#saw this in a reel and had a vision

[hwsforeignrelations]

England: Butter the toast, eat the toast, shit the toast. God life's relentless

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: sexual content, daddy kink

“Fuck!” 

Simon’s neck nearly breaks as he turns to lay panicked eyes on where you’re standing in front of the oven with tears on your lashes, one hand in another. His body locks up. He’s faced more violence than any one man should know, but it all pales in comparison to the way his stomach twists when you’re distressed. 

“What happened?” 

“N-nothing I burnt myself.” Your cheeks are already wet by the time he makes it into the kitchen, carefully unfolding your arms, cradling your hand in his. 

Burn is an understatement. It’s a second degree, skin already blistering and raw. You instinctively move towards the freezer, but he pulls you away, leading you to the sink where he turns the tap on cool. Your lower lip trembles and your voice shakes. “Owww, ow ow. Hurts, it hurts.”  

“I know baby, I know. Here,” Duchess whines from behind him as you hiss when the water cascades across your skin, easily picking up on your pain. “She’s okay.” He never thought he’d be reassuring a dog, but here he is, trying to soothe both his girls. 

“I didn’t want to drop it, I didn’t let go, I sh-should have.” Instinct is to blame here, pain receptors flooded and quick thinking a second behind, your desire to save the strawberry rhubarb crumble leading you to hold onto the cast iron too long, and you managed to get it onto the stove top after you pulled it from the oven barehanded, but it cost. 

“Shhh, it’s okay.” It’s not. Even of a flicker of agony on your face is enough to send him reeling, and knowing you’ll wear this scar forever from something that happened when he was just across the room is a hard pill to swallow. “Just keep this here, don’t move your hand.” 

“Where are you going?” You’re more calm now, lips tight in a grimace, but the tears still gather. He kisses your forehead. 

“We need a washcloth. Stay right here.” 

He keeps you against his chest, cool washcloth folded over the palm of your hand as you snuffle into his sweatshirt, curled up with him on the couch, tears dried, burn throbbing. Poor baby. 

He knows why you didn’t want to let it go. You hand picked these strawberries from a local farm, painstakingly selecting each one as he followed behind you, a hulking shadow nearly blotting out the sun. It’s such a contrast. A brilliant, bright little berry girl and her reaper, a harbinger of death, her daddy.

He’ll be whoever he has to be now, to keep you happy and safe. Nothing else matters. 

And that’s how he found himself on his neighbor’s porch, ringing their doorbell to explain how you saw their rhubarb plant in their backyard and pleaded with him to let you go over and ask if you can cut some. They’ve only ever seen him in passing, and quite frankly, they looked a bit horrified at the sight of him. 

That didn't matter either. As long as they said yes. 

“Never had rhubarb before.” He’s holding your hips, his chest to your back as you lean over the sink, scrubbing the pink red stalks clean. 

“Never?” 

“Nope,” he hums it into the top of your head, and you fidget against him, pressing back against his cock. 

“O-oh. Is… are you…” His fingers dip beneath the waistband of your sweatpants, stroking over your panties. 

“What does it taste like?” 

“Um, it’s… sour.” You gasp when he slips inside the already slick cotton, skimming your swollen clit. “But when it’s ca-ca-caramelized it’s- ah-” Slow circles send shivers up your spine and you grind against him, looking for more, for rhythm. 

“It’s what baby? Tell daddy.” His heat against yours, body on yours, all of it goes to his head, gives him tunnel vision. It’s all about you, everything, always, forever. Til death do you part, even if you don’t understand yet. 

“It’s like a swe-sweet tart. It’s good with- with uh… um,” he slips inside you, one finger then two, nipping your neck as your head tips back. It doesn’t take much to bring you close, your inexperience leaves him plenty of room to learn what’s best, read your movements and translate your sounds. 

“With?” You shake your head in denial, and a devilish smirk twists his lips. 

“Daddy please.” You’re shifting your weight, restlessly chasing, forcing him to hold you still, his mouth on your ear. 

“What do you want sweet girl? What is it?” 

“Come, make me c-come please.” 

“Hmm.” He steps away, uses his foot to spread yours apart, and you try to step away, confused. “Be still.” Your sweatpants and underwear are down to your ankles next, and he’s folding you at the waist, your cheek flush with the kitchen counter. 

Pretty. So pretty. Pussy soaked, on display, little clit throbbing. 

He sinks to his knees and spreads you wide, exposing everything while you gasp. “Look at you, little girl. So desperate to come.” 

“Yes,” you breathe, clinging to the edge of the counter, elbows upward. The trembling precipice of anticipation makes your muscles quiver, and he lets you sit in it for a moment, linger in the uncertainty- 

Before finally burying his face in you. 

“Daddy?” Your voice is small, sleepy. He’s given you some naproxen, trying to dull the pain, and the ordeal has tired you out. 

“Hmm?” 

“Am I gonna have a scar?” You’re blinking at the offending injury, mouth turned down, and he sighs, tucking you in closer. 

“I think so. It’s a second degree, sweetheart. But it will heal, and that’s most important. You won’t have nerve damage.” That was his biggest concern, especially considering where it is, but after inspecting it, the skin, the blister, the depth, he’s confident you won’t lose any feeling there. 

“I won’t?” 

“I don’t think so.” He knows well enough, how much it takes to damage the nerves. To make them obsolete. He’s got the marks all over to prove it. You relax, snuggling back into his chest. 

“At least I saved it.” 

“And earned yourself a spanking.” He warns immediately, and your eyes fly open. 

“I didn’t do anything!” 

“You hurt yourself to save a pie.” 

“A crumble daddy, it’s a crumble.” He raises an eyebrow, and you look away sheepishly. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay baby, but you did earn a punishment. Didn’t you?” You nod. He knows you’re well aware of the broken rule, but he’s not going to dive into it right now, your agreement, the recognition is enough. 

“Yes daddy.” 

[arixella]

Hello! First of all– I love your writings sm and how everything is so beautifully written no matter what genre, And second– if you're free and alright with it, may I request an luffy x reader, where the reader ate a devil fruit that made them immortal but luffy had no clue about this and only knew when reader died, then miraculously woke up a few minutes later. Still badly injured, but is alive and not well. Due to the fact that they can still feel pain.

Only if you're fine with this kind of stuff, and thank you for your hard work!

You Died, But You Didn’t

╰┈➤ pairing: Luffy x gn!reader

a/n: sorry I feel like this is bad but I hope you enjoy😭 <3

summary: After watching you die in battle, Luffy is devastated—until you miraculously revive, revealing your immortality from a Devil Fruit, and leaving him reeling with love, anger, and the fear of losing you again.

wc: 1.8k

contains: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, romance,

The world was spinning.

Your vision blurred, pain painting your every nerve raw. You were barely holding on, barely breathing. And then—

Darkness.

“(Y/N)!”

Luffy’s voice tore through the chaos, hoarse and frantic, louder than the crashing waves and the screams of battle. He didn’t hear the others calling after him, didn’t care about the blood soaking into his sandals, didn’t care that the enemy still stood behind him.

All he saw was you, crumpled and broken on the ground.

His hands trembled as he dropped to his knees beside you, arms wrapping around your body. You were still. Too still.

“Hey,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Come on. Get up.”

You didn’t move.

He shook you gently, then harder. “Hey! Don’t mess around—get up! You’re okay, right?! You always get up!”

There was no response. Blood ran from your mouth, your side, your chest. Too much blood. His hands were stained with it. His voice started to break.

“No, no, no. Not you. Not like this.”

Zoro yelled something from behind him. Chopper was sprinting over, but he already knew—this was beyond even Chopper’s miracle medicine.

You were gone.

He felt like the air had been ripped from his lungs. Something inside him cracked, splitting wide open, raw and screaming.

Luffy didn’t cry easily. Not in front of people. But now he held your body to his chest and sobbed, fingers digging into your clothes, desperate to keep you close. The crew watched in stunned silence—none of them had seen him like this. Not even when Ace died.

“I was gonna tell you something,” he mumbled into your hair. “I was gonna tell you I love you. I waited too long.”

And then— Your fingers twitched.

Luffy didn’t notice it at first. Too lost in grief.

Then your chest rose.

A breath. Shallow. Struggling.

“Chopper!” he screamed so loud his throat tore. “They’re breathing! THEY’RE BREATHING!”

Chopper nearly fell over himself trying to get to you. “What?! That’s not possible! Their pulse was gone! They weren’t breathing!”

But you were.

Your body shuddered, a broken, gasping breath rasping through your throat. Your eyes cracked open. “Lu…ffy?”

He stared at you like you were a ghost. “You—you died.”

Your lips barely moved. “I… I always come back.”

Your voice was hoarse, weak, but real. Alive.

Luffy grabbed your hand, wide-eyed and stunned. “What? What do you mean?”

Chopper was already digging through his bag, frantic. “Don’t talk! You’re still really messed up—we need to stabilize you now!”

You whimpered as Chopper pressed bandages to your side, and your entire body flinched from the pain.

Luffy leaned in close, holding your other hand, thumb brushing over your bruised knuckles. “What’s going on, (Y/N)? You died. You died. I—” His voice broke again. “I thought I lost you.”

You looked at him through half-lidded eyes, full of guilt. “I ate a Devil Fruit… years ago. Before I met you. The Fukkatsu Fukkatsu no Mi.” You coughed, blood staining your lips again. “It makes me… immortal. I can’t die. Not completely.”

“What?!” Luffy’s voice cracked like a whip.

You nodded weakly. “My body shuts down sometimes. When it’s too much. I… I die. But not forever. I always come back. But it still hurts. Everything hurts.”

Luffy looked like someone had punched him in the stomach. “You’ve been through that before?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

Chopper was still working, still trying to stop the bleeding, his hooves shaking. “Their vitals are improving. Somehow. They’ll live, but they’re going to be in pain for days.”

Luffy sat there in silence, gripping your hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world.

When Chopper finished and stepped back, Luffy shifted, pulling your battered body gently into his arms. You groaned, but you didn’t resist.

“I should’ve told you,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “You should’ve.”

You flinched. “I didn’t want you to look at me different. Or worry all the time. I just wanted to be with you.”

Luffy stared ahead, jaw tight. “I watched you die.”

“I know.”

He looked down at you, eyes wet but hard. “I don’t care if you can’t die. That doesn’t make it better. I still felt like I lost you. You were cold. You weren’t breathing.”

Your lip trembled. “I’m sorry.”

He exhaled sharply, forehead pressing against yours. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“I… can’t promise that.”

He barked out a humorless laugh, a tear slipping down his cheek. “Right. You’re impossible.”

You managed a faint smile. “You still love me?”

Luffy pulled back to look you dead in the eye, fierce and unshaken now. “Yeah. I do. I love you, (Y/N). Whether you die a hundred times or never at all. I love you.”

Your throat closed with emotion. “I love you too.”

He kissed your forehead gently, like you were made of glass. “Next time you die,” he murmured, “I’m punching you when you wake up.”

You chuckled weakly. “Deal.”

The night passed slowly. The crew settled down, the battle won but the emotional toll lingering.

Luffy didn’t leave your side.

He sat beside your cot, one hand in yours, the other resting on the hilt of his hat pulled low over his eyes. Every so often, your breath would hitch, or your fingers would twitch, and he’d sit up instantly—just to make sure.

You were alive. Not okay, not yet. But alive.

You’d told him the truth now. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

You were his. Even if death tried to take you, Luffy would always be the one to pull you back.

♡♡♡

© 2025 arixella | please do not plagiarize or translate any of my work without my consent.

[crimsoncandy04]

While fighting Scaramouche's robot, some of our clothes got ripped, and Scaramouche then did what he wanted until the reader couldn't take it anymore~

You watch as a giant metal hand suddenly comes crashing down from above and falls onto Traveler.

You scream out his name as you watch him try to get up while Scaramouche reels back to strike him again from inside the mecha bot. Yet even as you draw your blade and try to rush over to block it, you know you're already too late.

Nahida interferes. You notice a small movement from Aether's arm as if he was trying to get your attention and gesture to the small goddess. Telling you to help her instead.

You don't hesitate. Aether always had a plan. He always ended up okay.

But what about the dendro archoness?

You quickly use your electro vision and warp yourself across the floor as fast as you can. Grabbing onto Nahida and pulling her with you out of sight to safety.

However, you just barely make it.

And in the process of rescuing the goddess of wisdom, Scaramouche had slammed his enormous metal fist into the ground again and nearly smashed you flat. But instead of doing that, the oversized mech appendage had merely scraped your side and left not only your entire right arm aching, but your entire chest now completely exposed as well.

You sat Nahida on her feet as you quickly tried to gather the remaining pieces of your dress top and yank it over your shoulders to give yourself some modesty, but you didn't have time as Scaramouche swung at you both again when he heard you swear from your hiding place.

He missed again but only because this time, Nahida protected YOU instead.

She saw your distressed expression and immediately tried to use her own power to shield you but it wasn't strong enough.

Nahida is out cold much like Traveler a few meters away.

And now you kneel before The Balladeer all alone.

Injured.

And with your tits out.

Basically.

You quickly try to cover yourself with one arm instinctively as you struggle to your feet, grasping your blade as you prepare to go out with some dignity and die fighting for your friends at the very least, however instead of hitting you again or using any elemental attacks to obliterate you to pieces on the sanctuary floor, Scaramouche seems to have a different kind of death prepared for you and uses his giant metal hand to reach down and quickly snatch you up by the belt hanging from your waist.

You are hoisted hundreds of feet in the air and dangled before the face of the vile robot as the controller capsule slowly opens to reveal the face of your most likely killer. Scaramouche.

He gave you a smug and condescending look as he brought you closer to him.

"I find it rather laughable that a strong warrior like yourself is reduced to such a lowly state!"

You try to slap him with your injured hand but he just grabs you by the wrist instead.

"look at you. Exposed to your enemy like a common whore! Heh. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised though."

Scaramouche reaches with his free hand and pinches one of your nipples hard.

"This body of yours was never one of a fighter's. At least like this these exaggerated...assets of yours will be put to a much better use."

You wince as Scara continues to fondle your tits roughly.

"What the hell are you doing Balladeer!?" You sneer. This was low even for him.

He just chuckles at you.

"enjoying the rewards of a victorious battle sweetheart. You shouldn't be surprised. Everyone says you're the Traveler's woman you know? And I beat him. I'm just taking what now belongs to me."

He moves his hand from your breast to your stomach. Slowly moving down until his fingers caress against your pubic mound. You brace yourself as you feel Scara slowly dip a finger into your womanhood, followed by another. He moves slowly at first. Maintaining eye contact with you at first as he gazes down at you with a teasing look.

He knows you can't do anything to stop him.

And he's enjoying it.

"I hate you!" You hiss.

Scaramouche just grins cheekily as his fingers curl inside you and cause you to squeak a little as you quickly try to yank your hand free from him so you could silence yourself and save what dignity you had left.

"We'll see if you still feel the same way when I'm done with you angel."

Scara continues to play with your pussy as you blush and struggle to keep your lips sealed. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing you were enjoying this.

He didn't deserve it!

Yet he seemed to almost know intuitively.

"don't bother acting like you don't love this. You might as well drop this stubborn act now because the more you resist, the more pleasure I'll inflict upon you." You feel your insides tighten as he begins to rub against a sensitive spot inside of you and finally you falter.

"Please don't. This feels too good! Please this isn't fair!" You whine as he keeps up his pace and softly hums to himself as he listens to your plea.

"beg me, you filthy parasite. I want to hear you beg me to make you cum as you make a mess on my hand. Maybe after that, I'll release you."

You feel your gaze fall from his as you struggle to form words. You couldn't say such lewd things. Wasn't Aether still just below you? What if he heard you? You forced yourself to maintain your silence.

Your orgasm was hitting you seconds after that and only after finger fucking you through it completely, did Scara slip his hand away from your dripping sex and bring his fingers to his mouth as he licked them clean.

"I think I enjoy the way you taste mortal. Perhaps I'll have to break my promise and keep you after all."

You tried to retort with what energy you had left but Scaramouche was pulling you into the robot with him before you could even process what was happening.

You were slammed into the furthest glittering wall as the opening closed behind you quickly. After that you felt Scaramouche grasping your thighs as he spread your legs wide and slid in between them.

"There's something I've always wanted to try. Don't worry, I've heard human women are delicate creatures when it comes to this type of thing. I won't break you here sweetheart."

You heard the sound of fabric rustling in the darkness. Felt your skirt being lifted as he teased the tip of his cock against your slit.

Oh archons.

This was actually happening.

The Balladeer was going to fuck you.

Like actually fuck you.

You felt your breath hitch in your throat as he slowly slid his large length inside of your tight cunt.

"ah~ your cock is...scara it's too big!"

You could almost feel the shit eating grin that was on his face.

"I know angel. It's but one of the countless ways I am superior to humans. "

You feel him thrust into you then. Moving slowly at first to let you adjust as he continued to hold your legs apart.

Surprisingly enough, he knew how to move his hips. And when he picks up the pace a little, you finally lose yourself and moan softly as Scaramouche fucks into you as deeply as he can.

"You're taking me so well. I'm surprised."

He thrusts a little harder as you gasp and moan a little louder.

"Scara you're hitting against my g spot too much!" You whine cutely. He just silences you with a quick kiss. His lips trailing from your mouth to your neck. He whispers into your ear in a sultry tone.

"you seem to be enjoying it though dear. So I plan on fucking you for as long as I want." He emphasized his point with a rather rough thrust against your sweet spot. Causing you to cry out as you feel yourself reach your peak again.

Yet he just continued.

After a few hours of this you swore you were going insane. Every thrust felt like it was more intense than the last. Your used cunt made the most unholy squelching sounds as Scara continued to fuck into your oversensitive pussy like you were nothing but a mere toy for him. You had lost count of just how many orgasms he had forced out of your body and at that point you didn't really care anymore.

Was this really that bad?

Archons his cock felt better than anything you had ever imagined.

Scaramouche had used his body to pin your knees next to your head on either side as he held your hands with his. It was a rather intimate position but you didn't think too deeply about it.

Because as you felt him gently kiss your neck and continue to pound into you, you felt like you were made for this.

Was this... what it felt like to go crazy?

"Scara please...I can't take anymore ~" you moan sweetly as you struggle to get your point across.

He kisses you again before responding.

"you'll take it until I say you are finished. Now just let go sweetheart. Give yourself to me fully. Don't worry about anything but what I'm giving you." He murmured before biting into your neck and thrusting even faster into you.

You wanted to say something. But you couldn't find the strength to anymore.

Scara's cock felt so good.

You wanted him to fuck you more.

Until you went insane.

You reached up with your good hand and held onto him as you begged for another kiss pitifully.

This wasn't that bad of a fate.

Perhaps a life as the fuck pet of a false god...was truly one you had always been destined for.

He was the everlasting lord of arcane wisdom now after all. Of course he was right about something like that and he had even been generous enough to have helped you fulfill such a destiny himself too~

Why had you ever lifted a sword against such a wise and benevolent god?

At least now you were where you were always meant to be.

[youraverageaemondsimp]

〄 BORDERLINE

⤷ Aemond Targaryen x F!Reader

{ CHAPTER I ; LOST & FOUND. }

You save a man from drowning and he claims he's Prince Aemond Targaryen who you know died in 130AC, surely he's just crazy, right?

Warnings: f&b spoilers, nothing too triggering really, reader thinks he's gone bonkers, fake dates, 1024 is basically 2024 + not proof read.

masterlist ; next >>

He felt Vhagars body giving up beneath him, her poor wings too exhausted to hold up her own weight to fly anymore as they battled, her croaks as she struggled to breathe fire onto the enemy before him.

His uncle, Daemon targaryen.

Aemond is sweating, he had been waiting all his life for this moment- to fight his uncle and at last his dream came true because of the witch he had taken in.

It was an open trap.

She envisioned that he'd win the battle, that he'd be alive.

That was a lie.

“Dracarys!” Daemon yelled distantly the fire being spit out by Caraxes, Vhagar— in a final attempt at protecting her rider, shielded Aemond with her wings, but that sudden movement caused Aemond to lose hold on her reins, His body falling down from the dragon's.

He only realised the lie as he fell through the skies, piercing through the wind at an intense speed as the dragons continued to fight before him.

Nonetheless he had no other choice but to accept his death, and so he did.

The waters welcomed him as if they had been waiting for him, he felt his life slowly slip away just like his sister had predicted that he would die, he closed his eye, just accepting his own fate, hoping that at least he'd find peace in the after life, or maybe he wouldn't; maybe he'd suffer in hell, after all he hurt many innocent people.

“You were swallowed up in God's eye, never to be seen again.” Helaena's words rung through his head, voice clear as day, feeling more suffocating than the water he's drowning in.

Just as Aemond's mind was reeling through the possibility, he felt a gust of air which made him breathe on reflex as he was pulled up by someone. He opened his eye in surprise.

He was… alive?

Someone saved him? Was it Alys? Was her prophecy right?

Many questions ran through his mind as he adjusted to his vision, but it was then he realised that he didn't recognise this place. Neither did he recognize you.

“Sir! Are you okay?!” You ask in a panic at the man who almost drowned before you. You were just taking a walk nearby the lake when you saw bubbles floating up to the surface with a silhouette of a man below, you immediately jumped in; knowing how to swim and ended up saving this man's life.

You took a note of his attire, noting that it might be very old fashioned style, perhaps he liked the medieval aesthetic? His shiny locks clung onto his clothes.

He coughed, water spurting out from his mouth and nose as his body desperately tried to get rid of the liquid that he drowned in. Aemond stared at the ground in shock.

His careful eye took note of the surroundings that were around him. Tall buildings that had square openings that shone brightly, even during what was supposed to be called a nighttime.

