#she pretty much described me to a t

[josiebelladonna]

“our families can either make or break us.

They can inspire, support, and uplift us. Indeed, our families can be a second womb, hearth, or safe space in which we grow and transform. On the other hand, they can demoralize, oppress, and smother us. Depending on where you are on the family spectrum, you’ll be a relatively well-adjusted individual or a person plagued with problems.

Our experience of ‘family’ forms a large part of the foundation of our self-worth, feelings of belonging, and psychological/emotional well-being as adults.

[…]

The “black sheep of the family” is a term that refers to a family member who is considered peculiar, strange, unconventional, eccentric, or not aligned with the family’s persona and values. Sometimes “black sheep” has strong negative connotations as it can be used to refer to a person who is considered a “misfit,” criminal, addict, or overall troublemaker.”

(i was never considered a troublemaker, but i do get this feeling that they think of me as a criminal and an addict—even though the worst drug i’ve ever done is aspirin and i literally hate the taste of alcohol)

[…]

On top of being considered weird, black sheep are often scapegoated and blamed for the majority of a family’s problems. This tendency to scapegoat is known in psychology as the “Identified Patient.“

The “Identified Patient” or IP, was a term that emerged in the 1950s to describe the actions of sick and dysfunctional families and their tendency to assign one person in the family as a scapegoat to their problems.

Essentially, the Identified Patient is said to be a way that families avoid their own internal pain, disappointments, and struggles, by pointing the finger at another family member as the cause for all the problems they experience.

If you were the Identified Patient in your family, you were most likely chosen as the “trouble maker” or “problem child” due to your status within the family (e.g., young, naive and abusable, or older, headstrong and threatening), or your differing Soul Age and personality, which drew attention to your contrasting likes, tastes, and habits. Naturally, these qualities placed a big bullseye on your head and were used against you throughout your life. (!!!!!!!)

Symptoms that you were chosen as the Identified Patient of your family include the following:

Your parents were more strict with you than they were with your other siblings (my mom, not really, but i remember my dad treated me very differently from my brother and i don’t think gender has to do with it. although my parents didn’t give me the proper send-off to college like they did with my brother, like i remember his going off to school was an all-day affair. me? i moved away to college alone. i had the help of my aunt, but it wasn’t this all-day thing, though. my dad dropped me off at the train station and i went up to oregon by myself, two weeks after my grandmother’s and my uncle’s houses nearly burned down, two months after my brother and sis-in-law basically dismissed the trauma i felt with my parents splitting, and four months after my parents split)

Your mistakes were blown out of proportion and/or punished disproportionately (to the point i’m almost shell shocked; all you people who approach me with “sorry to bother you” can stuff your sorries in a sack, tbh)

You always carried the feeling that you “didn’t fit in” with your family, and you didn’t develop strong connections with them (to the point it almost feels like they all hate(d) me)

You were mocked, ridiculed, and/or made fun of on a constant basis (not a day would go by when i wouldn’t hear “we’re just joking! where’s your sense of humor?”)

Your family seemed intent on making you feel “deficient” and as though you were always fundamentally lacking (especially from my extended family, and especially the case after my grandpa passed)

Whenever you got stronger, more confident, or happier, your family seemed intent on bringing you down and/or convincing you that you weren’t getting any better (or they would compare me to my cousin in some way. also, look no further than my baking: my chocolate cake? barely impressed. my rye bread? my dad’s literal reaction was “what about it”. absolutely no right to tell me i need to “exude confidence” for anything after that.)

You developed mental and/or emotional disorders, and/or substance abuse problems as a result of being scapegoated and overburdened (anxiety, depression, and anorexia, any questions?)

Your family didn’t show any interest in who you really were as a person (none. whatsoever. they all seem to believe that “what you see is what you get” with me when that’s complete bullshit. a few years back, my dad once told me that he wants me “to grow” all because i don’t have a steady income when i’m searching for something better than that… no, you want me to be what you want me to be)

You were criticized, completely ignored, and/or emotionally manipulated if you rebelled in any way (without fail)

It’s important to note that families who assign scapegoats or Identified Patients often go to great measures to keep the member of the family they’ve unconsciously chosen that way, otherwise, they are forced to face their own inadequacies. 

So if you’re stuck in a pull-tug relationship with your family where they treat you like crap, but cry and mope when you back away, this is why.

If you’re still wondering whether you’re the black sheep of the family, let’s zoom in even more. Pay attention to the following signs – how many can you relate to?

You are blamed for most of your family’s issues (whether directly or indirectly) (definitely indirectly, like no one ever said it but i could sense it)

You feel like most of your family members completely misunderstand you (two words: fall 2015. i still can’t get a word in without it being blown out of proportion)

You’re left out of the loop on your family’s news (AND HOW! i never know what the hell’s going on until well after the fact)

You’re not invited to gatherings, celebrations, etc. (and how)

You don’t have much in common with any of your family members in terms of likes, tastes, and preferences (i’m an artist who’s into sci-fi, fantasy, horror, erotica, and cartoons, i like heavy metal and dark music, i like weirder music, i like to bake, i like meteorology, i like learning new languages for the fun of it; i’m a sporty tomboy who’s into stuff like baseball, swimming, and archery; i’m dramatic, i’m passionate, i’m sensual, i’m romantic; the people whom i find attractive would make these people shit themselves…)

You struggle to emotionally or mentally connect with your family members (again, fall 2015. i said i just wanted to spend some time away to think about life for a bit. i still don’t understand how this translated to “i’m in trouble with everything”. nor do i understand the verbal abuse i sustained when i tried to clarify it all)

You’re made fun of, belittled, shamed, or bullied (either directly or indirectly) (all of these things, both directly and indirectly)

You often feel like you’re adopted or were raised in the wrong family (i remember thinking this as young as 5 years old, like “am i adopted?”)

You’re a contrarian or eccentric individualist by nature (i.e., you know who you are and what you stand for) (if the fact that i can’t get anywhere in life is anything to go by, i definitely am)

The pain of being rejected, scorned, and even flat-out disowned cuts deep to the core. 

As a person who is the black sheep of my birth family, I know how terribly lonely being a black sheep is. All of the following wounds I’ve personally experienced and learned to deal with throughout time. 

Here are the main mental and emotional wounds you may develop/experience:

You feel alone in life (yes)

You struggle to relate to other people (yes…)

It’s extremely difficult to trust people in relationships, friendships, work situations, etc. (fffff, yes)

Trusting yourself and your instincts is hard, so you often feel lost(and without an inner compass) (i’m in the bermuda triangle and if i look down, i’ll drown)

Emotional commitment is scary and triggering (it’s terrifying, tbh)

You carry big and oppressive core beliefs such as “I’m not good enough” and “There’s something wrong with me“ (constantly :( )

Deep down, you feel that if someone truly got to know you, they wouldn’t like you anymore (i feel this way all the time)

You feel fundamentally unlovable (…this, too)

You’re either overly dependent on your friends for emotional validation or you prefer to go solo and bypass friendship altogether (as a loner) (the green druidess has got another thing coming)

Social anxiety is a regular issue you battle (for reeeeeeeal…)

Your life feels like one big existential crisis (yeah, i can’t stand these fucking bloggers who are like “I’m constantly having a midlife crisis!” like stfu, you don’t know what you’re talking about)

You grapple with depressive and/or addictive tendencies (addictive personality but i’m this side of a teetotaler, though)

This list isn’t exhaustive, but I hope I’ve painted a clear picture. 

Being the black sheep of the family ain’t no ‘walk in the park.’ It’s traumatizing and destabilizing. But you’re certainly not alone, and this experience isn’t a curse, it’s a pathway.

Certainly, it’s crucial that we come to terms with how traumatizing being the black sheep is – we need to mourn this fact.

But I also want to offer a unique perspective on being the black sheep of the family. 

It’s a tremendously important pathway to spiritual transformation.

Why?

When we are rejected by our birth family, we are given a gift many others in life aren’t: the doorway to unfettered freedom. While others who are embraced by their families still need to play by certain rules, black sheep have the chance to walk their own paths.

While accepted-family-members might benefit from being validated, they also tend to be trapped in limiting roles that make it difficult for authentic Soul growth and expression to occur.

Black sheep, on the other hand, have a clean slate. The doorway to trailblazing their own destiny is open, they aren’t held back by other’s opinions because the judgment has already been made: they are rejects, oddballs, and outsiders.

Sure, there are cases of perfect families who lovingly uphold the dreams and aspirations of their members. But these instances are the exception, not the rule. The truth is that most families are dysfunctional – they are products of our wider fragmented society. And thus, they tend to have a stifling effect on one’s spiritual path and evolution.

As a black sheep, you are gifted with the chance to do some authentic soul searching, free from the suffocating confines of your family’s expectations and desires. You have already been cast in the role of Distaste and Disappointment. There’s not much else your birth family can do to harm you – the wound has already been inflicted. Now, your job is to break free and find your true meaning in life.”

—lonerwolf

[tarysande]

The best part about coming back to the source material after a looooong time is you sorta get a fresh look at canon in comparison to whatever the dominant strains of fanon have become. Or, in fact, whatever your own dominant strains of headcanon have become.

I mean, yes, Garrus “I’m not a good turian” Vakarian gets infinitely cooler (and more competent!) by pretty much every metric as the storyline progresses. He does. But fresh out of ME1 and into ME2 through his recruitment, I find myself genuinely amused by how thin the veneer of badass is over a pretty dominant core of straight-up nerd sprinkled with idealism mixed with self-doubt.

When you have Garrus in the squad all the time (and thus get all his ambient dialogue and remarks), you really pick up on the number of times he calls out bad behavior, unethical actions, cruelty, and rule-breaking, especially in ME1.

He’s not actually a hothead who can’t abide rules of any kind. In fact, most of the time he’s pretty pro-law-and-order, and he gets amusingly hall-monitorish when people are breaking rules he considers important and worth following.

Fundamentally, Garrus chafes when his sense of what is just is at odds with what the authorities do about that injustice (or what they stop him from doing). And I would hazard a guess that the reason his actions seem so intense or harsh or "of course we should have shot down that ship in the middle of the Citadel" is indicative not of his impatience but of the degree to which he thinks the authorities have failed to uphold that justice. We know he can be patient. He's a sniper. His whole modus operandi on Omega is precision kills without civilian casualty. But when that long fuse finally burns down, he goes from zero to shooting down ships in the middle of the Citadel in what looks (from the outside) like a heartbeat.

And yes, injured pride hastens the burning of that fuse; he doesn’t like losing. Or admitting defeat. Or failing.

Having just replayed his recruitment mission, a few things really stood out to me this time.

The merc bands really hate him--and they also reluctantly admire him (he's described as smart, resourceful, dangerous, idealistic, brave, slippery; they all agree they only way they managed to get this far is by isolating him and employing dirty tactics). I mean, there's literally a station-wide announcement that Omega can return to "business as usual" once Archangel is out of the picture because he was disrupting things so completely.

The way Garrus blames himself for the deaths of his squad is so freaking turian. Failure reflects on the leader who places his people in danger they can't handle, not the individual who fails. Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Yes, Sidonis betrayed him, but the person Garrus blames the most? Is himself. For trusting Sidonis in the first place. For raising Sidonis to a position where he had the means and opportunity to harm others--and the weakness of character to turn coat, to save his own hide, instead of dying to protect the others.

Garrus mentions more than once that he was trying to emulate Shepard. And his tone always implies that he knows he failed because Shepard would never have let a Sidonis into the fold. Again, he's blaming himself. Like a good turian. Yes, he wanted to avoid the red tape and bureaucracy of C-Sec, but his code--Archangel's code--certainly aligns with Paragon Shepard's morality (with a Garrus Vakarian twist).

And since it wouldn't be meta without adding a Tara's Headcanon Twist ... I've always wondered why "Archangel" when it's such a ... human concept. But this time, when I noticed how he spoke about Shepard's influence, and how quickly he brushes aside the name when she asks him about it, I wondered if it wasn't actually his way of honoring the mythology of the dead woman whose example he was trying to follow. Not that Shepard is a God he's worshiping, but ... there is something about the way he talks about her. Garrus doesn't make himself over in the image of a God, though; he's the soldier, the right hand, the avenging angel responsible for carrying out divine punishments suited and proportional to the crimes committed, the rules broken, the selfishness or cruelty of the perpetrator.

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

On Set Shenanigans || Tom Blyth x actress!reader

GIFS by me :) cred if use!!

Summary: just a bunch of random scenarios on set I thought of while I was in the shower lmao 🤣

Warnings: noneee

Wc: 1,553

A/n: sorta all over the place sorry lmao

Divider by @pommecita

“If you could describe Y/n and Tom in one word, what would you say?” Rachel purses her lips, side eyeing the two of you who were watching her with silly grins. “Y/n and Tom are,” Rachel hums, tapping her chin as she breaks out into a chuckle.

“Goofy.” You and Tom turn to each other and just break into laughter. “They are seriously the most goofiest people I have met in my entire life! There is never a dull moment on set when these two around,” Rachel shakes her head as she smiles at the two of you who blow kisses her way.

“Tom and Y/n, there’s a behind the scenes video circulating around of the two of you in costume, dancing to Low by Flo Rida,” “Oh my god,” You drop your head on Tom’s shoulder as the two of you couldn’t help wipe the grin off your faces.

“Yes, there is,” Tom laughs as they put up said video. “If you guys haven’t see it, here it is,” Dressed in his peacekeeper outfit, white singlet with his dog tag out, and you in your outfit, you and Tom were dancing along to your favourite song to dance to, Low by Flo Rida.

Rachel was recording the video during your break and was dying of laughter. The camera was shaking the entire time because of it. You and Tom loved goofing around and dancing.

You could say it was your love language. You grab Tom’s peacekeeper hat and plop out on your head slightly wonky as you move along to the song, acting as if you were at a club in Berlin and not on set. The way you and Tom danced and moved to the music just made so much sense.

“She turned around and gave that big booty a smack,” Tom spun around as you slap his ass causing an eruption of laughter from everyone who was watching.

You and Tom were trying to hold your composure but that failed miserably as you grab Tom’s arms to stabilise yourself but turned out he had no sense of stability at that moment as the two of you fall to the ground. A light scream leaving your lips as you fall on top of Tom.

And then the camera focused on the ground as Rachel had leaned over, hands on thighs as she laughed out loud. If anyone didn’t know the context of that clip, they probably would have thought that you two were drunk but truth was you were quite sober.

The crowd on set burst out into laughter as you cover your face in slight embarrassment, Tom laughing along with the host as he pats your head.

~

“What do you usually do when you’re not filming on set?” Tom gives you a look as you bite back a laugh. “I think everyone knows this but, film tiktoks” The crowd breaks into laughter as they knew what you were talking about.

“Yeah Y/n is always filming tiktok and forcing me to do them with her,” Tom grips your thigh, shaking it lightly as you roll your eyes. “No I do not, you always want to be in them!” You argue with him. “Why don’t we watch a few of them here?” Kelly Clarkson recommended as you squeeze Tom’s arm with a smile.

https://www.instagram.com/p/CQrdGn8AYiD/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA== The first tiktok was of you, Tom, Rachel, and Josh in your trailer. You had the idea in your head for a while now and showed them all. “Please don’t drop me babe,” You say to Tom as you set up the camera, “I would never,” You hear him say followed by giggle.

You expected to land in Tom’s arms. Not the floor. You let out a yelp as Tom slaps his hand over his mouth. The three of them laughing their asses off while you landed on yours with a loud thud. “It’s not funny you idiot,” You slap his arm as he picks you up, apologising to you by peppering your face with kisses.

You had to admit it was pretty funny rewatching the tiktok. “You weren’t supposed to catch my feet!” You say in between laughs as you post the tiktok.

~

“This one, captioned name a better duo, I’ll wait has gone quite viral with over 10 million views,” Kelly exclaims as you cross your legs at your knees nodding your head as the video plays on the screen. https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSNVsM6kw/

“Tom,” You tap your boyfriend’s shoulder as he hums. You had just finished filming a scene together and had abit of time before you were up again. You were both in your mentor outfits, Tom having his blonde locks today.

“I wanna film this tiktok, come be in it?” You urge him as he looks up from his phone seeing a glint of playfulness in your eyes as he lets out a sigh.

Tom secretly loved making tiktoks with you, especially since he wasn’t on it and found the stuff you make him do were interesting and funny. You had hundreds of random tiktoks that you filmed on set saved into your drafts, half of them were of you and Tom.

Your hair stylist helped film the tiktok as the two of you did it out in the open, a bunch of the filming team watching with curiosity and laughing as they walk by. Other cast members such as Josh, Hunter and a bunch of the mentor actors walked by ended up being in the background of it.

You and Tom moved along to the beat, literally just vibing to the music. You wrote on the tiktok “the funniest duo on set>>>” and you weren’t lying.

~

“We are here with the cast of the Hunger Games Prequel, the ballad of songbirds and snakes!” The crowd cheered as you, Tom, Josh, and Rachel smiles. “From what I’ve seen, you guys are actually TikTok sensations!” An eruption of laughter followed.

“This TikTok here specifically,” https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSNqguTEY/ you all turn your head to watch the TikTok play on screen as you all start to laugh. “Tom, where were you while this was happening,” The host looks at Tom whose eyes were trained on the ground, a grin forming on his lips.

“I’m actually there in the tiktok, on the bed. Trying to sleep.” He deadpans as you giggle, leaning your head on his shoulder as you grip his arm. “Yeah this was after we came back from partying in Berlin, obviously for some of us, our night didn’t end yet,” Tom chuckles as everyone bursts out in laughter.

“Let’s do that tiktok!” You squeal the second you enter the room. Opening up tiktok, you find the video and show Josh, Hunter, Rachel, and Tom it. Tom’s arms were thrown around your shoulders, his head resting on your head due to the height difference.

“I think I’m going to go to bed,” He yawns, kissing your cheek before you all bid him goodnight. Tom couldn’t even get 5 minutes of peacefulness as the four of you spill into the bedroom and set up your phone. He lets out a quiet groan at the noise and flashing of lights as he digs his head deep into his pillow.

~

“Babeee,” You call out as you step into the hair and makeup trailer. He was sitting on a chair, fully dressed in his peacekeeper outfit, hair free from his wig.

He looked more presentable compared to you and Rachel who still had hair rollers on and were still in your robes. You had seen a new trend going around tiktok where you would stare at a guy with Justin Timberlake’s mirrors playing in the background, and you wanted to do it with Tom https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSNqnRSNJ/

One side of his lips turns up as he looks up at you, “I’m filming a tiktok and I want you to be in it,” You say with puppy eyes although you know he wouldn’t refuse. You even got his hair and makeup artists, Stacey and Jade to be in on it too.

You pull up a chair beside Tom as you set up the camera. “Wait what am I supposed to do?” He asks, “Nothing, just sit there,” You innocently smile at him as he gives you a suspicious look but nods nonetheless, complying with whatever you were up to.

He honestly just expected to be on camera while you were doing something, but he did not expect to be stared down at by his girlfriend and hair and makeup artists. You stare intensely at Tom, trying your hardest to not laugh or look away.

Staring at your boyfriend has always not been an easy task, especially since he holds such intense eye contact. And his pretty blue eyes did not help at all. Tom tries not to laugh either as he gazes at you before his eyes flicker towards Stacey and Jade then back to you. “What’s going on,” He finally says as his body shakes from laughing.

The TikTok ends and you let out a small laugh, looking over the TikTok. You throw your head back in laughter at Tom’s face when you all look back to stare at him, honestly was priceless.

[cool-island-songs]

Analysis of ALNST Character Relationship Metrics

My art book won't be here for a minute, but I ran some screenshots I saw on twt through an image translator and have a lot of thoughts:

TILL: Despite claiming to hate everyone in the world, Till ranks Ivan at 70% intimacy even as he identifies perturbing behaviors of Ivan's going back years and refers to him as "a bother". He also ranks Sua at 10% in spite of having little to say about her and finding it uncomfortable to be around her.

Though he postures at being misanthropic and has all the manners you'd expect of a boy who was half off at the human child pound, he's actually quite gentle and sensitive. This is reflected in one of the graduation messages he's left by a classmate as well:

The person he feels closest to is an unattainable crush, and someone who doesn't feel that close with him in return, likely because he's too shy to really approach her or carry on a conversation.

MIZI: That's Mizi, of course, who's rather childlike and naive initially. She likes everyone, but since Till chokes when he tries to speak to her and often keeps his distance, she wonders if he's avoiding her because he dislikes her.

