crawl, to charge forward into nowhere to save yourself. You were surprised to find out you have literally refused to die and escaped the reaper’s grasp like that. After who knows how long you have been running, someone managed to find you and you were provided medical help. Just in time when you’re on the verge of death

The rumor of your death is all bullshit. They didn’t bother to look for any of you, let alone make sure that you survive at all. With the fear that if you go back, you will be dragged back to the battlefield, you have isolated yourself from Blackrock’s territory at all cost. In your mind, you are alone and all of your comrades have fallen down meaningless. Yet Hyperlaser is here, you didn’t see that coming of course

You didn’t even realize that it was him. To say he has changed physically is an understatement: Scarred face, broken horns, completely new outfit…Yet you have made a bet when seeing him order those familiar drinks. And once again, fate has been such a joke. He recognizes your presence in a heartbeat

Hyperlaser still figures on how to process all the information. You are alive! Right here, right now, right beside him in flesh and breathing. For the moment, all the noises seem to drown in his ears as he finds trouble keeping his breath steady. Not until you snap him out of it does he finally looks back at you

After that emotional reunion, he has so much to tell you. Like the good old days, no? And so do you. The drink he has previously ordered as a way to remember you, now finally being cheered up with him. You two have forgotten the concept of times together, one story follows another, one chuckle follows another…He has never felt so alive before. He has told you about Princess, and you immediately laughed at the mental image of him being a cat dad. The owner has to politely remind the two of you that he is going to close now for you to realize how fast time has gone by

He doesn’t have the chance to tell you about his feelings yet. But it can wait, there are so many things he wants to tell you now

When he walks you out of the bar, he can’t help but wondering why did you decide to come back all of the sudden, and how long will you stay? If you need a place to go, his home will welcome you with open hands. But then your answer makes his heart sinks

“I come to Blackrock one last time before saying goodbye forever,” you hum as the snow starts to grace your skin, “I will move on. Going somewhere far away where my nightmare can no longer haunt me”

“This is so sudden,” he breathes under his helmet, “I still have so many things to tell you”

“I know”

A part of him wants you to stay, even just a little more. Yet he finds his words going back of his thoughts

“Are you going to leave soon, again?”

“Hyperlaser,” you call out his name, “If fate allows us, then let us meet again under a new dawn, when you too have found a piece of peace inside you. I wish for a day you will leave your grunge behind to move on, then maybe find me if you want”

He calls out your name. He can’t leave just yet, he still has to follow his oath of unfinished business with Blackrock. Hyperlaser hates this goddamn faction, yet he can’t just leave yet. As much as he wants to go with you, his responsibilities hold him back

“Please,” he pleases, “Until that day comes, please wait for me”

You smile. That smile has never hurt him so bad like now. He comforts himself, knowing that as long as you are alive, that’s all matter. And when you wave your hand as you walk away under the snow, he finds himself subconsciously reach out for the sight of you slowly fade away into the snow

That’s the last conversation he has with you. Hyperlaser knows better than to seek you out himself. Not only does it might risk your safety when Blackrock finds out you are being involved with him — those bastards will definitely pestering you nonstop — but also, he knows that he will soon grow attached to you again. As much as his scarred heart bleeds when he realizes he has to bare the thoughts of losing you again, this is for both of your sake

He loves you, so much that he’s willing to let you go

Hyperlaser just wishes that Princess has a chance to meet you. You will adore her, and she will love you like he loves you

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Note: Sorry for the pain all Hyperlaser fans, but you didn’t specify what sort of ending you want and just saying green tea soooooo-

[loopyarts]

I sometimes think about and ponder on how Bruce is such an overprotective yet mostly well meaning parent towards Dick. Yet Bruce is also the type of parent who fails to realise that their kid has grown up and can look after themselves and doesn’t need them for protection and guidance anymore. 

Dick and Bruce are both control freaks but for different reasons. Bruce is a control freak because he thinks that as long as he is in control of the situation that means he can protect the ones he loves from harm or losing them altogether. Because when his parents died he had no control over that. He felt powerless that he couldn’t do nothing to prevent it. Even though he was just a helpless little 8-9 year old boy who could do nothing but stand there watching helplessly as it played out before his very eyes.

While Dick is a control freak for the opposite reasons to Bruce. He needs to stay in control of himself and not let others tell him what to do and values his freedom his independence if that makes sense. All his life even with his own parents he was excepted to do as he was told, like how most children do. He wasn’t listened to in his own mind he felt responsible for his own parents death depending on the version it was because he didn’t tell them about stranger threatening Mr Haly or in some tellings he wasn’t listen to by his parents. He had no one to turn to really and much like Bruce he was just a powerless little boy. Who nobody truly heard, Dick Grayson to the world was just a child and therefore had no voice.