Quite frankly, it hurt his eye, the lights blaring into his cornea. He shut in reflex, not adjusted to whatever place he was at. You watched in silence as he sat up completely. His clothes were sticking to his body in an uncomforting manner.

“Where am I?” He asks, his face and tone sharp, behavior notwithstanding someone that was just drowning mere moments ago. “Uh? We're currently at God's eye lake.” You reply, not wanting to be too judgemental.

“God's eye? Where's Harrenhal?” He asks and you laugh at the mention of that place. “You mean the old castle? Yeah that was towed down years ago, they tried reconstructing it but weird incidents occurred, now that area is nothing but a memory.” You inform him.

“This doesn't look like God's eye.” He states out loud, taking in the difference in sight, a few boats floating on top of the waters, tied to a ledge, they did not look like the wooden boats.. They seem like they were made of steel. His eye widens. “Metal floats on water now? What is this sorcery?” He exclaims.

“Sorcery? Chill out with the medieval vocabulary, my guy. Aren't you too invested in your aesthetic?” You reply, shrugging his behavior off. “You mere— peasant, I am a Targaryen prince. Dragon blood runs through my veins, how dare you speak and mock me?” He grits his teeth, his voice low and dangerous.

You blink for a few moments before bursting out in laughter. “Oh gods! You're quite hilarious for a man that was drowning mere moments ago, say you didn't damage your brain did you?” You chuckle, checking his temperature.

The air gets knocked out of your lungs when he grabs you by your throat, pushing you onto the ground as he gets on top of you. “I will have your tongue, shall you speak any further mockery.” He whispers cruelly, his grip tightening around your neck. You gasp for air as you claw at his hands trying to pry them off, but he's too strong.

Great, is this how you're going to die? By the hands of a man who seems like is homeless or on drugs whom you saved? The seven are indeed cruel.

Your cursing to the God's was probably heard when you feel the oxygen rushing back in your lungs as he removes his hand away, but still straddling you. You look at him with doubt, wondering if he'd gone insane.

“I am Prince Aemond Targaryen, what is the Lady's name?” He asks, referring to you while getting off you and you wanted to laugh once again but you decided not to.

“Prince Aemond Targaryen? Are you serious? If you're Prince Aemond Targaryen then I'm Alicent Hightower.” You roll your eyes at his words waiting for him to act embarrassed as you made fun of him, but he doesn't say anything. He squints his eye in disbelief.

“Seriously? Cosplaying a historic character is one thing but claiming you're them seems more of a mental illness.” You tell him, getting off the ground and standing before him, looking down at him from above.

You waited for him to drop the act, yet nothing came out of his mouth. “What year is this?” He asks and you blink in confusion. “Uhm 1024, why?” You reply and his mouth drops in shock.

He had been sent 894 years into the future. His heart begins to race as he takes in his surroundings once again, nothing looking the same way as it did before.

He looked at you, the one who pulled him into this world, was it magic? No, you were too much of an airhead for this to be magic. Aemond sighs.

He had nowhere to go in this world. All his family was likely dead. So he stares at you in thought, acknowledging that he probably looks like an insane person to you right now. A person from the future.

He gulps as anxiety eats away at the pit in his stomach. “You alright?” You ask, but he suddenly stands up grabbing you by your shoulders. He had only you now.

“Watch.” He tells you, one of his hands travelling to his eyepatch before pulling it off and revealing his eye. Hoping that it would convince you that he's not crazy.

“A sapphire.. in your eye like Aemond Targaryen, wow the dedication is indeed there.” You clap lightly but Aemond tuts, annoyed at your skepticism.

You couldn't help but feel a little intimidated by him, the subconscious of your mind seemed to know more than you did, for some reason, it believed him.

He didn't look like a crazy person while claiming those things, he looked you dead in the eye while claiming that he was a Prince, and Aemond Targaryen himself. So you couldn't help but wonder if it was really true.

“Can I touch your hair?” You ask, the question leaving your mouth unexpectedly and you cover your lips in shock. Fuck, you needed to hold your tongue. He tilts his head.

“Nobody except the Targaryens have platinum blonde hair, the hair colour now cannot be inherited genetically as they are long extinct. Every last one of them died. Now you can only see this hair color if you bleach your hair or wigs.. But they have weird textures so.. I need to see if you're telling the truth.” You explain yourself as fast as you can before he gets mad. He processes your words and gives you permission to touch his hair, and you touch it indeed.

Your eyes widen at the smoothness, his hair showing no signs of dye or bleach, it's way too healthy and non frizzy. Out of curiosity, you pluck one of the hair strands which makes him wince. “You wench how—” He begins to speak.

“Shh!” You shush him, holding the hair closer to your face, as you stare at the root part of the hair, platinum blonde just like the rest. Your heartbeat starts picking up its pace as you stare at the shiny hair intensely.

You turn your head to look at him, his features stoic, way too calm and collected. You ignored this before but he radiated off such a mightier energy, his posture was prim and perfect, his sapphire eye glinted and stayed snuggled up in his eye. His working eye just stared at you, the pupil shrinking and expanding, mimicking the turmoil of emotions within him.

Your gaze took in his features intently, the nose, the lips, the eyes, the face shape all were similar to the painting you had seen when you were in high school, studying history.

That's when your history teacher's lesson replayed in your memory, recalling the memory, pulling you into a flashback.

//

“Aemond Targaryen, fell into the Lake God's eye during the battle with his uncle.. His dragon, Vhagar, was found at the bottom—” You write down the notes as the teacher speaks, writing down the dates of the incident.

“However, eerily enough, his body was never found. Not at the bottom, nowhere. It was as if he just vanished. Never seen again.”

‘His body was never found.’ you scribbled.

‘As if he vanished, never seen again.’ you took out your highlighter and highlighted the point.

//

You stared at the man in front of you before you looked at the lake you guys were standing at the edge of, the water coming to your feet, pulled by the wind, towards you.

‘His body was never found.’

‘Never seen again.’

The words repeated in your mind as you look at him again.

“So you really.... are Aemond Targaryen?” You question, your body shaking with the realisation, the weight of it feeling heavy on your shoulders, you hoped it was a joke, that the man in front of you was playing a joke. But everything fell in place way too perfectly.

‘never found ; never seen again.’

“Hmm.” He hums.

[hoseoksluna]

TANGERINE | myg (m)

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x fem!reader

genre: smut, fluff — comfort

rating: 18+

summary: yoongi has figured out a way how to make your life easier.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: brief sexual intercourse — controlled riding, anxiety, crying, feelings of fear, provider!yoongi, hoseoksluna's inner child trope, smoking habits as a form of coping.

luna's note: i wasn't planning to post anything as i was just trying to stay alive this week. i tried to write something, but the words felt weird, so i thought i was to abandon writing for the week. that is, until i saw a reel of a guy, a girl and a tangerine (not spoiling it for you). so i ran to my yoongi and allowed him to make me feel better. this took two days to write, and i hope you enjoy. i love you all with all my heart. thank you for all your comforting messages. i read them everyday. mwah. luna loves you so much.

𓂃 ౨ৎ

taglist | join here: @jjk7k, @tkslovechild, @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl, @ririkookiemonster, 

@perfectiondazesworld, @https-mei, @bangtansonyeondanue, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, 

@hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk, @parkinglot-nights, @sadgirlroo

It was the color of the ripest, the sweetest tangerine that unfolded across the pendulous clouds, undulating around their soft, puffy bodies before it entered them, saturating them with its potent tint. You had just finished your cigarette on the darkened street outside of your home with your boyfriend by your side, who had dropped the last hour of his office work and came straight to you—simply because he sensed that you needed him. 

Yoongi knew by your curt, short sentences, which lacked your usual zest and life, that something was wrong. He didn’t suffocate you with useless questions about the evidence of your sadness like anyone in his place would, but instead got inside his car and sped down the road, still wearing his midnight blue military shirt and dress pants that never fit him right. You always thought that detail perfectly illustrated how he doesn’t belong there, how he shouldn’t, in fact, be there at all. 

But the office work does him good, thankfully. He gets the job done and gets to come home right after the fifth hour of the day—into the warmth between his music-strung walls. Sometimes, you wait for him there with dinner ready on the stove. Sometimes, he asks where you would rather spend your night, attuned to your moods and wishes like no one in your life is. They’re as important to him as the fact whether you’ve eaten at all, as you have the tendency to forget. Especially, when you sink inside the wooden cube of your sadness. 

He knows, intimately, the color of the wood that once used to be a tree. Spent time inside that stifling confinement with you on many, many occasions. But something about this occasion is different. 

It seems as though he’s no longer willing to dwell inside that unlit space with you. 

On his way to you, he had called your favorite restaurant and ordered you a big bowl of beef broth with hotteok on the side. It’s the reason why he didn’t come up to your apartment, but instead called you and told you to come down so that you would both wait for the food to be delivered and go back inside. You grabbed your winter jacket, with your pack of Marlboros and your white lighter in your pocket, and, slipping your feet inside your thick-soled, fluffy outside slippers, you went down to him as fast as your legs allowed you. Your muscles were weary, influenced by your mental exhaustion, and they appeared to have loosened upon the sight of him, leaned against the sleekness of his black car, still wearing his military uniform, made discreet by the largeness of his long puffer coat. 

At this point of your three-years long relationship, he doesn’t have to get out of his car, but he does—despite the fact you’d recognize his car even if your vision failed you. He does it out of his unfailing respect for you, and he had told you so, once upon a time. Guys that don’t get out of their cars for their girls are lazy and they don’t give a f—they don’t give a damn about them. 

He never liked to swear around you. Said your ears were too precious to hear something so indelicate. Your heart swelled with a wave of such premature love for him at that time. It had been just the beginning of your relationship when his honesty, which bore such colored words as these, worked into the flesh of your too wounded heart. You knew, right then and there, that he was the one for you—the one you dreamed about having, the one you searched for in your closest and in strangers alike. No one was like him and it cost you welts that he regards as birthmarks, pathways of stars on your body that he likes to kiss. Likes to take care of. Likes to caress.

Husband, he became to you. At the freshness of it all. 

His eyes were glossy as your feet took you to him. You wore your fuzzy, pastel-hued sleep pants with a few sizes too big sweatshirt of the same material that had the resiliency to protect you from winter’s cold alone. Your smoking sweatshirt, your sleep sweatshirt, too. Someone had comfort food or characters; you had a soft, teddy bear sweatshirt that you clung to. Yoongi didn’t reflect any surprise to see you dressed in this outfit. His mouth was lopsided in a firm line as he sprung from his car and swathed you in his arms, cradling your head in his hand, which he then pressed into the crook of his neck. The wind filtered through your unbrushed hair, tousled from your post-work lazing around, and his palm smoothed down those little hairs that have always managed to get on your last nerve. 

He kissed them, too. Tamed them, for the sake of your mental health. 

That hug and that gesture of his unknotted your sadness, giving them airways to breathe through. Naturally, while inhaling the briskness of the winter’s breath, you pulled away, and Yoongi knew what you needed next. He fished a pack of his Raisons and while you smiled at the little elongated, elegant cat drawn on it that resembled him more than anything, he nudged the butt of the cigarette between his lips, lighting it up for you before he placed it between yours, holding it as you took a drag. 

Your heart palpitated—as if he did it for the first time in this lifetime, but he didn’t. 

Acts of service was his love language and him lighting up a cigarette for you was one of the many ways he showed you how much he loved you. You never grew tired of it. Hell, you never got used to it. It invariably flooded your irises with a wetness of tenderness, no matter how many times a month he would do it for you. 

No one could ever love you like he loved you. 

The tangerine tinges cast a certain glow of homely familiarity as you quietly smoked your cigarette, sharing it with him every two puffs. And once he threw it out for you in the makeshift glass jar ashtray you stash in the thickness of the bushes lining the pathway to the apartment complex, the tinges darkened to the midnight blue of his shirt uniform and Yoongi took your hand and hid you away into the heated snugness of his car. 

There he began to talk. 

“Did something happen at work?” 

You could only nod. Could only scoff with hatred for the cursed building and let out an unnecessary remark that felt necessary for your heart, for your mental well-being. 

“Like always.” 

And at times like these, when you emerge from the difficulties of your workplace, he never opens the suggestion of you finding another job. Your family members and friends, they always fling it at you, not aware of the deeper difficulty that would come with your leaving. They don’t understand that you have to push through, but Yoongi does—because he has done so many, many times throughout the eleven years of his idol journey. 

You’re most thankful to him for it. 

“Why didn’t you call me on your lunch break?” he asks, taking your flaccid hand in his, warming it up with gentle squeezes on his lap. His eyes glide over the side of your face, softly demanding your response, and you blink at the sudden pressure. 

Something has changed. Something feels bigger than your vision is able to take in. 

“I—I forgot,” you say, truthfully, inhaling this severity of the shift, and you straighten your spine, prepare yourself for whatever it is. “I’m sorry. I blanked out and then I ate, and then I had to go back to work.” 

Yoongi sighs, lifting your hand to his lips. “I could’ve helped you.” He kisses your knuckles, made rough by the winter’s icy touch. “I could’ve done something that would prevent you from going home like this.” His lips pucker against your upper knuckles, and then he turns your hand and rests the side planes of his face against that little half-cocoon of your palm. “Is that not what I’m here for?” 

Guilt compresses your clavicles, traveling all the way up to your throat. As you thickly swallow, a lump forms inside that column, triggering your tears that haven’t had the chance to pour out just yet.

“I know you don’t like to talk about what happened. I respect you don’t want to relive it, I understand, but it’s my responsibility to help you,” he rasps, his tone so low and woody, mimicking the surface of your sadness and destroying it in the process, for it punctures you in your gut, buzzing your butterflies for him with vigor. “I’ve thought about this for a long time and I came to a conclusion while driving to you.” The same glossiness that you saw filling his eyes liquefies and the extent of it all breaks his voice as he continues to speak. “Do you see your future with me?” 

Something akin to a rock bashes against your heart and your stomach drops. 

The panic doesn’t settle in. Not just yet. Not until you verify that you understood the meaning of his words in the way he was trying to get them across. You need clarity before the principality of it can force your world, your life to collapse over your delicate head.

“Are you breaking up with me?” you ask, whispering—because if you use your full voice, it’ll break just like his, and you’ll break, too. 

Like the tangerine hue unfolded across the clouds, pain permeates his countenance in the same way. Wrinkles dig into his skin as his features pull in, twisting them while he comprehends your question. The breath he lets out is short, coated with a kind of heaviness that you know by heart, that you know is induced by the enemy that carries the name ‘anxiety’. 

And then his phone rings. 

Yoongi wipes off his tears, lifting his head from the premises of the warmth of your touch. Clears his throat. Presses the green button on the screen of his phone. 

“Yeoboseyo?” 

He nods his head as though the other person on the other side of the phone call could see him, hums, talks and apologizes while you stand at the edge of the earth, about to be flung out into the bottomless space by one singular, uninterrupted sentence directed towards you. 

That much power he has over you; that much he means to you. 

Yoongi ends the phone call without saying goodbye, a fatigued huff of air escaping the small hole of his mouth as he stares down the screen of his phone, contemplating something. You can’t think about what it is, you can’t pivot on your feet and run away from the cliff to help him. Not when this is a life or death situation and you can’t breathe. 

“My boss just cursed me off for leaving an hour early without excusing myself,” Yoongi explains without sparing you a glance, his eyes glued still to his phone that he soon rubs with both of his hands whilst he tries to compose himself. “I fu—I hate it here so much.” 

A stab to your gut. You relate to him, relate to him in such heavenly and beyond heavenly measures that the tears that flow out next are for him, too. But this can’t be the matter to flesh out, not right now. You murmur his name, painfully so, bring him back to the airy context of your relationship because you need to know if you still have him. 

Yoongi glances at you, at last. This thumb and forefinger are instantly drawn to your chin and he tilts your head to him, leaning over. He doesn’t kiss you on your lips. No, he kisses the glimmering traces of your tears upon your cheek, which are the only source of light upon this sphere. No sun, no moon in sight. Only your tears, only the remnants of it—the tears that are so very often internal, let out merely on the inside of your body. Never in front of him, never externally. 

His kiss is hard, demanding once again, but this time you don’t know what he’s seeking. 

“Don’t cry,” he purrs against your skin, against the shine of your tears—and because he didn’t ask about the reason behind them, you perceive what he’s truly demanding. 

Mending. 

Solace. 

Mollification. 

There, beyond those wishes, hides his regret. You feel it strongly, as if it were the veins that lined translucently your skin. He’s not the only one who’s attuned to your moods and wishes; you’re connected to him by an invisible string, which lets you in on the different hues of his heart, his emotions, his lacks and his wishes. It’s a team play that works, watering each other like that, and right now you need to overbrim with the essence of his intelligence, dominance and spoken word. 

You need the truth. 

“Are you leaving me?” you ask again, choosing alternative words with more softness, demanding his response with more power than he ever used. There’s no time to give substance to the reasons—perhaps they were already painted on the sunset you both watched together while sharing a cigarette. You simply need to be shown the roads of yes or no. 

Yoongi blinks in this proximity, his wispy eyelashes brushing against your cheeks, and he withdraws, piercing his gaze through yours in a certain pensiveness, pain and poignancy that makes this even worse. 

“I want to marry you.”

You gasp in a soft manner, which is an oxymoron to the firework that begins to pelt against your internal flesh. Your vision blurs in the speed of light, your liquid emotions pouring down and following the trails your past tears left behind without an ounce of care. Yoongi purrs as he witnesses it, his hand coming to pat down your unruly hair, giving heat to your cold fear, but the sound he makes isn’t of endearment. 

It’s one full of ache. 

“For the longest time I thought about how I could make your life easier,” he begins to explain, his thumb rooting at the apple of your cheek to collect all of your ceaseless tears. “I know you can’t quit your job right now just like I can’t quit mine so I had to think of other options.” He wipes the digit on the underside of your bottom lid, catching the blackness of your mascara. “And the only option is that I buy a house in the future, I marry you and I pay for your health insurance.” His mouth cracks into a half-smile that ripples beneath the blurriness of your vision. “You can be at home, focus on your hobbies. Maybe you can get an income from those, too. Whatever you’d like.” 

You can’t hold yourself back from hugging him, and Yoongi can’t hold himself back from manhandling you and placing you on his lap. He rubs your thighs, let your feet rest on your seat, and he goes the extra mile to take off your slippers to be even more comfortable while you cling to his neck. And the way you transform into a little girl taken care of is the ultimate ointment to your stress-induced sadness. Its airways burst into smithereens, dispersing off and away from your system, and you begin to breathe in the aroma of his car and his personal scent as a girl forever changed, forever provided for. 

He kisses your forehead, cradling your jawline. “That’s why I asked you if you see your future with me. I want to do that for you. I want to set you free from your stress and take care of you because I can.” 

You whimper against the column of his neck, your fingers sinking into the length of his hair at the nape. “Of course I see my future with you. I can’t see myself with anyone else, Yoongi. I love you; you’re too important to me.” 

The purr he emits next is different, covered with an overflowing fountain of love and pleasure for you from your words, and the sound penetrates your mind, untwisting all of those bad thoughts and pushing them away. “I love you, too. You want to marry me, baby?” 

He pulls his lips away from your forehead to look down at you, that glossiness once again overwhelming his eyes, and you nod. “I do.” 

And with those words, you perhaps did tie the knot somewhere in the spiritual realm. 

Yoongi pecks your nose. “Are you gonna let me take care of you?” 

You hesitate, shy all of a sudden, thoughts of how it’s not right, how you don’t deserve it, how it makes you less of a woman than you are resurfacing in your mind—and it is as though Yoongi can read them because he smooths out the wrinkles on your forehead with his thumb, fighting them. 

“It’s your decision, think about it,” he says, softly, sweeping the belly of that digit down the slope of your nose. “And in the meantime when it gets bad again at work, I want you to remember it. Use it to distract your mind from the stress, even if you end up declining my offer in the long run. Nothing changes, I’ll still marry you, baby.” 

The thoughts, once again, wither in the overgrown bushes of your mind, and calmness like a tide washes over your folded body on his lap. You nod, tucking that reminder into your heart to remember later in the future, and you rest your head against his chest, his heartbeat the accompaniment to your ultimate peacefulness. 

Yoongi reposes with you for just a minute. He, then, begins to rummage through his glove box and only stumbles across a small tangerine that nearly gets lost in the width of his palm. He peels it for you while you watch—and once he’s done, he takes the ring finger of your left hand and holds the body of the fruit at the long tip of your nail. 

“I, Min Yoongi, promise to take care of you until the day I die,” he proclaims and slides the tangerine down the length of your slender finger until it sits at the base like a true promise ring. 

You hiccup, overloaded with another onrush of tears, and you scramble up to kiss him. And you do—you give him so many kisses until his lips are puffy and until your moment is again interrupted by another phone call. And it’s not his boss, who’s calling him this time around. It’s the food delivery guy, with your hot beef broth and hotteok in his bag, and together you step out of the car with carmine-wash cheeks. 

Inside your apartment, Yoongi watches you eat. Sitting on the sofa beside you with his elbows propped on his knees, his blush deepens with each spoonful of soup you take to your mouth. And when you begin to share your soup with him just like you shared your cigarette with him, Yoongi is so smitten, so endeared that he can’t let out a full sentence without stuttering, without messing up so bad that he hides his face in his hands, his gummy smile prominent and lighting up the living room. 