Mizi gravitates towards people who she sees as "perfect", which is how she describes Ivan and Sua in her graduation message to Ivan:

She doesn't see the darker side of Ivan's personality (which has been described on several occasions, even by himself, as "twisted") because he's attractive, successful, and helpful to her.

Though she likes everyone, Sua is her "God", and the only thing that can keep them apart is the tragedy of their situation, which forces Mizi to grow up in a brutally painful way.

SUA: Sua is far less idealistic and naive than Mizi, and has clearly thought about sacrificing herself to save Mizi, since Ivan picks on her for thinking of doing so in an official comic. Accordingly, her feelings about Mizi are far more tinged by the knowledge that they will one day be torn apart by external circumstances. She laments that reciprocating her feelings will one day cause Mizi great pain.

She's always been more somber, and despite her surface similarities to Ivan (which he notes in a follow-up comic wherein he realizes he was wrong about Sua's feelings for Mizi being unrequited), she's quite different on the inside. Sua's more sensitive and thus her colder exterior serves to protect her, whereas Ivan's outward persona creates an illusion of normalcy that doesn't reflect his reality.

Sua views Ivan and Till as a threat and a nuisance, respectively. Like Till, she senses something strange about Ivan, and when it comes to Till, it's just one person too many around for her. This is fascinating to me, because I thought she might pity Till! Her feelings about Ivan were already pretty clear from this panel of the 'piggyback' comic, and she seems deeply hurt in the first comic linked by his prodding.

IVAN: For his part, Ivan is fascinated by Till even though he's content to sit back and observe, pestering him to get a reaction or his attention for a brief time. He doesn't expect anything in return but wants more than anything to be on Till's mind (hence behaviors like stealing Till's belongings and returning them to him, pretending he had found them).

He prefers Sua to Mizi despite his awareness that Sua doesn't particularly like him, seeing her as a sister and even telling her she's "twisted" like he is. He likes Mizi well enough, especially her sincerity, but seems to find her optimism a bit much at times.

The fact that Mizi and the others would likely consider Ivan and Mizi quite close while Ivan does not reflects how much he postures even in his closest relationships. He struggles to connect with those he's most compelled by and it's not clear if he really wants to.

Some Ivantill thoughts before I go:

There seems to be a common sentiment that it's tragic Till was unable to see how much Ivan loved him, and I think we'll likely get more of Till's perspective on Ivan and their relationship in round 7. But it may not be the case that Ivan even wanted his true feelings to be seen, or would have known what to do if Till had reciprocated them.

There's something almost voyeuristic and self-negating in his feelings for Till (see: "I can’t reach you, so I imagine alone/You who shines, I stand next to you" from 'Black Sorrow'). He has far more self-awareness and willingness to accept things as they are than Till, who doesn't see that Mizi only has eyes for Sua and who would likely struggle to accept that reality.

Ivan, on the other hand, is well aware that his feelings for Till are "shallow", a bright fantasy to get him through his dark reality, and he seems to sincerely believe that his death won't scar Till because he's never really broken through to him. He's a schemer, and comments he makes in his graduation message to Till and the interview he gives in advance of round 6 suggest that he may have been planning to sacrifice himself for some time.

Part of me wonders if he hoped it would leave a mark on Till. Choking, kissing, and violently sacrificing oneself are all aggressive, forward acts, especially from someone who used to toy with people to get his kicks but was otherwise quite passive and unfeeling.

There are a lot of parallels in the one-sided loves, like Till acting out of his usual character for Mizi, and Ivan doing the same because of Till, putting all hopes of being saved in something just out of reach, staying in chains for that one special person. But Ivan's psychology is quite different from Till's, and in fact closest to Luka's re: low or no empathy. Both Ivan and Till are significantly traumatized by their upbringings but Ivan's difficult early life in the slums and his experience being dangled off that rooftop seem to have damaged his ability to connect to others or feel much of anything.

Till is the first person for whom he feels anything while for Till, Mizi is an early crush he puts on a pedestal in a much more commonplace way. I think the shared trauma of competing on that stage makes it much more difficult for either of them to imagine moving on, but Ivan is not wrong in identifying that he won't find that feeling again.

The thing that intrigues me most about this series is the way the contestants' differences play out, particularly with regard to how they view love and how they respond to their individual and shared challenges. I'd love to get into it further another time but this is quite long already so thanks for sticking with it if any have (haha)

[eowynstwin]

Blackbird, Fly - One

Cowboy Gaz x mail order bride—only, not his. After exchanging letters for half a year with ranching man Hans König, you finally travel out west to marry him. You stand alone on a train platform, whole life in your hands, ready to promise yourself to a man you’ve yet to meet. masterlist ao3 next

You step off the train carrying every one of your earthly possessions clutched in both hands. In one a carpetbag, only half-full, and in the other, a stack of letters tied together with string. A paltry summary of a very small life, you thought months ago, but today you only see how much room is left over where happiness might take root.

It began with an ad in the paper—Widowed Ranch Owner Seeking Tender Companionship—and a mailing address to a livestock town out in the west. Hans König described himself as Austrian, unusually tall, and fair lonesome in a big ranch house with no woman to make it a home. He’d immigrated to the United States as a child, married very young, had no children, and was forced to watch his first wife perish to consumption.

After two years of mourning, he said in the paper, he finally accepted that she would not want him to live and die alone. And thus, if there were any kind-hearted lady willing to give an old widower a chance, he would promise to take very good care of her.

You’d replied as fast as you could get your hands on paper and pen. The fourth child and only daughter of a tobacco farmer, you hadn’t much else to occupy yourself with. And truly, you hadn’t expected anything to come of it. Proficient in the written word though you were, there was not much else to recommend you. You brought a tiny dowry, skill with a sewing needle, a general knowledge of plants, and mediocre cooking to the bargaining table; he was horse man tried and tested by the challenges of the frontier.

You were under no illusions that you were the most attractive candidate.

Still, you wrote your letter. Described yourself to him as honestly as you could—neither especially pretty nor particularly accomplished, but told by friends and family to be of gentle demeanor and useful intelligence. Forgave him preemptively if he never responded, and wished him the best of luck in his search for a wife.

You’d nearly fainted dead away when his response had arrived as immediately as the next mail wagon. Hans König had addressed you by name, as intimately as if he’d known you for years, and said,

I was very pleased to receive your letter, Miss, and am terribly excited to correspond with you in the future. Although you write that you cannot imagine yourself an appropriate wife for a man of my experience, I myself cannot imagine what more you must need to be such. While I will not do you the discourtesy of making any promises with only my first letter to you, I will tell you truly that I was glad of your introduction, and hope you will grant me the pleasure of knowing you further.

Your whole family had been so excited for his response that Pa had broken out his fiddle after dinner that night, rejoicing already that his little girl’s future was secure.

What followed was a whirlwind half year of romance over letters sent back and forth so fast that you kept running out of ink for your pen. When you’d related this problem to Hans, he’d sent not only an entire box of lampblack ink, but a new steel pen, blotter, and lap desk on which to write.

There is no greater misfortune I can imagine now than to lose the pleasure of your correspondence, he’d written.

Pa had cried that day. Your mother had drawn you close and kissed your hair, whispering a thankful prayer that her baby was going to be alright.

In every letter, Hans demonstrated himself to be a kind man, thoughtful and patient, and as the relationship between the two of you blossomed, you started to believe it yourself. You had long given up on the possibility of marriage, thinking yourself too old and plain by now to offer much to any man worth marrying.

Now you stand alone on a train platform, whole life in your hands, ready to promise yourself to a man you’ve yet to meet.

There are only a few people milling about the station for you to survey. The surest way to pick Hans out from a crowd, he’d written, was by height. He towered over most people, and expressed hope in an early letter that he would not dwarf you too much.

But as you look around, no one stands out above the rest. In fact, the people here aren’t much different than what you’re used to; their simple dress and slight grubbiness prove them to be working folk, the kind you’d expect in a town like this, stockyards visible from the station. Your kind of people—at least normally.

Anticipating this meeting, you’d put on the best dress you own, a light frock with little printed flowers all over it. Your hair is braided and pinned up as fashionably as you could manage early this morning, and you’d even dabbed a little rouge on your lips for the occasion. As far as you can tell you are the cleanest, best-dressed person in the vicinity, and you notice not a few people openly staring.

The thought would usually make you blanch, but right now you hope it will only help your would-be husband to catch sight of you. You still can’t find him—

“Mrs. König!”

You whip your head in the direction of the call. Relief trickles through you, soothing an anxiety you hadn’t wanted to acknowledge yet, and then you see that stepping onto the platform is the handsomest man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

Dark skin, warm as a summer’s day. Lips soft and full like a peach fresh-picked from the tree. A serious brow over serious eyes.

Strong and lean in build, with a loose, confident swagger in his step. He approaches, his large, long-fingered hands coming to rest on the buckle of his belt as comes to stand before you.

Tall, to be sure.

But not unusually tall.

This cowboy—profession evidenced by the worn state of his attire—is not your intended husband.

Something in you falls at that.

Swiftly you berate yourself for the betrayal. Your Hans is gentle, generous, kind. So what if this man before you is attractive? Marriages must be built on more, and Hans has already given you more. His looks shouldn’t—don’t—matter to you at all.

“Not as of yet,”you reply to the cowboy, “but soon. May I help you, sir?”

He fixes you with an intense gaze. Up close, you see thick, dark lashes framing even darker eyes—the color of which, you realize, is as black as fresh-turned soil.

The smell of humus fills your memory, powerfully earthy and fresh, such that you could be on your hands and knees with your face to the ground right now. You feel the phantom of it between your fingers; rich and cool, like at the start of the planting season before the rains. So dark and fine as to live between the grooves of your fingertips for days.

“I’m Kyle Garrick,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’m a wrangler for Hans König, miss. He sent me to meet you.”

You blink. The fantasy you’d dreamed up on the train ride—of seeing Hans across the platform, recognizing him instantly, and running into his arms—finally crumbles into dust.

“Oh,” you say.

Kyle Garrick frowns. “You’re disappointed.”

“No!” you exclaim immediately. “No, he must be such a busy man, I couldn’t expect him to drop everything for me.”

The cowboy sucks his lips between his teeth, studying you for a heartbeat, then—“He is busy. Mr. König is finishing preparations for your wedding this evening. That’s why he couldn’t come.”

What disappointment had begun to sprout in your stomach immediately strangles down to the root. Joy surges in your chest like birds taking flight.

“A wedding!”

You didn’t need a wedding, you’d written to him—you were so happy merely to marry him, you couldn’t possibly ask for more. All you needed, you told him, were his hands in yours, promising before God to be your husband for the rest of your lives. You’d meant it, too.

But an actual wedding!

“Biggest the town’s seen in years,” says Kyle Garrick. “Folks haven’t talked about anything else for weeks.”

“Oh!” Then suddenly you despair. “Oh, I’m not dressed at all for a wedding. If I’d known, I would’ve worked on this dress more, I would’ve put my hair up better!”

Kyle surprises you with sudden passion. “You look perfect. You’re the prettiest thing that’s ever come into this train station, miss. This town, even.”

“Oh,” you say again. You flush hot up into the roots of your hair. Embarrassed, you avert your gaze, looking down at his worn roper boots. “I’m not, really. But it’s kind of you to say.”

His hand touches yours, the one holding onto your carpetbag. When you look back up at him, his expression is gentler.

“Mr. König will agree with me,” he says, “I promise.” He eases the handle from your grasp. Up close, he has a comforting smell. Leather, and sweet hay, and campfire smoke.

“You think so?” you ask, tightening your grasp on the letters in your other hand.

He nods. “I do. Now come on—I brought a cart. Let me take you home.”

-

[hearts-4-vicky]

I have this brainrot for gp!Wonyoung and sensitive reader! You’re so cute for her, you’d promise her that you can take her dick without her finger prepping you first but once she pushes her big dick into your tight cunt, you start to tear up!! :(( You want to be her good girl so you just lay there and let her dick stretch you out until you she was exhausted. She’d purposely overstimulate you, watching how your tears ran down your pretty face and how you were gasping and whiny out because it was too much for you making you squirt all over her pelvis!

ANON MY LOVE OMGGGGGG DOM WONYYYY IM GOING FERAL😍😍😍😍😍😍

warnings: g!pwonyoung, dom wonyoung, soft wonyoung then she switches up🙏😭, wonyoung whimpers!!!!, wony refers to reader as ynnie and some pet names, sensitive reader, sub reader, unprotected sex, wony has a BIG dick, degradation near the end, overstimulation, creampies, marking, breeding, boob grabbing, squirting, dacryphilia, dirty talk, tummy bulge, (first dom wony post😝)

how do u even write moans like idk how u describe them😭🙏

Wonyoung had always been scared of hurting you🥺she knows shes big and just wants you to feel good🫶🏼 so when she starts to rub your pussy, fingers ready to penetrate your hole, you hold her hand in place. Shes so worried that she crossed a boundary that you see her lips tremble as she looks back at you with wide, curious eyes!! “Is something wrong? Do you wanna stop? We don’t have to do this tonight!” sweet girl only cares for ur pleasure and was ready to get rid of her boner by herself 🥺 “No! I want this! but I don’t need prep, baby, I can handle it” you pull her closer, her boner resting against your inner thigh

“Are you sure? Not to brag but I’m pretty big, ynnie…” her hand finding your thigh, drawing shapes with the softest touch of her finger🥺 “Yes baby, I trust you, so please, fuck me til I can’t walk.” Wonyoung’s face grew red at your words! you’ve never said anything like that before! it got her dick harder if that was even possible😛 with a nod, she grabbed her dick out of her boxers and started rubbing herself on your waiting lips. she starts to push her cock in you, watching your expression change

Wonyoung thinks you’re so cute trying to take all of her! strained moans spilled out of your mouth as she was “pretty girl being s-so! mmgh- good for me! taking all of my cock in her t-tight lil cunt!” she moans, your tightness was on a whole other level, squeezing her dick👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 you were getting too tight as she pushed more of her cock in you.🥺 “B-baby… fuck.. relax your body a bit- shit! so tight…” you steady your breathing, giving wonyoung more space to move. she looks down to your pussy, seeing how tiny it was compared to her throbbing cock, turning her on even more😍

finally getting her full length in, you let out a moan👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 her tip kisses your cervix😛with each breath she took, she moved a bit which nearly had you in tears ( in a good say i SWEAR🙏🙏🙏🙏)

She pulls her hips back slowly, before pushing forward again faster💥💥💥 her pace quickens as your whines and moans got louder. the sound of her balls slapping against your ass had gotten louder and more frequent😛 wony was a moaning mess as well, your cunt was still tight as fuck, but not to the point where it hurt. every thrust felt like it would be her last, every clench of your pussy around her cock nearly brought her over the edge😍 but she wanted you to cum first, your pleasure was her priority. she needed to distract herself with something

Leaning down to your neck, she presses kisses all over🥺 finding you sweet spot, she gives it kitten licks, before full on making out with your neck💀 drilling her dick inside of you as if she was a virgin getting off for the first time (crazy🤯🤯🤯🤯) your whines and moans soon drowned out the wet slapping sound and wonyoungs moans as well👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 “f-fuck! wonyoung PLEASE!! ah! I-I’m close!” you felt a knot in your stomach, it got tighter with each slam of her dick in your cunt🔥 ��Me too! Cum for me baby! Shit!-“ you were squirming under her, back arched and squirting while nearly blacking out🥺 wony let herself shoot all of her warm load into your needy pussy, moving her lips to yours and initiating a passionate kiss💋😛 riding both your highs came to a stop, both of you in a daze

“Fuck wony, that was so goo-“

“You think we’re done?”

Wonyoung started to thrust herself back into you slowly

Some rounds later n you came a total of 10 times (praying for u babes🙏) nearly passing out with every orgasm😭 wonyoung had basically made your pussy remember the shape of her dick, to the point no one else could enter, only her😍 wony never slowed down her pace, giving you harder thrusts whenever she came🥺 “w-wony!! mm ha! hurts!! c-can’t take anymoreeeE!” your sobs grew louder, turning into squeals as wonyoung started jackhammering into your abused cunt🥺🥺🥺🥺 your face full of your tears, vision blurry as your crying “You look so fuck- p-pretty right now, my love. My personal, gah! fucktoy” wonyoung takes notice of how you clench around her after saying that, so she tries something. quickening her pace a bit, she leans down to your ear, moving her hands to your tits to use them as handles

“Oh? you like that? Like being degraded like the fucking whore you are? Too impatient to get prepped that you just wanted my big, fat cock up your pretty little fuckhole? what would the girls think? seeing you get used like a sex doll?” you and wonyoung never expected what happened next. so turned on by wonyoung’s words, you threw your head back, feeling ecstasy all over your body. the liquid gushing out of your pussy was strong, soaking both of you. “Oh fuck…” wony mumbled before slamming herself in you one last time😝 she halts her movements, only the steady rise and fall of her chest is noticeable as her balls spill all of its worth into your already full womb🥺 the bulge in your stomach made her smirk. she pumped you full of her seed, she got to see you so vulnerable, she was the only one who could fuck you like this. you looked back at her, breathing heavily. wonyoung giggled at how cute you were, neck adorned with hickeys and eyes so lost in thought🥺

“Are you alright my love? D-did I go too far?”

“Jang Wonyoung if you don’t do that next time we fuck, I’m making you do No Nut November.”

“But-“

“Shh, I’m tired now, hug me.”

“wha- okay…”

“hey ynnie i got a boner too, me next-“

“YUJIN WHAT THE FUCK.”

i need to write more dom or switch wony cuz like😍😍😍WOWOWOW that girl does something to me🤐 yujinnie makes me giggle (i want her too)

thank you for the request my love!

stay safe and love ya lots

-Vicky💋

[st4rtar0t]

Describing your love trope with your future spouse as a writer

Pick a picture

MASTERLIST ☆ PAID SERVICES

LONG POST AHEAD!

Pictures belong to their rightful owners, I only own the content of this post.

Picture 1

Arranged blind date

I stared at my reflection, the dress clinging to my frame in a way that was both flattering and unfamiliar. It had been months since I’d worn anything other than sweatpants and old t-shirts. My heart pounded as I thought about the evening ahead. What had I let Emma talk me into?

“Trust me, y/n,” she had said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “You deserve someone who treats you right. This guy is perfect for you.”

I wanted to believe her. After all, Emma knew me better than anyone. She had seen me through the worst of my relationship with Adam, watched as I shrank into myself, convinced I was unworthy of love and respect. She had been my rock when I finally walked away.

Now, she was determined to help me move on, even if it meant dragging me into the world of blind dates.

“You look stunning,” Emma said, stepping into my bedroom. Her smile was warm and reassuring. “And you’ll be fine. Just be yourself.”

I nodded, trying to steady my breathing. “What if he’s... I don’t know, another Adam?”

Emma shook her head firmly. “He’s not. Trust me. I’ve known him for years. He’s kind, funny, and he’s been through his own share of heartbreak. You two will understand each other.”

Taking a deep breath, I followed Emma out the door and into her car. As she drove, I gazed out the window, my mind a swirl of anxiety and hope. The city lights blurred past, a cacophony of life that felt distant and unreal.

We arrived at the restaurant, a cozy little place with warm lighting and the comforting aroma of home-cooked meals. Emma squeezed my hand. “He’s waiting at table five. Go on, I’ll be right here if you need me.”

I hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Here goes nothing.”

As I approached table five, I saw him. He was looking down at his menu, but there was something about him that immediately put me at ease. He had an air of quiet confidence, and when he looked up and our eyes met, he smiled. It was a smile that reached his eyes, genuine and warm.

“y/n?” he asked, standing up and offering his hand.

I took it, surprised by how natural it felt. “Yes. And you must be Michael.”

He nodded, his grip gentle yet reassuring. “It’s really nice to meet you. Emma’s told me a lot about you.”

I laughed nervously, taking my seat. “All good things, I hope.”

“Only the best,” he said, his eyes twinkling with kindness. “She’s very fond of you.”

As we started talking, I found myself relaxing. Michael was easy to talk to, his sense of humor lightening the mood. He shared stories about his work as a graphic designer, his passion for painting, and his dog, Max, who sounded like a real character.

“So, Emma tells me you’re quite the photographer,” he said, his tone genuinely interested.

I blushed slightly. “I dabble. It’s just a hobby, really.”

“From what I hear, you’re pretty talented,” he replied. “Maybe you could show me some of your work sometime?”

I nodded, feeling a warmth spread through me that I hadn’t felt in a long time. “I’d like that.”

The evening passed in a blur of laughter and easy conversation. For the first time in what felt like forever, I was enjoying myself. Michael was attentive, respectful, and genuinely interested in what I had to say. It was a stark contrast to the indifference and criticism I had grown accustomed to with Adam.