The only person who truly heard Dick’s voice was Bruce Wayne who saw himself in the young boy and knew the only way to save this boy from becoming like him was to get him his justice and put Dick Grayson parents killer behind bars. He became like a second father towards the young lad, family, the dynamic duo crime fighters of Gotham. Which is why Dick was able to heal and move on mostly from the loss of his parents because unlike Bruce. He had someone to fill the void that was lost when his parents died. Bruce Wayne the Batman because like a father to him a second father, in a way he was Dick light shining hope in the darkest part of his life. It’s so important to Dick development as a character and without it he wouldn’t be the same person he is today and it’s also so important that Dick time as Robin was a pretty happy one as well.

Both Bruce and Dick saved each other just by becoming each other new family. Bruce didn’t need anything from Dick all he needs from him is to just exist to remind him why he does what he does.

So imagine the hurt Dick must feel as a young adult. That his second father who heard his voice and listen to him all those years ago. Is now not listening to his voice really anymore or respecting his decisions as a young adult a man in his own right. While it comes from a place of good intentions. Dick cannot help but feel he is still seen and viewed as just a little boy by him and the crushing feeling of never truly living up to his expectations and the shadow that the Bat casts onto him. When will he ever be good enough to finally be taken seriously by him as his own man. Dick coming of age story is about finding one self in the world and crafting out his own legacy and what being a superhero means to him and him alone.

While it wasn’t Bruce intention, he did in fact put pressure onto Dick even though he doesn’t want him grow up to be like him. He values him so highly and he is glad that he grew up to be a much better man than he will ever be. He loves his surrogate son so much but with that comes fear. Like any parent he cannot help but worry for Dick future and the decisions that he makes as an adult and he will state his opinion on what he thinks of said decisions Dick makes in his life. He didn’t approve of Dick dropping out of college which caused some tension between the two of them for a good bit.

I always found Batman #330 original released in September 11th 1980 really interesting because of how Lucius fox and his son Tim Jace fox comes into play in that story Bruce compares himself to Lucius while Tim to Dick and how he cannot understand why would in he in Bruce’s eyes be throwing away his future. So when Bruce is talking all this nonsense to Tim he wasn’t actually speaking to Tim rather it’s the things he wanted to say to Dick.

Dick probably understood at that point that this was never about Tim or the thugs rather it was about Bruce who took out his own frustrations with Dick by projecting them onto Tim and the thug members. The themes and parallels to a father that being Lucius and his son Tim to Bruce and Dick within that comic book story makes it so painfully clear to me. It was about a Father who was upset with his son life choices for his future and only wants what is best for him even if he isn’t going about it in the best way possible.

The biggest hurdle for Dick and Bruce relationship as surrogate father and son is miscommunication and how the other isn’t willing to listen to the other. Bruce is the parent who always think he knows what is best which is not always the case which leads to him fighting with Dick all the time because he is blinded by the idea that his adult son might know better then him and stubbornly refuses to budge on that for a stupidly long time.

[missoneminute]

you may have spoken about this before but is there anything that surprised you about p+c when you met them for the first time? :)

Hello! Yes! For sure. I’ve said before but I’m happy to say it all again any time.