And then you’re in bed, but the love making isn’t as quick and lust-dripping like it traditionally is. Everything about the snap of his hips into your core is slow, yet meaningful as if he was fucking his promise into you. You’re supposed to be riding him, being on top like that, however Yoongi isn’t letting you. He’s fleshing out his promise of being the provider by having your wrists in a tight grip behind your back while he pounds your future into you with hard, yet controlled thrusts that empty your brain out of every little left-over fragments of your negative thoughts and emotions. His breathing is ragged as he works so hard, breaking a sweat as he changes your life, holding you upwards by your neck, maintaining an authoritative and vigorous eye contact that throws you over the edge. 

But it’s not the edge you feared so much. 

The bottomless space is a sea of his love he’s dipped inside of, ready to catch you with his arms stretched out in your direction—and he does. Together you swim in the afterglow of your orgasms, swim out into the openness of your shared future with you as a stress-free little girl and Yoongi as the provider. 

Yoongi breaks your wooden cube as he feeds you the half-moons of the tangerine he used as a promise ring and you chew them while half-asleep on his chest—because, truth be told, you don’t need it anymore. You have his promise to envelop you from the inside, to keep you safe and to keep you feeling comforted, even when he’s away in the office and even when he’s travelling around the globe, singing for the world and for your tender heart. 

You’re his wife and he’s your husband—and the bitter spirit of life can’t touch it. 

You’re protected, and you’re taken care of. 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

BACK to masterlist

[rinhaler]

I saw that the blue lock requests are open again (maybe?)

And...I'm just going to throw this here :

Threesome between Karasu/Otoya and reader. 🙏😔

they both drive me WILD thank u very much for this one

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, dubcon (they've been clubbing so all a lil drunk!), threesome, pet names (sweetheart, doll, baby etc.), cumming untouched, throat fucking/oral sex (m!receiving), vaginal sex, slight use of a vibrator, choking, dacryphilia, noncon photo taking! — lmk if i missed any!!

words: 1.6k

“I d-don’t do this often…” you whisper, barely able to speak as two pairs of lips decorate your exposed skin in blooming blue love bites. Your skin pimples over from the chill as the air hits the licks and laves left by desperate tongues. Eyes roll pathetically until your eyes are nothing but white, your vision succumbing to the pleasure of being groped and manhandled by not one but two men. You hadn’t expected what was intended to be an innocent night out with your friends to turn into this.

“Yeah? S’that right? You've had two guys bring ya home before, sweetheart?” Karasu smirks as his hands dip to the small of your back; ultimately deciding to wander in an instant to grip the globes of your ass.

His hands have you reeling as you struggle to decide whether his touch is rough or soft. Perhaps, calculated. He strategically grabs and pulls you closer, almost hypnotising you into raising your leg to wrap around his waist so he can carry you to your bedroom.

Your apartment is silent save for breathy whispers, eager panting and footsteps as Eita searches for your bedroom. His walking halts, a grin and soft chuckle escaping his lips as Karasu gently spreads your ass whilst he holds you. Your body flushes with heat instantly as your sticky pussy following suit and spreading open soon becomes the loudest sound in the fucking apartment.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think there was an echo. The sound repeating incessantly with the sole purpose of humiliating you. It’s dizzying, really, you can barely keep your thoughts aligned as it rings through your ears again and again.

“I meant I don’t bring guys home often,” you say, finally responding to his question in a bid to distract them from the obscene lewdity dampening between your thighs. “I’ve never done this.” you assure them.

“Pretty pussy is soaked already,” Eita smirks. “Where’s your room, gorgeous?”

You point before looking away in shame, your chin soon gently captured by Karasu as he somehow manages to hold your frame with one arm and carry you to where you had pointed. He plants his lips on yours, humiliation soon becoming a distant memory as your hips instinctively roll against the hard on you can feel stirring to life in his pants.

Eita doesn’t shy away from rummaging through your bedside cabinet, distracting you away from Tabito as your attention is piqued. You yelp, quickly, as you feel yourself thrown from him and onto the bed. He eyes you hungrily as he begins to undress, purposefully taking down button after button from his dress shirt. Eita looks over his shoulder with a smirk before he faces you fully, bending down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue massages yours, and you whine into his mouth pathetically.

“Do you have anything fun we can use to play with you, doll?” he asks, attaching his lips to yours soon after. “If you don’t bring guys back here often, ‘m sure you’ve got some pretty toys.”

You shake your head softly though your skin burns again as you think about your little makeup bag in the top drawer. You’re distracted, momentarily, as Karasu climbs over you again. His pants still on, but unfastened. The peak of his underwear beneath the material makes you all too aware of the sweat beading down your temple.

“T-There’s a bullet… in the glittery silver purse in the top drawer.” you confess, wrapping you arms around Tabito’s neck as you begin to make out once more. You moan into it, it’s so whiny and eager as he begins to rut his hardening cock into your dripping clothed mound.

“Is that all? No wonder you’re so cock hungry if that’s the best you have…” Eita says calmly but retrieves it anyway. You’re barely listening to him, too lost to the feeling of Tabito’s body against your own. He breaks away to dip his fingers beneath the material of your skirt, patience wearing thin as he yanks the black cotton panties from your aroused core.

“Looka that… you’re fucking drenched, sweetheart.” he smirks. He spreads your legs apart roughly and effortlessly moves your body so that his partner in crime can get a better view of your shimmering flesh.

Eita grins as he retrieves the powder blue bullet from the top drawer. Your skin feels electric as you’re put on display, Karasu keeps your legs pried open and your cunt pulses with each breath you take. He’s a tease, too, kissing your inner thighs and taunting you with the notion of placing his lips where you need them most. It’s torture, hearing them both chuckle and tease you as your hole drools more of your tantalising essence.

You wince, but are almost entirely silent as Eita’s heavy hand wraps around your delicate neck. He squeezes, carefully, pushing a button on the vibe until it whirrs loudly. He lowers it to your sex but too far away to feel any benefit. It’s hovering just shy of your clit while he squeezes your throat almost lovingly.

The way they’re both riling you up, you think the way the vibrations adjusting the air currents may be enough to make you cum. He pushes you down by your throat so that you’re flat against the mattress, and your body instinctively begins to jerk.

“Think she’s gonna cum… we’ve barely touched ya, darlin’. Your pretty cunts twitchin’.” Karasu announces. His lips travel up your body and his teeth bite into the seam of your skimpy crop top, pulling upwards until your breasts spill free. He kisses the soft skin before his teeth gently skim your peaked nipple. And, at that, you moan raucously. Otoya still hasn’t granted you the pleasure of the vibration pressed fully against your cunt, and Karasu decides to fuel to fire. His fingers delicately dance against your inner thigh and the crease.

“Fuck!” you cry, their torment becomes too much. You cum practically untouched, your pussy spasming and clenching around nothing as you whine in ecstasy. They both laugh, almost cruelly.

“Desperate little girl… ya really are cock hungry, huh?” Karasu reiterates. “Think we should give it t’her?” you recoil as his heavy palm slaps against your tremoring heat.

“Mmm, move her, want her head hanging over the mattress.” Eita commands. You’re moved with ease, your head lolling over the side of your bed as he looks down at you. Even upside down, you can see a wicked gleam in his eye. He throws his t-shirt over his head and unfastens his jeans. Your eyes almost cross as he reveals his own hardened length.

He's pretty.

Every inch of him is pretty.

He pumps it a few times, pearlescent pre leaking from his slit before he smears it across your lips like gloss. He smirks when you lick them, a sensual bite following soon after as the taste stirs your arousal.

“Dirty girl,” he says. With one hand, he guides his cock into your mouth before wrapping his palm around your throat. He begins to thrust, finally lowering the whizzing vibrator to your pulsating clit. “Ah, fuuuck.” he moans as he feels your throat hum around him.

“Hey,” you flinch as you feel Karasu slap your tits. “Don’t forget who’s gonna cream your pretty cunt, baby.” he says smugly as he guides his thick length to your clenching slot. He throws his head back, the tightness of your warmth hugging him is a sensation close enough to paradise he’d be happy to die right here and now.

“She’s such a little slut, swear she clenched when you said you were gonna fill her up.” Eita smirks, biting his lip as he feels your throat bulge from each roll of his hips. He withdraws his length, cooing as you sputter and drool as he allows your breathing to steady.

You’re almost sobbing, tears spilling from your eyes as Tabito begins to fuck into you furiously, the little toy barely contributing to the overall pleasure you feel.

“Gonna take it, aren’tcha baby? Gonna be my li’l cum whore.” he asks, fingers gripping into your sensitive skin as he continues railing you at a ruthless pace. And you nod, desperately, it’s all you can do as the heady feeling of bliss overwhelms you.

Otoya soon deprives you of your airways again, missing the feeling of your wet throat choking him.

Your body writhes as you feel another orgasm desperate to rip through you. Otoya has abandoned the pathetic little bullet in favour of his own pleasure, it’s all he was ever concerned about anyway.

Karasu moans, almost roaring as his primal instincts take over. He chases his release, and Eita does the same. They can’t help but laugh as you are the first to succumb to it, your little body spasming between them as you get off from being nothing more than their fuck toy.

You feel warm fill you at both ends, Karasu pants heavily as he withdraws his length and watches his seed spill from your cute little hole. Otoya grins as he hears you once again sputter around his length, he pulls away and can’t help but admire your absolutely ruined face as cum dribbles from your lips. Your mascara has smeared so beautifully, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more captivating sight.

“Wasted my cum, baby… at least you look cute.”

Instinctively, he pulls out his phone to take a picture of you. Karasu follows suit, taking a multitude of photos of your leaking hole.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. They’re jus’ for us.” Karasu assures you.

Eita squeezes your cheeks until your lips pucker, they’re so swollen and shiny from spit and cum, your little pout has aided to his favourite photo of the night.

“Good job, pretty girl… not through with you though. I want a turn with your slutty little cunt.”

© 2024 rinhaler

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Biker!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

From the ask here

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: Seeing Simon on his motorcycle is something that awakens a new yearning inside you, but when you get your own bike and start riding alongside him, the way he gets you hot and bothered makes it worse. You need him to fuck you on his bike and you hope your plan will make it happen.

Word Count: 5 k

Warnings:

The first time you ever saw Simon Riley perched atop his black motorcycle, in that moment some innate part of your brain was awakened and you were never the same. There was just something so incredibly erotic about the way those thick thighs straddled over the sides, the way his arms looked with their muscles bulging, straining his black short sleeved t-shirt wrapped around them as he leaned forward to reach the handlebars. Of course his helmet with the blacked out visor didn’t hurt either, not when paired with his sleeve of tattoos. He was a vision even more than usual and you were suddenly hooked. 

Then he took you for a ride along the open highway where he could really show you the power his bike had and that solidified your need to be involved in his hobby. Adrenaline, that was and still is Simon’s favorite part of being on the open road, his bike vibrating underneath him as the wind rushed past his body, and now that you had that first taste of it all, it was yours too. 

Whatever you needed to do to keep getting to look at him like that, to keep feeling that rush, you were more than willing to do it. 

Whenever he was on leave you two found yourselves on his bike, roaming the city on long night rides just to feel the wind on your skin and the rush of speed under your bodies. That was until he made an off-handed joke one day about getting you your own bike so that you could drive alongside him and then suddenly you were expressing how much you actually had been thinking about it. Sharing his hobby with someone, especially you, was something he has always wanted. To think you could experience the same thrills had him rushing to take you bike shopping the very next day so he could start teaching you.

You picked it all up relatively fast and before you knew it you had your license and regular drives have now become a part of your routine whenever your military man is in. Getting on the highway, opening the bike up as you go faster and faster, weaving through traffic with Simon always right by your side, there is something exhilarating about it all. And now you had the best view of that gorgeous specimen of a man.

Being able to see you on your own bike makes Simon have a taste of his own medicine because fuck did you look a goddamn beauty. Is this how you feel looking at him? The way it makes your back arch, full juicy arse just calling his name, has him salivating whenever he gets to see it. And he can’t help what it causes him to do; it’s not his fault when you look the way you do. The first time he ever pulled his little stunt, a ritual of sorts that he has to engage in every time you’re out driving together, you had a hard time focusing on the road after.

Bringing his bike close beside yours, he reaches out and runs his hand over the curve of your ass, making sure that he does it long enough that the other motorists behind you both can see him claim his hot biker vixen as his. You belong to him and he wants everyone that can see to know it.

And fuck does it drive him wild and have you reeling every time.

This goes on for quite a while, and all the times he’s touched you while riding have conjured up a new fantasy of yours and you finally decide you have to do something about it. Lately you’ve been thinking: what type of partner would you be if you didn’t return the favor? Simon deserves to be just as flustered too, right? It’s not because you need him to fuck you on his bike, nope, not all. 

Is it strange? Maybe. Will he go for it? You aren’t entirely sure, but one thing you do know is that you at least have to try. And if it works out, you know he’ll enjoy it too. On one of the last few nights of his leave, you decide that you’ve got nothing to lose and put your plan into motion.

“You know, it’s been so long since you took me on a ride with you,” you put your case to him tonight. “Like we used to. Me on the back of your bike, wrapped around you tight, you speeding through the lanes with the wind rushing past us. Remember that? I used to get so excited to see you just so you’d take me out with you.”

Those hazel eyes stare back at you curiously; of course he remembers. Christ, how could he ever fucking forget? Still, it’s intriguing to him why you would be bringing this up now. “What’s got ya all nostalgic sweetheart, hmm?” he asks with a raise of his eyebrow. “Ya don’t like ridin’ beside me?”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Just thought it’d be nice to be close to you again is all, since you’ll be leaving soon,” you say as you bite your lip with a subtle coyness while you stare back at him with those tempting doe eyes that make him melt.

How can he say no to that? To his girl wanting to be near him? Absolutely fucking never.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby,” he responds as he gets up while pointing towards the bedroom, “well, go get dressed then. Can’t say no to ya when ya look at me like that.”

Simon is already sitting on the bike out front ready to go when you emerge from the front door in a short skirt, tight tank top, and leather boots and once again he is reminded just how lucky he is to be with you. This just keeps getting better and better for the ol boy. 

Climbing on the back and securing yourself around him, helmets on and visors down, Simon takes off into the night. He can feel the pressure from your hands wrapped tightly around his waist, pressing into his abs as you hold on, the warmth of your chest against his back, your thighs saddled up against his, and he wonders why you both don’t do this more often. 

The lights of the city sparkle around you, cutting through the evening like stars to illuminate your way as Simon drifts through the streets, making his way to the highway like he always does. Your heart is beginning to beat faster as you wait for the opportune moment to implement your plan and you silently hope that it works. 

On the highway, weaving in and out of traffic, Simon detects the first signs of something happening behind him. The movement is subtle at first and he almost misses that both hands aren’t pinned against his stomach anymore until he detects the warmth from your palm as it comes to rest on top of his thigh. He looks down through the visor of his helmet to where your hand lays as he wonders curiously to himself about the intentions of your actions.

Just what the hell is she up to? he thinks to himself as he turns his attention back onto the darkened road studded with streetlights.

The answer is quickly approaching as he feels your hand on the move again, now inching towards the middle of his broad thighs, moving and stopping, moving and stopping, to the crotch of his jeans and suddenly he understands just as you make first contact with the mass contained inside. 

A shiver runs up Simon’s spine and you can feel his back shudder against your chest as you start to rub over the swell, your touches heavy and full of purpose. Over and over again your palm makes purchase with his crotch and you can feel the muscles in his back tense. A part of him wants to pull your hand off so that can refocus, but it feels too damn good to get you to quit. Fuck, the pressure from your hand and the vibration from the bike has him so hard he can barely see straight. 

He needs to find some place to stop and fast; if he’s going to come in something it is not going to be his pants, it’s going to be you. 

Up ahead he sees an exit fast approaching and he quickly transfers over to the lane and takes it, not having a plan, but hopeful that he will be able to find something satisfactory enough. Brown eyes dart from one side of the street to the other frantically searching for something, anything so that he can pull off. The sign for a large parking garage is illuminated just up ahead; it’ll have to do. He won’t be able to focus for much longer; the pressure of your hand rubbing against his cock mixed with the vibrations from the bike leaves him gnawing at the bit with a need that he desperately has to satisfy. It wouldn’t be safe to keep going, not with the way his limbs are starting to tingle.

Simon drives through the first couple of levels and is glad to see it relatively empty save for a few straggling cars spaced far apart. Perfect, that means no one will be around to disturb him until he has had his way with you. He continues on a couple of levels that are completely empty as he puts you both more in the middle of the structure just to be sure you will be all alone until finally he drives to the back of the garage and pulls into the shadow, parking the bike and shutting it off. 

“Hop off,” he says and you immediately do as you're told, taking off your helmet and straightening your skirt as you make it to your feet.

You stand there close to his thigh as he removes his helmet and sets it on the ground on the other side of the bike, running his fingers through his short hair to fluff it up from being crushed underneath. As he sits back up his tattooed arm quickly reaches out behind your head where he grabs your hair into a ponytail in his fist, keeping your head locked while his opposite hand palms around your waist as he leans in with a smirk across his lips and a glimmer in those coffee-colored eyes. 

“Whatcha think you’re doin’, sweetheart? Playin’ games, hmm?” he asks as he stares back into your face.

“I don’t know,” you say with a shrug, your tone playful and coy. You know damn well what you are doing and he isn’t dumb enough to think you don’t.

He glares back at you skeptically. “Right.”

“What?” you dismiss him. “I thought you didn’t mind a bit of touching when we ride? Always grabbing me; thought you’d enjoy a bit of fun.” 

There it is; this is payback for all the times he’s made his move while you were out cruising together. And fuck, has it worked to perfection.

Simon rips his hand from your waist and wraps it around your wrist so that he can pull your hand forward and place it right up against the stiffening peak straining against the zipper of his form fitting jeans.

“So this is whatcha fuckin’ wanted, yeah?” he asks, breathiness in his gruff tone as your hand makes contact with the rigid bulge. “Gettin’ me so fuckin’ hard I can’t even be bothered ta wait till we get back home ta fuck ya?” 

Can’t wait? Is he saying what you think he’s saying? God, you hope so. “What do you mean?” you ask, faking your ignorance as you rub your palm over the swell while maintaining eye contact. “We aren’t going home?”

A deep hum echoes through the atmosphere as he bites his bottom lip; you’ve started something that can’t be stopped now and the way your hand continues to stimulate him, he doesn’t think you want it to anyway. “No,” he says with a shake of his head, “ya wanted to start all this on my bike, that’s fine. Guess I deserve it. But now…I’m gonna make damn sure I finish ya on it.”

As you stand there silently waiting to see what he does next, Simon shifts back in the seat and helps you climb back onto the bike, but facing him so that he can lay you over the fuel tank. He plants his feet firmly onto the ground to keep the setup steady and pulls your body down, those rough hands pushing your skirt up off your hips to your waist as he forces your legs open wider so he can get himself between them. 

Thank God you’ve worn something easy to get into. Or was that your plan all along? Doesn’t really matter much now; he’s in.

Simon looks down and his eyes catch sight of a dark spot in the crotch of your panties. He presses his hand up against the mound of your cunt and the pressure makes you twitch, your back arching up off the tank as he feels what he had just suspected: you’re a little damp.

“Seems someone’s already stirred up,” he comments as his hand releases the pressure only to press in tight all over again in a pattern that matches his increasing heart rate. “Ya like it, don’t ya baby? The way tha bike vibrates ‘tween your legs? Like the way it hums against ya ‘till your clit is swollen?”

Simon’s hard-on throbs harshly against the zipper of his pants and into your naked thigh, tenting the fabric while he grinds it into the muscle as you wrap your legs around his hips; you have to hold on as you can’t stop the way your body jerks the longer his touch prods against those sensitive lips. Just the pressure alone after the drive is enough to make you whimper inside your closed mouth.

“Have ya been thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’ like this? Me fuckin’ ya raw while you’re on this thing?”

Releasing his hand, he walks those long fingers over the top of your clothed pussy to the waistband of your panties so that he can slip them inside and back down to the moist slit waiting eagerly for their touch and there it is, the unmistakable sound of his breath hitching as his hand makes contact. God, you always feel so fucking good. 

He uses his two middle fingers to part the lips of your slit and run them along the length to gather all the wetness he can on his digits so that once he finds your entrance he can easily slip up inside while the tip of his thumb nestles against your clit. You’re very warm, nice and hot and soft against his fingertips and a pleasurable hum he gives in response to the feeling.

“Ya know, I know why ya started ridin’ with me,” he says as you squirm. “I could see it in your eyes the second I pulled in to pick ya up that first time: ya like the way I look on my bike. Don’t ya?”

Your silence is met with a heavy jab with the pad of his thumb to that sensitive little button, holding it down until you are forced to answer as he thrusts his fingers inside you up to the knuckle. Your body takes them in perfectly, gripping tight around the digits as you suck him in. 

“Yes,” you say in a whine and buck as his stocky fingers give you a nice starting stretch. “You 

look so f-fucking hot on this thing that sometimes I d-don’t know what to do with myself. That’s w-why I n-need…”

“What do ya need, sweetheart?” he groans as he curls his rough fingers up against your G-spot as his thumb begins to stroke concise circles upon your clit. “Use your words.”

You swallow hard while breathing heavily out of your nose as you clamp your lips shut to stop from audibly crying out in ecstasy at that first contact he makes. “Ah, ah, ah,” he scolds as he pins his thumb down hard again. “Let me fuckin’ hear ya. Ain’t no one here ‘cept us.”

A desperate moan escapes your lips and echoes through the empty space as you let it all out. “I need you to f-fuck me on y-your b-bike,” you say as you vibrate under his skilled touch. “B-been daydreaming about it for a while. Didn’t know if you’d want to, but I’m desperate.”

Using a flick of his wrist, he begins to snap his fingers up into you faster and faster, those fingers vigorously working your cunt until your juices are starting to dribble down to collect on his palm and the sound of wet slaps reverberate off the concrete. 