As we said our goodbyes, Michael looked at me with a hopeful expression. “I had a great time tonight, y/n. Can we do this again sometime?”

I smiled, feeling a lightness in my heart. “I’d like that very much, Michael.”

As I walked back to Emma, who was waiting with a knowing smile, I realized something. Maybe, just maybe, I was ready to open my heart again. And maybe this time, I’d find the love and respect I truly deserved.

⁠—⁠☆

Emma hugged me as soon as I reached her. “See? Told you it would be fine.”

I hugged her back, gratitude welling up in my chest. “Thank you, Emma. For everything.”

She grinned. “That’s what friends are for.”

And for the first time in a long while, I felt hopeful about the future.

Picture 2

Friends to lovers

I stood outside y/n’s apartment, nervously shifting from one foot to the other. The city was quiet tonight, the streetlights casting a warm glow on the sidewalk. I had been here countless times, but tonight felt different. Tonight, everything was about to change.

Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door. Almost immediately, I heard her footsteps approaching. The door swung open, and there she was, her smile lighting up the entire hallway.

“Hey! Come on in,” she said, stepping aside to let me pass.

I walked in, my heart pounding in my chest. “Hey, y/n. Thanks for having me over.”

We settled on her couch, the same spot where we’d shared countless conversations, laughter, and even tears over the years. She handed me a cup of tea, her eyes sparkling with the warmth I had come to cherish.

“So, what’s up?” she asked, taking a sip of her own tea. “You sounded a bit urgent on the phone.”

I looked at her, really looked at her, and realized just how much she meant to me. Her kindness, her strength, her infectious laugh—all the little things that made her who she was. It hit me like a tidal wave. I was in love with her. I always have been.

“y/n, there’s something I need to tell you,” I began, my voice trembling slightly.

She set her cup down, her expression turning serious. “What is it? You know you can tell me anything.”

I took a deep breath, gathering my courage. “y/n, you’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember. You’ve been there for me through everything, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She smiled, reaching out to squeeze my hand. “I am your best friend. I will always be there for you no matter what happens. Now tell me, what is bothering you?”

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the moment. “But that’s the thing. I don’t just see you as my best friend anymore. Somewhere along the way, my feelings changed. I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, there was a silence that felt like an eternity. My heart was in my throat, fear and hope battling within me.

“oh…” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

I pressed on, needing her to understand. “I know this might come as a shock, and I don’t want to ruin what we have. But I had to tell you. I can’t keep pretending that what I feel for you is just friendship.”

Her eyes searched mine, and I saw tears forming. Panic surged through me. Had I made a terrible mistake?

But then she smiled, a radiant, beautiful smile that took my breath away. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that for so long.”

Relief washed over me like a flood. “You... you have?”

She nodded, tears spilling over her cheeks. “I’ve loved you for years. I was just too scared to tell you. I didn’t want to risk losing you.”

I reached out, brushing a tear from her cheek. “You’ll never lose me, y/n. You’re everything to me.”

She leaned into my touch, her eyes filled with love and vulnerability. “I love you.”

The words were like music to my ears. I pulled her into my arms, holding her tightly. “I love you too, y/n. More than you’ll ever know.”

We sat there, wrapped in each other’s embrace, the world outside fading away. All that mattered was this moment, the love we had finally confessed, and the promise of a future together.

As I held her, I realized something. Love had been right in front of me all along, in the form of my best friend. And now that I had found it, I was never letting go.

Picture 3

Opposites attract

I watched him from across the room, the way he moved with such effortless grace and confidence. The party was in full swing, laughter and chatter filling the air, but all I could focus on was Ethan. He was the epitome of extroversion, charming everyone around him with his easy smile and quick wit.

I, on the other hand, was more comfortable in the shadows, observing rather than participating. I preferred a good book to a loud party, a quiet evening at home to a night out on the town. Yet, here I was, drawn to someone who was my complete opposite in every way.

Ethan caught my eye and waved, making his way over to me. My heart skipped a beat, a mixture of excitement and nervousness swirling inside me.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, his voice warm and inviting. “Why are you hiding over here all alone?”

I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “Just taking a break from all the excitement.”

He laughed, a rich, contagious sound. “You know, you’re the only person I know who comes to a party to take a break from it.”

I smiled, feeling a little more at ease. “Well, someone has to keep an eye on things from the sidelines.”

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with that mischievous spark I was starting to adore.

“Sure,” I said, surprised by how much I wanted him to stay.

We sat down on the edge of the patio, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the warmth of the crowded house. For a moment, we just sat in comfortable silence, the sounds of the party fading into the background.

“You know, Y/N,” Ethan said, breaking the silence. “I’ve always admired how you can just... be. You don’t need all this noise and attention to feel happy.”

I looked at him, surprised by his honesty. “And I’ve always admired how you can light up a room just by walking into it. You make everything look so easy.”

He smiled, a softer, more genuine smile than I’d seen before. “It’s not always as easy as it looks. Sometimes, it feels like I’m just playing a role. But with you... I feel like I can be myself.”

My heart swelled at his words. “I feel the same way, Ethan. With you, I don’t feel like I have to hide.”

We continued talking, sharing pieces of ourselves we hadn’t revealed to anyone else. I told him about my love for painting, how it was my way of expressing emotions I couldn’t put into words. He opened up about his fear of being alone, how he surrounded himself with people to avoid facing his own insecurities.

As the night wore on, I found myself drawn to him in ways I hadn’t expected. Despite our differences, or maybe because of them, we fit together in a way that felt right. His outgoing nature balanced my introversion, his confidence bolstered my shyness, and his warmth melted my reservations.

Ethan reached out, taking my hand in his. His touch was gentle, yet it sent a jolt of electricity through me. “Y/N, I know we’re different, but I can’t help how I feel. Being with you makes me want to be better, to be more.”

I looked into his eyes, seeing the vulnerability and sincerity there. “I feel the same way, Ethan. You make me feel... alive, like anything is possible.”

He leaned in closer, his gaze never leaving mine. “So, what do you say we give this a try? Us, I mean. I know it won’t always be easy, but I think it could be something amazing.”

I smiled, my heart full of hope and excitement. “I’d like that, Ethan. I’d like that a lot.”

As he pulled me into a gentle embrace, I realized that sometimes, the most unexpected connections can be the most beautiful. Despite our differences, or maybe because of them, we were falling for each other, and I couldn’t wait to see where this journey would take us.

[girlkisser13]

clara bow

"you look like percy jackson" "in this light, we're loving it" "you've got edge he never did" "the future's bright, dazzling"

pairings: percy jackson x fem!reader

warnings/tags: none. purely fluff. dad percy.

summary: your daughter looks just like her father.

the sun was high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the sandy shores of montauk beach. percy jackson, now in his mid-twenties, stretched out on a towel, enjoying the peaceful sound of the waves crashing against the shore. you lay beside him, watching your four-year-old daughter as she ran along the water's edge, her laughter mingling with the sea breeze.

"she's got your energy," you remarked with a smile, glancing at percy. his dark hair, tousled by the wind, and his sea-green eyes were mirrored in your daughter. her curls bounced as she chased after the foam, her excitement palpable.

"yeah," percy replied, his voice filled with pride. "and your curiosity. look at her go. she's like a little explorer."

you watched your daughter with a mix of amusement and nostalgia. the way she fearlessly dove into the waves, her little feet leaving imprints in the wet sand, reminded you so much of percy when the two of you first met. he had the same fearless nature, the same insatiable curiosity about the world around him.

"do you remember the first time we came here together?" you asked, your voice softening as you looked at percy. "you were so determined to show me how to surf, even though the waves were huge."

he chuckled, recalling the memory. "i remember. you wiped out spectacularly, but you got right back up. that’s one of the things i love about you, y/n. you're as stubborn as i am."

you laughed, leaning your head against percy's shoulder. "and now our daughter has inherited that stubbornness. but you know, she has something else, too."

he raised an eyebrow, curious. "oh? what's that?"

"an edge," you said, your eyes twinkling. "she's got this… determination, this drive, that goes beyond what either of us had at her age. she's not just fearless; she's fearless and focused. it’s like she knows exactly what she wants and won't stop until she gets it."

percy watched as his daughter stood on a small sand dune, her eyes scanning the horizon as if searching for something only she could see. "yeah, i see it too," he admitted. "she's got this fire in her. It's amazing."

you smiled, feeling a swell of pride. "that's your influence, percy. but she also has my patience, my ability to think things through. she’s a perfect blend of us both, with her own unique spark."

he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. "we make a pretty great team, don’t we?"

you nodded, resting your head on his chest. "we do. and we’re raising an incredible daughter. she's going to do amazing things."

as the two of you watched your daughter build a sandcastle with unwavering determination, you felt a deep sense of contentment. your journey together had been filled with challenges and triumphs, and now, watching your daughter thrive, you knew that every moment had been worth it.

"hey, y/d/n!" percy called out. "come show us your castle!"

she turned, her face lighting up with a bright smile. she ran towards the both of you, her small hands covered in sand. "look, mommy! daddy! it's a castle for the mermaids!"

as your daughter continued to describe the intricate details of her mermaid castle, you and percy exchanged a tender glance, your hearts swelling with love and pride. the sun was beginning to set, casting a golden hue over the beach and turning the waves into sparkling gems.

percy, still holding you close, leaned in and whispered, "so, what do you think? want to make another one?"

you looked up at him, your eyes wide with surprise and amusement. "another castle?" you teased, knowing full well what he meant.

percy laughed, shaking his head. "you know what i mean. another little jackson running around, making sandcastles and chasing waves."

you pretended to ponder the idea, tapping your chin thoughtfully. "hmm, well, y/d/n is pretty amazing... maybe another one wouldn’t be so bad."

percy grinned, leaning down to plant a soft kiss to your lips. "i think we’d make another pretty great team project."

you swatted him lightly on the shoulder, "you did not just call our daughter a project!"

you both laughed as your daughter came running back to the two of you, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "what’s so funny?"

"nothing, sweetheart," you said, scooping her up into your arms. "just talking about how much we love you."

she giggled, wrapping her arms around your neck. "i love you too, mommy. and you, daddy."

as the three of you made your way back to your beach blanket, the sun setting behind you, you and percy knew that whatever the future held, the both of you would face it together, your hearts forever intertwined by the love of your little family.

"maybe one day," percy murmured to you as you watched your daughter settle down with her favorite blanket, the waves lulling her to sleep.

"maybe," you agreed, squeezing his hand. "but for now, this is perfect."

and with that, the two of you sat together, watching the stars emerge in the night sky, your hearts full of love and gratitude for the life you had built together.

[littleheartsong]

Laios x fem or gn reader where she also enjoys monsters but she also enjoys animals (in the mentally ill way). Which leads to them always chatting about them, like chilchuck will be walking by and he'll hear that female hyenas have a penis. He just walks away thinking "what in the fucking fuck was that!?" I imagine they would also stay up late talking about monsters. :D

(↑The big little man learning that information)

i too am mentally ill about animals i could talk about biology for literal hours

laios/gn reader content: fluff. autism-to-autism conversation warnings: casual conversation about killing animals+monsters. mentions of animal genitalia. pretty normal!

"So... what's your favourite monster?"

The sudden question prompted Laios to look up from the delicious aroma of simmering kelpie, probably the one thing to take his attention away from food, while both Chilchuck and Marcille grimaced at what you'd just unleashed.

"My favourite monster?" Laios ponders the question as you nod in confirmation, "Well, Basilisks are pretty cool since they have two heads, though it's thought that the snake head is the actual head." 

"Really?"

"Yeah! Since it's cut in half, the snake head lives longer." His smile widens at your interest.

"I wonder what would happen if you cut a two-headed animal in half. Would one head live longer or would they both die at the same time?" You wonder while tilting your head.

Laios thinks about that for a second; it's a pretty good question! He's only seen two-headed calves in his village, and they didn't live long after birth.

"I think it depends on where it's cut since two-headed animals aren't supposed to have two heads and Basilisks are born that way," he concludes with a nod to cement his statement.

"That makes sense! It probably depends on the animal too; it would be harder for a larger animal like a calf to live longer than something smaller; like a snake," you say.

It appears Marcille has since lost her appetite and absconded from the area to avoid any more of this conversation and tucked into her bedroll, praying to whatever spirits can hear her you will stop soon. Chilchuck is more morbidly fascinated by what you two are talking about. He didn't even know animals could have two heads, and he hopes he never encounters one. Two-headed monsters are enough for him.

"No one can seem t' decide where th' 'ead begins n' ends," Senshi chimes in while preparing dinner.

"So are Basilisks your favourite then?" you ask Laios.

"Huh? Oh!" Laios perks up, reminded of the original question, "They're cool, but not my favourite," He taps his finger to his chin, once again in thought, "I'd have to say Wargs are my favourite," 

You smile at that." Wargs are so cute! They remind me of hyenas or bears, with their big, boxy heads and bulky bodies.

Laios is stunned for a moment; never in his whole life has he heard someone describe Wargs as 'cute'. He'd sooner describe them as 'cool' or 'ferocious'; does that mean you think bears and hyenas are cute too? He could understand bears. They look fluffy, though they also have those big claws. What other things do you think are cute?

"Yeah, they kind of are; they remind me a bit of my dogs back at my village," he says. "They also have really soft fur,"

"Wow! I wanna pet a Warg!" You clap your hands together in delight. "It'd probably bite my hand off, but it'd be worth it."

Warm laughter falls out of Laios' mouth before he can catch it. "Maybe we can find one and pet it together sometime."

Your face breaks into a grin as you sit closer to Laios. "Sounds like a plan! Hey, maybe they're really social, like hyenas."

Laios has to clear his throat, so anything he wants to say doesn't get stuck in there, as a flush rushes to his face. "I don't know that much about hyenas... I've only seen pictures."

That moment is when you really light up. "Oh! They're so cool! Especially spotted hyenas; they're the biggest ones, and they're also called bone-crushing hyenas since can break bones with their bites," and off you go.

"The females are larger than the males, and it's a matriarchal society too! So even the lowest-ranking female is still higher-ranked than the male. Even their penises are bigger!" 

Laios watches you share this information with wide, wondrous eyes. "Wait, their penises?"

"Oh, well, it's not a real penis," you correct yourself. "It's just the clitoris enlarged, but it pretty much acts like a real penis. They mate with it, pee through it, and even give birth with it!"

A pause

"... How does that work?" Laios asks.

"Well-

At that point, Chilchuck silently excuses himself to his own bedroll. He doesn't need to know the details. Birth is excruciating enough as is, but with a- no. No. He shakes his head to get rid of the terrible thought.

Senshi seems interested in listening, though.

[brutal-nemesis]

If you’re wondering what’s going on it’s just me being very stubborn and wanting to use the legacy editor 🤪 this really is ch23 you’re in the right place!! 

Anyway, this one is shorter compared to usual and a little more tame and yet I still expect it to have all of you yelling at me all the same :)

I’m sorry in advance

←Previous - Masterlist - Next→

Ingredients: dehumanization, manhandling, a little electrocution

“Welcome back, Neteri.”

“H-hello, Hjáll, I, um, wasn’t expecting you back for another week.”

“And I wasn’t expecting you until later today. Funny, how plans can change.”

Neteri’s grip on Erebus’s hand tightened as she shifted slightly, placing herself more in between him and Hjáll. They’d returned from the desert early so Neteri could finish healing his leg properly, but now Hjáll stood in their way, the guards flanking her not having a single thing to do with the threatening air she gave off. 

“Well, Erebus has an injury that I need to tend to, so we’ll be on our wa-”

“Stop.” Hjáll held up a single finger. “You’ve been avoiding me, Neteri, and now that your part of the experiment is complete, I have more right than ever to examine your test subject.”

Neteri’s face hardened as she swallowed. “I simply…he’s not ready yet. You don’t want this to fail, do you?”

Hjáll smiled, not a hint of warmth in her eyes. “I don’t. Which is why I think it’s time I took matters into my own hands.” She waved a finger, and the guards were on them in a second, ripping Erebus’s hand out of Neteri’s, chaining his wrists together in front of him and forcing a muzzle onto his face before he could say a word. Neteri tried to stop them, commanding them to let him go, but one of them just swatted her away, shoving her back into the wall and causing her to fall to her hands and knees. By the time she’d stood back up, a chain had been attached to Erebus’s collar and he’d dragged over to Hjáll, the leash handed to her. She grinned at Neteri, who was straightening her rumpled coat, fire in her eyes. “Well, that was easy enough.” 

“No, no, you-you can’t do this, Hjáll, I won’t-”

“You won’t let me? What,” she stepped closer to Neteri, looking down at the smaller woman, “are you going to do? What can you do? You’re a healer, Neteri.”

All at once, seeing Neteri standing there, fists trembling at her sides, Erebus realized just how powerless she was. She was small and weak and mostly knew healing spells and he’d been scared of her but all of her threats had been dependent on guards to drag him around and strap him down but take that away and…she was just one person. She couldn’t protect him, she never would have been able to, not from Hjáll or the Empire or anyone. 

But that never stopped her from trying.

“I won’t help you. With the spell. You need me for it. You can’t do it alone.” She gulped, trying to keep her voice steady. 

Hjáll rolled her eyes. “Like I won’t be able to find another person who can use water magic.”

“You know as well as I do that that spell is far too complicated for anyone who hasn’t studied it to just jump in.” 

That got a satisfied smile out of Hjáll, and Erebus suddenly felt sick, like this had all just been part of her plan. “Rightly so. Perhaps I’ll just have to…force you to participate. Come, I’ve got everything prepared.” She beckoned to the guards and started to walk along, pulling Erebus behind her. He shot a worried glance at Neteri before following, wanting so, so badly to fight back, to even just stubbornly sit on the ground, but he knew it wouldn’t matter. The guards aside, he was painfully aware of how quickly Hjáll’s magic could render him helpless, especially with his leg still wounded. There was nothing either of them could do.

She led them into a room he’d never seen before, and he felt the air leave his lungs at the sight of the massive magic circle painted onto the floor, the design so complex he could hardly pick out the details. What…what were they going to do to him? 

The guards pulled him to the middle of the circle and forced him to his knees, securing the chain between his wrists to a hook on the floor. Hjáll came to stand behind him, and he shuddered as her hand slid into his hair, feeling the base of his horns. Neteri glared at her as the guards dragged her in, eyes scanning the room for something she could use to help, but there didn’t appear to be anything besides a couple of desks and some papers. There was the sword at Hjáll’s waist, nearly hidden in the folds of her robe, but even if Neteri managed to get ahold of it, he doubted she could even lift it, let alone use it. Even after Hjáll dismissed the guards, Erebus knew there was nothing either of them could do to stop her. 

“Let’s make sure everything’s in order before we start phase two, shall we?” Hjáll grabbed his horn, tilting his head to the side so she could better examine it. “I have to applaud your work in attaching these, Neteri. It’s like this has always been a monster.” 

“Erebus is not a monster,” Neteri growled, tense as she leaned forward ever so slightly, fists tightening every time Hjáll shifted her grip on Erebus. Her touch made his skin crawl, and he wasn’t sure whether or not to be grateful that he didn’t want to lean into it. 

Ignoring Neteri’s argument, Hjáll crouched and undid the ties on Erebus’s shirt, shoving it away so it pooled around his wrists, exposing his bare back. He shivered as she ran her hands up the scales on his spine, causing her to laugh while Neteri only grew more obviously upset and frustrated. “Oh, Neteri, this really is fine work.” Hjáll’s every word dripped with genuine fascination, the fingers exploring his back feeling almost reverent. “Truly only a job you could have carried out. None of this would have been possible if it weren’t for you, you know. Your brilliant, insane ideas and your incredible skill.” She laughed. “That, and your perfect little test subject.” Hjáll stood, walking in front of Erebus again, and her smile made his blood run cold. “I think it’s ready.”

“He can’t fly very well yet, and he can’t go until he-”

“Necessity is often the best teacher.”

“I-I don’t know if he’ll be able to fight them and win-”

“It used to be a prince, didn’t it? Should’ve had some sword training in there. And if my research is correct, it won’t matter as long as it wins eventually.” 

“S-still. I won’t do it.” Neteri’s hands balled into fists, shoulders squared. “You need me for this, and I-you can’t make me perform the spell.”

Hjáll simply pointed at Erebus and muttered a spell, and his whole world lit up with white-hot pain. He screamed into the muzzle, teeth clenching so hard around the metal bit that it hurt, the manacles around his wrists burning hot, his every muscle convulsing all at once, and then it was over, and he was lying limply on the cold stone floor, breathing strained. He could vaguely hear Neteri calling out to him through the ringing in his ears, see Hjáll holding her back through the black spots in his vision, keeping her away from him. 