The main thing is that Peter is TALL. You know he’s tall but you’re never prepared for how tall. Whatever you imagine - he’s bigger. He’s a giant. His hands are like soft bear paws, his head is a planet, his huge, beautiful eyes should be on a large deer. He’s just absolutely towering in every way. Which is always surprising somehow because he has such a soft aura. He’s very softly spoken, very gentle, so there’s a certain disconnect. He’s also very much on his own planet. I’ve met him both at some of the darker points of his addiction and well into recovery, and it’s safe to say he’s just a space cadet by nature. You never know if what you said went in or not - if it did, he will suddenly snap to attention like he’s come hurtling back to earth and engage you with a really childlike sense of wonder. If it did not, he will stare at you blankly and just… wander off. I’ve twice had him do things like just say “well bye!” And wander off after a long, awkward pause haha. Which I’m fine with - I love that he’s a law unto himself, and it makes the times you connect with him all the more special. He also has no filter. If you give him a gift he doesn’t love, he will fucking tell you about it lol. But same goes that when he loves it, he’s so sweet and complimentary. I’ve been giving him antique silk cigarette cards - which he collects - for six years now and he really loves them. For instance last time in Manchester he told me they’re “better than heroin”. Like. He will just… say things haha. There’s also no middle ground - he will either give you the sweetest hug where he collects you and squeezes you or he will give you a side hug like you’re infectious. It’s literally utterly dependent on his mood haha. But ya know he’s his own country, you can’t take anything he does personally because Peter will do whatever Peter does and the world outside him has little impact on that. He’s very charming and charismatic of course, very funny too, and just so naturally eccentric. He has that vibe, you know… that vibe people have who are just blessed by something bigger, something fated. Now Carl… the thing that surprised me about Carl is that he’s so WARM. Like he may be the warmest person I’ve ever met. He’s so, so attentive, so so kind, so utterly sweet and just so deeply affectionate. He’s like that every time and with everyone. He hugs like no one else on earth. When that man embraces you it’s so fucking real. Like I don’t want to sound ridiculous but he just hugs people with such immense love. He HOLDS you man. It’s crazy how he never turns that off and how he can be that way so constantly. He always knows what to say, he fills every weird silence, and he works very hard to make people comfortable. I’ve never met anyone who radiates so much pure and endless warmth. It’s truly so beautiful and while I think a lot of fans know he’s like that now, I feel like because of all the dark stuff that went on back in the day some people saw him as aloof and unkind and nothing could be further from the truth. I get why people get obsessed with him, I really do. He radiates such gorgeous energy that you want to be around it and you want those magical hugs. Plus he’s an incredible conversationalist - so fast, so funny, so witty and so full of random ridiculous facts. Eccentric too of course. Like I get it Peter, I get it Carl girls. He’s extremely charming and charismatic, much more in person than he comes across on screen. He has a special energy too, something mesmerising. And yeah being real he’s one of the best looking people I’ve seen in person. He’s shiny. Very shiny - beautiful hair, flawless skin, put together so well, and he has that way of moving that beautiful people always do where they sort of just… leave a glittery trail. One thing I haven’t gotten to see is the two of them interacting much - I’ve seen them in the same space chatting to fans and calling across to each other here and there but never full pelt. I think my entire mind would melt. X

[cripplecharacters]

I've been working on a world since 2019 and a few characters have had disability aides that are, like, full arms (haven't done legs yet for some reason, maybe because i drew a Lot of halfbody things for a while) but i have a dilemma that I'd like some advice on

so when a character is amputated/born missing a limb in my world they can choose to keep the amputation as is, or choose to get a 'robot arm' for lack of a better term. they aren't very advanced in technology in the usual way, but everything is kind of shifted to the left. it's been thousands of years and VHS players survived, but the video output hasn't, so now they have reprogrammed them to connect to lazers that show on the top of the box. they also tried cars (a very safe model that ran on water) but stopped once a couple died in a crash. they like pick and choose what they work on i guess

but! the disability part of this is: would it be alright if i have them create a synthetic limb that connects to their nerves (a VERY careful process) so it can still act like an abled limb, or would this just br a cop-out 'magic robot arm that is just like the flesh arm'? there are also alternatives to the ability aides as well; someone can get extremely tall mantis-like legs or get special made claws or whatever makes the person happy. i have a character i always think about with this since she's a tattoo artist that was born with her left arm amputated from the shoulder. so she could use the 'robot arm' to do the tattooing and use her other hand to hold the client still and move them around, but i don't want it to be the 'magic limb' thing again

if this is way too wordy you are more than welcome to tell me to try again, i am sorry, i just want to make sure everything is on the table and makes sense. hope you're having a lovely day/night!

Hello, thank you for your ask!

Note while we don’t have any amputee mods, I live with metal implants and will draw from that lived experience.

If you were to have a prosthetic limb be able to act just like a natural limb, it would fall into the ‘perfect prosthetic’ trope. This kind of character design isn’t disability representation, it’s just for the sake of aesthetic. Here are posts we’ve reblogged on the subject by amputees, I’d recommend looking at them [link] [same post but video format] [link]. These posts go much more into living with prosthetics, what to think about when making an amputee character and tropes to avoid that I ever could. If you really want the cool aesthetic of having a human with awesome robot parts, make an android/robot instead! You get all the cool visuals without peddling myths about disabled people that a surprising amount of people really believe.

As for having a character with an arm prosthetic that’s a tattoo machine, I think it’s fine! I’ve seen real world examples of that exact thing [link]. Just know it won’t act as a hand holding a tattoo machine, it’ll be stiff and to adjust the angle your character will either move their arm or manually adjust with their hand.