“All ya had ta fuckin’ do was ask,” he says. “Ya know I’d do anythin’ for ya, luv; my pretty girl always gets what she wants.”

You look so beautiful sprawled over his bike like this, disheveled skirt shoved up to your ribs, his hand plunged into the front of your panties so that they are stretched tight around your hips ready to rip, back arching as he again strikes right at the exact point of pleasure, tiny beads of sweat sparkling over the exposed parts of your flesh as you burn for him in the warm night air. It’s an image he’s gonna have committed to memory; every time he rides now he will remember the gorgeous mess he made of you.

If he thought he liked his bike before, it is nothing compared to how he will feel after fucking you on it.

Minute after minute each stroke draws you near that razor’s edge and threatens to violently throw you off. Your walls are fluttering around his fingers as they swell and become engorged the closer you get. Simon knows that it won’t be long now and his pulse races to feel it, that moment you come. But not like this, oh no.

He has still been chomping at the bit to relieve the pressure throbbing between his legs and now that he is sure you are ready for it, he isn’t going to waste time. You’re still in public after all, he doesn’t need this to end before you’ve both gotten off. Amidst your whimpered protests to keep going, that you are almost there, he pulls his fingers out of you with a squelch, your lubrication dripping along his fingers and glistening in the harsh lighting inside the garage. 

You lean your head up as Simon pulls his fingers apart to watch the sticky fluid string between them before he brings them to his mouth and rams them into his lips to lick them clean, taking care of the mess he’s created from his touch. Just a taste to sait him, as if his face isn’t going to be plastered between those thighs later as he replays the memory of what happened here.

The sight of him sucking the lubrication off his fingers has you gasping for air. How can someone look so perfect doing something so filthy? You need him, bad. “Please,” you beg with a needy whine in your voice, “I want you inside me.”

Those words are like striking a match near a gas leak; suddenly he is scrambling to move as fast as possible.  Feverish hands are clawing at clothing at breakneck speeds as his flesh begs to connect with yours and complete this union. “Ya can shoot me dead if I ever say no to that,” he growls as he moves. 

Time is of the essence and so he quickly rips the soaked crotch of your panties to the side, securing them against your thigh and out of his way as his free hand ruthlessly yanks at the button on his pants to get it undone before he wrenches down the zipper and releases his cock that is throbbing and aching with his rapid heartbeat. 

“Gotta make this quick, yeah?” he groans as the caress from his hand over the tip is almost too sensitive to handle. He’s falling fast. “Don’t want no one seein’ ya like this ‘cept me.”

Leaning down, he places a brief, heated kiss with his warm lips to the exposed skin near your belly button before he has you sitting up so that he can get at those lips he yearns to feel against him as he enters you. The threads of your panties are beginning to snap as he holds the fabric out of his way so he can move his hips in as he aligns the head of his cock with that dripping, aching hole. 

Eyes closed and acting off of pure impulse and adrenaline alone, he mutters a rushed “Breathe” into your open mouth as a warning while his fingertips dig into the meat of your hips. The tip prods the opening before it pushes through and slides up inside, the rest following behind in one steady, fluid motion until he reaches the base and there is no more to shove inside you.

Simon shudders at the overwhelming euphoria hitting him all at once and now he’s burning from the inside out, his bulky chest taut with each heavy breath that he releases between kisses as the feeling of you wrapped tightly around his phallus drowns out everything else that surrounds him. 

You throw your head back, breaking the kiss to cry out as you are filled to the brim, being stretched to capacity with all he has to give. His hand grabs at the back of your head so that his lips can shoot back to yours as a tether to help you calm until your body can be allowed a little time to adjust; he’s not exactly small by any means of the word. 

It’s a few seconds before he releases your mouth as he starts to thrust, trying to go slow at first even though he is eager for more. Hips rolling at a steady pace now he pulls back to watch himself pump in and out of you. “Look,” he says in a breathless growl as the hand on the back of your head directs your eyeline down in between your bodies. “This what ya been fuckin’ fantasizin’ ‘bout? I think it looks even prettier on my bike.”

The way his swollen, veiny cock disappears as it slides up into you is mesmerizing. You can feel it but still seeing it has you questioning…where does it all fit? 

He keeps you close as he picks up the pace until the sound of slapping skin against skin fills the silent space. Panting into your face with mouth open, chest heaving up and down with laborious breaths, Simon puts more into his thrusts so that even the bike itself begins to rock with you from the force. The longer he goes the more feral he gets, relinquishing any hold he had on his sanity for as long as he gets to have his body stay fitting so nicely into your cunt.

It’s building, the warmth in the pit of your stomach is gathering steadily as the epinephrine releases all those euphoric chemicals into your bloodstream. The risky nature of your endeavor, the stimulation he’s already produced with his fingers, the fulfilling of your fantasy, it all works together to fuel your passion and his strong thrusts have you ready to spill over the edge at any second.

Simon keeps his pace even as he is now struggling to keep it together. The excitement has gotten to him too so that if he lets himself lose control he is going to come and he can’t have that, not until you have. With each passing second, each pound of that deadly appendage inside you gets more and more desperate, until he finally hears those sweet, sweet words that make his heart skip a beat.

“Don’t stop, baby,” you beg, your voice cracking with desperation as you try to keep your volume at a reasonable level while he slams into you again. “So c-close…”

“Come for me, baby, that’s it,” he coaxes desperately through gritted teeth as he strains to hold on a little longer. Just a little bit more and you’ll finish and he can let go.  

That’s when an idea is thrust into his brain and he knows what he needs to do to bring this full fucking circle for the both of you; complete the fantasy and give you even more to dream about for later. Simon moves over top of you to force you back until you find yourself against the fuel tank again.

Reaching above your head, he cranks the key and restarts the engine. The motorcycle roars to life, filling the garage with its sound, and begins to vibrate until it is pulsating through his body as he thrusts into you harder and harder. It’s like having your own living dildo that only intensifies the stimulation the longer he plunges into your dripping hole; a few more seconds of this and you will be coming on his cock.

And then he revvs the engine…  

The stimulation is too much and suddenly you are forcibly thrown over that precipice as you come with such force, like a hot flash of white light, that your thighs clamp down around his hips as your head falls back. You cry out in choking gasps as your orgasm tears through you; so strong that you are shaking. Your walls are fluttering sporadically around his cock as your hips buck against him unrelentingly and he can’t hold back any longer. 

“Where do ya want me?” he pleads as his fingertips claw at your hips, stabbing harshly into the muscle as he holds on for you to answer; he is about to blow.

“In me, in me,” you whine as you clamp your legs down hard to keep him in. What else were you on birth control for other than this? 

He jerks violently as your pussy continues to flutter around him, making his limbs numb from the pleasure, and with a loud groan that is akin to the bellow of a wild beast, the pressure building at the base of his spine finally reaching its peak and he falls over the edge as he lets it go. His hips never stop, slamming into you as the thick, warm fluid coats the inside of your pussy.

“Fuckin’ hell, luv,” he repeats as he shuts off the engine while he milks himself dry, his thrusts slowing down after a few seconds until they stop all together and he stays with his cock still buried inside you to let your body finish off the rest.

An unknown amount of time passes as your unsteady breathing slowly returns to a more tolerable rhythm, all the while Simon just sits there admiring the products of his labor: the beautiful flush in your cheeks and the contented, glazed look in your eyes, until he can find his voice again once his heartbeat has settled.

“Ya know, I’ve gotten plenty a compliments about my bike, but I gotta say that you’re the prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever rode, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls you in by the back of your head to press another breathless kiss onto your lips.

It is torture having to pull out of you, but even he isn’t delusional enough anymore to think that you can just stay like this for much longer. You’ll have to go soon and he needs to help you to redress as your legs are shaking uncontrollably. There’s no way in hell someone hasn’t heard the noise you’d been making.

“Was it everythin’ ya hoped?” he asks with a contented smile as he carefully moves you off the bike to your feet so that he can readjust your panties and pull down your skirt back around your hips.

You match his expression through the hazy afterglow of your ecstasy as he finishes you up and gets himself situated. A pretty sizable wet stain darkens the middle of his jeans, but he doesn’t pay it any mind; a risk of a good fucking time, that’s all.

“Better,” you murmur, satisfied.

Bringing his hand up he cups it against your cheek a second before he combs his fingers through your hair until he reaches the back of your head where he holds them wrapped in the strands. There’s one final thing he has to do before you get going and that is to give you one last kiss as praise for doing so well for him. With how strung out you still are from your orgasm, the gentleness of it makes your knees weak.

“Now how ‘bout we get back so we can go for round two?” he smirks against your mouth as he pulls away. “We can pretend I’m your bike and ya can show me how well I taught ya to ride.”

He gets you situated on the back of the bike, helmets and all, and restarts the engine. It bursts to life and that familiar vibration makes you squeeze your thighs together all over again. Simon smirks to himself before he turns to you with the visor still pulled up. He opens yours and leans in. “Keep your thighs tight. I want ya ta keep all that inside til we get back. I got plans to watch it leak out; I think I’ve earned it.”

With a mischievous chuckle, he closes your visor and his and takes off back out of the garage and into the cool night air. Good thing it isn’t far back to the house from here…if Simon doesn’t plan to take a detour first.

[galene-gothic]

𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗀𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗌

ˏˋ༻ʚ♡︎ɞ༺ˎˊ˗            PAID SERVICES PATREON

SUMMER SALE ˖ TIP JAR

⊹ ! ೀ Pile 1 ꒱

You have dealt with situations not turning out the way you wanted them to despite heavily investing into them. These situations in fact, made you feel very naive and taken advantage of. Ugh I just heard “a woman’s loyalty is tested when the man has nothing and a man’s loyalty is tested when he has everything.” I also suddenly got a vision of a TikTok that I saw a while ago. The man in the video was saying that if a woman stays with him at the lowest point of his life, he’d leave her when he gets to a high point because she clearly doesn’t respect herself 💀. It doesn’t necessarily have to do with a man or boy but it could have been a similar situation. You invested a lot into someone or possibly even multiple people and you were incredibly generous. The value was being provided only one way i.e. only you were the one bringing ANYTHING into the connection but you were the one being treated as though you didn’t have any value, as though you didn’t bring anything valuable into the connection or this person’s life. It definitely could have been an experience with multiple people for some of you. I was earlier hearing ‘without me’ by Halsey in my head and now I’m hearing that song, I’m not sure about the title I’ve only heard it through reels and TikTok. It goes something like “It’s not your fault I ruin everything and it’s not your fault I can’t be what you need.” This is honestly very sad, this person or people used to rely on you when they were sad but when they were enjoying life and had happy moments, they didn’t really share those with you, they didn’t spend those with you. It’s like when they experienced really good and happy moments, they just disappeared, and despite everything that you were offering them, they wanted a ‘happily ever after’ with other people. They used to take what you had to offer and use your resources to their benefit but they didn’t want you, they didn’t offer you anything of value, they didn’t even truly appreciate your value and only used it.

There definitely was this feeling of insecurity because why didn’t they see your value and treat it as such despite you doing, and offering so much? It was just a really bad investment on your part because all you were doing was wasting your time and energy by depleting your time, energy, and resources on an ungrateful person. I really wanted to use the b-word just now but I stopped myself. I’m feeling angry on your behalf here. You did everything with a very pure and affectionate heart. When you were doing and giving anything at all, you were being genuine with it. It was a very innocent kind of love that you were extending yourself with. You were sensitive to their needs and almost psychically picked up on things in regard to them, and even if you didn’t, you actively tried to because that’s just how pure hearted you were and their stinginess… gosh. They didn’t even try to invest in you at all, did they? You seem to have questioned your value and worth back then. Due to how you were investing into the connection with a sense of innocence, you were wounded like a child is. Let me explain it to you, kids have not seen enough of the world so when they get scolded or punished by their parents, it’s easy for them to question themself and believe that they must’ve done something wrong. They also forgive the trespassers again and again because that’s just how pure kids tend to be but whatever kids experience during their childhood sticks with them on a very deep level and is inevitably going to affect them as adults. You experienced a similar experience back then. It hit your inner child quite heavily. “How long could we be a sad song, till we were too far gone to bring back to life. I gave you all my best me’s, my endless empathy and all I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier. Fighting in only your army, front lines don’t you ignore me. I’m the best thing in this party. You’re losing me and I wouldn’t marry me either, a pathological people pleaser who only wanted you to see her.”

That’s ‘you’re losing me’ by Taylor Swift. I keep on hearing the part that goes “my heart won’t start anymore, my heart won’t start anymore.” I feel like you genuinely cannot bring yourself to feel anything for this person or these people anymore because when you were, they were abusing it. While I was writing ‘abusing’, I mistakenly typed ‘anus’ and that describes them pretty well :D. Despite having experienced all of this, you haven’t hardened. In fact, you’ve softened more. The more pain that you had to experience, undergo and heal from, the more pure hearted, innocent, loving and childlike you’ve gotten. Somehow, your inner child has healed and feels more comfortable expressing themself after everything you’ve experienced. There’s also an acceptance of your own contradictions here. You’re quite misunderstood and have always been. I just heard “I was a mature child so now I’m a childish woman.” You’ve always been mature yet childish. Some of you are incredibly mature on the inside but might be very childlike in the way you live and express yourself externally while it may be the other way around for the rest of you. Also, you have likely embodied both of these sides at different points of your life. There could have been a point when you wanted people to take you seriously because you were very mature on the inside and another point when you wished you could express yourself in a lighter, softer, and more playful manner because you were very sensitive and soft on the inside but on the inside, you ended up expressing yourself as more serious. Having embodied both of these, you are aware that others will criticise and misunderstand you either way, and that you won’t be happy with yourself either if you don’t accept your own contradictions and aren’t comfortable with being misunderstood so now, you don’t really care about whether someone misunderstands you.

“Sometimes I can’t even understand those perceptions, it feels unfair at times but the misunderstandings that make up the countless versions of me. All of them are ‘me’ in the end.” I feel like most of you are perceived as childish and are in fact very pure at heart but having been taken advantage of has caused you to develop a cautious approach and not commit to situations recklessly, and that’s a strength of yours. You also do not really give too much importance to a happy ending anymore. You don’t seek belonging and joy from others anymore, and are fine keeping to yourself and are very careful with the situations, and people that you invest in. The thing is, you’re not exactly closed off. You’re still open, pure hearted, loving and affectionate but it’s just that you’re finally more impatient. You can now leave situations as easily as you entered them if the other person doesn’t seem as invested. You know that you deserve a pure, loving and affectionate connection that is innocent, playful and genuine where you’re always chosen, and can always choose them and share a lot of intimacy with the other person - friend, lover, whatever. So when you don’t see things going to that direction, you don’t mind putting an end to things. You’re not willing to settle for anything except the most genuine and pure form of love, and connection because you know that you can provide it. You want to be treated as softly as you treat people and have them stick with you through thick, and thin with proper investment and to adore you, and value you affectionately and genuinely. You are unwilling to accept anything less than that. Having experienced whatever you experienced, you’re aware that you have a lot to offer but that giving more does not equal to receiving more so you don’t try as hard anymore. You’re still the same, you still try to extend yourself generously and provide value to the other person wholeheartedly but even now, you notice one sidedness, and it doesn’t bother you because you choose to either leave entirely and not invest any further or just pull away, and are not committed to trying and investing anymore. You are fine with getting away from people now.

You are alright with people not seeing your value and missing the opportunity to be in your close circle. You just don’t invest heavily into situations for a long time anymore. You try initially because you’re naturally a giver and are incredibly generous but when you feel like you’re not receiving the same, you don’t even question your worth or think about “why?”, you just let them. Also, this generosity of yours is not a method of finding belonging. It kind of is but it is more about how you feel about yourself rather than how others see you. You want to be kind and generous because you just naturally are a giver, and you find a sense of comfort in how much you do for the world, how much value you provide and how much good you put out into the world even if you don’t have anywhere you find belonging, and joy, even if you don’t have those personal connections. Instead of chasing a ‘happily ever after’ and joy, and fulfilment through external sources and connections, you chase purity of spirit, genuineness and generosity. There’s this mantra coming through but I’m not sure how it will resonate. The following includes mention of the hindu god ‘Shiva’ but even if you’re christian or muslim, or any other religion. I need you to take the message and try to interpret it rather than shunning it completely just because you don’t believe in the god or religion. Let me give you a little piece of advice before we move onto the mantra, if you find anything from other religions or concepts that you don’t follow, believe in or understand but it’s something that resonates with you, could help you going forward and just help you lead a better life, take it. The mantra goes “om tryambakam yajaamahe, sugandhim pushti vardhanam, urvaarukamiva bandhanam, mrityur mukshiya mamritaat.” It translates to “om, we worship the three eyed one (lord shiva), who is fragrant, increasing the nourishment (spiritually). From these many bondages (of samsara aka worldly cycles) similar to cucumbers (tied to their creepers). May I be liberated from death (attachment to perishable things), so that I’m not separated from the perception of immortality.”

I feel like many of you have already reached a point in which you understand that attachments are illusionary. If you haven’t yet, you will. You care about your soul and the truth of it - the purity, essence and nourishment of it more than you care about worldly cycles, and things that are perishable i.e. attachments which is why when you aren’t receiving love, don’t have personal connections or are misunderstood, even if it bothers you, it doesn’t. Your soul is whole and immortal, and so is love and joy, and it’s also ever present as long as one can maintain their soul and its true essence so you are just focused on that. Religions and spirituality both put an emphasis on love, and purity and I don’t mean purity as in not being allowed to enter temples during your periods, etc. but instead that they put an emphasis on remaining loving, always leading with love and keeping the heart as light as a feather. You are doing that and you’re spiritually aligned. Obviously with the hurt that you’ve faced, you sometimes may feel heavy or have felt heavy in the past but you have a loving spirit that is still pure at its core and you maintain it with utmost reverence, and that’s your strength. I was earlier getting the quote “do you know how much anger it took to be this gentle?” And now, I’m getting the bridge of ‘solo’ by Jennie coming through. “After the relationship, romance and emotions there’s breakup, tears, regret, and longing. I like being alone because I should be true to myself. Like the flowing wind, like the stars above the clouds. I want to go faraway, I want to shine brightly.” That’s the energy that you seem to possess, you know what you offer and deserve now, and you let go of any attachments that make you feel less than. If you aren’t here yet, you can be. All the best 💞. You’re doing really well. When it comes to your wounds, you are a stubborn one. You’re really persistent and determined to make things work, and are so busy doing so that you don’t notice when the other person has already given up.

You put in work diligently from the start to the end with consistency which is why it hurts more when they give up because you put so much effort into it. You also have long term intentions or even if you don’t, you put in work as though you do because you naturally are long term oriented and you maintain loyalty consistently without a single slip on your part so when the other person gives up, you feel really betrayed and hurt. Lifelong connections are beautiful because they require work and both parties not wanting to give up. You are willing to make things work by putting your all into whatever it is that you want to succeed because of your long term oriented approach. You don’t just give up without trying, you don’t give up without a fight, you can’t because you just value it so much and want it in the long run so the awareness that when someone wants something in the long run, wants someone on the long run, they won’t just run away when things get hard and they have to put effort in is something that wounds you because people have been too easy to give up in the past. You seem to have dealt with a lack of loyalty from others too and what is upsetting is that you were loyal to them. What seems to have happened is that you met someone (possibly even multiple people for some of you) when they were going through a time of discontentment, stagnation, apathy, isolation, boredom, yearning, etc. and you were present for them consistently but when they got better, they left you behind while you were still putting in work and trying, and they didn’t explicitly tell you that they had given up right away. You fell victim to the classic method of being wounded until you couldn’t try anymore. The wounds could have come from their carelessness, negligence, lack of gratitude or acknowledgement of all that you had done and been for them, or well all of the above.

In fact, for some of you, they could have been wounding you actively by treating you as if you were a burden and talking to you in ways that scarred you. In many cases, it could have been both. Whether their approach was passive, active or both, it was equally bad and you didn’t deserve that. You simply just knew that love and connections were hard work, and were willing to put that in. You knew that things aren’t always easy but you still tried until you absolutely couldn’t anymore. Once you finally gave up, you had to consistently put in work into your own betterment in order to heal the wounds that were inflicted on you back then. You’re showing strength even when I’m trying to tap more into your wounds. Despite how wounded you were, you persisted with courage. You learned from your previous failure and wounds, and endured the pain and managed to get better eventually. I feel like at some point, you tried to maintain strong routines in order to get better and it worked wonders for you. You gained clarity on your past, present and future as well as a desire to be present, pleasant and proud. One thing is for sure, you started wanting to focus on the present moment and make the most out of it. You released your emotions and saw where change was needed, and created those changes. You left the past behind you and grew emotionally to the point of feeling almost enlightened. Now, you’re self aware, focused, content, grateful for what you already have, try to be present, accept yourself and situations as they are, and know your responsibilities and try to carry them out properly. Also, you reflect to learn but try to be and are present. The journey to get here wasn’t an easy one, the path was really rocky and rough with twists, and turns but you still made it. Pat yourself on the back, you’re doing so well. Thank you so much for reading. I hope that the reading resonated and that it provided you with the answers, and guidance that you wanted and needed. Much love and take care 💋.