“-ver and over if you don’t do it.” The ringing cleared up in time for him to catch the end of Hjáll’s statement, and he had a guess as to what she had said before. “I’ll just keep it and make its life hell until you let go of your stupid emotions. This is the point of the experiment, Neteri. You knew this would happen all along. It’s inevitable.”

“But he…I…” Neteri’s shoulders sank as she scrambled for some sort of solution, another objection, something she could do, but given her expression, she was coming up empty. “Can…can I at least explain it to him? Alone?”

Hjáll huffed, rolling her eyes. “You can tell it, but I’m not letting you out of my sight.” She walked over to the far wall and leaned back against the door, arms crossed. “Explain away. And don’t take that muzzle off.” Neteri frowned, her hands already reaching to undo it, but she didn’t protest. No sense in pushing their luck, as much as Erebus wished he could talk to her.

She knelt down in front of him, a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, Erebus. I…here.” She got up and pulled his shirt back up his arms, going around and tying it back on. She stroked him ever so slightly as her fingers brushed his back, and he wished it was enough to ease his fears. Once she was done, she knelt in front of him once more, taking his hands.

“The…the whole point of this project is…” she took a deep breath and sighed. “I know it sounds far-fetched, but…you know how the great elder demons were sealed away thousands of years ago?” Erebus nodded apprehensively. Everyone knew the legends, about the days before when the most powerful demons roamed the land, enticing humans into doing their bidding, until the hero Herja banished them and ushered in a new age of peace for humanity. But what did that have to do with him?

Neteri rubbed the back of his hand. “There have been signs that the demons are…breaking out. But it’s not possible for humans to go there, to the Untitled world, where they’re imprisoned. We, uh, don’t know what it’s like there at all, hence the placeholder name. But anyway, we…we thought it might be possible to go there for someone who…who wasn’t quite human.” Erebus flinched, his arm turning red, causing Neteri to frown. “I didn’t mean it like that, Erebus, I’m sorry, you’re not-” Hjáll cleared her throat, cutting Neteri off, tapping her finger impatiently. Neteri glared at her before returning her attention to Erebus.

“Hjáll has been experimenting with combining human and demon souls, but I wanted to see if purely physical combinations would be enough. And that’s…that’s why I did this to you. With all of these parts from each kind of demon, and some of their innate magic, you…you might be able to go there. To go to the Untitled world and fight the demons, keep them from breaking out and returning to our world.” Erebus’s mind reeled as Neteri squeezed his hands tightly. It all sounded so…bizarre. He was supposed to save the world all of a sudden? To fight demons? He…he was just Erebus a…a pathetic monster who couldn’t do a thing to change his own fate. 

If that were the case, then he didn’t really have a say in this new destiny, did he?

He squeezed Neteri’s hands back and nodded blankly. If this was why all this had happened to him, and if he could still help people this way, then what was the point in trying to fight it? Neteri gave him a sad smile and pulled him into a hug, and he melted into her arms, wondering if this was the last time he’d get a hug from her. “I’m so, so sorry, Erebus,” she whispered in his ear. “I’m going to try and make it so you get sent back here when you kill them all, okay? Hjáll doesn’t want to bother with bringing you back, but I can’t let that happen. So please, trust me. I promise I’ll take care of you when you come back.” Erebus nodded into her shoulder, stomach dropping at the possibility that he might never come back, something he hadn’t even considered yet. It…it was all just too much but Neteri was pulling back now, letting him go, straightening up, motioning Hjáll back over, th-this was all going to end and he didn’t even have time to cry.

Neteri stood on the left side of the circle, watching as Hjáll walked over and unbuckled the sword from around her waist, gently laying it in front of Erebus. “You have to kill them with this, or it won’t work, got it?” He nodded numbly, staring at the sheathed blade in front of him, still not believing he was going to be expected to fight. “It’s been enchanted to not rust or dull, so there’s no excuse for failure.” She grabbed his hair, tilting his head back to look him in the eye. “Shame I never got to really play with you, but Neteri’s finally agreed to cooperate, so I guess I can’t complain.” She shoved his head back down and went to the edge of the circle to his right, crouching down before giving Neteri an expectant look. “Well? Come on.”

Neteri swallowed and nodded numbly, not even bothering to adjust her skirt at all when she knelt, which was unusual for her. She placed her hands on the circle, and Hjáll did the same. Dread started to pool in Erebus’s stomach, he didn’t want this, the life he’d had here hadn’t been great but it had at least been bearable and Neteri was supposed to save him but now-

Water droplets began to materialize in the air around him, sparks of electricity flying between them, as the two women started to recite the spell, the glow of the painted circle lighting everything from below, hauntingly beautiful despite the cold terror in twisting his gut because this was really happening, he was really going to be sent away to an unknown world with no guarantee of ever coming back.

He-he’d never been so scared, and the only comfort he could find was in watching Neteri, seeing her hopeless expression shift into a determined one, the sparks of lightning reflecting in her glasses lighting a fire in her eyes, her hands tense against the stone floor, the pink of her nails the same shade as the bow in her hair, her white coat spotless despite the number of times he’d seen it splattered with his blood, her voice steady as she spoke the ancient words he couldn’t understand, but her tone was shifting, confidence wavering, and she was looking up at him now, her eyes deeply sad now, but still shimmering, but it wasn’t fire, no, those were tears, and he found himself straining against the cuffs, trying to reach her, to hug her one last time before-

But everything was gone, and he was somewhere else, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever see her again.

END PART II - MONSTER WITHOUT A NAME

Next→

Tags: @dramaticcollapse @thehopelessopus​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wif​ @galaxywhump @as-a-matter-of-whump @mnmlover2002 @tears-and-lilies​ @yet-another-heathen​ @rippedjeansandfadeddreams​ @starnight-whump @unicornscotty @thebewilderer​ @kixngiggles @itallstartedwithharry​ @inky-whump​ @redstainedsocks​ @lonesome--hunter​ @his-unspoken-words​ @susiequaz12​ @its-mysweetlittlesecret-blog @whumpasaurus101​ @patheticlittleguy​ @jadeocean46910 @whumpinggrounds​ @pumpkin-spice-whump​ @suspicious-whumping-egg​ @befuddled-calico-whump​ @whump-in-the-closee​​ @pumpkinsncoffee​​

E&T: What Was All This For?

[1d1195]

Honey VI

Read Honey here | ~5.3k words

From me: I know not everyone likes smut so you can read this part directly after part 4 if you'd like. All you need to know is that they had sex in part 5.

Warnings: ANGST, fluff, mentions of sex but not describing everything. I don't think you'll like the ending to this part hehehe

Summary: “Hey kitten,” he hummed, settling her on the mattress. She looked so perfect there. Beautiful.

“Hmm?” She tucked herself into his sheets. Her face smushed into his pillow. He smiled, rubbed his hand on her hip and slipped into bed beside her. Her eyes were closed.

“Happy belated birthday.”

She snorted and tucked her face into his chest. “Thank you, Harry,” she whispered.

Harry tossed the blanket on the back of the couch across her body. She was stretched out the length of his, her ear right on his chest, her hands cupped on the top of each of his shoulders. Her hips wedged between his legs. He wondered if she felt that his dick was already hardening pressing against the fabric of her underwear.

Pulling the thin piece of her panties from her center was one of the hottest things he had ever done before lining himself up with her. He worried he would never want her to take her underwear off just so he could gaze at the way it looked. (Although he was certain he could be convinced otherwise). His hands went to her back, and he kissed the top of her head. “You okay, love?” He asked. She nodded silently. “Y’sure?” Another wordless shake of her head. Harry ran his hand up and down her spine lightly tracing her skin like there was a pattern for him to follow. “Y’can sleep, kitten,” he whispered.

She had sex before, but it was never like that. Her body was exhausted, her face felt flushed and yeah, she was really sleepy. “Mmm?” She sighed. “Okay,” she mumbled.

“Night, love,” he kissed along her hairline.

*

They both seemed to wake up at the same time and without a clock or their phones nearby, there was no way to tell how late it was. Cece hadn’t made a peep, so she was still in the early stages of her deepest sleep. So only a few hours had passed, since her bedtime. It was still pitch black, so the power hadn’t returned either.

Harry kissed her hairline again, unaware that she was awake. In response, she kissed his chest, nosing at his skin.

“You’re so pretty.”

“You can’t see me.”

“Don’t need to.”

She smiled.

“Tell me ‘bout you,” he murmured.

“Tell you what?”

“Well, I know your favorite food is French fries and that y’like dogs more than cats. I know y’love your family even if they’re lazy and don’t show how much they love you. I know where y’went t’school and your best friend’s name is Eliza even if y’hardly see her or talk t’her.”

“There’s not much else to know,” she shrugged one shoulder.

“Why did y’start nannying? With your degree?”

She bit her lip. “I babysat most of my life,” but her voice had an edge to it. There was more and she didn’t want to tell him. Harry could sense it.

“Y’have a psychology degree with a concentration in child development. And y’have a minor in business. Something tells me that y’didn’t intend t’be a nanny. Even if you’re good at it.”

There was a long pause. Harry thought she fell asleep again. Her voice was soft. “I don’t want to scare you.”

“Scare me?”

She nodded. “It’s that baggage I mentioned?”

“I told you I would carry it,” he reminded her.

She didn’t think he didn’t mean it, but she didn’t think he knew what he was saying right before he slid his finger inside her. Her brain was already mush at that point and Harry could have told her anything as long as he made her come the way he did. Taking a deep breath, she was grateful for the dark. “I’ve wanted to be a mom my whole life,” she explained. That didn’t surprise him in the least. The way she held Cece and how kind, adoring, and doting it would be obvious to someone who was blind that she was going to be the most tremendous mother.

“I took care of dolls my entire childhood. Then there was my baby brother. I babysat from the time I was thirteen and all throughout college,” another deep breath. “I met my one and only ex-boyfriend on my first day of college classes. I was eighteen in an intro to business class. I figured if I wanted to open a daycare of my own, it would be good knowledge, right?” Harry’s finger danced along the side of her neck stroking a line up and down not saying anything, just listening. “He was young and didn’t want kids and I didn’t blame him. What eighteen-year-old does? I know I was a rarity—I had a baby brother and was around babies my whole life. I figured he would have grown out of it.”

“He didn’t grow out of it?” Harry asked.

“No... but he told me that he was definitely changing his mind. Every time I mentioned our future or our future children, he just...” she sighed. “He would say things like ‘of course, angel,’” her tone dropped an octave to imitate him. “But he talked about business and cruises. He talked about these extravagant parties and gatherings. Living overseas and expanding his business,” she shrugged. “It sounded nice, but I wanted kids.”

“You were still young,” Harry murmured. He wasn’t agreeing, but he was curious how her college-sweetheart just stopped being that. Surely that was something that would change with time.

“That’s why I stayed with him,” her voice was indifferent. “It wasn’t a bad thing at the time. I knew we both still had plenty of time,” her throat caught on the word time, and she cleared it. “He actually encouraged me to start nannying.”

Harry didn’t like her ex because she deserved everything she wanted. If she wanted to sell Harry’s company, he would do it for her. All he wanted was to see her smile. But if he was the reason that Harry found her... well... maybe he couldn’t hate him too much.

“I’ve always been pretty nurturing, protective, et cetera...” she shrugged. “My friends called me mom in college. I walked around with a mini pharmacy in my purse, and I never got drunk in college because I was busy taking care of my friends. So, my boyfriend figured I would do well, and he introduced me to a friend of a friend who wanted someone to watch their newborn.” She rolled her lips into her mouth before continuing. “I was twenty-two and I have loved babies my whole life. I stopped nannying him when he was three years old. That sweet little boy would be five now and I worry about him every day. Leaving him was the hardest thing I ever did.”

Harry frowned and kissed the top of her head, squeezing her gently. “Why?”

“His parents weren’t around. You said you felt like you weren’t there for Cece. Harry, you have no idea what some parents are like. I was going to doctor’s visits and buying Christmas presents for him on behalf of his parents. I took him to visit family that treated me like his big sister or an aunt—like I was their family and not his parents. It was awful. When I left, I felt like I gave my own child to a pair of strangers. It hurt so much. I cried for a week and seriously considered never babysitting ever again,” she sniffed and shook her head. “I stopped following them on social media. I would have kept asking because I was so scared. I had to stop, or I would... never let go and he wasn’t mine. He wasn’t,” she shook her head. “They made sure to tell me so. Every time I encouraged a change in eating habits or suggested they monitor his sleeping... they berated me for overstepping.”

“Probably because they were embarrassed, love,” he frowned and cupped the back of her head. Harry was seriously addicted to kissing her. It didn’t have to be her lips, though he loved that too. Kissing her hairline and touching her soft, delicate face was becoming his favorite thing.

“Yeah, but...” she shrugged. “It means a lot to me that you value my opinion. I don’t think you’re a bad dad at all, but you don’t mind asking questions. It’s... it’s like, I would never open a business without asking for your help,” she explained. “Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense,” he nodded. “I would be lost without you,” his heart hurt on her behalf. “Why did y’leave?” He asked.

She swallowed. “They were pregnant,” Harry waited. “I was there six days a week from six in the morning until eight in the evening. I was exhausted and it wasn’t because I didn’t love what I was doing, I did. I loved it so much,” she whispered. “But they had made me the most important part of their family and they didn’t even know their little boy,” her voice cracked. “He told me he wished I was his mom,” her voice was hardly audible.

“Oh, kitten,” he pulled her in closer. “He loved you so much.”

“It wasn’t fair to me,” she sniffled. “I just left him.”

“Y’had to, love.”

“He told me he hated me.”

“He was three, sweetheart. Of course he did,” he hummed and kissed the top of her head. “Y’were his favorite person, his best friend.” She sobbed and Harry held her tighter, wishing he could take her pain away. “Y’did the right thing,” he assured her. “Even if it didn’t feel like it.”

She swallowed. “Everyone told me I was an idiot.”

Harry frowned. “Who said that?”

“My family, my boyfriend, my friends,” she listed. “It was such a good job. I could pay my rent and all my bills. I hung out with the cutest kid,” she swallowed.

“Did y’tell them all that other stuff?”

She nodded. “Yeah. They didn’t get it. My boyfriend said I was getting to have a baby—two even, without having to ruin my body or any—”

“God, please tell me y’broke up with him.”

She huffed a breath of sniveling laughter. “Not yet.”

Harry sighed. “So y’found another family?”

She nodded. “I had babysat for Mitch and Sarah before. I was so heartbroken, but I’m a sucker for a cute kid and a mom and dad that are in desperate need of a date night,” she smiled. “Have you seen their kid?”

He chuckled. “He’s sweet, huh?”

“I watched him weekly. Just a date night. It was only a few hours, but they were in awe because I would get bored and clean or whatever they needed. I just did it. I didn’t think about it because I was just...used to it. So, they said they had a couple that needed a nanny,” she swallowed. “I was genuinely scared. I was afraid I would be taken advantage of and I was worried... worried I was going to fall in love with them again,” she whispered. “I did, but it was better this time. Hannah and Pete were parents who wanted to be parents. They loved me, I’m sure you saw, but I was just there to keep their babies safe.”

Harry remembered the glowing recommendations. “Tara and Xavier right?” He asked. She nodded.

“It was a blessing Tara was three years old when I met her and not Xavier. I might not have done it.”

“What about your boyfriend?”

She swallowed. “I was home more, and I noticed that...he wasn’t.”

“What was his name? Y’never said.”

“Cody,” she mumbled.

There was more quiet that ensued while she gathered her thoughts. “I was twenty-four and we had been together for almost seven years...” she took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to be married necessarily nor have kids right that second... but...”

“But he didn’t really change?” He finished.

“No, he did,” her voice was hollow. “Just... not for me.”

Oh no. “Kitten,” he hummed. “What—”

“She was pregnant,” she said softly. “Three months along by the time I found out.”

Harry meant what he said about Cece and a sibling. She was still his baby, and he wanted to make sure she got the attention she deserved because he loved her more than anything in the world. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to give her a sibling. One with Miss Honey? Harry could only be so lucky. “I hate Cody,” he grumbled.

“I’m not really a fan myself,” she whispered. Harry kissed her forehead and wished he could take her heart out and massage it like it was a sore muscle and fix it for her. “Hannah insisted I move in,” she swallowed. “I felt so stupid.”

“That was not your fault, love. Y’shouldn’t feel stupid. He’s an idiot.”

“I love my family,” she whispered. “I love them more than anything on this earth,” she swallowed. “But sometimes, I don’t think anyone loves me the way I love them,” she mumbled. “I feel really selfish saying that and I just thought that if I had a family of my own, the one I imagined with Cody and all the babies I wanted to have, then maybe I would feel loved. Like I was someone’s first choice because...” she trailed off and Harry felt a tear fall on his chest right from her cheek. She didn’t speak and Harry waited and waited.

“Christ, kitten,” he muttered. “If y’want a family. Y’deserve one.”

She didn’t say anything. Maybe she didn’t want to cry more; honestly, Harry didn’t want her to cry either. He wasn’t sure he could console her without promising to marry her right then and there. How someone dated her for seven years and never proposed was beyond him. It hadn’t even been seven hours since he’d been inside her and he was considering it.

“I’d have to quit nannying,” she added her voice was quiet. “I’m also only freshly twenty-seven. There’s still ample time. But... I have a lot of trust issues, obviously.”

“Kitten,” he tutted. “Don’t you think—”

“I don’t want to scare you,” she started which instantly made his heart beat a little faster. His body felt a little hotter. His throat a little tighter around the words he was going to say. “But I’m... my biological clock is a slave to time and if Cece turns five and starts kindergarten, then I’m probably going to have to—”

“Love, stop,” he interrupted. He wanted to say that he would give her everything. But he had her body wrapped around his less than three hours ago. Coming around his fingers, his tongue, his dick.

“Harry, I...” she swallowed. “I love Cece. An embarrassing amount,” she had a smile in her voice. “It’s impossible to find someone understanding of the nanny thing. Now I’ll always worry that the person I’m with is off making his own family with someone else,” she admitted.

“So you’re jus’ going t’accept that and... not have a family of your own?”

“No, I’ve done some research on sperm donation. It’s my best option. And that’s fine. I’ve always wanted to be a mom. I’m not sure I’d be a good wife.”

There was truly no way Harry could fathom that. There was no way she wasn’t the best at anything she did. Fuck, she was a better secretary than anyone he could possibly hire. “How are you holding up with all that baggage?”

“Light as a feather,” he mumbled grumpily. He kissed her temple. He was already planning, plotting. Hoping.

“It... it was nice talking about it,” she whispered. “What’s in your dick that made me blab all that?”

He chuckled. “Truth serum.”

“That’s disgusting,” she gagged. “Don’t tell other girls that, they won’t like it. You’re lucky I’m so cool.”

Harry wanted to ask her if she really thought there were other girls. There weren’t. But if there had been, they paled in comparison to her. There was no one else. There could be no one else anymore. He had been waiting for someone like her, unable to believe he could have someone like her any longer. He had a baby to care for and a company to run. Women didn’t love him for him anymore.

Harry didn’t love anyone besides his baby, his company, and his family.

But he hadn’t accounted for Miss Honey and her sweetness, her kindness.

After a few minutes of silence, Harry realized how tired he was again. Poor thing had to be emotionally exhausted as well. He gently moved her to the inside of the couch “Sit up for me, kitten,” he asked quietly. She rubbed her eye that extra cute way that she did like when he went to her bedroom door in the middle of the night for help with Cece.

He slipped his boxers back on and turned off the little battery-operated candles. There were scrabble pieces all over the floor, but he would deal with them in the morning. She was half asleep, eyes fluttering and trying to stay open. He grabbed their clothes from the floor and threw them into her lap with the blanket that was still wrapped around her.

Harry scooped her into his embrace, cradling her like he was carrying a bride. It made his heart skip a beat. Without discussing it, he carried her to his bedroom. He didn’t want to be apart from her. It felt like he was carrying half his heart in his arms. Her fall blanket had been long since swapped out with a Christmas one and it was draped haphazardly across her keeping her warm as the only thing she wore was the scrap of fabric she was passing off as underwear and that pretty pink bra. “Hey kitten,” he hummed, settling her on the mattress. She looked so perfect there. Beautiful.

“Hmm?” She tucked herself into his sheets almost instantly. Her face smushed into his pillow. He smiled, rubbed his hand on her hip and slipped into bed beside her. Her eyes were closed.

“Happy belated birthday.”

She snorted and tucked her face into his chest. “Thank you, Harry,” she whispered falling asleep nearly the moment she finished speaking.