There is real world work on making prosthetics that connect to nerves, so I’ll talk about that as well. In previous posts we’ve talked about how most arm amputees don’t like wearing prosthetics since they tend to be heavy, uncomfortable and difficult to use, and that’s especially true for mechanical prosthetics. This article on the subject [link] [video that goes a bit more into it] shows a real world example of exactly the kind of prosthetic you’re talking about, though notably with zero feedback from the people who have one. It briefly touches on how the weight may be uncomfortable, how it needs frequent readjustments and practice from both the technicians and amputee to do things like pick up a block, and how the nerve sensors in it are dull, but I imagine that’s only a small bit of the real story. From personal experience, once a nerve is severed it is extremely difficult to ‘wake it up,’ and in some cases may be impossible. It took months of physical and occupational therapy for me to get back small motions and any physical sensation, and for a long time after that what I could feel changed from nothing to either dull, buzzy discomfort or electrical pain. Not to mention the metal implanted in the person for it to work would hurt [plus these kinds of prosthetic implants that go into the bone have a high failure rate due to the very increased risk of getting an infection, as the implant is both inside and outside the body]. If it gets too cold, if the air pressure changes, and just sometimes randomly metal implants become painful, and I’ve yet to meet anyone with implants with a different experience.

Essentially, using this kind of prosthetic would be extremely difficult and would also be painful and uncomfortable, and any character with one would need to be very dedicated, not to mention have a lot of spare time to dedicate to learning to use it and money to afford it, it’s surgeries and the frequent appointments to get it to work.

I hope this helps!

Mod Rot

[hurlingdown]

Here’s the corrected punctuation:

(Toji anon is back again, and I'll disappear for a while because university is kicking my ass, lol.)

(Ok, so this is literally porn with plot.)

Viktor will pull away more and more as his illness progresses. He doesn’t want to burden Reader with it, with himself. Reader is handsome and deserves something way better than him. But Reader wants Viktor. Only him. He loves when Viktor makes those pretty sounds every time they eat him out. How Viktor will ask for babies, even though it’s a stupid dream (Viktor could conceive, but it’s too risky with his condition). So Reader will always play along, loving the sight of how their cock will bulge out. Reader is always worried about how skinny Viktor is, but sometimes he’ll enjoy the sight of how Viktor is dwarfed in comparison to them.

Viktor always loved to be manhandled in a way, degraded and treated as an equal. During a session, Viktor will push Reader away as his nose starts to bleed. Reader gets worried. Viktor just sees how quickly Reader gets turned off and feels his stomach drop. Instead of not seeing how Reader is resisting the urge to cry, as he knows they may not have too much time to be together.

Viktor will eventually pull away more and more—no more touches or sex—and Reader will give Viktor his space. But Reader is confused.

Reader wants Viktor to understand how much they love him, how they adore him, and Viktor will give in sometimes. They’ll have gentle sex sometimes or bland foreplay, nothing like the sinful stuff they used to do. Reader never points out why Viktor prefers to have clothed sex now, how some days he’ll have more energy than usual, or how he once discovered Viktor in a “shimmer-induced high” and had the wildest sex ever. Reader is shocked by how Viktor acts and how Viktor does not trust him.

It was an obvious aftermath. Reader connected the dots and discovered what Viktor had been doing. It’s an ugly confrontation. Viktor says horrible things he doesn’t even believe. He wants to push Reader away. Maybe Reader won’t cry for his death.

Not knowing how devastated Reader will be, after the council is blown to bits and Viktor is found unresponsive. Reader doesn’t bat an eye after Jayce does the unthinkable to save Viktor.

They are meant to be together. Till death do us part…

(Spoilers: Reader will definitely be in Viktor’s cult/commune and be the violent guard dog.)

toji anon who hurt you 😧

this was absolutely delectable by the way. the perfect plot for an angsty fic. the insecurities that come with sickness… god can i only imagine them. sex is definitely the more intimate part of a relationship, so exploring how it gradually changes over the course of viktor’s deteriorating health is just amazing!!!

“maybe reader won’t cry for his death.” but ironically i can feel you trying to make reader cry. it’s funny in a sad way how viktor’s just stuck in this spiralling emotional turmoil while reader’s there trying to do all they can to care for their frail lover

i can hardly find anything to add on to this… for now just allow me to enjoy your writing!!! thank you for this stunning piece. <3