⊹ ! ೀ Pile 2 ꒱

Your strength is that you’re a protector and provider, and your wound is that people either don’t see it, take it for granted or are intimidated by it. Also, a very interesting thing that was happening when I was shuffling for you was that I wanted to channel ‘strengths and wounds’ but I kept on messing up and saying ‘strengths and weaknesses’. I feel like it was because your wounds have caused you to feel really weak or have created a weakness within you in some way. Don’t worry, we’ll look into it properly so that you can heal these parts of you and reclaim your power. I just heard that audio “they gonna hate me regardless, that’s why I do what I do.” Also, you’re more of a man than most men are 😭. You’re naturally a protector and provider, and I’m picking up on a lot of passion from you including an emphasis on sexual intimacy. Currently if you’re single, this can simply manifest as feeling horny frequently or/and masturbating a lot (or well just craving that orgasm even if you’re unable to touch yourself) but you’re definitely very passionate in romantic relationships, likely physically affectionate in other ways outside of sexual intimacy as well. You’re friendly and charismatic, and approach others with a fairly soft yet a bold and almost flirty demeanour. I feel like you’re this way with your same sex friends more than anyone else. You have a strong aura and it is because you possess a lot of integrity. ‘Substance over form’ is the kind of person that you are and that’s your strength. You’re really solid on the inside possessing courage, generosity, principles, ethics, a sense of responsibility, maturity, passion, loyalty, so on and so forth. You have turned out to be a strong person with a well rounded and strongly grounded character despite everything that you’ve undergone instead of letting it turn you bitter, and resentful. I’m hearing ‘easy on me’ by Adele. “Go easy on me baby, I was still a child didn’t get the chance to feel the world around me. I had no time to choose what I chose to do. So go easy on me.”

“There ain’t no room for things to change when we are both so deeply stuck in our ways, you can’t deny how hard I’ve tried. I changed who I was to put you both first but now I give up.” Some of you could have childhood trauma - endless sacrifice for your parents while some of you didn’t have parents and did everything to please your guardian(s), and the rest of you dealt with bullying or aggression from others and the ones who don’t relate to any of the above could have lost someone (possibly multiple people) and they could have been acting very egotistically, making you feel weak but it was not exactly your loss even if it may have felt like it at the time. Some of you may have hit the lottery and dealt with all of the above 😍. You could have also lost someone who you sacrificed a lot for. I just got the word ‘everyone’ and earlier at the beginning of the reading I had received the word ‘burnt’. Did you at some point feel like you lost everything and were burnt by everyone? You may have also felt as though you sacrificed a lot, too much of yourself for others in the past. “So you can love me, hate me, you will never be, never be, never be me. Try me, I’ll break free, you will never be, never be, never be me.” The song is literally titled ‘rebel heart’, I feel like back then despite any feeling of weakness and despite surrendering for the sake of peace, and feeling as though you lost, you knew that you hadn’t. You were rebelling from within and not egoistically but by channelling all your inner strength. You’re really confident in yourself now. I’m trying to dig up your past but you’re showing me how great you are in the present. You know that no one can ever be you. “I’ve tasted being the bigger person, I’ve also tasted matching energy. I recommend no contact.” You value your peace more than anything. You are ethical, reliable, long term oriented and seek excitement, and passion in long term matters rather than by seeking fleeting thrill. In fact, the more safe, stable and grounded a connection is, the more passion, excitement and joy you experience.

You do not feel any desire to wander or be unfaithful, your passion is reserved for just your significant other and your significant only. Like, you don’t even get tempted 💀. For example, if you’ve been in a relationship with someone for years, you’d rather try to experience new sorts of passion and excitement with them rather than get connected with someone new, and ruin something beautiful that you already have going and even if that’s not possible in grand ways just the fact that they’re loyal, and that you share a stable, safe and grounded connection is enough for you to be able to find passion, joy and excitement in the littlest of moments. You don’t get tempted or attracted to others. Also, you watch your character because of who you are as a person and who you want to be rather than to impress anyone. You may be someone who tries to avoid wandering eyes even when you’re single and just really try to watch your character in every way that you can because you are, and want to be a certain way. You’re a really well rounded person - you seek peaceful resolution and if you don’t find that, you seek peace even if it is by yourself, you don’t mind compromising, and have in fact, sacrificed majorly in the past. You know how to make amends with situations by now and you also have a side within you that’s like “I am me, you are you. If you do me dirty, fuck you” but your ethical peace seeking side overrides this. You’re loyal and try to maintain a strong character for yourself rather than for impressions, and are passionate as well. Also, you’re very romantic and care deeply, and genuinely about your partner. You want teeth rottingly sweet romance i.e. the shoulder kisses, climbing up the fences to get into some forbidden property, candlelight dinner, watching fireworks together and you going “so pretty” while looking at the different designs in the sky while they look at you and repeat your words, basically the whole nine yards. You’re also highly capable of it. You’re willing to do anything and everything for your partner as long as it doesn’t go against your morals.

I wonder if many of you are elder daughters or something because there’s so much about sacrifice, maturity and provision. I don’t mean to be a misandrist but I don’t think that I’ve ever met a man this well rounded and with such a strong character. You could have always sacrificed and done so much for your family, provided so much to them, and just been so mature and responsible from such a young age that that’s just who you are now. I wouldn’t be surprised if you already are or will provide financially for your family in the future. “I knew you, leaving like a father, running like water.” It doesn’t mean that your father or any parent left you (though it could be) but that you didn’t feel safe and stable with them so you have become a stable, and reliable individual to feel safe within yourself and to find a partner who provides the same qualities to you. Looking at your wounds, you feel like people let you go too easily. They often chose other people too. Oh my god, I just started hearing ‘the other woman’ by Lana Del Rey. It seems to have been a pattern for you. You were in contact with them in a very consistent manner so it could have been a friend who was using you as a placeholder for a romantic relationship until they found someone to commit to 💀. You are very diligent and have basic human decency so when someone is in your life, even if it is not a situation with commitment involved, you do whatever you can for them and are very present so when you were not fully claimed but not fully let go of, and had them let you go after finding a romantic relationship, you felt really manipulated. By this point, you don’t really question your worth anymore but back then, you wondered if you were unworthy of being chosen and committed to. For those of you who do not resonate with this, when it was time for people to make choices, their loyalties seemed to lie elsewhere. Even the closest connections that you had didn’t live up to their potential and in fact, you felt deceived.

“How long could we be a sad song till we were too far gone to bring back to life I gave you all my best me’s, my endless empathy and all I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier. Fighting in only your army, front lines don’t you ignore me, I’m the best thing in this party (you’re losing me) and I wouldn’t marry me either, a pathological people pleaser who only wanted you to see her, and I’m fading thinking ‘do something babe, say something. Lose something babe, risk something. Choose something babe, I’ve got nothing to believe unless you’re choosing me.’” “I can’t find a pulse, my heart won’t start anymore for you cause you’re losing me.” “My heart won’t start anymore, my heart won’t start anymore.” You feel as though you’ve never been able to develop and share deep intimacy, and love with someone that is pure and whole, and where you choose each other again and again. I just heard “she has other friends that she likes better”, you’ve just felt as though everyone chose and enjoyed other peoples company more, and that you were let go of so easily as though you were worthless. “If you feel too abandoned by others, it’s because you’ve abandoned yourself” ofcourse, it’s okay to feel bad about being abandoned and used. ‘Enough for you’ by Olivia Rodrigo is coming through. “Stupid, emotional, obsessive little me. I knew from the start this is exactly how you’d leave. You found someone more exciting, the next second you were gone and you left me there crying, wondering what I did wrong and you always say I’m never satisfied but I don’t think that’s true cause all I ever wanted was to be enough. Don’t you think I loved you too much to be used and discarded? Don’t you think I loved you too much to think I deserve nothing? So don’t tell me you’re sorry boy, feel sorry for yourself cause someday I’ll be everything to somebody else and they’ll think that I’m so exciting, and you’ll be the one who’s crying. You always say I’m never satisfied but I don’t think that’s true, you say I’m never satisfied but that’s not me, it’s you cause all I ever wanted was to be enough and I don’t think anything could ever be enough for you. No, nothing’s enough for you.”

You felt as though you abandoned yourself and didn’t have any boundaries or standards just because you wanted to be chosen, and loved back then and you’ve forgiven yourself for that, and grown into your power immensely by strengthening your character and I’m so incredibly proud of you but the shame, guilt, regret, and pain that you experienced back then was on another level. You felt as though you failed to maintain loyalty to yourself and choose yourself. There was this sense of having lost yourself due to a desire to be chosen mixed with a feeling of inferiority. You felt inferior and powerless in the connection or well, connections but even after they ended, you felt inferior and powerless, in fact, now that you could see things more clearly, you felt more inferior, powerless and ashamed of yourself. You lacked direction back then and were misdirecting your energy into trying to receive love, and be chosen by acting inferior and slowly started believing it yourself because others treated you like such when you could have been improving yourself, your skills and your life instead. You felt like you betrayed yourself. The song ‘I’ll never fall in love again’ by Dionne Warwick is coming through. “What do you get when you fall in love? A guy with a pin to burst your bubble. That’s what you get for all your trouble. I’ll never fall in love again. I’ll never fall in love again. What do you get when you kiss a guy? You get enough germs to catch pneumonia, after you do, he’ll never phone ya. I’ll never fall in love again. Don’t you know that I’ll never fall in love again? Don’t tell me what it’s all about cause I’ve been there and I’m glad I’m out. Out of those chains, those chains that bind you. That is why I’m here to remind you. What do you get when you fall in love? You only get lies and pain and sorrow.”

You’re a deeply romantic person but due to how genuine you are, how much you offer and all the deception that you’ve faced. You are more focused on your daily routines, money, career, work and study. You might also have a wound regarding skills. You want to develop skills and you know you have it in you but you just haven’t been able to, you just aren’t being able to, you’re being told to keep going consistently. You’re probably rolling your eyes externally or internally at what I just wrote because it’s not like you haven’t tried to develop these skills consistently because you have but that no matter how much you have tried, you just haven’t been able to but you’re still being encouraged to keep going. Having experienced all that you’ve experienced, you’ve become very self and character focused. You care a lot about other people’s character as well as your own. You have high standards now and until you meet someone who matches them close to perfectly, you are not interested in any sort of romance. You really do want to find this person though because you have so much love to give and genuinely want to experience the soft mushy gushy romantic, and passionate kind of romance. You want to experience a soft romcom movie and ‘fifty shades of grey’ kind of romance at the same time with just one person for the rest of your life but it is very important for you to be able to respect, admire and rely on that person. Passion is very important to you in romance and life in general. Due to how you’ve had to take on really responsible roles throughout your life and always hold this sense of responsibility, and duty within you, and how sacrificing and resolution seeking you can be despite a very hot, and strong fire within you. You need a partner who’s more of a man than you are. Someone who is a good leader, passionate, charismatic, go getter, action oriented, loyal, grounded, ethical, responsible, reliable and romantic. Someone who lets you be bratty and express anger, and also doesn’t take advantage of your problem solving, peaceful and resolution seeking nature.

You tend to be fairly submissive on the outside despite the inner strength you possess so you need someone who is happy with themself and doesn’t feel the need to dominate, and belittle you in order to feel better about themself. I’m not going to lie, due to how passionate you are, you have a very competitive and resentful side to you but also you’re very peaceful, and forgiving. You truly are such a well rounded person. You might attract a lot of hostility and aggression due to this. People can pick up on your inner drive but you seem to harmless on the surface that they try to crush your spirit because they just feel a sense of competitiveness, hostility and aggression towards you without any real reason and you have a strong character on the inside so you don’t break externally but instead usually maintain peace so they don’t understand why and how you’re so unaffected 💀😭. You want a partner who can handle your angry and difficult sides, the ones that are deeply passionate. You cannot settle for just anyone because now that you’ve grown as a person, you’ve grown into your character and strength, you get really bad vibes from most people, and notice their faults and flaws quite easily. ‘CO2’ by Prateek Kuhad is the song that I’m getting here. “Maybe it’s the way that you can see what I’m missing what I can never be.” “Maybe it’s the man that you see in me.” Most people won’t be able to live up to your standards due to how high they are but they’re just normal to you because you can live up to them so you don’t need to lower them. You need to look at things differently now, you’re not unworthy, things are better now, life is brighter now. You are likely to intimidate people once they start seeing your character more clearly. The closer that they’ll get to you, the more that they might feel inferior or like they don’t live up to what you need them to be. You can be critical to some extent because of how high your standards are even for yourself but it’s coming as a strength of yours. Only accept those who are actively trying and being able to live up to what your standards are. If someone gives up or doesn’t try, trust me, you’re better off. Those who think that they’re not enough, they know themselves more than you know them because they experience consciousness from within themself, because they can hear their own thoughts and know about their own actions, and tendencies so believe them when they talk or act like they’re not enough. Right now, I’m getting that while you’re capable of romance, you’re focused on consistently bettering yourself, improving your lifestyle, your career, money, routines, work and studies. You are on the right path. It’s okay to want romance but don’t ever lower your standards by even just an inch or a millimetre because you can live up to your own and you deserve an equal. Thank you so much for reading. I hope that the reading resonated and that it provided you with the answers, and guidance that you wanted and needed. Much love and take care 💋.

⊹ ! ೀ Pile 3 ꒱

(TW: Mentions of abuse, sexual assault, etc.)

Some of you have daddy issues or some kind of issue caused by aggressive people but there’s a strong theme of boys and men here. There are so many scenarios coming through, you’re obviously not going to relate to all of them. For some of you, you’ve just dealt with aggression, threatening your sense of belonging while some of you have dealt with abandonment from either or both parents or just an absence of them, there are even mentions of abuse here for some of you if your parents were present. An angry father or parental figure? If not, you have had terrible experiences with the male gender. It could be something as simple as having boys make fun of you in middle school. These incidents have wounded you really deeply. I’m having a really hard time putting all the scenarios down. There’s definitely some sort of a deep wound when it comes to belonging - be it family, home, community, school or work. Also little incidents grew into real big ones that I’m hearing traumatised you. For example, you got with some guy, that changed the entire trajectory of your life. The thing is, you received a lot of intolerance from everyone for a major part of your life. It escalated close to abuse, violence and bullying at some point, and for many of you, it could have had something to do with a guy. Don’t get me wrong, it would have been a part of your life either way. People just have been so aggressive, unruly and intolerant towards you for no reason, you didn’t deserve that but I will explain how it could have had something to do with a guy for many of you. For example, you got into a relationship with some guy, you could have been heavily criticised by other people who also liked and wanted him considered you to be ‘not good enough’ for him just for this guy to break up with you in a disrespectful manner with no regard for you whatsoever, and after that, I’m getting that either the aggression and bullying from other people intensified or the effects of the previous unruly treatment started affecting you intensely.

Many of you have dealt with an abusive situation even if it’s just emotionally though it could have been physically for some of you (by parents, romantic partners, etc.) Do not invalidate your experiences ever because even if others might think that it was not abuse, it definitely was. It affected you so deeply, I’m not even being able to express it properly. I’m just crying right now. If you didn’t deal with any of the above situations. Though, I believe that many of you have dealt with all or at least majority of what I’m mentioning. Then, you dealt with guy friends who were using you for an ego boost and acted as though you wanted them so bad if you simply tried to keep the friendship going or tried to fix things instead of ending them. Guys have made you feel really preyed on. People in general have but guys especially. Some of you could have even dealt with men trying to assault you sexually. It could have been something as simple as someone forcefully kissing you as a child or making you watch porn. Something like this could have happened when you were a teen or an adult too but I just got that since kids are the most vulnerable, it likely happened to many of you as kids. Oh my god, no way. I just heard “he doesn’t like cougars, he likes little kids. He stopped liking me when I turned eighteen.” I feel like your life has always been this way. Having people walk all over you and treat you like shit but it got especially worst in your teen years. I’m not sure what happened at fourteen and seventeen specifically but seventeen was your last straw, and your experiences all the way from when you were fourteen contributed to finally realising the truth. In fact, your experiences before that contributed too but I’m picking up that mistreatment and aggression were/felt the most extremely during your teenage years. Any childhood abuse or mistreatment, or instability, you realised the truth of all of that through what you experienced during your teenage years. People genuinely just lacked compassion towards you and you had to deal with a lot of loneliness.

It is like anytime that you were not keeping to yourself and connecting with others, they were abusing, using and mistreating you. People used to treat you aggressively, make fun of you and mistreat you for their own sick sense of enjoyment, in order to boost their ego, and have fun. I’m so sorry, you didn’t deserve all that. Even when you were with people, you were very lonely and felt insecure, and lacking due to the way they used to treat you and once you finally got away, you felt incredibly insecure, unstable, and lacking but you chose that over mistreatment from others and that’s how you grew. “Don’t be afraid to stand alone. Don’t be afraid to stand outside your comfort zone. I know it’s hard away from home and it ain’t easy all alone.” You had a strong thirst for knowledge from since you were a kid but during this time of loneliness, it transformed into a need. You were seeking truth and clarity because you genuinely needed it to move forward but you have always possessed some sort of a divine knowledge. Which is why you were able to be so compassionate, still and passive at the face of such mistreatment, aggressiveness and lack of compassion. Divinity exists within all of us and you were aware of that. So you naturally acted like the bigger person until you couldn’t anymore but this breakdown caused you to get closer to your own truth. You started realising that while it’s good to learn through external sources, true knowledge and wisdom is something that we are just born with, and that anything else that comes through, it should come from within. For example, we are not born racists, as kids, all we want is to receive and give love, and we are active, and full of life, that’s the only knowledge that truly matters - the ability to be yourself in your highest, most divine and purest form. You also realised just how shitty the treatment that you received in the past was and how lonely, and insecure you were.

You may have felt at home with these people or shared a community with them but even so, you decided to act with integrity and do right by you even if it required loneliness or/and isolation. For some of you, after all of this had passed, you met someone who you felt really at home with but for some reason, you still had to logically act out of fairness and had to reward them with the consequences of their actions rather than with negotiation. The trajectory of your growth has been amazing. One of your strengths is your sense of hope and faith. You felt like you’d never get anything good in life and that your life was doomed, and that you’d be lonely and empty forever but you still kept going, and you managed to get better so now you have hope and faith regarding life. Back then, you just wanted to feel better, get better and now, you have so now you have a sense of direction, you’re focused on nourishing yourself. You are connected to your core essence and are comfortable with your vulnerability, and sense of nakedness i.e. your authenticity. You’re nourishing and loving yourself wholeheartedly in any, and every way possible though. Yes, there’s always room for improvement. Like, for example, you may do your skincare, workout and do your work diligently but you may not eat all three meals so you could work on that, etc. But definitely, you try to make sure to eat even if you’re busy because your nourishment means a lot to you. You might be unable to have all three meals but you try. You’re very intense in terms of romance and also really romantic. but you don’t try to put in time, energy, and effort into romance anymore unless the other person comes to you first and is consistently present, and shows promise of a solid future but you’re very content being alone. You in fact, really enjoy it. You are on a journey of self discovery and improvement, and understand yourself and love very deeply due to how much time you’ve spent alone, by yourself, in contemplation, and soul searching.

You’ve drawn out a lot of wisdom from within yourself. You’re spiritually enlightened and don’t mind being alone or different. Even if it is difficult, even if you’re considered to be difficult, you want to be yourself. “Share my life, take me for what I am cause I’ll never change all my colours for you. Take my love, I’ll never ask for too much, just all that you are and everything that you do.” You’re aware by now that it is nothing except self betrayal to try to earn love by changing yourself because even if you manage to receive love, they won’t be living ‘you’ and if you don’t win them over, you’d have lost yourself in the process, and would feel terrible about yourself so you’d rather be alone but yourself. That one bible story is coming through here. “Jacob agreed to work for seven years to marry Rachel, the woman he loved but was deceived by her father Laban and ended up marrying her older sister, Leah. Though he fulfilled his time and eventually married Rachel too, Jacob loved Rachel more than Leah. Seeing that Leah was unloved, god allowed her to bear children while Rachel remained barren. With each son she bore, Leah hoped that Jacob would finally love her - naming her first Reuben, saying, “now my husband will love me”, her second Simeon because “the lord has heard that I am hated”, and her third Levi, thinking, “now my husband will become attached to me.” However, Jacob’s heart did not change. When she bore her fourth son, Judah, Leah no longer pleaded for her husband’s affection but simply said, “this time I will praise the lord.” You seem to be aware of the fact that love that is not freely given can never be earned so you don’t even try. If you found the kind of love that you desire, if you found someone who loved and cherished you, you would be intensely passionate and romantic, honestly to an extreme but that’s because, that’s just who you are. You’d indulge in it very deeply. You’d experience the feeling of being ‘drunk in love’.

“With you, there’s silence in a crowd. There’s a little unconsciousness, with you, because of you.” You’d make an intense lover who loves incredibly deeply but you’re not interested in trying to earn anyone’s love in order to channel your romantic energy. You might in fact, have these sides of you pretty hidden. All of you have different kinds of personality but all of you have a very meek one. Some of you are more of the silent kind, some of you may be talkative when with others and might seem really social, and some of you might manage to do both but if you do have a talkative and social side, there’s this thing about you in which once you are out of that social situation, you struggle to stay in touch with others, isolate yourself and randomly disappear. Also, the more time that you spend in a social situation and with certain people, the more silent and internal that you tend to get. I’m loving all the messages that are coming through for your strengths. We don’t see through our eyes, we see through our minds. Our eyes are just a medium for us to perceive the external world and interact with it. There’s so much in the world about ‘finding god’ or ‘figuring out the meaning of life’, people just want to know where and how it all started, and where and how we will all end up after death so they seek god but do they really manage to find divinity? Most people don’t because god made it so simple yet so tricky to find them by choosing to reside where they’re currently residing i.e. within each person. Most people aren’t able to comprehend that divinity can reside within them because they think that figuring out the mysteries of life and receiving answers is much more complicated than that, and that’s okay but they’d easily find divinity, god, whatever they want to call it if they only turned their vision inside and looked within themselves. Most of you are aware of this truth so you try to keep yourself as clean, good and pure spirited as possible because divinity should not reside in a dirty place. It does not have to be conscious awareness or conscious trying but you’re just incredibly internal and have learned so much from going within yourself that you’ve found your guide there, your divinity itself and you’re well aligned with your life purpose. If you’re not quite there yet, you soon will be. Thank you so much for reading. I hope that the reading resonated and that it provided you with the answers, and guidance that you wanted and needed. Much love and take care 💋.