*

Sleeping with her boss might be the dumbest thing she had ever done.

About ten of her romance novels consisted of this very plot line and she was victim of it per her own doing. Harry’s heavy arm was draped around her waist leaving her trapped beneath it and his soft bedding.

Fortunately, before she had time to spiral, Cece made her presence known. It gave her a reprieve from thinking about how stupid she was. It was something tangible to focus on that wasn’t the ache between her legs from having Harry—

She shook her head. Without another sound in the house, not even the quiet hum of the heating system, it heightened the sound of Cece’s small cry.

She pulled herself out from under Harry, frowning at how cold it was outside his blanket-like body. The first article of clothing she plucked from the floor—which happened to be one of Harry’s T-shirts—and slipped it over her body. Quietly, she went to Cece’s room. “Hello sweet girl,” her voice was soft, and Cece stopped crying instantly. “What are you doing?” She cooed. Cece continued to fuss without crying, so she scooped her up and kissed the side of her head. “Is it the rain and thunder?” She asked. “It’s okay. It’s just a little weather,” she assured her. “Are you cold?” she whispered. “I know,” she sighed. “Let’s go see if Daddy can keep us warm,” she murmured, kissing her temple.

Before she took one step to turn around, a hand circled the front of her stomach, pressing low, making her eyes flutter because Harry had touched and pressed so many parts of her body and he seemed to pull noises and warmth from her without even trying.

Harry’s lips found the curve of her shoulder where it met her neck, and peppered kisses along the made-up path he created from her shoulder to her ear. “You’re so good with her,” he murmured. “It’s so hot,” he whispered. She shivered even though she was about ten thousand degrees warmer than she was a moment before. “She’s cold?” he mumbled into her neck.

She nodded, unable to speak with his mouth on her pulse. He steered her out of the room by her hips, his fingers pressing against spots that he had pressed only hours before. Back toward the living room where he had made her come more times in one sitting than she had in weeks. Her cheeks felt warm as she followed his silent direction—like she was returning to the scene of a crime.

A really hot, sexy crime.

Harry left for his room again, but it was only moments before he was back at her side. He pulled her toward the couch making her stomach flip with the knowledge of what they did. He stretched his legs across the chaise part of the sofa and pulled her down, so her bum wedged between his leg and the sofa arm. Her legs stretched perpendicularly to his, across the couch.

Harry pulled the comforter he had dragged from his room across the three of them and snagged Cece’s crescent pillow from the floor, half under the couch from where it had landed while he was holding her legs open earlier. Harry kept that thought to a minimum as it was late, and she was sleepily holding his daughter. Gently, he tucked the pillow under her arms so most of Cece’s weight would be supported. “S’this dangerous?” He asked curiously.

“A few months ago, yeah... But I’m a pretty light sleeper. She’ll move before it’s an issue.”

Harry kissed the top of her head which had shifted down to the front of his shoulder. “You’re warm?”

“Very,” she promised.

“She’s warm?” He asked.

She wrapped her arms tighter around her and kissed her forehead, making Harry’s heart ache. “Mmm... are you warm?”

“Very,” he smiled. Even if he wasn’t, it was sweet she cared to ask. She was the one holding the baby. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being you,” he murmured.

She tilted her head up and her beautiful wide eyes gazed at him and her lips curved upward so cutely he felt downright hot. No need for a blanket when he could see her smile like that. Harry cupped the side of her head. His thumb brushed along her cheek.

The quiet beating of his heart was under her ear and made her fall asleep.

*

Cece woke them up along with every light on in the house signaling the power was back. Harry’s shoulder felt deadened from her head against it for so many hours. He blinked against the light and glanced at the Scrabble tiles strung haphazardly on the floor. “Good morning, Miss Cecelia,” she cooed and kissed her forehead. “We’re nice and toasty, hmm?”

Harry smiled. His heart so completely full. As full as his arms felt.

“Let’s go change your bum, yeah?” She twisted slightly. “Hold her so I don’t injure you?” She smiled awkwardly. Harry really did a number on her hair while he made out with her last night, but she was still so beautiful it hurt. Her face still had a post-orgasmic glow about it and honestly it was kind of her to worry about Harry’s dick so close to her butt and not wanting to injure him, but she could probably feel it—a reminder that he was so turned on by her.

Harry kissed Cece’s cheek repeatedly. “Good morning, my sweet girl,” he cooed and nosed at her soft skin. She giggled happily and left an open-mouthed kiss on his face making him fall harder for the little baby.

Miss Honey hadn’t moved an inch while she watched the interaction, only inches from her face and she smiled sadly as she finally moved off his lap. Harry was so cold without her body around his it took every ounce of his effort to refrain from pulling her right back down.

She was still in his T-shirt and because her underwear was thin and hiding between her plump butt cheeks, it looked like she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Harry also had to refrain from groaning at the sight. He was glad the comforter was thrown over his lap because it hid the massive amount of indecency he was sporting at the sight of her. She plucked Cece from him and headed down the hall.

Harry picked up the Scrabble tiles trying to forget how good she tasted on the back of his couch so the blood in his body would drain to anywhere else but it’s current space. Eventually, she returned to the kitchen. Unfortunately, she was wearing pants and Harry thought it was unfair she didn’t even ask if he could get another look beforehand.

Cece was wrapped, as always, around her as she started her morning routine. Food, bottle, tea, coffee. Business as always. “Kitten, y’don’t have to—”

“I don’t mind,” she wasn’t facing him. But he could practically feel the heat of her cheeks, flushed with embarrassment. Her voice was shaky. Higher than normal.

“Y’okay?” He asked, his eyebrows pinching together as he watched her work without turning around. “Y’feel okay? Not sore or—”

“Harry,” she swallowed pausing her movements and Cece was suckling on her pacifier watching the pretty woman curiously.

“What, love?” He frowned. “Y’sure you’re alright? Y’sound—”

She put a hand on her face. “Harry, I feel...” she whispered and turned around.

Harry thought she was stunning when she perched over him and slid up and down his cock. But there was nothing like the sight of her, baby on her hip, freshly fucked and flushed, and sleepy looking as she made breakfast in his kitchen. “Y’feel what?” He asked, clearing his throat before he told her he loved her. How quickly he turned into a teenage boy ready to profess his love all because she felt so good around his cock.

“Good,” she smiled sadly. “Really, really good,” she promised. Harry smiled happily. Glad she was feeling okay. “But—”

Fuck. NO.

“I think we shouldn’t have—”

“Kitten, no,” he said quickly crossing the kitchen and putting one hand on her free hip. Cece was gazing at him while her little pacifier bounced up and down in her mouth. “Love, don’t say it—”

“Harry, you employ me.”

His natural instinct was to fire her right on the spot. Then promptly propose to her.

He shoved that instinct into the bottom of his stomach, but his chest ached knowing she was going to be twenty times stronger than him because she had to be. In her head, she was all alone. Even if that wasn’t true at all. He closed his eyes. “Sweetheart,” he said softly. His voice felt broken, and his heartbeat was thudding too hard.

“Harry, I... I really don’t regret that at all. But it was,” she took a deep breath. “It wasn’t the right move,” she looked at his chest. Her face warm with a fresh blush as she probably remembered how he made her come three times in a row. “It was perfect and I like being close with you. But there has to be a line,” she said. “I shouldn’t have crossed it, and I’m sorry. I don’t regret it. Given half the chance, I’d probably do it again,” she admitted.

“We could do it again if—”

“Harry,” she laughed softly, awkwardness coating the sound.

“Angel,” he started but she winced and turned her head away like he had slapped her.

“Please don’t call me that,” she whispered. “That’s the only thing Cody ever called me and—”

“Jesus, kitten, m’sorry. I was jus’—”

“It’s okay,” she looked up briefly, but her face turned another shade darker when their eyes connected. She looked so kissable. He wanted to. Wanted to kiss her and hold her and promise she could have whatever she wanted. Harry didn’t know if she was right. Maybe it wasn’t the best way to do things.

She was employed by him. A lot closer than any other of his employees. Granted he didn’t want to sleep with Niall or give him babies the way he wanted to do for her. “I love Cece,” she reminded him. “I don’t want to jeopardize this because of...” she swallowed. “Because of what we did. We can just forget about it. It was really, really wonderful. Please don’t question that,” her voice was soft. “You’re going to take your leave and I’m going to see my family for a week or two,” she explained. “It’ll be good to have that space and maybe... maybe reset what we’re feeling.”

“Reset,” he repeated.

She nodded. "Isn't there a part of you that wonders if what we did is only because I'm around so much?"

Harry wanted to scream. How could she say that? How could she possibly believe he only made her come three times because she was there? A small voice shouted from the back of his mind: Tell her why! Harry felt his stomach flip and his heart nearly stopped beating.

She didn’t know he loved her. She couldn’t know that his adoration for her had nothing to do with her proximity.

Her innate ability to know what he needed. Organizing papers without asking, folding his laundry, caring for his precious baby.

Just... being there. But not because of space, because it wasn't just because she was present, it was her presence.

No he shook his head. She was scared. She was pushing him away. Scared of all the things she told him the night before. It was her “baggage." The baggage she claimed Harry couldn’t carry because it was so heavy.

But what had he said that made her believe he couldn’t handle it?

Cece doesn’t need a sibling right now.

But she would never want to pressure him to do that—right? Not with what he had been through himself. But then she went and told him all about the way her ex-boyfriend treated her and how it was the only thing she wanted.

I’m just going to get a sperm donor. She said it so casually. There was an expiration date. If Cece turned five before something changed, then she was going to leave.

Harry wanted to give her a million babies. However many she wanted to have, he would give her. He would do it with her. He would quit his job and let her do whatever she wanted. Everything she wanted. A family that adored her and put her first because she deserved it. A family that would travel across the world for her just because they missed her, and she was their favorite thing in the world. A house filled with babies and her pretty maternal self, taking care of them all. Feeding them medicine and making them giggle when they discovered their toes.

He wanted their future children to love her more than him because she deserved that more than anything.

Hell, Cece probably already loved her more than him already.

“Are you going to fire me?” She whispered, pulling him from his thoughts. His hand was holding his shirt wrapped around her body at her hip. The fabric bunched a little tighter than it was before. He released it.

“No, of course not,” he rolled his eyes.

But he was going to make her fall in love with him.

The sooner the better.

--

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

@straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals

@angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams

@summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland

@lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles

@tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

@kissitnhekitchen @kittenhere @stylesfever @indierockgirrl @michellekstyles

@just-another-reader1098 @hermionelove @tiredinwinter @whimsy-willows @hannah9921

@fangirl7060 @triski73 @vikiii07 @prettygurl-2009 @madstyles3204

@angeldavis777 @tchlamqtsgf @lizsogolden @me-undiscovered @you-sunshine

@rose-girls-worlds @claimingharrystigertattoo

Honey: @jerseygirlinca @one-sweet-gubler

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

[hotpinkstars]

ESPRESSO - aventurine x reader

- "now he's thinkin' bout me, everynight, oh, is it that sweet? i guess so." or, how does aventurine do when he's in love?

- GUYS GUYS QUEEN SABRINA DROPPED A SINGLE i've been listening to this for days and i needed to write about it sooooooooooo yeah! anyways i'll get to writing probably a few requests tomorrow and wednesday (expect 4-5 posts between those days to make up for my absence) and yeahhhhhh enjoy!!

- aventurine might be a little ooc, mentions of his trauma (so penacony main quest spoilers), reader confesses at the end. wc 1067

Aventurine doesn’t know what to do when he first figures out that the feeling in his chest whenever he saw you was because he liked you. He probably tried to deny it, until Topaz caught him blushing like crazy after you walked away from the conversation you two had just finished. (Even then, she had to tell him, and then he spent a long time thinking that possibility through. She might have been right). 

You plague his visions. Why does he always want something to do with you? Why does he always want to be in your space, but also never wants to see you again? You’ve noticed his weird behavior, considering you were one of the first people he’s ever genuinely called a friend, but didn’t really think too far into it. 

Though, it didn’t stop you from paying more attention to it, that's for a fact. Sometimes you’d pay more attention to his body movements around you, the way he speaks, his etiquette, etc. You and Topaz communicate through it, and it’s a little bit different from his conversations with her. 

You know he can be cocky. Like, very cocky. You know he’s not too afraid to talk back, to challenge someone to a gamble (spoiler he wins), and to be reckless. Though, you also know about his backstory. So you can kind of understand where he’s coming from. 

He’s been pretty open with you about all of the things he’s endured. You know his real name, he’s described how his family has looked, and he’s described his years he endured slavery and what his home planet was like. You know about the Men in Black and the Katicans. And you know how traumatized he is.

Now, you’ve known him for a long, long time before this. You welcomed him into the IPC when Jade first announced his arrival, and you kind of showed him the ropes. He thought you seemed kind, so he stayed in contact with you.

You’ve watched him change, all of his progress through life, the hard times and the good times, and so much more. And that's what gets him the most, he thinks. 

He never realized how much he trusted you until he realized he liked you. You know every single thing about this man, which was the reason why he was rather… nervous when he’d have to communicate with you face to face. He did a good job at keeping up his front he uses to talk to people, but you sensed a slight form of stress underneath all the layers he put up to look tough. 

He lays awake, thinking about you. You’ve made part of his mind your home, and it’s the part he comes back to over and over again. You replay in his mind like a good song that he can’t get enough of- on, and on, and on, and on. 

He does like to bring you little trinkets he finds pretty when he goes out in public to do some shopping. Considering how wealthy he is, he could probably afford to buy out the whole store, so if you even mention something you like to him, he’s on his way to find it for you. He likes to think of it as he’s buying your kindness, but you think something completely different. You enjoy his sudden gift giving, not just because of your gain, but because he thought about you enough to do such a thing. It always makes you slightly blush before laughing while opening the box presented in front of you. He thinks that's the most precious part about your time spent together; all of the opportunities he gets to listen to your gorgeous laughter and see your flawless smile. Topaz, pinch the man, he’s in his own personal dreampool.

Oh, how bad he wants to confess to you, but he’s really afraid of rejection. He fears losing you entirely, fears that you won’t look at him like you always do if he asked if you two could be a thing. He fears you’d think he was odd for wanting you to himself, and that you’d slowly back away until you refuse to even look at his broken, battered form any longer. The thought makes a shiver crawl up his back. He can’t lose you too. 

All this man asks is to find a way to remove you from his head. You’re absolutely tormenting him! Notice how he’s been lacking on his work lately, always caught in a daze when he’s sitting down at his desk? That’s you he’s daydreaming about. He’s no good with his emotions. He knows how to hide sadness, fear, and anger, but he’s never been in this boat before. Love is a whole new concept to him. 

“Aventurine, you’ve been out of it lately. Tell me, is something the matter?” You barge through the blonde's office, not even bothering to knock. You know you don’t have to, he’s never doing anything so significant in that tiny space that it needs to be kept private.

“What are you saying? Nothings up with me,” he drops his pen in the small plaster pen cup you bought for him. “Work has been tiring lately. Nothing to stress over.” 

You plop into the chair in front of his desk, resting your arms on the top and putting your head in between your palms.

“I can tell when you lie. Tell the truth.”

He looks away. What was he supposed to say? That he couldn’t get you out of his brain, and that you’re the only thing he can focus on? That’ll scare you off for sure!

“Aventurine?? You there?” you wave a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his daze once more. “You know, you don’t have to lie. I already know what you’re thinking.”

His eyes slightly widen, just enough for you to notice. You giggle very lightly before continuing on with your sentence. “You have a little crush, don’t you? Don’t worry, I like you back. Seriously, I do.”

He doesn’t know how to reply to that. He doesn’t know if he wants to faint or make out with you right now. “So that makes us…?”

“I don’t know. We could remain friends, we could be boyfriend girlfriend, whatever you want. I don’t care.”

Well, he believes he already knows the answer he’s choosing.

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Shouta Aizawa NSFW Profile

Yandere! Shouta Aizawa x fem! reader

Tw: mentions of dub-con, masturbation, stalking, kidnapping, voyeurism, toys, clothed sex, hair-pulling, this one is actually kind of soft and feels less yandere-y to me so sorry that this one is a little less creepy than normal, Shouta is a pleaser and lives for your praise, he gets off with a blanket you gifted him, very mild somnophilia, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 12K

HABITS

In general, Shouta isn’t that perpetually horny. He’s a busy man with constant stress weighing on his shoulders; working as a pro while being a full-time teacher leaves him drained during the few times he gets to relax, and it’s a lot of work to get himself hard, to get off, and to clean up afterwards.

It’s just not worth it to him – especially because it’s a bit sad to be left with just his fist and some low-grade, unrealistic porn as a man in his thirties, isn’t it?

He doesn’t have a partner, and hasn’t had one for quite some time – there was a girl a decade or so ago, but she didn’t last long, and the sex was subpar at best. And so, Shouta finds himself neglecting any sort of sexual activity most nights that he’s off work, not bothering to get himself all worked up and fuck away some of that pent up stress.

Except, then you show up.

His feelings for you form, and although it takes a long time for them to solidify, it takes an even longer time for them to turn lewd, any sort of sexual thought involving you not really taking root into he’s much further into his obsession.

This is for a few reasons – firstly, he just doesn’t have that high of a libido, and while seeing you naked when he’s watching from outside your window certainly gets him hot and bothered, he isn’t constantly fantasizing about bending you over and fucking you until you’re screaming his name.

(Not never, just not constantly – and at inopportune moments, sometimes. Moments where he really should be focused on the mountains of paperwork on his desk, not focused on how the desk is the perfect height for you to be standing on your tiptoes, ass poised out and your chest pressed against the hard wooden lacquer, your soft skin glistening in the dim light and your pretty thighs twitching and quivering as his fingers press deeper and deeper and deeper -)

Secondly, Shouta’s already feeling such crippling guilt regarding his infatuation with you that adding on overt sexual fantasies for you would push him too far. He already hates that he thinks of you constantly, that he’s always idly worrying about your safety, wanting to know your location and who you’re with and what you’re doing.

He already dislikes that he can’t stop himself from swinging by your apartment at the end of his patrols, making sure that you’re in your bed asleep, safe and sound and looking so fucking pretty in the moonlight. He doesn’t like how wrapped around your finger you have him, so how could he justify wringing himself dry to you, depraved fantasies running through his mind as he imagines the way you’d cream on his fingers, how you’d clench down on him so, so tightly when he fucks you just right?

Shouta can’t – it would breach too many protocols of trust, the friendship formed between the two of you precarious enough as it is with Shouta’s obsessive, disturbing feelings. He doesn’t think of you sexually, banishing every thought from his mind the moment it appears.

Or, at least, that’s what he wishes could be true – unfortunately, his hormones get the better of him sometimes, leaving him rolling around in his bed, cock painfully hard and his mind insistently flashing images of you changing behind his eyelids.

He’s embarrassed, more than anything, that he doesn’t have enough self control to successfully halt any lewd thoughts of you – it’s pathetic, really, because is he so desperate to touch you that he literally can’t stop himself?

Is he really so painfully, pitifully aroused by you that just the mere idea of you licking your lips or smiling at him can get him breathing hard, thankful for the bagginess of his pants?

He hates that the answer is yes, that his body is really that pent up and eager to get you under him, naked and soft and pretty, all for him and only him. It’s demoralizing, but Shouta only has so much restraint – he tries to hold out for as long as he can, really. He swears.

It’s torture at first, popping melatonin and chugging Nyquil, hoping he’ll be able to pass out and sleep off the horniness, but it never quite works. Instead, his dreams are full of you – on your knees, sucking him off so well that your cheeks are literally hollowing, drool spilling down your chin, a string of saliva and precum connecting your puffy lips to his swollen tip when you pull off for air.

He’ll dream of you on your hands and knees, peeking back at him with glassy eyes and biting your lip, clearly embarrassed as you ask him to touch me, please Shouta, I need you…

He always wakes up with soiled sheets, his entire pelvis sticky with now cold cum, and it becomes very, very difficult to look you in the eye that day, only able to conjure up the image of you all tied up in his scarf, your breasts perfectly framed and your thighs spread, slick covering them as you whine his name, desperate for him.

And though he tries to stave off, not letting himself actively fantasize about you sexually while he’s conscious, a particularly rough day of teaching and patrol have him giving up, throwing caution to the wind as he decides that he needs this, that a release is the only way he’ll be able to stay sane.

In the past, the few times he’s masturbated he’s always just fucked his fist, not needing anything too fancy. But for you, something about that feels disrespectful – it’s stupid and he knows it, but the idea of just thrusting into his hand over and over until he eventually spills all over his knuckles seems tacky, low-class, almost offensive to your image, like he’s tarnishing you and the way he idolizes you.

So, he relies on the next best thing he can scrounge up – you’d given him a blanket a few months ago, a birthday present that he’d tried desperately to cover his blush at receiving.

(Hizashi had pitched in, helping you decide which color and texture, having an expert’s opinion so that it would be perfect for the dark-haired man – a level of detail and attention to his desires that still, to this day, makes his heart flutter to think about. You cared, wanting him to be happy, and just that thought leaves his chest swelling with pride, his palms getting a bit clammy and his cheeks feeling too hot.)

He’s kept the blanket on his bed, using it every single night for the limited sleep he manages to get, making sure the material is always, always touching his body. It’s the only way he really feels close to you – the blanket was for him, sure, but you’d touched it, picked it out, held it in your arms while Shouta was dumbly gaping at you and struggling to utter out a strained thank you.

(If he tries hard enough, he thinks he can even smell you on the fabric – it’s not as good as if you were actually here with him, laying in his arms, touching him, but if he strains enough and pretends hard enough, there’s the faintest whiff of you.)

He’s gulping, throwing his uniform off and leaving it crumped up in the corner, before gently, daintily grabbing the edges of the neatly folded blanket (a stark contrast to the harsh pulling and tugging at his costume he’d thrown off moments earlier) and laying it out on the bed.

He lets out a shaky breath, gulping, before tying his hair back into a messy, low ponytail, excitement flitting through him because he’s really about to do it. He’s really about to touch himself to the thought of you, allowing himself to fully indulge in the fantasy that is you, the fantasy that is imagining the way you’d feel against his body, your lips against his own, your hands in his hair and your thighs around his waist.

He’s moving slow as he settles onto his knees on the bed, staring down at the blanket with furrowed brows. This isn’t quite right – the image of you laying before him, body nude and your legs clenched together in anticipation feels very, very right, but there’s something missing.

A thumb comes down to idly rub at the blanket, tracing small circles against the material as he wracks his brain. What’s missing? How can he make this feel like you, like it’s your body he’s touching, like it’s your perfect little cunt he’s fucking?

He’s not sure, but suddenly it hits him – your body, just as he’d been dreaming about.

The blanket doesn’t look enough like you – it’s two dimensional, flat and having no surface area to grip onto, nothing for him to fondle and touch and squeeze.

It needs to have more of your shape – quickly, methodically, he’s reaching down, grabbing handfuls of the blanket and bunching it up, forming a shape that vaguely resembles your torso. He’s careful to get the exact shape of your waist and hips, making sure to leave mounds of crumpled blanket to represent your breasts, even creating a little space between your thighs that represents something soft, something warm and wet and tight – your precious little pussy, something Shouta would literally kill to feel.

He gulps as he looks down at his work, the atmosphere suddenly seeming much thicker, heavier, hotter, because now, the solid colored blanket seems like you, at least having your body shape and your vague proportions. Aizawa lets his hand run down what would be your side, pausing right over your pretend hip.

Fuck, he mutters under his breath, before shifting forward slightly, letting his weight rest on his knees and one hand as he carefully guides his cock to the space between your crafted thighs.

He’d been careful to leave a fold in the fabric, a pouch of sorts – a place for him to push into, slowly spreading the two layers, trying to mimic the way your pretty lips would part for him, your walls sucking him and clenching him nice and tight, wanting to keep him inside and never let him pull out.

Shouta curses as he rubs his tip against the fabric, noting with a small, far-away sense of disdain that there’s precum smearing all along the fabric, certainly leaving a stain that he’ll have to scrub out later. His thumb comes up to gently swipe along where he imagines your cheek to be, even feeling phantom sensations of warmth, of softness, just as you’d be.

He leans down slowly, throat bobbing, before letting his eyes flutter closed, his lips pressing against the blanket – right where he imagines your own to be. The kiss is soft, gentle, heartfelt, his tongue flicking out to lick against the blanket material, groaning and wishing it was your own tongue meeting his, your own spit coating his lips.

As he gets closer, body inching further down until his chest pressed up against what’s supposed to be your breasts, he shuffles his hips forward, pushing past the fabric fold and into you. He groans, pulling back from the kiss to rest his forehead against where he imagines yours to be, letting his eyes shut tight, nearly squeezing them closed as he slowly rocks his hips.

The friction of the blanket feels a bit strange, not how you’d feel, but it’s better than nothing – and it’s so, so very easy to imagine you instead; your warm, slick walls, the way you’d squeeze at him when he brushes up against your spot, the way your legs would wrap around his hips, hooking your ankles and pulling him in closer, begging him to go deeper. He sighs out, biting his lip and furrowing his brow, the pleasure slowly beginning to mount.

He imagines the way you’d moan his name – he bets you’d be airy, a soft sound that gets his hips stuttering ever so slightly because he knows the way his name would sound spilling from your lips would be heaven, the sultry Shouta upturned at the end as he fucks into you just the slightest bit faster.

His hips pick up their pace at the thought of you crying his name, back muscles flexing as he slowly gets faster and faster, the slow, sweet, intimate pace he’d set blown to dust in the wake of his thighs propelling him forward, hips flying and smacking into the blanket so quickly and harshly that the mattress is shaking, bedframe slightly pounding against the wall.

Shouta groans, low and deep, imagining the way you’d beg him to go faster Shouta please, please please please you feel s’good, wanna come for you! Memories of seeing you touch yourself flash behind his closed eyes, seeing the way your face screwed up in pleasure, how you gripped at your pillows and bucked your hips and trembled and arched your back and gasped and came –

Shouta’s chanting your name, his hips sinking into the fold of the blanket over and over, and quickly he’s bringing a thumb down to rub frantic, uneven circles where he imagines your clit to be, desperate to get you coming, wanting to time your orgasm with his.

Fuck, come for me baby, give it to me, god you’re s’damn tight fuuuck - !

His eyes fly open as spurts of warm, milky cum spray from his tip, getting all over the blanket and making his hips stutter and jerk, the sensation of coming in something leaving his arms feeling weak.

He’s panting, still saying your name under his breath, dark hair falling around his face as his thighs flex and clench, the last bits of cum dribbling from his tip and leaving him feeling spent. He can’t help but imagine the way you’d take him, if you’d thank him for giving him everything he has to offer, if you’d hold onto him until you both caught your breath, if your walls would still flutter and clench sporadically even after you’d come down from your high.

He closes his eyes again, heart practically in his throat as he leans down once more to kiss the blanket, tongue sneaking out and wet noises filling the room as spit and drool get slobbered all over the fabric.

He’s still out of breath, panting when he pulls back, but it’s not until he leans back onto his knees and takes a good look at the blanket that his high begins to fade, the reminder that you’re not really there making a sharp feeling dig into his gut.

He stares for a moment, before sighing, slowly pulling out of the blanket and grimacing when he feels cooling cum sliding across his cock, the white mess all over the material and smeared across his skin.

He brings a hand to his forehead, covering his eyes and sighing. What was he doing?

He’d just fucked a blanket – a gift, from you no less – while pretending it was you, his desperation to get you naked and in his grasp strong enough to make him lose him mind.

Pathetic, he was truly pathetic.

He’s ashamed as he throws the blanket into the laundry, hoping the cum stains will come out with all the bleach he’d thrown in alongside it, and as he chugs his coffee, deciding to get to school early and try to collect himself, Shouta can only sigh.

You make him such a fucking fool – a freak, perverted and creepy and gross, and as soon as he catches sight of you in the staff loungeroom, looking all pretty in your simple blouse and slacks, he knows he’s a lost cause, every bit of self-respect falling by the wayside.

 Because as soon as he looks at you, all he can think of is how you’d look underneath him, stuffed full of his cum and a dazed, fucked-out expression scrawled across your face. All he can think of is how you’d be absolutely perfect to sink his cock into – and as he darts off to the nearest restroom, desperately trying to get rid of the insistent, raging erection in his pants, he can only sigh, letting his head hang.

He really is a fucking creep.

FAVORITE BODY PARTS

Your thighs

Shouta isn’t one to sexualize women’s bodies. He’s a man with urges, sure, but he’s never had trouble separating sexual attraction from respect for his female friends, even for strangers in the streets. A body is a body, and they aren’t made to be stared at and ogled.

Except where you’re concerned, of course, because while Shouta tries his hardest to not sexualize every thought of you, it’s difficult to hold himself back when he’s so utterly attracted to every single part of you.

It’s hard to not fixate and stare and want when he looks at you, and so while he gives a valiant effort to not obsess over your figure in a less than innocent way, eventually he can’t help himself.

And Shouta discovers that while he loves every inch of you, there’s something about your thighs that drive him absolutely fucking crazy.

Maybe it’s their shape – pretty expanses of your skin that look perfect to grope and squeeze, the soft curves making him salivate in a way that feels almost predatory.

Maybe it’s the way they feel – your skin is so soft, especially if he moves his hands further up, between them, nearing somewhere warm and wet and throbbing.

Maybe it’s the way they feel when they’re around his waist, caging him in and keeping him right where he wants to be, and when they’re around his head?

(Don’t mention the instances where he’s orgasmed just from simply eating you out – it’s embarrassing, and while he won’t deny it, he will change the conversation and pray you don’t see the soft, barely-there pink blooming on his cheeks.)

Maybe it’s even the way you respond when he touches them – how you jump a little bit, his calloused hands feeling a bit cold as they skim along the sides, thumbs pressing into your inner thighs, a comforting finger brushing along the juncture of your legs and pelvic bone.

He’s not entirely sure, but one thing he does know is that just seeing your bare thighs is enough to get him gulping, his dark gaze struggling to move away as he watches the area jiggle and flex while you walk, every step you take only making him want you more and more.

Even before he’s stolen you away, he’s fantasizing about your thighs – he’s bought more pairs of stockings and thigh-highs than he’d care to admit, keeping them neatly organized in a specific drawer in his closet, often fingering the material and biting his lip.

(The image of you wearing them makes him drool, the idea of the top hem squeezing your thigh and making a little bulge appear right above the socks getting his hand wandering down his torso, his fingers making quick word of his belt buckle because fuuuck, would you keep them on while he throws your legs over his shoulders and absolutely destroys you?)

He’s always taking extra time and care to properly worship them when he’s got his head between your legs, letting his lips and tongue trail all along the soft skin, leaving teasing bite marks and hickeys and feeling the way you tremble under his touch because he’s so close yet so far from where you need him.

He’s always got a hand on your thighs when he’s fucking you, his fingers clutching and digging into the skin while he shuts his eyes tight and wills himself to last longer, to prolong the moment, to give you more more more, just like you deserve.

He just really, really likes your thighs, so don’t be surprised when he’s got his hand casually placed on one when you’re watching a movie together, his gaze purposefully not looking at you because you can’t see how flustered he is from touching your clothed thigh in a non-sexual context.

You can’t.

His hands

In general, Shouta lives to please you in bed. He’s by no means submissive (though he could be persuaded if you really, really wanted to be in charge for a night), but he’s a caring partner in every possible sense of the word – sex is about you, and any pleasure he gets from it is just a fun bonus.

And because of this, he takes every opportunity to learn new ways to please you, trying everything from teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue, buying a collection of vibrators, even letting you grind against the expanse of his thigh.

But his favorite method by far is using his fingers on you. They’re thick, with scars and callouses dotting the rough skin, but they’re so gentle with you, always touching you like you’re something fragile and delicate and breakable. He's careful with you when he’s rubbing circles over your clit, the pressure consistent enough to feel good but not too hard, sometimes even teasing you. He’s gentle when he’s running his fingertips over your folds, occasionally dipping in just a hair to feel the warm wetness he wants so very badly to sink into.

(He often sucks in a short, nearly inaudible gasp when he does this, his Adam’s apple bobbing because god you’re wet, and he’ll pull back to lick off his fingers, letting his eyes flutter closed as he tastes you.)

He particularly enjoys fingering you – he’s dexterous, and he always goes slow and purposefully, learning quickly exactly where you like to be touched. He’ll angle the pads of his fingers against that spot inside of you that makes your toes curl, his lip caught between his teeth as he watches your face twist up, hearing your pretty sighs and moans, feeling the way you clench around him, your hips twitching a bit as if to get him deeper, to get more of him. He keeps his pace sensual, the come-hither motion slow and controlled, all the while keeping his thumb pressed firmly against your clit, drawing shapes that stay just consistent enough to get you closer and closer.

All the while, the other hand is gently working at your clit, his fingers expertly getting the exact pressure and pattern you like, making your thighs twitch and your little gasps and mewls louder and more insistent.

And when he’s not actively working between your legs, Shouta’s always got his fingers pleasuring you in other ways – gently kneading at your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples between a thumb and index finger, groping and squeezing at you like a man starved as his tongue flicks and sucks at your clit.

They’re grasping a handful of your thigh and squeezing reassuringly as he’s fucking you, his pace slow and deep, making sure you feel every possible inch of him as he folds you in half.

He’s even slipping a thumb against your tongue when you take a break to breath, your chest heaving and your fingers wrapped around his girth, a groan slipping from his lips because god, the sight of his precum dribbling down your chin is enough to get his cock twitching on its own. He’ll press down on your tongue, his lip caught between his teeth as you stare up at him, the sight indescribably erotic, a few praises falling from his mouth about how good you look, how pretty you are, how well you take care of him.

(All the while, he’s feeling you suck on his thumb, eagerly running your tongue along the skin and even swallowing around it to give the extra suction. Shouta curses under his breath, and suddenly stands, grabbing you by the hips and forcing you to bend over the chair he’d previously been sitting on, roughly spreading your legs and immediately diving in to lick and suck against your clit, a finger slipping inside of you because he just can’t not touch you after watching you drool all over him.)

He just likes to make you feel good, and while he enjoys pleasuring you with his mouth, nothing can beat the way you moan and shake when he’s working his fingers on you, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re incoherent, your poor body trembling, the only thing you can think of him him him.

DRIVE

Though you inspire more sexual desire and drive within him than he’s experienced for the last twenty years, Shouta is still not absolutely desperate to fuck you at all times.

Sure, the idea is nice – being intimate with you is something he craves, but nine times out of ten this intimacy takes the form of simply holding you. Sitting beside you with your head resting on his shoulder, a blanket covering the both of your bodies as you snore softly and cling to him in your sleep, showing that you feel safe with him, that you trust him to protect you.

(Shouta is normally able to keep his staring in check and not be too terribly overt with it, but in times like these he allows himself to openly gape at you, those dark eyes of his examining every detail of your face. Every small wrinkle, every hair and mole, even every lash and baby hair that frames your cheeks. You’re just too damn pretty, and like this he can commit every last detail to memory – as if he hadn’t already, as if he doesn’t sleep at night with your face dancing through his dreams, as if he sees flashes of you in everything he does. As if he isn’t thinking of you as unconsciously as he breaths.)

He generally imagines sleeping with you (and genuinely just sleeping – curling up with you in his arms and his face buried next to your neck, the scent of your body and shampoo filling his senses and making him breathe out something that walks the fine line between a sigh and a moan), the peacefulness and tranquility of just having you close to him in the safety of his protection and home.

It’s a type of intimacy that gets Shouta red in the face, the idea so domestic and taboo and foreign that he comes to crave this on a near constant basis, serving as motivation and a way to calm himself when his students are out of control or a villain is being particularly difficult.

But of course, Shouta is only a man, and men have needs – no matter how he tries to keep his obsession with you as innocent as it possibly can be, sexual thoughts trickle in through the cracks of his mental fortitude and leave him with a phantom wonder of how you’d taste – would you be sweet, like the jellies Hizashi had gotten him? Would you be rich and savory? He hopes you’d have a strong musk to you, a smell that he can breathe in and think of you, something that gets his salivating and his body growing hot and his fingers restless and his breath heavy and labored and god –

He’s hard before he knows it, immediately covering his face with his hands because it’s equal parts embarrassing and terrifying how easily you manage to affect him, just the simple thought of you getting his entire body on edge.

And so he eventually takes up masturbation with you in mind, feeling dirty and disgusting each time he recovers from his orgasmic high, making it more and more difficult to look you in the eye without thinking of all the depraved things he’d imagined doing with you mere hours before.

But Shouta thinks he can survive – sure, he wants to fuck you, needs to kiss you, has to see the face you make when you’re coming, but he can control himself. He won’t succumb to the urge to break into your (frustratingly poorly protected) apartment to run his fingers along your pretty skin and fuck his fist mere inches from your face, no matter how badly his body yells and begs him to. He won’t cross this boundary – it’s hypocritical to think of himself not as a pervert at this point, but it’s the only way he confidently resists you.

Except, then you go and force him into kidnapping you – and now you’re with him nearly all moments of the day, your scent in his bedroom (though he knows you never willingly enter there, and he doesn’t force you to), your body always just a heartbeat away, the idea of holding you and kissing much, much closer now.

And even with the constant temptation, Shouta manages to hold out – it’s torture, really, forcing himself to be a good man and giving you privacy, to not touch you, to not press himself against you and feel the contours of your body against his own, but it’s worth it to him. He can’t force anything – he doesn’t want to scare you, and he has this horrible, sneaking suspicion that if he propositioned you, you’d feel too afraid to say no.

And just the thought is enough motivation to keep him from touching you, to keep him celibate from you purely by his choice – even if it starts affecting him physically.

(He’d never, ever admit it to you, but his lust for you becomes so extreme that if he’s gone more than a week or so without having touched himself to the thought of you while you’re under his care, his cock starts physically hurting when he sees you, his hips involuntarily twitching when he hears your voice, his throat feeling dry and his cheeks blooming bright red because god, he’s never wanted to fuck something so bad.)

And so, Shouta forces himself to be an outstanding man – but no one can be alert every moment of every day, and it’s only a matter of time before you catch him in a moment of weakness. Because really, while Shouta was suffering, you were certainly undergoing a struggle of your own – you’ve been stuck with him for a few months at this point, trapped in his modest apartment with everything you could ever need with one glaring, important exception: human touch.

You don’t necessarily want to be physical with your kidnapper, but as the days pass and you slowly come to accept the fact that you won’t be escaping Eraserhead, things start changing. You’re still understandably frightened of him, worried that although he’s not harmed you in any way and hasn’t forced you into much aside from your captivity, he’ll show his true colors and make your life even more of a living hell.

But that doesn’t happen, Shouta staying that familiar presence you’ve become accustomed to; steady, quiet, consistent. Except the more days that pass, the more you start noticing other things about him – he’s strong, isn’t he? You see it when he walks from the bathroom to his bedroom with the towel tightly fastened at his waist, showing off the lean muscle of his arms and torso.

(He can feel your eyes sometimes, but tries not to dwell on what your staring at his naked chest could mean because getting his hopes up means getting them inevitably crushed.)

He’s awfully attentive, isn’t he? He listens when you speak, those dark eyes boring into you and your every wish – aside from escape – granted without so much as a complaint.

And sometimes, he’s a little attractive, isn’t he? In a rugged, man-ish way – a way that makes you gulp and press your thighs together a bit, because something about the stubble that coats his chin and the veins that litter his hands and forearms makes it difficult to breath correctly.

And then the daydreams start – little thoughts about how it would feel for those hands to touch you, for those lips to brush against your own, for his hair to tickle your neck as he hovers over you, his hips moving slowly and rhythmically against you, gruff grunts of your name filling the air between you.

They scare you at first, really, but soon you can’t stop yourself – you know it’s the lack of human contact that’s influencing you, but as time passes and you grow more desperate to know if he’s as attentive in bed as he is everywhere else, you’ll stop caring.

And Shouta can sense that something’s changing – he feels you watching him, notices the way your eyes follow him through a room, how you suck in the sharpest, smallest breath when he nears you, how you grow stiff when he has to flex a muscle in front of you to lift something heavy. Shouta knows that something is different – but it’s not until you grow brave one day that everything is confirmed.

It’d been a long, tiresome day for Shouta – his class had been especially rowdy today, with a simulation villain attack that the teachers participated in, and of course he’d ended up assigned to spar with Todoroki – meaning he’d been moving about, his muscles tired and sore from multiple hours of repetitive fighting. Then he’d had an extra patrol directly after, the villains particularly restless and causing more trouble than normal. Coupled with a nasty rainstorm that had him half freezing to death, Shouta wanted nothing more than to melt into bed, ideally with you beside him but knowing better than to wish for foolish things.

And when he’d stepped in the front door, you’d been waiting for him, sitting nervously on the couch. You’d stood up, but Shouta – despite feeling slightly more awake and alive at the sight of you, like normal – was still exhausted, already on the brink of unconsciousness as he gruffly greeted you. You looked nervous, twiddling your thumbs and biting your lip, but Shouta was too tired to properly ask about it, only mentally noting to check on you tomorrow.