[crazy-rafe-madler]

Attack On Titan

Jealous Levi x Reader

A/N: not exactly following the events of the battle, but I really wanted some jealous Levi so enjoy!

The screams of soldiers and the thunder of Titans filled the air as you sprinted across the rooftops, ODM gear propelling you forward. The fires from the Colossal Titan’s explosion lit the night like a funeral pyre, casting a hellish glow over Shiganshina. Your heart pounded as you leapt, dodging chunks of falling debris and the scattered remains of comrades.

You had barely survived the explosion alongside Hange. The rest of your team was gone—dead in an instant, consumed by the blast or crushed by falling rubble. Their screams echoed in your mind, haunting you as you fought to keep moving. There was no time to grieve. You had to live, if only to make their sacrifices mean something.

Somewhere beyond the walls, Levi was fighting. The thought of him battling the Beast Titan alone made your chest tighten, but you buried your worry. There was no time for distraction, no room for hesitation. The chaos of war demanded focus, and your feelings for Levi—feelings you had never dared to voice—were a vulnerability you couldn’t afford to show.

“Stay close, Y/N!” Hange called, their voice sharp and commanding, though grief was evident beneath their words. “We can’t afford to lose anyone else!”

You nodded sharply, determination masking the turmoil beneath your calm exterior.

When Zeke and the Cart Titan began retreating with Reiner’s body, you saw your chance. Hange was far behind you, and you weren’t going to let the enemy slip away. With a burst of speed, you pursued them, your ODM gear slicing through the smoke-filled air.

“Stop them!” you shouted, your voice raw from the heat and ash.

The Cart Titan growled, its claws swinging wide as it tried to deter you. You dodged easily, adrenaline pumping through your veins as your eyes locked on Reiner. He was vulnerable—injured and barely conscious. This was the moment to end it.

You landed on the rooftop ahead of their path, cutting off their escape. The Cart Titan hissed at you, its claws scraping against the rooftop as it crouched low in a menacing stance.

“Get out of my fucking way,” you snarled, your voice dripping with fury as you glared at the grotesque beast. “I’m ending this!”

Reiner’s human form stumbled toward you, his face contorted in pain and frustration.

“You never give up, do you?” he rasped, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

You didn’t respond. Words were meaningless now. Your blades were too worn from the battle to be of use, so you engaged him with your fists.

The fight was brutal and raw. Reiner was strong, but you were faster, ducking under his strikes and delivering precise blows that sent him reeling. For a moment, you had the upper hand, driving him to his knees.

But then his hand found a blade lying amidst the debris. With a sudden burst of strength, he swung it toward you. You dodged, but the move left you open. He tackled you to the ground, using his weight to pin you.

Pain exploded through your side as the blade plunged into you, the sharp steel biting deep. You gasped, blood spilling from the wound as Reiner shoved you toward the edge of the rooftop.

“Die already,” he muttered, pushing you over.

The world spun as you fell, your vision blurring from the blood loss and the sheer drop beneath you. Just as you thought the end had come, strong arms caught you, jerking you upward.

“Y/N!” Jean’s voice was desperate as he held you tightly, his ODM gear anchoring you both to a nearby rooftop.

He landed carefully and laid you down, his face pale as he took in your wound. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” he muttered, as if saying it enough times would make it true.

Your strength was fading fast, but you managed a faint smile. “Thanks… Jean.”

“Don’t talk. Just—just hang on,” he said, his hands trembling as he tried to stop the bleeding. He brushed your hair from your face, his touch gentle despite his panic.

Far below, Levi arrived in time to see you collapse. His chest tightened as he saw Jean holding you, his hands on your face and your blood staining his uniform. A dark storm of emotions churned within him—worry, fear, and something far more bitter.

Without hesitation, Levi shot toward you, his movements fueled by pure adrenaline.

Levi landed beside you, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation. “Move,” he barked, his voice sharp and commanding.

Jean hesitated, his hands still on you. “She’s hurt bad—”

“I said, move,” Levi growled, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Jean reluctantly shifted back but stayed close, his expression tense as Levi crouched beside you. Levi’s hands were steady as he pulled out his medical kit, cutting open your uniform to access the wound.

“You’re an idiot,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low but trembling slightly. “What the hell were you thinking, taking on Reiner alone?”

You tried to respond, but the pain was too overwhelming.

“Don’t talk,” Levi said firmly, his tone softening. “Just stay awake. Look at me.”

Jean knelt behind you, holding your shoulders to keep you still while Levi stitched the wound. You winced, the pain sharp and biting, but Levi’s steady presence grounded you.

“You’re going to be fine,” Levi said, though his jaw was clenched tight. “But you need to stop closing your damn eyes. Focus on my voice.”

Jean glanced at Levi, his worry plain on his face. “She’s losing too much blood—”

“I know,” Levi snapped, his irritation masking the fear gnawing at him. He worked quickly, his hands deft as he sealed the wound.

Once Levi finished stitching you up, he gently lifted you into his arms. Jean followed closely as they made their way to the top of the wall, where the wounded were being treated.

When they reached the top, Jean sat down with you cradled in his lap, refusing to let go. Levi crouched beside you, his face carefully blank as he cleaned your wound again, his sharp eyes watching for any signs of infection.

“You’re tougher than you look,” Levi murmured, his voice so low you barely heard him.

When the treatment was done, Levi placed his hands on Jean’s shoulder. “Let me take her,” he said, his tone more a command than a request.

Jean hesitated, his grip tightening on you. “She’s fine here—”

“Give her to me,” Levi interrupted, his voice cold.

Jean finally relented, though his jaw tightened as he watched Levi carefully shift your head into his lap. Levi brushed your hair back, his touch uncharacteristically gentle as he watched your pale face.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

He kept you in his lap for a long while, his fingers absently stroking your hair as the others worked around them. Only when Sasha was brought nearby did Levi reluctantly lay you down beside her, his hand lingering on your shoulder before he stepped away.

When you finally opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was Jean leaning over you, his face lighting up with relief.

“You’re awake!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking slightly. “Thank god. I thought…” He shook his head, his expression softening.

You tried to sit up, but he gently pressed you back down. “Don’t move. You need to rest.”

As you processed his words, you noticed the others nearby. Hange stood a little apart, their sharp eyes darting between you and Levi, who stood silently a few feet away. Sasha and Connie waved weakly from their spots, their smiles a welcome comfort.

Jean hesitated, then blurted out, “You know, back in Trost… I kissed you. After that mission. Do you remember?”

Silence fell over the group like a hammer.

Your cheeks flushed. “Jean…” you began, but his earnest gaze stopped you.

“I thought I was going to lose you then. And now… I can’t stop thinking about it,” he admitted, his voice soft but unwavering.

Levi’s expression shifted—subtle, but telling. His jaw clenched, and his steel-gray eyes darkened, flicking from Jean to you. The muscle in his cheek twitched, his emotions a storm just beneath the surface.

“It was just a thank-you,” you said quickly, your voice steady but your heart racing. “Jean, you’re a good friend. But that’s all.”

Jean’s face fell slightly, but he forced a smile. “Yeah. Sure.”

Hange smirked knowingly, their gaze flicking to Levi, who looked away sharply, his fists clenched at his sides. The tension was palpable as the others began to disperse, Sasha and Connie throwing sympathetic glances at Jean as they left to rest.

Hours later, the quiet night blanketed the wall. Most of the squad had fallen asleep, their exhaustion overtaking the remnants of tension. You were awake, sitting quietly against the cool stone, your wound freshly bandaged and throbbing dully.

Levi approached from the shadows, his movements silent as always. He stopped a few feet away, his eyes scanning your face with a rare vulnerability.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, his voice low and even.

You shook your head. “Not with everything that happened today.”

He sat down beside you, close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of him. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of the day hanging heavily between you.

Finally, he broke the silence. “Back there, when Jean said that…” He hesitated, something unusual for him. “It pissed me off.”

You blinked, startled by his admission. “Levi…”

He turned to you, his gray eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “I’ve seen too many people die, Y/N. Too many people I cared about.” His voice softened, the hard edges smoothing slightly. “I didn’t think I had room for this anymore. For you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your throat tightening as his words sank in.

“But when I saw you fall,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, “I realized I couldn’t lose you. Not like this.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You were too stunned, too overwhelmed by the depth of his confession.

Levi’s hand reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing against yours. “I’m not good at this,” he muttered, his cheeks faintly pink despite the night’s shadows. “But I’m not letting you slip away. Not now. Not ever.”

This time, you found your voice. “Levi…” you said, your own voice trembling, “I’ve felt the same. For so long.”

He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. When you didn’t, his lips met yours, firm and warm, yet achingly gentle. The world seemed to still, the horrors of the day fading into the background.

When he pulled back, his eyes softened, a small, rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Good,” he said simply, his voice laced with relief.

You rested your forehead against his, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. Despite the war, despite the loss, you had found something worth holding onto. And you knew Levi felt the same.

[breach-doll]

Of course, you don't remember the surgery; you just remember waking up in a hospital, tearstained cheeks pinched and crimped around the apparatus strapped to your face. That and the glow coming from behind the scarred and stitched skin of your chest, right where your heart should be.

They sent you home that same day; apparently there had been some sort of radium processing incident, but they swore it wasn't risky since it hadn't penetrated far into the skin. Purely cosmetic, really.

And you believed it for a while, too. A good compression bra stifled the hot flashes you would feel from time to time in your chest. Sometimes you looked in the mirror and thought your eyes were glowing, but you thought it was just PTSD from the intrusive thoughts of drowning in a shining abyss of lights. Your neighbor insisted you see a doctor about your sleepwalking, but you just set up a little motion alarm to wake yourself up instead.

The real problems began when you came to while strangling a strange man in a room you didn't recognize. Your hands jerked reflexively in surprise, and you felt a hot surge of pleasure spread out from your chest at the gurgle of pain he released. Pure, raw, bliss, but also a feeling of approval from some nameless source. To your horror, you started to squeeze harder and harder as the sense of approval surged and your vision swam from the shudders of pleasure jolting through your body. You weren't present enough to really think about a dull, sudden crunch.

When you looked down, the man's body was falling apart into soft golden motes that poured out of the apertures of the clothes. Horrified, you tried to sweep up the motes - they fell apart as you touched them - and then dug through your bag for your phone to call 911. The seven missed calls from your friend and the barrage of texts over the past hour, "OMG R U OKK GIRL" "CALL ME" "some of the dolls upstairs saw this guy spike ur drink and then drag u out" "jesus r u ok im so sorru the one time i get u to come out this shit happens fuckkkkk" "ok i called 911 sorry im sorry im" sent your head reeling again. You picked up the next time 911 called, and the ambulance workers were very kind as they took you to the hospital once you'd sent the cops running after the man's supposed flight path.

Events like this kept happening, more and more frequently. You would wake up in random places, mostly apartments, deserted buildings, suburban homes, with wounds you didn't remember getting and men standing over you, and murder the men you found there. Every time the overwhelming feelings of approval and pleasure, like a hand on the base of your skull, would drive you to use more and more vicious means. Something drove you to start gouging into opponents with knives or shovels, tearing out chunks of their muscle. You stopped needing to sleep, then to eat. You started crying hysterically at every mention of violence or injury, and insisted you were fine when people asked about the glazed look in your eyes.

You got fired from work, of course, and then lost your apartment, but it was fine. Nobody bothered people who looked as crazy as you, and if they did, the golden motes the sinners left behind kept you satiated and rested and ready to keep going.

You stopped remembering the date. Time just blurred into itself as your life dissolved to a simple cycle of kill, sleep, move, kill. One day you were ambushed by a group of men, but strangely, none of them had the distinctive taste of sin you had come to recognize from their motes. The survivors took you to a pit and lowered you in, down onto the hard stone floor, and left you there for days on end. On other days, they just let you wander the plain white halls above.

And one day, you heard a voice say, "You are ready, oh Holy One. Take and eat." They lowered a man into the pit with you, and he leered at your naked, dirt encrusted form. Until you breathed out a single, quiet word and a burst of light appeared in the center of his forehead. Your halo flickered into life above your head as you rushed to his prone, twitching body and sank your teeth into his throat.

[bullet-prooflove]

Boo Fucking Hoo: Frank Langdon x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @julessworldd @yousigned-upforthis @travelingmypassion @julius-ceasar

Companion piece to:

Hypocrite - Frank struggles to make amends for a past wrongs.

Crash - Almost getting you fired wasn't the lowest point of Frank's addiction.

Rock Bottom - Frank hits rock bottom when he sees the devastation his addiction's caused.

Little Black Dress - Frank starts to spiral when he realises you're dating.

Every Damn Day - A drunk text leads to a confession.

Wet Dream (NSFW) - Frank sometimes dreams about the life you had together.

War Stories - A realisation about your coping habits leads you to Frank's door.

The Three Cs - Frank and you finally discuss your issues and pave away towards the future.

The Wall - A date at the climbing wall leads to a revelation from Frank.

Commitment - You create a fun way of showing Frank your commitment to the relationship.

All In (NSFW) - You and Frank take a big step forward.

Slut (NSFW) - Frank gets a little bratty after a bad day.

Nightmare Fuel - Frank's been waiting for the fall to come.

The fight starts when the partner of one of your SA patients attacks you outside by the ambulance bay. You don’t see it coming, you’re too busy scrolling through your phone, catching up on the group chat when you’re slammed against the brick work of the building. Your head bounces off the wall, your phone shattering on the concrete, as a huge hand encloses around your throat, choking off your air supply. Something warm trickles down the back of your neck, blood you assume from a scalp laceration.

“She fucking left me.” A man you’ve never met before spits in your face, his fingers dig into your tender flesh as his grip tightens and stars dance across your vision. “I wanna know where the fuck she is.”

This, you think, this is why we shouldn’t put staff pictures on the website.

You have absolutely no clue who he’s talking about. You’ve examined dozens of women over the past couple of weeks and 50% of their injuries were due to partner violence.

You rasp something and his grasp loosens as he leans in close struggling to hear you. “Spit it out bitch.”

“Go to hell.” You snarl, smashing the crown of your head into his nose just like you were taught in self-dense class. A loud crunch erupts through the air as he reels backwards, blood ejecting from his nose. You follow up with a knee strike, driving it into his groin so hard that he’ll be singing soprano for the rest of his life. His knees go out from underneath him and he crumples to the floor, one hand cupping his balls, the other cradling his broken nose.

“Not so fucking fun when they fight back is it asshole?” You hiss, your throat raw from the choking. “I don’t know who the fuck she is but I’m glad she had the strength to put you in her rear view.”  

“You fucking bitch, I think you ruptured something!” He curses at you, his cheek pressed against the concrete, beaten and helpless.

“Boo fucking hoo.” You respond as the automatic doors hiss behind you open and Ahmed, the security officer rushes out into the bay.

“I saw the whole thing on the screens.” He informs you pointedly, snatching up the radio off his belt. You know what that means, he’s got the footage to back you up when this asshole inevitably tries to sue you. He presses the button down on his radio, holding it up to his mouth. “We’re gonna need a doctor out here in the ambulance bay, police too.”

His dark eyes catalogue the bruising on your throat, taking in the blood that’s now soaking into the back of your scrubs from wound in your scalp. “You want me to get Langdon?”

“No.” You whisper, touching your fingertips to the back of your throbbing head, trying to gauge your injury. “I wouldn’t, not unless you want a murder on your hands too.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[lucy-literates]

Not so Secret

A/N: I went to the cinema and watched Thunderbolts* again, and thought of this while the void was consuming the city. Enjoy, inbox is open

Bucky Barnes x y/n

Synopsis: Everyone gets thrown into the void, each to their own shame rooms. Somehow, you manage to stumble into someone else’s. Someone, who is strapped down to a chair, screaming in agony. The older version of that someone is sat huddled in the corner of the room, eyes wide, staring at you. “Who the fuck are you?

You were halfway through a battered secondhand copy of Slaughterhouse-Five when the screaming started.

At first, you ignored it — this was New York, after all. Screaming wasn’t exactly uncommon, and you’d trained your ears to filter it out. You sipped your coffee, turned the page.

Then came the thump.

Not a car crash. Not construction. Something heavier. Like the air itself had been punched.

You looked up.

People were running outside the café. Not just running — sprinting, some screaming, others crying. One woman dropped her purse in the chaos and didn’t even slow down to pick it up.

The hairs on your arms rose.

You slipped your bookmark into the crease and stood slowly, sliding the novel onto your table like it might be waiting when you came back.

You wouldn’t be coming back.

Not to that table. Not to that life.

You pushed open the café door and stepped out just as a shadow swept over the street.

Your head tilted back.

There, above the skyline — between concrete towers and rooftop patios — hovered something impossible. A black tear in the sky, rippling like liquid obsidian. And from its center… something reached.

You didn’t even have time to scream before the world shattered.

You woke up in a room that wasn’t a room.

It was a void — endless, shapeless, thick with silence that pressed in like water. Darkness swirled and twisted at the edges of your vision, but where you stood, the ground was solid. Too solid.

It felt intentional.

Like a stage.

And then — voices. Screaming. Weeping. Your name, whispered like a curse.

You stumbled forward, disoriented. Every step felt like dragging yourself through tar.

And then — you fell.

When you landed, it was in another place entirely. A room.

Sterile. Cold. A chair bolted to the floor. Straps. A figure writhing against them, arms jerking, breath coming in screams.

You reeled back, heart in your throat — until you saw him.

A man — maybe your age, maybe older — strapped down, blood on his face, eyes blown wide with terror. His screams were not just pain. They were memory. Shame. Regret.

And then you noticed the other figure.

In the corner.

Curled in on himself, older, bruised but not bleeding, staring at you like you weren’t real.

And he said, “Who the fuck are you?”

You stared between the two versions of him — one a broken man, the other breaking.

His expression was unreadable at first. A soldier’s mask.

You weren’t sure if he was trying to assess you, or waiting for you to disappear.

Finally, he spoke. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

You swallowed, throat dry. “Neither are you.”

A beat passed.

Bucky huffed, the corner of his mouth twitching with bitter humor. “Touché.”

You looked at the younger version of him, strapped down and writhing — tears streaking through the sweat on his face. The pain was more than physical. You could feel the shame radiating from it like heat.

“Is this… real?” you whispered.

“Yes,” Bucky said. “But it’s also not.”

“Helpful.”

He glanced at you again, brow furrowed. “The Void shows you the worst. The moment that broke you. That made you someone you don’t want to be.”

“And you’re watching yourself in it?”

He nodded once. “Been here a while.”

You hesitated, then lowered yourself to the floor beside him. Not too close. Just enough to feel like you weren’t floating alone.

“You didn’t seem shocked to see me,” you said.

“I was. For a second. Then I realized... you’re the first real thing I’ve seen in here. You haven’t faded yet. That means something.”

You looked at the younger Bucky again — bound, tormented, haunted. “What’s happening to him?”

“That’s the part of me Hydra tried to kill. The part that begged for mercy. They didn’t show it.”

You turned back to Bucky. His jaw was tight. His eyes didn’t blink.

“They thought if they tortured me enough, that part of me would die,” he said, voice low. “And maybe it did. For a while.”

You didn’t speak. There was nothing you could say that wouldn’t feel small. Instead, you just sat with him. In the quiet. In the dark.

Eventually, the air changed — the edges of the room rippling like water. The tortured version of Bucky faded into shadow, and the walls twisted until they reformed around you.

You knew it before you saw it. You felt it in your chest.

Bucky stood beside you now.

You were in your own shame room.

There you were — tied to a chair, still and quiet. Your eyes were empty. Your voice was silent. The pain here wasn’t explosive like Bucky’s. It was the kind that settled deep and stayed.

“What is this?” he asked softly.

“This is the day I stopped trying,” you said. “When I convinced myself I wasn’t worth fighting for.”

You didn’t look at him.

You couldn’t.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, quietly: “Why?”

“Because I thought being strong meant pretending I didn’t need anyone. That if I made myself smaller, quieter, more acceptable, I’d be enough. But I only ever felt more alone.”

Bucky stepped closer, just enough for his presence to warm the air beside you.

“I know that feeling,” he said. “Too well.”

You looked up at him. His expression was soft. Careful.

“You saved me,” he said. “In your voice. Back there. When I thought I was breaking. You showed up. And now I’m gonna be here, if this breaks you.”

Your breath caught.

You didn’t say anything.

You just leaned your head slightly against his shoulder, and he didn’t pull away.

You were shaking when the wall finally gave in. Your knuckles stung from where they’d scraped against the jagged surface — red and raw, but the pain was nothing compared to what echoed in your chest.

Bucky was already by your side, wordless, steady. He didn’t tell you to stop. He didn’t tell you to calm down.

He just let you break. And stayed.

You collapsed to your knees with a ragged breath, surrounded by the fragments of the room — your room — the one that had held your worst memories like a vice around your ribs.

And he was there.

Slowly, Bucky crouched beside you, eyes soft and guarded at the same time. “You with me?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He didn’t push for more. Just sat beside you, shoulder to shoulder, grounding you with his quiet presence.

“I saw the way you looked at yourself in there,” he murmured. “Like you weren’t worth getting out.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of.”

He tilted his head, a faint, rueful smile curling his lips. “So has everyone in here.”

You gave a soft laugh, weak but real. “Not like me.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. “You don’t scare me.”