Slumping towards his bedroom, he was abruptly stopped with you grabbed his hand, his entire body going rigid. Your voice was quiet when you asked him why he always seems to avoid touching you, asking if he didn’t want to, if he was repulsed by the idea of touching, if he was repulsed by you.

And Shouta, still half delirious with exhaustion, let the truth slip from his lips before he could help himself – explaining just how badly he craves to feel you, imagining you in every lewd position he can think of, noticing the way your pajama shirts sometimes grow tight when you sleep and roll over, exposing the outline of your breast and nipple and making him physically stop in his tracks and nearly drool like some horny teenager.

Every secret was spilling out of him, his voice still tired and coarse but making your jaw drop, the admission that he’s been fantasizing about making you a mess on his fingers and tongue and cock stunning you. You’d known Shouta harbored some sort of feelings for you, but this?

When he finishes detailing the fact that he regularly fucks his fist to the thought of you at least twice a week after you’ve fallen asleep, you release his hand, immediately missing the warmth of his skin.

Shouta rubs at his eyes, still not facing you, but muttering a small goodnight and retreating to his room, only realizing what’s happened the next morning. His hands shake and he bolts from his bed, his eyes wide and his heart racing, something horrible and feeling like shame and dread sitting in his chest because why the fuck had he told you that?

Facing you the next day has anxiety sitting in his every nerve, his actions jerky and on-edge, an he’d nearly bolted back to the safety of his room when he sawy you sitting at the kitchen table, but then you’d done something unexpected – you’d walked up to him, stood in silence for a moment, then grabbed his hand. Shouta had been confused, unable to ignore the way your hand fit into his own and the softness of your skin against his, but you’d not given him a chance to even ask questions – soon your lips were on his, and your hand had placed his on something warm and soft and squishy –

Shouta gasped against your lips, the feeling of your breast in his hand and your tongue swiping at his lips nearly making his knees buckle. He didn’t respond to your kiss for a few moments, forcing you to pull back and stare at him, something like worry and rejection reflected in your eyes, but it’s not until you whisper in a very small voice that he snaps out of his stupor.

I want you Shouta, and I know you want me.

You were in his bed moments later, his hands frantic and eager and shaking as he practically ripped off your borrowed pajamas, fingers moving fast and settling over every part of your body, seemingly unable to decide on where to stay.

It was rushed, desperation clouding both of your senses, but as Shouta threw your leg over his shoulder and pressed wet kisses against the juncture of your shoulder and neck, his whispered affirmations of his love for you only had you pulling him closer, adoration and shock and something so happy it nearly hurt filling his chest.

Perhaps, just perhaps, something in you loved him as he loved you.  

MAIN THREE KINKS

Clothed Sex

It’s about convenience for Shouta – he’s not lazy in the bedroom, but although he finds you irresistible and is normally willing to expend what very little energy he has on sex with you, he’s willing to take any shortcut he can.

Of course, sex with you in an ideal world sees the both of you completely nude, your bodies pressed as close together as physically possible so that not a breath of space lays between them. He likes being close to you, feeling every inch of you, the intimacy of it unmatched and making Shouta revel in the fact that you’re really there with him, that he’s really getting to touch you, that he’s really getting to kiss you and touch you and fuck you, just as he’s been fantasizing of for months.

But that said, there’s a strange allure to clothed sex – it’s taboo and a little dirty, something that makes him feel a little warm, his palms growing a bit sweaty because it could happen at any time. Whenever the mood strikes him or strikes you, he could simply unzip his pants, shuffle them down a bit and fish out his cock, and he'd be ready to go – already half-hard, the eager anticipation of your touch exciting him from nearly the moment you entered the room.

And it’s easy access to you, too – not that he’d ever take advantage of that fact, your consent still something he asks for every time he touches you. It’s easy to slip your panties to the side, sinking you down onto his lap as he groans and his head lolls back, the feeling of your warmth making his toes curl. He just likes how easy it all is – no time is wasted with struggling to get off your shirt or his pants, and the desperation to be inside you that always seems to overwhelm him at the most inconvenient of times can be attended to that much faster.

He just thinks there’s something so hot about it – he’ll specifically stock you with clothing to wear that makes this easy – flouncy skirts and shorts that make shoving everything to the side and bunching his fist into the cloth to get better leverage while he pounds into you.

He’ll get you tank tops and things that make fishing your breasts out of your top easy, so that they can freely hang and jiggle as he bounces you up and down on his lap, your nipples hardening and shivers racing down your spine as he flicks his tongue at one.

He’ll buy underwear that doesn’t chafe when he shoves it to the side, the pretty sight of lace against your skin making him feral, making him fuck into you harder and more frantically because you almost look like some sort of lewd present when you’re wearing that lingerie – like his very own present, the one thing in the world he wants more than anything else.

And he’ll wear clothing that makes this easy, too – pants that can be unzipped and boxers he can tuck underneath his balls, making sure that nothing gets in the way. And although having sex without clothes is much more common than with clothes, Shouta will surprise you and suddenly press up behind you in the kitchen, telling you that you look too good, that he can’t help himself, that he needs you, and has to fuck you right here, right now, I can’t wait.

And so when you nod, he’ll flip up that skirt of yours – the main culprit for the throbbing between his legs, of course, because the clear view of your legs and thighs makes his mouth water – and slip aside those panties, his cock already out and hard and dripping for you.

It’s spontaneous, more than anything, and it’s one of the only ways in which Shouta is a little carefree with sex – one of the only times that he isn’t serious, or at least as serious.

The main way Shouta likes to engage in clothed sex, though, is through cockwarming. He just likes being close to you – he’s touch-starved, and although he doesn’t have the energy to actually fuck you, he still wants to be inside you, to have your body against his, to have you near and be smelling your scent and hearing your voice.

And so, it’s not a rare occurrence to have him pull you into his arms on his modest leather couch, your frumpy sweatpants and t-shirt (both his, of course, a fact that isn’t lost on him – he will not be washing either of those items when they eventually are off your body) covering your form and his own loungewear covering his.

He’ll shuffle up behind you, pulling you against him so that he’s spooning you, and before long you’ll feel something poking at your ass – something hard and insistent, something that seems to be bobbing and moving every few moments.

Truthfully, Shouta couldn’t say what got him hard – perhaps it was just being with you, or maybe smelling you, or the sight of you in his clothes. It could be any number of things – but his breath hitches as you swallow and carefully tug down the hem of your sweatpants, pressing your exposed ass back against him.

He makes a sound like a low whistle, and then he’s fishing his cock out of his own pants, the tip already wet with precum as he shifts his hips to slip between your legs, propping your leg up over his so that he can push inside. He does so with a small groan, resting his forehead against your back, and he feels you clench down on him.

He’s content to lay there – the warmth of his clothing and from you almost too much, but seeing the way you snuggle deeper into the shirt sending something warm and hot and possessive through his chest. He’ll just pull you against him tighter, the slight shift making the both of you hiss at the small burst of pleasure. He’s content to fall asleep that way – relaxed, his cock still nestled inside of you and hard as a rock, the feeling of your cunt lulling him into dreams filled with you naked and moaning his name, all bouncing breasts and desperate hands and begs for more.

(Don’t be surprised, when this happens, to wake up feeling something dripping out of you – yes, it’s cum and yes, that wet dream was enough to get him there. Don’t mention it, either, because Shouta’s always disappointed that he wasn’t awake for it - after all, call him old-fashioned but finishing inside of you is arguably his favorite selfish part of sex.)

Overstimulation

Shouta is not a stingy lover. In the bedroom, he lives to see you enjoying yourself – it soothes this primal, horrible ache in his chest that yearns or your approval and happiness. A lot of his obsession is born out of a desire to please you and keep you happy and safe, and this translates into making absolutely sure you’re satisfied in every possible way between the sheets.

Sex isn’t really sex until you’ve had at least two orgasms, whether that be because of his fingers or tongue, and only then will he throw your pretty legs up over his shoulders, sinking into you with a sharp exhale and letting his face rest against your sternum as he wills himself to not get too excited, to keep his cool and not rut into you like wild animal. He wants you to enjoy sex with him – he craves intimacy with you and he needs you to crave it too, and he’s hopeful that by giving you the best attention and care in bed, you’ll be more inclined to kiss and hold him, to touch him and whisper those three little words in his ear.

(The three little words that make him gasp and shudder, cum immediately spurting out of his red, swollen tip, his knuckles turning white as he grips onto your thigh and the bedsheets tightly enough to keep himself grounded through the pleasure.)

And so, Shouta finds that there’s something darkly pleasing about being the one to get you orgasming, being the source of your pleasure – seeing your face twist up, your mouth forming that pretty ‘o’ and your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Shouta develops a bit of a sick fascination with seeing just how often he can make you come for him, and from what. It stems from a good place; a genuine desire to make you happy and get you shaking with pleasure and incoherent enough that all you can say is his name.

 He likes to choose how you come – will it be his fingers? Will he draw pretty circles on the inside of your thighs, teasing you and feeling the way your breathing picks up a bit, a whine of his name telling him that you’re growing impatient, that you need more, that you need him?

He’ll get closer and closer to your folds, pressing a thumb against them and dipping in ever so slightly, the dull pleasure making you bite your lip, embarrassment eating you alive because it feels so dirty to be teased like this, to keep your legs so wide open for him, to feel the way his eyes are staring at you so fully and intensely, the adoration and lust swimming in those dark depths nearly too much for you handle.

He’ll press two fingers against your clit and get to work, rubbing with light pressure and slowly increasing it, feeling the way the nub gets harder and more swollen, fingers swiping down to collect a bit of your slick to make things easier, the pads of his fingers gliding along your sensitive skin and making your hips jump and twist.

He’ll use his other hand to finger you, rough calloused skin dragging against your walls and pressing right into the spot he knows you love – the one that makes your back arch up, your head pushing back against the pillow, your nails digging into the bedsheets and tangling through his hair. Working you through an orgasm with his fingers is his favorite and what you’ll most likely get – he gets a front row seat, watching with rapt attention as you fall apart for him, feeling the way your thighs tremble and close in around him when you’re right on the edge.

There’s this feeling of power, pride and desire making him light headed and only work harder at his ministrations, ignoring your yelps and gasps of overstimulation because he needs to see that again, to feel the way you clench down onto his fingers so tightly that he has to work to pull them out to thrust back in. You’re just so damn sexy, the sight of you laying before him with your pretty legs spread wide open making him swallow so hard you can hear it.

But of course, Shouta also loves using his mouth to get you off – pink lips attaching to your nipple, sucking and running his tongue over your areola to make you squirm, your little keens making his cock twitch against your thigh.

He’ll kiss at your hips, making a trail down to your clit, giving you little kitten licks while his eyes flick up to look at you, seeing the way you sigh and bite your lip, the rising and falling of your chest making him near feral.  

He wants to see you moan and writhe, to feel you grasping at him and needing him, and so his patience wears out and he dives between your legs, slick coating his nose and chin as he licks and sucks and thrusts his tongue against you, eyes closed in concentration and hair getting in his face but he doesn’t care – how can he, when you sound so pretty moaning his name like that?

How can he, when your thighs are clenching around his head and you’re just so fucking wet for him, showing him exactly how much he’s affecting you?

It's euphoric, and soon you’ll be crying out his name and creaming all over his lips, shaking in his grasp so hard that he has to hold you down by the hips to help you ride out the pleasure, the taste of you making him so hard that it hurts.

And god, there’s something about the way you respond to voice and his commands in bed that makes Shouta curse under his breath. You look up at him all wide-eyed, pleasure written across your face as you look to him for guidance, his voice gruff and thick with lust as he tells you to let go, come for me, want to see you come for me.

You immediately furrow your brows and bite your lip, grinding yourself harder against his fingers, feeling the pads of them brush against the spot that has you seeing stars, his name a prayer as you chant it over and over, only stopping to moan or gasp.

The sight is intoxicating, leaving Shouta gaping like a fish with parted lips and heavy breaths, staring at you like you’re something heavenly, divine, unable to tear his gaze away because he still can’t quite believe this is happening, that you’re moaning his name, that you’re letting him touch you and oh, he knows what that change in your facial expression means, how you’re blinding grasping at him, how you’re stuttering out a rushed ‘m coming, Shouta ‘m coming fuck-!

Watching you come undone right before his eyes has Shouta’s cock throbbing, his hips subtly moving against your thigh because he needs friction, the sight of you and the knowledge that he made you this way nearly too much for him to bear.

And when you finally calm down, your breathing wild and your eyes a little glazed over, he’ll just swallow and quickly situate him hips between your legs, gripping himself at the base and impatiently prodding at your entrance, his words dark as he tells you that you’ve got another one in you, give it to me.

When he pushes in – slowly, so as not to hurt you – he lets out a groan, only muffled by the way he leans down to kiss you, feeling the way you tense up and eagerly return the gesture, wrapping your ankles around his waist and pulling him deeper, showing him that you need more more more if you’re going to finish like he wants you to.

And Shouta’s happy to oblige – snapping his hips into you until his muscles are sore and screaming, a thumb relentlessly toying with your clit, his lips against your neck and whispering praise tainted with curses.

He’s encouraging you to feel good, telling you to tell me how it – fuck, how it feels, you’re so goddamn tight, tell me how to fuck you – o-oh…

Because really, while he loves to get you coming and falling apart on his terms, Shouta’s pride flies out the window where you’re concerned – he’d do anything to get you clenching down on him and begging him to finish inside you.

Anything.

Voyeurism

Honestly, it’s a byproduct of having stalked you for such an extended period of time. Watching you was the only way to feel close to you – he wasn’t able to hold you and kiss you, to feel you and lay with you and make you whine his name, and becoming your shadow was the only possible substitution.

And even then, it wasn’t enough – all the guilt he harbors from watching you in your more intimate moments never fades, not even after years of having stolen you away, your pretty body and mind fully his to do as he pleases. He’s still ashamed, but some things he just simply can’t unlearn – and so, even once your sexual relationship begins, Shouta finds himself still utterly excited by the prospect of watching you pleasure yourself.

It’s dirty, horrible, something that makes him feel so guilty he can hardly stand it, but he can’t not stop and watch through the crack in your door when he hears what sounds suspiciously close to muffled whimpers.

He can’t not press his ear against the wooden door, closing his eyes and imagining what you’re doing to yourself – maybe you’re playing with that cute little clit, rubbing it in circles and biting your lip because it just feels so damn good, mimicking the way that Shouta works you up slowly and steadily, getting you so sensitive that your hips jump and twitch at just the slightest bit of pressure against your sensitive nerves.

(He’s had dreams about the way you taste – he thinks you’d be musky, something natural and strong and savory, a taste he wants in his mouth at all hours of the day. And the way you’d tremble and gush for him if it was his fingers and mouth toying with the nub, how you’d tangle your fingers in his hair and pull him closer and closer to you, needing as much of him as possible, needing him him him…)

Maybe you’re sinking your fingers inside of you, working up from one to three, stretching yourself out and imagining it’s him instead, that he’s the one filling you up and making your toes curl, that he’s the one causing all those pretty noises to fall from your lips.

(He knows just how much bigger his own fingers are – he’ll imagine the size difference, his eyes shutting tight when he thinks of how much more he can stretch you out, how much better he can make you feel, how the texture of his fingers must send pleasure up your spine in a way that your soft, comparatively dainty fingers can’t.)

Maybe you’re perched up on a pillow, straddling it with your cunt pressed snugly against the fabric, slick smearing across the cotton as you grind your hips back and forth, hunched over so that the angle is just right, imagining it’s him underneath you and it’s his thigh or cock you’re rubbing against.

(He’s had wet dreams about this sight, always hoping and fantasizing that you’re just so desperate for him that you’re imagining it’s his face you’re riding, his mind conjuring up the sound of your voice moaning out his name and telling him yes yes o-oh fuck yes, Shouta ‘s so good, you feel so good! He’d never seen you riding a pillow during all those months of stalking, but the idea’s just too graphic and wanton and lewd for him to not fantasize about, the idea satisfying the part of him that’s embarrassed and ashamed of just how badly he craves you – because surely if you’re humping some piece of cotton and pretending it’s him, then what does he have to be embarrassed about? Lots, really, but it makes him feel slightly better.)

Or maybe you’ve decided that you want something a little more physical, something to really mimic him – he’d seen you using your vibrator many, many times before he stole you away. His face always turned pink at the sight, his throat going dry and his grip on his capture weapon a little loose as he simply stared, the sight of your pretty body contorting and the plastic held against the crest of your pelvic bone making everything else fade away.

You’re so damn pretty – the way you moan and sigh, how your legs twitch, how your breasts sway and jiggle with every motion, making his fingers ache to reach out and squeeze, to knead and touch and grope, like some sort of pervert.

And this fantasy and mental image has stayed with him long after kidnapping you – once your physical relationship begins and Shouta no longer feels it would make you even more uncomfortable and scared of him, he’s buying you a replacement for that trusty vibrator you used to use to death. He’d left it on your nightstand one morning with a hasty note simply saying I’m gone a lot, I don’t want you to get lonely.

Of course, this is only half the truth – he does want you to be happy, and he doesn’t want you to grow resentful of the times when he’s too exhausted to give you proper sex. But of course, the unspoken portion of this gift is that he wants to watch you use said vibrator – and badly.

He wants to sit in a chair at the side of the bed, legs spread wide as he grips the base of his cock, absentmindedly squeezing at his balls while his dark eyes stay trained on your figure. He wants you to be spread out for him, perhaps a skimpy set of lingerie covering your pretty body (or perhaps none at all, if you’re comfortable with it) with your legs spread wide, the vibrator in your hand hovering against your clit. He wants to hear the steady, dull buzzing sound mixing with your whimpers, to see the way your body tenses up and you whine, feet flexing and shaky breaths slipping past your lips as you slowly work towards your high.

He wants to see the way you eventually grow impatient, changing the vibrator’s setting and immediately crying out, the feeling much more intense and making your orgasm hurtle towards you, getting slick all over the bedspread as you cry out his name and writhe.

And Shouta doesn’t want you to look at him – he doesn’t want you to acknowledge that he’s there. Ignore him, just as you would have back when he was simply watching from outside your window – he wants to watch you, not have a show be put on for him.

You’re just too pretty, and there’s something about watching you that gets him hard as rock, his fist twisting and flicking so quickly it’s nearly a blur as he watches you transition to fucking yourself with the toy, your cries loud and wanton as Shouta grunts and curses under his breath. He wants to finish with you this time, his hips thrusting against his hand in an effort to match the pace you’ve set for yourself. It’s a dirty secret of his, and while Shouta won’t force you into it, just know that he would love to catch you masturbating – just the sight of you pleasuring yourself is enough to get him hot under the collar immediately, hand rushing into his trousers to cup himself because god.

He just likes to watch you, and even during regular sex when he’s folded you in half, those eyes are alternating between watching your face, your bouncing breasts, and your cunt swallowing his cock again and again and again, his cheeks a rosy pink and a bead of sweat dripping from his brow.

You’re just too pretty, he can’t take it – how can he not immediately want to get something of his on you, staining your lovely skin and gorgeous face with his cum?

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE

Hair Pulling

But not on you – unless you like it, in which case he might consider but will only ever do it lightly. He doesn’t like causing pain in general, and would only be willing to do it in very specific scenarios – and even then, it will be as gently as he possibly can.

Rather, Shouta likes when you pull his hair – he doesn’t let most people touch it, and it’s a rare day that he actually runs a comb through it, so as a result his scalp is extremely sensitive. And so, when you tunnel your fingers through his dark locks and pull, Shouta audibly groans, the tingling pain sending pleasure racing down his spine.

There’s just something naughty about it – only you get to touch him like this, so only you get to run your fingers through his hair and tug at it.

He particularly likes when you pull it while he’s got his face between your legs. He likes how your fingers tunnel through it and scrape against his scalp, and he’ll often use it as an indicator of whether he’s doing a good job or not. If you pull often and hard, he knows he’s doing what he needs to do – he’ll keep the pace up and stay in that same spot, doing everything and anything in his power to keep you pulling at it, working through any pain in his jaw or tongue because he needs to make sure you’re feeling good even at his own expense.

When he’s got you perched on his face, your pretty thighs framing his head so that all he can smell and taste and feel is you, he likes to have you reach down and still pull lightly at the roots, your breasts squished together and nipples taut, the visual alongside your taste and the slight pain from his scalp making his eyes roll to the back of his head and precum dribble down his length.