You turned your face toward him, exhausted, eyes glassy. “Why not?”

“Because I know what it’s like to be buried in guilt so deep, you forget who you were before it. I know how heavy it is to carry shame that doesn’t even belong to you.” He paused, brushing dirt off your hand with gentle fingers. “But I also know what it looks like when someone fights their way back.”

The quiet between you stretched — not awkward, not uncertain. Just real.

And when he reached for your hand, you let him.

Together, you stood.

And together, you walked toward the next door.

[slutoru1207]

Mistaken Devotion – Part 5

Your Mark was losing.

For the first time since he got his powers, he wasn’t just fighting another version of himself—

He was fighting a version that had nothing left to lose.

Full-Mask Mark was relentless. Brutal.

And your Mark?

He was holding back.

You saw it. Felt it.

Every punch he threw wasn’t as ruthless as it should’ve been.

Every block wasn’t as calculated as it needed to be.

He was fighting like he still had something to come home to.

But Full-Mask Mark?

He was fighting like you were already his.

"You’re weak," the masked Mark snarled, driving his fist into your Mark’s ribs.

A sickening crack filled the room.

Your Mark choked, stumbling back—and that split-second hesitation was all it took.

In a flash, Full-Mask Mark had him by the throat, slamming him against the wall.

Your Mark gasped.

Your stomach dropped.

"You don’t deserve her," the masked Mark growled, voice low, dangerous, final. His grip tightened.

Your Mark gritted his teeth, struggling. His vision was blurring—his body aching—

And then—

His eyes flickered to you.

You.

Terrified. Frozen. Watching.

His entire world standing just feet away—

And another version of him trying to take it.

And in that moment—

Something snapped.

A rush of adrenaline exploded through his body.

With a snarl, your Mark grabbed Full-Mask Mark’s wrist—crushing it in his grip.

The masked Mark’s breath hitched.

But before he could react—

Your Mark moved.

His elbow rammed into his double’s ribs—hard.

The grip on his throat loosened.

And then—

He drove his knee into the imposter’s stomach.

A brutal, earth-shaking hit.

Full-Mask Mark **coughed—**staggering. His breath shuddered.

Your Mark didn’t let him recover.

He spun—fist slamming into his double’s jaw with enough force to send blood splattering across the floor.

The masked Mark’s head snapped to the side—his entire body reeling.

Your Mark stepped forward—relentless, furious, done.

"She’s mine."

The last punch was devastating.

The masked Mark crashed into the floor, gasping—dazed, disoriented, barely conscious.

Your Mark stood over him, panting, fists still clenched, body coiled with adrenaline and rage.

And then—

His eyes flicked to you.

Shaken. Wide-eyed. Safe.

His entire body softened.

A sharp inhale—then he was crossing the space between you.

"Are you okay?" he murmured, voice hoarse, worried, desperate.

You nodded—then threw yourself at him.

His arms wrapped around you instantly, holding you tight, pressing his face into your hair, like he was making sure—making sure—you were still here.

"I thought I lost you." His voice broke.

You shook your head, gripping him tighter.

"I’m right here."

His arms tightened.

But behind him—

The masked Mark stirred.

And this time—

He wasn’t alone.

A portal crackled open.

And more Marks stepped through.

[sinsofsummers]

sensational; part ii

6.8k | joel miller x f!innocent!reader follow-up to sensational

summary: you've tasked joel with teaching you about all of the things you missed. he's back for more...teaching moments. warnings: smut (duh), 18+, mdni. softdom!joel vibes in this one, joel gives reader an anatomy lesson, pet names (lots of dollface) fingering, praise kink to the gods, masturbation (f and brief m), reader gives joel a hand(y), grinding, bit of a corruption kink toward the end, jesus there might need to be a part 3 note: well. look at what you guys did. you went and loved on sensational so much and asked for a part 2 so often that i just had to grant your wishes. i hope you’re fckn happy✌🏼🥹 (this is all jokes i’m so excited to write more of this dynamic teehee)

You'd never counted yourself as a dreamer of any sort; when sleep clouded your brain at night, every thought faded along with it. Aside from the occasional nightmare, reminding you of your parents' absence, you hadn't had an actual dream since you were a kid.

Of course, that night in Joel's house had changed everything, in every possible way. In just an hour or so he had taken your world into his hands, shaped it, flipped it, and returned it to you, unrecognizable. His name was carved into everything you saw and touched, and this included your dreams.

He was everywhere in your head when you slept. So much so that you'd begun to forget which was reality and which was a figment of your imagination, which made your patrols with him all the more humiliating.

Your hands were cold. It was all you could focus on as you followed Joel along your normal patrol route. Just twelve hours had passed since that night in his house, when he'd touched you with rough hands and what taught you what it meant to feel desired. His words still rang clear in your head days later:

Trust me, doll. I've got so much more to teach you.

It sent your head reeling just to think about it now. The memory of his fingertips grazing the side of your face as he'd said it, those brown eyes sparkling with desire for you—a vision of contentment.

You had leaned into his touch subconsciously, reaching a hand up to trace the line of his wrist. His eyes had darted to where your fingers pressed to his skin, a soft grin replacing his satisfied smirk. "I'd better get you home, then," he'd whispered.

It had taken everything in you to ignore the small pang of disappointment that had bloomed in your gut, but it was an easier task when he'd dropped his lips to your forehead.

"No one'll miss me at home," you'd protested quietly, trying not to relish too much in the feeling of his beard scratching at the space between your eyebrows.

This sentiment was true. You still didn't know how things had worked out so well, but after arriving in Jackson, Tommy (the fact that it was Joel's younger brother made this seem all the less coincidental) and Maria had been more than accommodating. They'd offered you your own space, a house to yourself. Granted, it was much smaller than Joel's, but it was your own. It had become home in the four short years you'd lived in Jackson.

No one was waiting for you at home. It was a fact that used to make your throat close up, memories taunting you every moment they could. Now it was a welcomed thought, if it meant that you could remain in the heady presence of Joel Miller.

But he'd only shaken his head, his brown eyes flitting down to your lips before returning to your gaze. "I'm sure they'll notice when you don't come strolling out of your own place in the mornin'," he'd insisted gently. His thumb traced your bottom lip when your shoulders slumped. You hoped you didn't look as pitiful as you felt, your lip threatening to push outward in a pout.

"Might not be able to keep my hands to myself tonight if I let you stay," he'd breathed. You didn't care if he said it as an apology, or if it was actually true.

Because who were you to disagree with him? It was Joel.

So without more than a lingering hand on your wrist, he'd walked you to your door. When you'd teased him for such a chivalrous act, he'd cocked an eyebrow, glancing sideways at you. "Can't just let you walk home alone after that," he'd scoffed, his voice rough again in the outdoors. A few people were still milling about despite it being darker than pitch after nightfall. "M'not a complete scoundrel," he said with a wry grin.

Your front door always looked so inviting, a place for you to take a breath and relax after a long day. In that moment, it was taking everything in you to put one foot in front of the other and return to your own place.

"Scoundrel," you'd mused, hoping the amusement in your voice covered the way you leaned back with every step, as if you could claim one more touch of his body—arm, chest, shoulder—to send you to bed with nothing but him on your mind. "Kind of a big word, wouldn't you say?" you'd teased him, just as he'd done to you. "Sure you know what it means?"

The twitch of his jaw was enough of a reward for your attempt at humor, but your satisfied smirk had been wiped clean off your face when he'd darted a glance around before leaning in, hovering just centimeters from your face.

It occurred to you in that moment that you'd truly only kissed him once. A shame, a voice in your head sighed. His lips were devastatingly plump, even in the darkness.

Joel had stayed there, his eyes tearing down to your mouth before warning you in that deliciously low baritone, "I know what it is. Best get inside," his jaw twitched once more and you caught him clenching and unclenching his fists, "'fore I show you what it means to be a scoundrel."

You'd gone inside with a shaky breath and the return of that familiar pulse that, it seemed, only he knew how to ignite.

—

Joel chose not to look in the mirror when he'd gone home that night. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stand the way his hair was undoubtedly wild, his eyes hard with desire, and his hands still aching with the memory of her squirming body in his lap.

After four years of near silence, this girl had unraveled him. After all those days on patrol with her, nothing to do except look at her when she wouldn't notice, Joel Miller had been undone.

The next day, waking up early with the stiffness in his boxers begging to be dealt with, Joel spit on his palm and wrapped it around his cock, releasing a sigh. Fuck's sake, he thought with a groan. Can't hardly get a full night's sleep anymore.

It should have annoyed him; it was certainly an inconvenience. But if it meant that he'd get to spend more time thinking about her body and her lips and her eyes when she asked those incessant questions, then so be it. He'd never sleep another wink and be glad for it.

It didn't take long for his release to come, not when the memories of her whines were so fresh in his mind. To think that he'd had her on his lap, hips squirming in that way that only she knew...it was enough to make him—"A grown fuckin' man," he reminded himself—spill into his hands and draw ragged breaths into his lungs to recover.

With an arm thrown across his face, he latched onto the image of her in the heat of ecstasy, her eyelids fluttering shut and her lips wet from constantly biting them.

For a moment, he tried to rein himself in. Can't be doin' this, he'd thought while getting ready for patrol that morning. Don't wanna take advantage of her, or fuck her up cause of my inability to control my own desires.

In reality, he'd considered, did she really know what she was getting herself into? With little more knowledge than the mechanics of reproduction, it had been evident with the events of the previous night that she knew nothing of what pleasure could be. Did he really want to be responsible for her discovery of such things?

But when he went to the stables an hour later and saw her standing in the snow with an extra twinge in her grin and her eyes sparkling despite the echoes of fatigue in her irises, every doubt dissipated immediately. He pretended not to notice the way her eyes lingered on his back when they saddled up, heading out of Jackson for the day.

Joel Miller was never one to deny a woman in need. Why should he have stopped now?

—

"How'd you sleep?"

When you looked over at him, almost shocked that he'd broken the silence, your eyebrow quirked up. "Fine," you answered.

It wasn't that this patrol had been disappointing, it was just...ever since you'd left Jackson that morning, you'd been waiting for him to look at you like he had the night before, or to even acknowledge you in the way that you could still remember him doing.

Maybe it was because Tommy was nearby at the time, or maybe he'd changed his mind after all. Maybe you'd overstepped, asking a man so much older than you to teach you all of this. Maybe it hadn't happened at all—your dreams were rather convincing these days.

If it hadn't been for those girls, hell-bent on making you feel ostracized, perhaps you wouldn't have landed yourself in this position. You probably wouldn't have had any reason to be curious about what it all meant, and you could have gone on in comfortable silence with him on your patrols.

With a heavy mind, you blew out a breath. If it hadn't been for those girls, though—you never would have known the creases that sank into the corners of his eyes when he grinned at you.

Beside you, having held back to come up shoulder-to-shoulder, Joel huffed. "Bullshit, darlin'," he scoffed, casting a sideways glance in your direction.

You tightened your hands on the reins. "Excuse me?" you said sharply.

His chuckle was a soft rumble in his chest, and you ached to feel it against your back. "I saw those sleepy eyes at the stables," he crooned, the corners of his eyes crinkling just like you remembered. "Looks like someone didn't get a good night's sleep."

"Oh, and I'm just supposed to believe you slept like a damn baby, then?" You couldn't help the incredulity in your tone, but you blushed when you noticed him smirking, his lips twitching as he fought a smile away.

"'Course not," he shook his head almost dismissively. "Couldn't tell my brain to stop conjurin' pictures of you shakin' in my lap." He adjusted the way he was seated on his horse, and you couldn't help but wonder if he was getting hard at the reminder of the memory.

You, in a similar vein, were trying to ignore the unmistakable feel of heat puddling between your legs. Keeping your eyes forward, you asked, "Is that a good thing?"

Joel nodded. "A very good thing, dollface. You were so good for me last night."

Any air that had been in your lungs left in a rush, and you put a hand to your cheek, warm despite the winter's wind. You thought you heard yourself whine at the sound of the pet name.

Thankfully, he didn't say or do anything to show that he'd noticed. Instead, he tugged his horse to a stop. "Let's get down here," he said. "Walk and talk, yeah?"

The thought of walking beside him after all that had happened the night before was enough to make you freeze in your saddle, suddenly unsure of how to get down. "Yeah," you mumbled, if only to fill the silence.

You could hear the crunch of snow under his boots as he came up beside you, thick gloved hands reaching for your waist. "C'mon, darlin'," he'd insisted, "I won't bite."

There was a note of irony in his tone, and you let him pull you from your saddle, landing in the snow in front of him. Your jacket snagged against his, and you stood there for a moment, letting your frosty wisps of breath coil and furl with his. "What do you mean?" you asked, cursing your ever-present confidence when it came to asking him questions. It seemed that you'd never learn to hold your tongue.

"Hmm?" he hummed in response. "What's what mean?" He stepped away from you to grab the reins in his hand and began to walk forward in the snow.

You shook your head and pushed on, stumbling after him. When did the snow get so deep? "You sounded rather..." you trailed off, searching for the word.

"Oh, here it comes," he mused in that serious tone, hardly covering the teasing lilt that rang clear in his eyes. "Bet you're coming up with a big word right about now, huh?"

You couldn't help it when you rolled your eyes and swatted a hand at the back of his arm. "I was going to say you sounded smug," you finished. "About how you won't bite?"

There it was again. That look of slight surprise at your questions. You waited for a few moments, the two of you trudging along in the snow, before he answered quietly. "We're jumpin' ahead of ourselves, but I s'pose it won't hurt." He shrugged. "Some people like it. Biting."

You furrowed your eyebrows. "Like it?" You looked down at your hands, covered in thick gloves. "Doesn't it hurt?"

Joel smirked. "It can," he considered, "if the person gettin' bitten wants it like that." He brushed your arm with his. "But some people don't like it at all. Just depends."

You braved a look up at his face and swallowed roughly, feeling your core pulse at the sight of his rosy cheeks. "Does it have to hurt?" You didn't mean to sound so desperate; you were just curious. "I mean, is it like...like a real bite?"

It happened so quickly that you hardly had a moment to process. Joel stopped in his tracks, pulled you near, and dipped his head down to your ear. "Don't have to," he murmured, and you were just starting to quiver at the feel of his voice next to your ear when he was brushing your hair from your neck and grazing his teeth against your skin. "Can feel good, if the person doin' the biting knows how."

You couldn't help the hand that shot out to grab his arm, as if it were the only thing that might hold you up. "I'm assuming you know how," you said thickly, eyes wandering on his weathered face. Funny, you thought at the sight of his grin, he looks quite young like this.

Joel shifted his arm so he could squeeze your hand once with his before letting it go. "Don't boost my ego too high, sweetcheeks," he warned, but you could hear the humor in his voice. "Might never let go if you do."

You knew he was kidding, but the prospect that he was being serious made your stomach flutter and forced you to clench your thighs together, bringing the forefront of your attention back to the frustration that was pooling between your legs. "Joel," you muttered in a whine, not quite realizing you'd said it until he was looking at you with a twinge of concern.

"What's up, doll?" he asked, slowing to a stop. "Somethin' wrong?"

A curly tendril of his graying hair was blown into his face with the winter wind, and you wished you could brush it away with your fingers like he'd done just moments ago. "I..." you inhaled deeply, and shifted your weight. "I'm..."

It took him a moment to understand, and when he did, his eyes sparkled. "Oh, doll," he cooed, reaching forward to tug you closer to him. "Need something', huh?"

You leaned your head forward until your forehead rested against him, breathing in the scene of pine and old leather and that heady musk that was utterly Joel. Nodding into his strong chest, you brought your hand up to his wrist and tugged it down, down, down...there.

Joel's large hand cupped the mound between your legs and you swallowed harshly as it pulsed again, begging for the sweet release he'd given you the night before. "Fuck," he breathed, the vibrations of his voice rolling against your skin. "Shoulda told me you were this bothered, baby," he hummed.

You lifted your head. "I've been trying," you said in a pitiful whine, although this wasn't entirely true, and he knew it. "Why does it...why do I ache so bad?"

His smirk quivered, and his pupils were suddenly huge as he withdrew his hand from where it covered your heat, exposing it to the frigid winter air once more. "I think we've gone far enough, don't you?" he winked. "Think we may as well head back."

The implications of what would happen when you got back to Jackson made your head spin. Nodding feverishly, you let go of the twinge of embarrassment at your eagerness. "Yes, please," you hiccuped.

His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. "Good," he murmured.

—

This was the worst possible outcome.

Just when you'd worked up to exactly where you wanted to be with Joel, with his hands on you and his intentions leading you back to his house (and hopefully his couch), Tommy stopped you at the stables.

Well, not you. Not you at all, actually. He stalked up to his older brother and said, Meeting at my place, Joel."

He'd just gotten down from his saddle to help you do the same and was letting his hands linger on your waist when the interruption happened. With his hungry eyes locked on yours, he'd been leaning into your touch and hovering his hands just inches from your heat.

You could have sworn he jumped out of his skin at the sound of Tommy's voice; you just hoped it was because of his infamous hearing loss on his ride side and decidedly not because he'd been caught standing so close to you.

"We just had a meeting last week," he said gruffly, his eyes still searching yours. For what, you weren't sure—but you were quickly growing addicted to finding those rare flecks of gold buried in the espresso brown seas reflected back at you. His hands clenched involuntarily, and given the fact that they were resting around your hips, you got a delicious lick of pleasure that shot through your pelvis at the sensation.

Tommy didn't seem to be in the mood for dawdling. "And now we're having one this week," he insisted. "My place. Maria and the others are waiting."

You lifted your chin to see him close his eyes in annoyance. His mouth opened once; he closed it. When he opened it again, his eyes flashed along with the movement. "Alright, I'll be there in a minute," he said tersely, and you pretended not to notice the way his gloved thumb rubbed a slow circle on your hip. An apology, perhaps.

When he didn't move, you blushed with smug satisfaction. It had never been more clear that he didn't want to move.

"Joel, it's important." Usually, you'd never had an issue with Tommy. Now, of course, the sound of his voice clawed at your every hope for tonight.

With a soft look at your lips, Joel jerked his head to look at his brother. "I said give me a fuckin' minute," he said, his words clipped. "Fuck's sake," he muttered as he turned around. "Just answerin' a goddamn question," he finished, soft enough that you were sure his brother couldn't hear.

Tommy grumbled his fair share of disapproving words, but you couldn't help the grateful bubble that bloomed in your gut when you heard the shuffle of his boots as he left you alone in the stables with Joel.

He waited a moment or two before letting out a soft sigh. You couldn't have known how disappointed he was, but the way he lifted a hand to your cheek was clue enough. "New lesson, dollface," he said.

A pang of regret hit your stomach and you found yourself shaking your head. "Please?" you asked in a quiet voice. "I don't want a new lesson."

Joel grinned and sucked in a sharp breath. "I know, baby, I know." The familiar phrase threw you back to the night before, when he'd had his hands all over you, reassuring you with those exact words. But now, it wasn't a comfort. "But if I'm not around and you need to feel good..." His hand trailed down your cheek, brushed against your chest and returned to its previous spot between your legs. "I want you to practice touchin' yourself, yeah?"

His voice had become a near-painful whisper, just loud enough for you to feel rather than hear his words caress your skin. "This of me all you want, darlin'. God knows I'll be thinkin' of you at this damn...meeting," he practically spat the last word, but it didn't take away from the pressure that was building and causing you to blink rapidly. "Think about me," he repeated, "but I want you to explore this pretty body for me so you can tell me all about it when I get back."

The sound of his voice enveloped you, that heady sensation nearly making your knees give out. With a slow nod, you couldn't see yourself ever disobeying him. Not when he asked such sinful things of you.

"Okay," you whispered. "I'll try."

His mouth was in a hard line, his irritation at Tommy's interruption still prevalent. But it softened for a moment when he slid a gloved thumb over your bottom lip, letting it get pulled from its place before bouncing back. You darted your tongue out, wetting your lip in a desperate attempt to taste his leather on your skin; to taste him.

"Good," he said softly. Something new pulsed at the sound of his praise, but you fought it down. "I'll see you soon, doll."

—

Despite everything you tried when you got home—despite squeezing your eyes shut and picturing that dimple in Joel's cheek when he smirked, or the way his arms felt when wrapped around you—nothing helped. The pressure remained, the ache between your legs was ever-present, and yet...

You couldn't give yourself the release you craved. Not like Joel could.

There was no telling how long you tried, hand shoved down your pants in a sour attempt to replicate the feeling he'd given you. Your fingers were clumsy, untrained, and entirely new to the task, leaving you desperate and unsatisfied. A strangled whine left your throat when your mind flashed with the memory of his face near yours, his lips on your own, and his rough hands rubbing that small bud at your center. It was maddening.

He'd asked you to do this one thing, and you couldn't deliver. Of course, you'd never even realized this was a possibility; you'd only ever heard of men bringing themselves to the plummeting precipice of pleasure. You never considered that you could do the same.

But you didn't want to make yourself feel good. You wanted Joel to do it.

After what felt like hours, stuck in your house alone, Joel nowhere to be found, and with your hopes slipping into despair, you gave up. Your fingers would never be as rough or as thick as his. You didn't know how to explore your body when you couldn't tip yourself over the edge to ecstasy; it was impossible.

Weary and defeated, you went to bed with a groan. Joel still hadn't shown up. Either it was a long meeting, or...you didn't want to entertain the thought that he'd possibly forgotten about you. About your task to be completed.

You actually did drop off into a dreamless sleep, but when you woke to the sound of a knock at your door, you were almost positive the dreams had begun again. Swinging your legs out of bed, you trudged to the door with sleep oozing in every movement. The door opened with a click, and you blinked.

"Sorry I'm late, sweetcheeks," Joel breathed. A distant streetlamp, the only one in Jackson, was the sole source of light that illuminated the edges of his broad body on your porch. He looked near-angelic.

You didn't say anything for a moment, only crossed your arms to keep yourself warm in the face of the wintry outdoors. The relief and anticipation at seeing him here paired with the disappointment and fatigue that it had taken so long warred with each other, creating a dangerous mix as you managed to say, "Are you...hungry? Or something?"

He swallowed, and your head swam with the desire to lay your tongue flat on his neck where his Adam's apple bobbed. "Starving," he groaned, and in one step he was not only in your house but he was all over you, and you were wearing nothing but your thin pajamas.

He'd apparently already taken off his gloves, and when his hand came up to cup your cheek your body registered the chill of his fingers with a shock, despite leaning into his touch all the same. He took a moment to look at you before touching his forehead to yours, pressing his lips to yours gently. You could practically taste the restraint on his mouth, and you wanted nothing more than to beg him for everything.

Something about your face must have given it away when he pulled back because he tapped a finger against your cheek. "You look like you need somethin'." He darted a look down to your legs. "Did you do what I asked?"

You weren't sure what made you lie, but you nodded nonetheless. "Uh-huh."

Even in the dark, he was so close to you that you could see his eyebrow lift in question. You didn't know how he knew, but why wouldn't he? This was Joel. "You didn't come," he concluded, and you ducked your head. "Why not, dollface? I thought I told you to."

The implication that his request was, in fact, a command, didn't slip your mind. Your cheeks burned when you forced yourself to look at him. "I couldn't. I don't know how."

"Sure you do," he whispered. "You did real good last night for me, remember?" His lips ghosted your jaw.

You shook your head. "I don't know how. I've never...made myself come."

When Joel looked at you, you could have sworn his lips twitched, betraying the desire in his movements. "I'm sorry, babydoll," he cooed, bringing his other hand to your cheek. He slotted his lips over yours once more, and it was all you could do not to sink to the floor right there. "We'll have to fix that, won't we?"

You nodded. "Show me? Please?"

Without another word he bent to brush his lips across your hairline—you could have sworn you felt him inhale with his nose in your hair—and murmured, "In the morning, yeah?"

You pulled away to complain but he only gave you a soft smile. It was then that you could see the exhaustion in his face, eyes downturned despite those creases winking at you in the darkness. "But—"

"Told Tommy you need a day off," he clarified. "'Cause you're...sore..." he splayed his hand on your back and tugged you near, voice low. "Ya know, from all that horseback ridin'."

An anticipatory chuckle bubbled from your chest. "No way he bought that," you said breathlessly as he nipped your jawline with his teeth (you were almost sure it was supposed to be a kiss). "I've been patrolling on horseback for years."

Joel shrugged and looked down at you with a smirk. "Who knows? Maybe I should have told him you were waiting for me to come home and make you fall apart on my fingers," he said dismissively, but his tone did nothing to stop your stomach from flipping.

"Oh," you said dumbly, cursing yourself inwardly for how easily you were rendered speechless in his presence. "He'll...he'll really let us take the day off?" Your mind swam with the possibilities of what you could do with an entire day.

He shook his head. "Not us, darlin'. Just you." Tracing the line of your jaw, his lips twisted into a dry smirk. "I'll have to go tomorrow. But," he whispered, squeezing a hand on your hip and cocking an eyebrow at the way your legs wobbled," I'd gladly go every morning all by myself if it meant you were in your bed all day, daydreamin' about me."

It was a heavier confession that you'd expected out of him, and you let out a breathy sigh. "In the morning then," you asked. You swallowed roughly in an attempt to push down the lump of pure need that had risen in your chest, but to no avail.

Joel nodded firmly. "Trust me," he hummed, "in the morning."

So you'd led him to your bed with no more discussion. It hadn't occurred to you that he might not stay the night; he'd come to your place after the meeting like he'd said, and it was the middle of the night. Why wouldn't he have stayed the night?

Despite everything in you fighting to stay awake, the second you returned to your mattress and pulled the covers up, your eyelids drooped. Joel stood at the end of the bed and shed his jacket slowly. "Sleep, doll," he said, his voice echoing in the otherwise silent room as he bent to kick off his boots. "I'll be here when you wake up."

—

Was he getting too close? Was he pushing the boundaries too far, too soon? Probably.

Selfishly, Joel didn't much care.

—

Sure enough—when morning came, when the dull winter sunlight crept into your house and draped the floor in soft yellow, you felt the dip of your mattress beside you and betrayed Joel's presence. He'd stayed. Like he said.

Quite the dedicated teacher, you thought to yourself with a satisfied warmth. You'd felt him climb into bed last night, but despite your every wish for him to press himself to your back and hold you tightly the whole night, he'd kept at least a foot of space between your bodies. Always close enough to touch, but never giving in.

You rolled over and swiped a hand over your face, a few stray strands falling into your eyes. The breath left your chest when you saw him there, eyes open and waiting for you. "Hi," you said, your voice rough with sleep. Again with the monosyllabic responses, you scolded yourself.

Joel hummed, the deep rumble of his voice reverberating through the mattress and into your body. "Looked so sweet like that, darlin'," he mused, his rough hands tucked under his head. He reached one of them toward you and tapped your bottom lip, plump with sheep, with two of his fingertips. "Didn't wanna wake you up."

"You didn't." You weren't sure what made you do it, but you moved closer, shifting your entire body until your nose almost brushed his. Your eyes flitted up to look at the way his graying hair laid messily around the crown of his head, haircuts neglected for who knew how long. "Can we...I want to start now," you mumbled.

His jaw ticked, and he looked like he was swallowing down a grin. "Look at you," he cooed, "so eager. Aren't you hungry, doll?"

You bit your lip and you could have sworn you saw his eyes widen. "Starving," you fumbled over the word, imitating his response to you the night before on your porch.

Joel let go of a chuckle and his eyes danced with mirth. "Always turnin' my words back on me, aren't ya?" When you nodded sheepishly, he slid his hand around to cup the back of your head and he pulled you in, connecting his lips with yours. "Okay, pretty girl," he said. "We'll start. Since you asked so nicely."

His lips were chapped from the cold weather but they were still soft as he pressed them to yours, moving lazily as the two of you blinked away the last clutches of sleep. "Always so soft, these lips," he murmured, and then his hand was moving from your neck to your chest. "Everyone's different, yeah? There's these spots on everyone's body," he said, absentmindedly drawing swirls along the expanse of your chest, making you shiver. "Let's call them...pleasure points."

"Pleasure points," you repeated breathlessly, your stomach fluttering as he rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. "Is that—"

He grinned with a nod. "Think I just found one of 'em, doll." He rolled you onto your back and bent his head down, his breath fanning over your chest and warming you through your thin pajama shirt. "This is how we get you all ready for me, when the time comes."

You nodded quietly and let out a shaky sigh as his hands wandered. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and you practically preened at the feeling of his lips against your skin while his hands squeezed and caressed your breasts, moving over your stomach. "Joel—"

He paused, hand hovering over the hem of your shirt. "What, babygirl?"

You couldn't help the whine that fought its way out of your throat. "Please," you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut at the pressure that writhed in your core.

Joel's fingers lifted the hem of your shirt, his mouth widening in a grin at the way that your stomach rose and fell in spattered pants. "Come on, darlin'," he crooned, "open those pretty eyes for me. Gotta see you, doll."

It was all you could do not to take his hand in your own and shove it to your core where you needed him desperately, but you did as he asked.

"That's it, baby," he breathed, good girl."

You'd become familiar with the way your stomach clenched at his use of pet names, but this was new. You had done well for him. You wanted to stay that way. "Will you touch me please? I need—"

"So eager," he murmured, leaning in with his lips to your earlobe. "Lemme take my time with you, dollface." And then his lips were wrapping to the soft part of your ear, his teeth grazing at your skin. Paired with this sensation and the heady feeling of his hand on your waistband, fumbling to push his hand beneath it, you arched your back and released a series of high-pitched whines.

"JoelJoelJoelpleasepleaseplease," you were overcome with the pure, unbridled need that was speeding through your body like a tidal wave on a summer day.

"Alright, darlin', alright," he acquiesced, pushing his hand into your waistband and pulling it down over your hips. You didn't even have the mind to be shy about being laid bare to him this way; you just needed him to touch you.

Before you could beg him again, he had his fingertip on your core, sliding it gently through your slick heat. "Oh, baby," he groaned, rutting his hips against your side. His bulge pressed into your hip and you flexed your fingers to reach for it. "M'never gettin' used to how wet you are for me," his voice shook.

One finger became two, and then his fingertips were rubbing sweet circles to your sensitive bud, drawing near pornographic moans to tumble past your lips. "Can I touch you, please?" you begged, your hand fisting your bedsheets. "Wanna touch you, Joel, please."

He hummed against your ear as he swiped another finger against your bud and lifted your hand to his lips. "Sure thing, doll," he said, and placed it in his hair. Your fingers instinctually carded through the coarse strands, and you blushed when his eyes fluttered closed. "Hold on tight if you need to, pretty girl," he grinned, and lemme know if it's too much."

You were going to ask if what was too much, but then he dipped his finger further down your core, notching it at the small opening. You hadn't even thought this far ahead, that things would eventually lead here. Something pulsed and you whined, tugging his hair in your hand.

"Look at you, so ready for me," he murmured against your neck. His tongue swept out to lick a small stripe along the sensitive skin there and when you let out a stuttering breath he chuckled. "You are ready for me, aren't ya, pretty girl?"

You couldn't nod fast enough. "Please," you choked out, and then he was pressing his finger inside you.

It was a small intrusion, but overwhelming all the same. In all your years, you'd never had the thought that it could feel this good to have him close to you like this. He was only as far as the first knuckle, but with the way that his bulge was nudging your hips, he wanted much more. "Good girl," he breathed, "such a good girl, openin' your legs like this."

"Wanna touch you," you whimpered again, vision blurring with the desperation that coursed through your veins. "Please, Joel, let me touch you."

He kissed you, but you could hardly focus enough to move your lips against his. "Already touchin' me," he said. "You want more?"

"Yes," you nodded feverishly, releasing your hand from his hair. "I wanna..." you looked down at his bulge and licked your lips.

Joel's eyes were wide as he whispered, "For fuck's sake, darlin', when you're cryin' about it..." he swiped a thumb across your cheeks, collecting a teardrop you hadn't even known was there. "How could I say no?"

Thankyouthankyouthankyou were the only words in your mind, a jumbled mess as you reached for him. Your finger traced his length and before you knew it, you were reaching inside his boxers to release it from its constraints. "Holy fuck," you whined, bucking your hips into his hand as you saw just how big he was, long and thick and heavy in your hand. "Need it," you found yourself whispering. "Need you."

It was all you could do before he pushed his finger further, then out, and then in, just enough to throw you closer to that addicting edge of ecstasy. Once again, you found yourself enveloped in the thick pressure of pure desire in his arms.

He pressed the pad of his thumb to your bud and swirled circles in your heat, his lips connecting to your ear once more. "Alright, baby. Alright, baby," he practically chanted in a low tone, nibbling on your lobe just hard enough to pinch the skin. "C'mon now, squeeze my finger like that, that's it," he groaned, drawing out the final two syllables, "good girl."

With his hand in the crux of your legs and his mouth connected to your ear, whispering the filthiest things you'd ever heard in your sheltered life, you threw your head back into the pillow and curled your legs toward him, your hand squeezing his cock tightly as you continued your strokes.

The sounds that erupted from your throat as you burst in a state of pure pleasure were the most pitiful (and yet electrifying) noises you'd ever heard yourself make, and you couldn't help but continue rolling your hips into his hands, chasing the feeling until it became more intense and your legs began to twitch again. "Joel," you mewled, voice breaking, "I need you."

A teasing chuckle sounded, and your cheeks warmed as he removed his hand from your slick. "So much you don't know, dollface," he crooned, tracing his index down the line of your nose. He pushed another, shining with your release, into your mouth. The sweetness nearly made you fall apart again. "Don't know if you're ready for that."

Your body was on fire, nearly throbbing with the insatiable need to be wrapped in his arms, with his hands everywhere, his lips anywhere. Your hand had been moving on his shaft, but his hips stuttered with your next words. "I am," you insisted, "I need you, please. I wanna feel you everywhere."

Joel's pupils went wide and he shuddered out a breath, mumbling a string of curses with his eyes shut. He thrusted his hips into your hand and then your skin was sticky and warm with his own release, some of it landing on your stomach where you lay beside him.

"Shit," he groaned with a rueful smirk. "Maybe I'm not ready for that yet." His breath fanned deliciously over your skin as he continued. "Can't hardly last long enough with the thought of stretching you out like that, baby."

You grinned, and you didn't mind the fact that he could definitely see the flush in your cheeks. "No?"

He shook his head. "Fuck no. I don't wanna think about how quickly I'll come if I were to be inside that pretty pussy yet," he said with a short and gentle tap to your mound. When your hips arched off the mattress and you whined at the sensitivity, he cooed apologetically.

"Isn't that a good thing?" you frowned slightly. "I thought I was making you feel good."

"Makin' me feel too good," he mused, bringing his hand up to hold your face toward him once more. He winked. "Can't have me comin' before you do, sweet girl. Not very gentlemanly of me."

You couldn't help the pang of doubt that clouded your face, and it must have been obvious, because then he was cupping the back of your head and pulling you to his chest. Humming into your neck, he smirked. "Besides, I want to be able to take my sweet time with you. To see you squirmin' beneath me like you do, baby? S'enough to make the pope leave the goddamn church."

tysm for reading, i can't believe you guys convinced me to write MORE filth for these two. u made it to the end, lemme know what you thought!

[wordstome]

COD Men as Dream Daddy DILFs

Call of Duty single dads x gn!single parent reader

⤐Characters: 141 + König + Horangi + Keegan

⤐Premise: You just moved into a neighborhood with a high population of retired military personnel.

*glances at my 3-4 wips* let's talk about some dilfs, shall we? ...Don't look at me. I had a vision. (No relation to the actual characters from Dream Daddy, just a similar premise) Also a disclaimer: I'm writing these dads mostly in their late 30s to 40s, but don't think about their ages and the ages of their kids too much. This is all vibes. And sorry ahead of time if I gave one of the kids the same name as you 💀 Feel free to imagine the kid has a different name because the names really don't matter

p.s. I wanted to write more characters but I had to reel myself in. I could be persuaded to write a part 2 with Vaqueros, Nikolai, Valeria, Nikto, and other Ghosts tbh

Warning: this shit is LENGTHY. Strap yourself in.

Price: A post about DILFs and you expect me not to start with Captain John Price? Price is the lynchpin of this cul de sac. He's the one inviting everyone over to the barbecue, tries to get the dads to get along, and gives everyone advice. He has the quintessential dad energy. He 100% slaps his knees and says "well!" when he gets up. Price also has major girl dad energy. He's got three adorable little ladies, aged 3 (Clara), 9 (Brianna), and 11 (Alice). Yes, he did name his daughters in ABC order, I can see him doing that. Oh, he dotes on his girls, and they love their dad endlessly. He's the model father: recitals, sports, parent teacher conferences, you name it, he's there.

That's how the two of you meet: he comes up to you at one of the aforementioned events and gives you a firm handshake and apologizes profusely for not coming around to introduce himself earlier. It's not like him not to at least swing by, and he hopes you can forgive him the discourtesy. He hands you his number and says anything you need, just give him a call, or maybe swing by for a beer sometime. He gives you a wink that makes your knees weak, a wink that says he definitely noticed you checking out his muscled arms and broad shoulders. Maybe you will swing by for that beer sometime—and maybe get a little more than just a drink.

Ghost: I could see Simon having a one night stand kid. He certainly never saw himself starting a family after he lost his last one, but he was stressed and probably piss drunk as well. Years and years later, he's back from deployment and finds a social worker with a boy on his doorstep, and the rest is history. I love the idea of Simon with a moody 16 year old, but I actually see Simon and his son having the same dynamic as Mike and Abby Schmidt from the FNAF movie. Since Simon wasn't around for Caden's early childhood, they have a relationship that's undeniably father and son, but leaning towards casual and sibling-like. Simon's figuring his shit out, dealing with his PTSD and the various lasting health issues his time in special forces has left him with, and Caden's a quiet, sensitive 10 year old boy who thinks the world of his dad.

You meet Simon at the local bar. His Ghost days are long behind him, but the balaclava's a hard habit to kick. Besides, he doesn't need people staring at his scars. He's usually there with the 141, but today he's alone, and looks like he could use some company. You sit up at the bar close to him and order a drink, but you don't disturb him, and he visibly relaxes when he realizes you're not going to try to make small talk. It becomes a routine, the two of you: always sharing a quiet drink together at the bar, and then both of you wordlessly go home to your kids. You have a sort of silent conversation every time: Good to see you again. Yeah, you too. Neither of you actually speak a word to the other until Price introduces you to him at a gathering, and you finally hear his voice. "We've met before," he says, with a glint in his eye that suggests perhaps he'd like to be more than just a silent drinking buddy. That's fine with you: you're dying to see what's under the mask and dark hoodie.

Soap: JOCK ALERT. Johnny's basically Craig from Dream Daddy: total dreamboat who goes on runs around the neighborhood and gets all the appreciative looks from the local moms. He thrives on the attention in a way that definitely makes the 141 roll their eyes. He's got an older little girl named Elodie, and a lil baby boy Thomas that he takes everywhere with him. Obviously he's just being a responsible parent taking care of an infant, but secretly, Thomas is a great conversation starter with aforementioned local moms.

Conversely however, it's Johnny who makes the move on you first. Maybe in the grocery store, maybe at one of Price's get-togethers. Sidles up to you and introduces himself with a look in his eye that means trouble. Only the good kind of trouble, of course. If you reciprocate and he finds out you're single, you're not getting rid of him. But why would you want to, anyway? He's endlessly charming, attentive, and good with his hands. When he's fixing a leaky tap for you, of course—what did you think I meant?

Gaz: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick is a fucking heartthrob. I'm saying it right here, right now. He's a walks in with flowers, makes you dinner kind of partner. Also househusband vibes, because, surprise: Kyle is still married. This isn't a Joseph (Dream Daddy) situation, though: he and his wife, Emily, have known each other for a long time, a very high school sweethearts situation. Over the years, though, they drifted apart with Kyle in the military, and Emily eventually realized she's not actually into men. They're still married for coparenting purposes: they've got an older teenage girl named Violet, and a younger boy named Elliott. (Yes, I'm naming him after Elliot Knight, sue me.)

Honestly, I think it would be HILARIOUS if you met Kyle on a dating app and realized he's your next-door neighbor. But however you guys meet, Kyle is an old-school courter kind of guy. He is taking you on dinner dates, listening to you rant about your day, and is on your doorstep in a heartbeat when you call him in a panic because your kid's running a 105 fever (41 in Celsius) and you need a ride to the emergency room. (Not that the other dads wouldn't do the same, but I'm trying to convey "most reliable man in the world" vibes here.)

König: Y'all...you don't know how much fucken time I've spent thinking about this man as a dad. He's in the same boat as Ghost where he never saw himself living long enough to start a family, but here he is with the most precious little girl you've ever laid eyes on. Ava's got her father's curly hair and big green eyes, and she has her dad wrapped around her pinky finger. For König, Ava is living proof that he's capable of being more than just a tool for violence.

You meet König through Ava, of course. Your kids are the closest of friends, and the two of them are constantly going over to each other's houses. You're obviously delighted that your kid is making new friends and fitting in so well, but you'd be lying if your heart didn't skip a beat whenever you open your door to see Ava's six foot ten dad standing there with soft eyes and a sheepish smile. I have to stop here, because I've already written an extra paragraph for this man that I've cut out and pasted for safekeeping in my notes app, and if encouraged I will write more. (Please encourage me.)

Horangi: I know we already had a sort of Robert (Dream Daddy) figure with Ghost, but I think Horangi is a dad whose kid is an adult, much like Robert and Val. I also think that out of all the dads, Horangi is likely the one who's still doing some level of military work. Either that, or he has a very demanding job that takes up a lot of his time. He's ashamed of the way he let his gambling affect his family in the past, and is making up for it by being responsible and keeping his finances in order.

You don't meet him until you've lived in the neighborhood for quite a while, but he pops up at a gathering, talking quietly with König in a corner. You'd thought you had met every neighbor in the cul de sac, so you're intrigued by the newcomer. Someone, probably Price, tells you what Hong-jin's deal is, and ever since that you just can't keep your eyes off of him. You can't quite work up the nerve to talk to him, so you occupy yourself talking with the other parents. Some time later, you're at the food table grazing on the snacks when you look up and make eye contact with him. There's something intense in his gaze that makes you freeze, like a deer in headlights. He's definitely checking you out, you think. Your chest erupts into nervous butterflies when he starts walking towards you.

Keegan: Keegan is an adoptive father! I love his dynamic with the Walker boys, so I can see him being the kind of guy who adopts an older teenager so they have a home and a family instead of aging out of the system. Jason and Cecelia are high school age siblings who would have been separated otherwise, and consider Keegan their dad in every way that's important.

I think you and Keegan are definitely rivals in some way. Maybe it's a PTO thing, maybe he gets a little too boisterous at your kids' sports game. Whatever it is, you can't stand the man, but your annoyance whenever he's around only seems to amuse him. You have no problem saying to his face exactly what you think about him, but unfortunately, Keegan can see right through you. And hey, Cecelia could use some experience as a babysitter, so you won't have to worry about spending the night over at his place, will you?

As always, I wanna hear peoples' thoughts and feedback! If you want to hear more about these dads, drop me an ask <3