When he’s hovering over you and thrusting into you, balls clapping against your ass and your legs wrapped around his waist, he likes to have you tug at his hair, moaning out and crying his name with each tug and letting his ego swell, each burst of light pain making his hips go harder, faster, deeper, anything to get you louder and clenching around him tighter.

Even when you’re just kissing – simple, innocent kisses full of smiles and his hands gripping you just ever so slightly, Shouta likes to have you running your hands through his hair and tugging lightly, keeping him on his toes and forcing his cock to life.

He just really, really likes to have you touch his hair – it’s something intimate and something he’ll only ever let you do, so really, you should count yourself lucky. Shouta sure does when he’s buried deep inside you, watching your face and feeling your hands in his hair as he gives you every last drop he has to offer.

Mirror Sex

In general, Shouta absolutely loves watching you in bed. He thinks you’re genuinely the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and when you’re gasping on his cock and moaning his name, you’re even prettier, even more breathtaking and lovely and perfect.

And while he prefers positions where he can see your face, he wants to be able to see your expressions always, even if he’s got you bent over while he presses his back to your chest and mounts you like some sort of wild animal.

And so, to solve this problem, Shouta invests in a modest, simple mirror that he keeps facing the end of your ‘shared’ bed – it’s roughly four feet tall and two feet wide, the perfect size so that when he’s got you on your hands and knees for him, your back arching and your arms threatening to give out, he can watch your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He’ll experiment with the pacing of his thrusts, going deeper and harder to see the way your brows scrunch up, how your jaw drops and the most depraved whine slips out of you, pride and arousal swelling in his chest because he made you make that noise.

He’ll go slower and keep his thrusts brushing against the spots that make you gasp just so that he can see the way your lips twitch.

He’ll speed up, fucking into you so fast that his balls slap lewdly against your ass, the noise filling the room alongside your pants and his groans, watching all the while how your eyes flutter and your back arches. He’ll sit you in his lap facing the mirror, spreading your legs and getting to work with his fingers curling and rubbing inside of you, a thumb circling your clit and his lips at your ear as he tells you to watch, pretty, see how good you look?

He’ll kiss a line from behind your ear, down your neck and over your shoulder, occasionally glancing up to the mirror to make sure you’re actively looking, whispering praises against your skin each time.

And he’ll bring you close to the mirror, too – sitting you only a foot away from the reflective surface, letting you get a nice view of Shouta’s favorite sight – your cunt, all spread out and wet, practically begging for something big, heavy, and throbbing to fill it, to stretch it out and make you see stars.

He’ll spread your lips, exposing your clenching hole, smiling at your reflection and making you tell him that you’re pretty, forcing you to grow comfortable with your body because he knows that it makes you insecure to see so much of yourself, and it drives him crazy.

He’ll even fuck you against the mirror – forcing you to watch your face from mere inches away, your hot breaths fogging up the glass, and he’ll make you come like that – holding your chin straight ahead and telling you to watch, sh-shit, watch, don’t take those fucking eyes off your face in a strained voice.

He just likes getting a good view of you during sex – you’re too pretty not to be seen, after all.  

BIGGEST FANTASY

In general, Shouta absolutely loves being intimate with you. While he’s no virgin, he doesn’t have an extensive amount of experience, and frankly he’s never been the biggest fan of sex – it’s too messy, too energy draining, and just a massive hassle.

However, when it’s with you, and when you moan his name just right and leave your nail marks down his back, Shouta will gladly strip his clothing at your beck and call, his lips already on yours before you can even finish your sentence.

And while he loves good, rough, passionate sex that’s full of smacking hips, gasps, moans and growls, there’s something to be said for slower, gentler sex, the kind that’s full of airy breaths and slow, meaningful kisses.

It’s the kind of sex where you can really feel him; every inch of him, the way his body covers yours as he hovers over you, the tickle of his hair against your jaw and neck as he buries his face in the juncture of your shoulder and collarbone, his hips rocking into yours and managing to grind against that one perfect spot that gets you sighing out a moan. It’s just more intimate this way, less of a wild, frantic race to get inside of you and more a slow, controlled love making, as embarrassed as he is to use to term.

Regardless, you’re most likely to get this type of sex from Shouta in two specific scenarios – the first of which being after a very long day, filled with a harrowing patrol where he maybe wasn’t able to save everyone, or things didn’t go according to plan. When this happens, he needs to just hold you, to feel you, to hear you whisper his name under your breath and tell him how good he feels, how he’s the best you’ve ever had, how he’s the only one you’ll ever want…

The second – and far more likely – scenario is in the early hours of the morning, when the sunlight is streaming into the modest apartment he keeps you in, your shared bed feeling warm with your bodies pressed against one another. Soft, sleepy morning sex is Shouta’s favorite, and something that he tries to incite as often as he possibly can.

There’s just something about it that gets him hot under the collar; maybe it’s the casualness of it all, the way it feels so natural, so human and so right, as if your bodies were made for each other. Maybe it’s the way it feels so intimate, like you’re both raw, yourselves in the most wonderful way.

Or maybe it’s the way you’re still just slightly sleepy, and you’re much more likely to be clingy at this time, touching him more and letting your real noises come out, not hindered by any shame or hate or embarrassment.

Regardless, Shouta loves it – so on the rare weekends where he’s off, expect to be woken up on the brink of an orgasm just as you deserve.

A yawn slips past Shouta’s lips, eyes peeling open and seeing the gray of his bedsheets. Everything is warm and soft, and as he shifts slightly, something moves next to him.

Nothing seems real for a few moments as he gazes down at you, your body curled up next to his own. It doesn’t feel real that you’re really here – in his bed without any clothing, happily sleeping without a care in the world. He swallows, something coming over him and moving him slowly – carefully – peel off the covers, moving down to where your legs slightly part.

He leans down, face mere inches away from the tufts of your pubic hair, his eyes fluttering closed as he inhales. You’re perfect – and as he gently pries your legs open further, Shouta can’t help but think of how often he’s fantasized about this very moment – how often he’s dreamt of what’s between your thighs, how he’d lay awake at night and press his fingers between two pillows, grinding his fingers against the cotton and pretending it was you, imagining how warm and wet you’d be for him.

He swallows, determination setting his brow as he lays onto his stomach, shuffling so that he can lightly lick at your inner thighs, eyes closing at the familiar taste of you. He takes his time, going slowly and softly, licking closer and closer to your pretty folds, eventually reaching them and licking his lips at the taste.

A thumb comes up to slowly press against your clit, knowing too much pressure would hurt and not warm your body up the way it needed. He continues his licks, before switching roles and starting to suckle at your clit as a finger dips between your folds, collecting the slick and rubbing it between his fingers.

Soon he’s pressing one inside, feeling the way your thighs twitch slightly, a small, sleepy moan ringing in his ears. God, you’re so damn perfect – even unconscious you’re enough to get his cock throbbing against the cotton sheets.

He keeps his pace slow, but as time passes you stir a bit, and when he hears your sleepy voice mumble out his name, Shouta curses, his fingers speeding up a bit.

That gets you more awake – soon your fingers are carding through his hair, sighs and murmurs of his name sounding like heaven.

“Mm, Shouta, that feels good…” You mumble, still dazed from waking up. Your hips are twitching now, a sign that the pleasure is slowly beginning to build.

Shouta groans against your cunt, the sound muffled.

Soon his fingers are picking up the pace again, his circles and licks at your clit growing more insistent, and the hands weaving through his hair start to tug – the sensation gets him humping at the bed for a moment, the morning glow still shining on you as he glances up at your face. You look like an angel – shining in the sunlight, your lips parted in a moan, head thrown back in pleasure.

Shouta pulls back for a moment, sending a kiss to your clit that makes your hips buck. He chuckles a bit, licking his lips.

“You’re so beautiful..” He whispers against your thigh, pressing open mouthed kisses against the skin. You hum at his compliment, and he watches as you smile, his breath practically punched out of his lungs.

“Shouta, you’re too good to me…” Your voice is soft, too, and soon he’s back to sucking at your clit, feeling the way your body jolts slightly, the pleasure making you sigh and swallow. He watches the movement of your throat.

“Feels good, mm yes, oh Shouta - just like that,” You start, eyes closed again, and Shouta finds himself abandoning the gentle pace he’d adopted, instead being more insistent, more pushy – suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to get you coming on his fingers.

You gasp lightly at the new change in pace, grinding your hips to match the new stimulation, and it makes Shouta dizzy. How can you be so attractive? How can you look so perfect in this moment; in his bed, moaning his name, looking and tasting and smelling like his own personal slice of heaven?

It’s cheesy and he’s almost embarrassed, but tears prick at the corners of his eye.

Soon your gasps have turned to moans, and all too soon you warn him in a slurred voice that you’re coming, your back arching up off the mattress and your moans light and airy as you gush against his fingers, white coating all the way down his knuckles and onto his palms. It makes him choke a bit, the feeling of your cunt rhythmically clenching down on him and your chest heaving, and with a final lick to your clit that makes you jerk, he’s moving up to kiss you.

The kiss is slow, his tongue brushing against yours and wet sound filling the room, but Shouta doesn’t mind. How could he, when he’s never felt this relaxed before?

His eyes slowly open as he feels your fingers wrap around him, a thumb brushing along his tip to collect a bit of the wetness there.

“Shouta, let me make you feel good.” You tell him, your voice just a whisper.

He looks at you, his lips parted for a brief moment, before a small smile quirks up the corners of his mouth. “Why would you do that?”

You trace the line of his jaw with your free thumb. The slow strokes of his cock have him a bit distracted, but he hears every word you speak to him. “Because I love you.”

He swallows, the words making something feel tight in his throat.

You laugh a bit at his silence and the dumbstruck look on his face. “What? Do you not love me too?”

And to answer that, Shouta scoffs, leaning down to kiss you again as he grasps himself around the base, pulling himself away from you and pushing into you, feeling your sharp intake of breath against his lips.

His pace is slow, soft, like he’s trying to tell you something – hips moving slowly and deeply, letting you feel every inch of him. He kisses your neck as your head falls back, your eyes fluttering closed.

Pressing a kiss against your collarbone, Shouta smiles against your skin, a groan falling from his lips.

“I love you, more than you’ll ever know.”

And he means it – you’ll don’t know half of the things he’s done for you, and as he squeezes at your breast and hears your soft moan, he knows he’ll never tell you.

[reidsbabyhoney]

night out | hozier

the one where he gets drunk and falls in love with you all over again.

pairing: hozier x wife!reader category: fluff cw: drinking, being at a bar wc: 1.7k a/n: I'm so so sorry this took so long to write, I just had midterms for all of my classes and had absolutely no free time, but I'm finally on break so Im hoping to get more stories out these next couple of weeks! this was a request, so i hope you love it. reader is a book store owner and that is very self indulgent of my dreams of one day maybe owing a book store if nothing else works out for me. (outfit described can be found here, but as always imagine it however you like

masterlist hozier masterlist

This was the first time in what felt like years that you and Andrew were finally taking up an offer to go out.

Since the tour began, the band had invited you both out multiple times, but neither of you accepted, claiming to be too tired after the shows.

Since this was the first time that you had been able to join Andrew on tour, you were taking up as much quality time as you could get from him when he wasn't busy running around during sound check and doing interviews.

That was another reason you both declined going out multiple times deciding to spend...quality time with each other behind the doors of hotel rooms.

But tonight, you both agreed to go out when Alex asked if you would be joining the rest of the band, saying they were going to a bar just down the street from the hotel you were staying at.

Walking down the sidewalk to the bar, you’re hand in hand with Andrew who’s softly humming to himself.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he says, taking in your outfit.

It was nothing extravagant, though you did want to look a bit nicer. Just a simple satin slip dress with some red boots for a pop of color and your usual purse.

“Mm thank you, you look handsome tonight too, I say we just go back to the hotel room,” you respond with a mischievous smile.

He’s simply wearing a jumper with a white t-shirt underneath and a pair of jeans, but the way his sleeves are rolled up makes you want to drag him back to the hotel room and stay there for days.

At your remark, he playfully pinches your hip and shakes his head, “No, you minx. We’re going out because you wanted to, let’s keep that in mind.”

You let out a huff as he opens the door to the bar, which looks to be busy as you eye the tables are full of people.

Surveying the bar, you quickly spot Melissa and both make your way towards the table they’ve claimed.

After greeting them all, everyone goes their own way. Alex decides to drag Andrew to the corner of the bar where the pool tables are stationed.

Over hearing his plans on getting your husband absolutely hammered tonight, you simply shake your head with a small laugh and send him off with a kiss.

An hour passes and you've had a few drinks, deciding to stay near the table and observe everyone in the cramped space.

Realizing you haven't seen Andrew in a while, you get up from your spot at the table, asking Joy if she’d seen him anywhere.

“Oh yeah, last I saw he and Alex were by the bar, I think Melissa might be over there too,” she says, pointing to where Andrew’s tall body stood at the end of the bar.

“Thank you.”

You walk over to where the three of them are standing, deciding to talk to Melissa first since Alex seems to have your husband deep in thought.

“Please tell me he hasn’t had more than 4 drinks,” you say to Melissa as she just lets out a laugh.

“I’m afraid he might be well past that y/n/n.”

Turning towards Andrew you see him looking at you as if he was met with the most divine creature in the world.

“Go on, talk to the pretty girl Andy,” says Alex, trying his hardest to hold back a laugh.

Your eyebrows basically reach your hairline as he says that, no way he’s so hammered he’s forgotten you’re married.

“Hi, em, hi, m’names Andrew, or Andy’s fine too,” he says looking a bit shy.

You just look towards Alex instead of answering, "Alex, when you said you planned on getting him hammered, I didn't think you meant it was going to be this bad!"

All he does is laugh and shrug his shoulders, finding this situation amusing.

Sighing, you know there’s no way that he’ll believe you’re truly married if you try explaining it to him now, so you decide to play into it a bit.

Smiling you shake your head and respond “ I’m y/n, it’s great to meet you Andy.”

Both Melissa and Alex just laugh, deciding to leave you both in the empty corner of the bar.

“I hope I’m not being too forward y/n, but you’re truly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

You grow a bit shy at his words, your cheeks covered in a faint blush. The conversation is reminding you of when you first met years ago, his words almost the exact same.

“No baby, not too forward at all."

“I just, well not to sound creepy, but you caught my eye while you were sitting down over there and I'm afraid to admit I was nervous to go over and introduce myself first," he says looking down at his hands as if he's embarrassed by his confession.

Your smile brightens at his words. You're truly about to swoon over this man all over again.

"Well then, I'm glad I came over here first. How about we go sit down with our friends over there yeah?” you say, pointing to where the rest of the band is.

Andrew responds by quickly nodding his head and grabbing your hand to guide you through the still very packed bar.

“Here come the lovebirds.”

Of course it’s Alex that says this, still finding extreme delight in your husband's current state.

Looking at the rest of the table, it seems like he’s caught everyone up on what’s happened because they all look at you with small smiles on their faces.

Taking your seat at the booth, sitting between Joy and Andrew the conversation starts back up again.

Your husband turns towards you and begins asking you questions.

"So, y/n, where are y'from," he asks. He's looking at you as if trying to memorize your every feature.

You shy under his intense stare, and it takes you a second to respond.

"Well, I live in Ireland."

His eyes basically pop out of his skull at your answer, surprised as if there aren't millions of people living in the country.

"Seriously, me too," his eyes bright with excitement realizing that this could possibly go somewhere, little does he [currently] know, it already has.

"Yeah I live in County Wicklow with my husband."

His face brightens then immediately falls once you finish your sentence.

"Husband?"

"Baby, look at your left hand for me, yeah?"

Doing as you say, Andrew looks at his hand that's rested on the table, finally noticing the wedding ring on his finger.

"Now take it off and look inside," you say, taking off your ring to show him the matching engraving details on the inside of both your rings.

"Andrew & y/n. April 23, 2022," he says reading the date of your wedding.

It takes him a second to realize what it means, but once it clicks, he's looking up at you, wide eyed.

"We're married! Alex, why didn't you say I was married to her," he says turning to his friend, who seems all too pleased that this conversation is happening.

Alex simply takes a swig of his beer and chuckles, "Y'never asked."

Andrew then turns towards you with embarrassment washing over his features, "Gods, I'm mortified love, and you're never going to let me live this down are you?"

You just shake your head and laugh, planting a kiss on his cheek, "Nope."

Laughing at his reaction, you decide that it may be time to leave, realizing it's nearing one in the morning.

"C'mon, let's go back to the hotel so you have enough rest to actually be embarrassed about this tomorrow."

With that, you get out of the booth and say your goodbyes to everyone.

Walking out of the bar, there's a slight chill in the air, causing Andrew to take off his sweater and hand it to you.

Taking it, you pull it over your dress and walk hand in hand back to the hotel.

Reaching your room, you pull out the key card to your shared room, opening the door wide enough for both of you to walk in.

"I can't believe I'm so far gone I didn't even remember we were married," Andrew says as he sits down on the bed to take off his shoes.

"I know, me either, I mean how could you forget you were married to me," you say jokingly, dragging your hands down your body to emphasize what he was forgetting.

Andrew just laughs and shakes his head.

He notices you going to the bathroom and turns towards you, "Aren't you coming to bed?"

"In a bit, I just need to take off my makeup," you reply.

Andrew patiently waits for you in the bed in his pajamas which consist of a pair of pajama pants that are far too old to still be worn, and a beat up shirt he'll eventually take off, claiming to be too hot. (Even though he'll later wrap his arms around you dragging you as close as he possibly could, and wake up in the morning complaining that you "radiate too much body heat", even if he's the one that starts the cuddling.)

Shortly after, you make your way out of the bathroom, fresh faced and in your own pajamas.

Getting under the covers you turn on the lamp on your nightstand and expectantly wait for Andrew to do the same.

When he doesn't, you look towards the end of the bed where he's sat.

"Andy, aren't you coming to bed?"

"I, I know we're married but, it feels odd sleeping with you, I feel like I should take you out to dinner first," he says sheepishly, finally turning to face you.

"Don't worry, you've wined and dined me many times, so I'm not worried about that, now let's go to sleep," you say.

Finally Andrew gets on his side of the bed, turning on his side so that he's facing you.

Letting out an exasperated sigh he just shakes his head and one final time asks, "I'm never forgetting about this am I?"

Letting out a fake snore, you pretend you're asleep instead of answering him though he already knows the answer.

Andrew just chuckles, knowing that whatever comes tomorrow would be worth it, cause he got to relive what it felt like to fall in love with you again.

divider: @fairytopea

tags: @man-i-love-folklore @the-song-of-flowers @songbirds-sweet @cowboycatreign @harnans @celery-grace @genevievetaylorsversion22 @alexis-34 @inejghafawifesblog @colddarkearth23 @hauntedworld @sleepy-time-dreamy @lemon9de @midsummervixen

[miniwheat77]

Watch it burn. (Ghost x Reader.)

!this is pure smut, you've been warned. absolutely no minors. age gap, sex pollen, unprotected p in v sex, violence!

Ghost was hard headed and everyone knew that.

He didn't always communicate too well and sometimes he kept things to himself until it was unhealthy but that's who he was. He was a damaged person. He had walls up like fort knox. That was just Ghost. Not many knew about his past, but when you came along. Things started changing in weird ways that everyone on base never really seen coming.

Ghost seemed irritated by you at first. You were still pretty new to everything and needed some training but Laswell and Captain Price had both taken a liking to you and decided pretty quickly that you'd be a great addition to the team. It was an easy decision.

When you officially started on base, everyone fell in love with you immediately. Aside from Ghost obviously. You were still a little immature and Ghost didn't like that. The military wasn't meant for people like you and that caused a rift between you in the beginning. Slowly though, you started to prove yourself to him. When he was training you followed him around like a lost puppy asking him for tips and asking him to show you the best ways to stay in shape.

When he was in charge of you on missions, you always buckled down and followed everything he said to a T. You didn't act out or try to make light of any situations. You were mature when you needed to be and maybe that's where he started to grow soft for you. Ghost was always alone. He liked to work alone.

But once he'd gotten used to you being by his side all of the time, he almost hated it.

You followed him all over base. You ate each meal with him, even had a watch shift with him. You stuck by his side so often people started referring to you as his shadow.

At first, he didn't like it at all. Had even blown up on you for following him around so much which in turn got a taste of a side of you he had never seen.

"Why can't you just leave me alone? You're so bloody annoying. I'm not your fucking dad. Go away." He growled. You stopped in your tracks. Eyes narrowing.

"Is that an order, Lieutenant?" You had asked, which in turn made him roll his eyes at you.

"You're being ridiculous."

"No. I don't think so. Because unless you're giving me orders, you don't talk to me like that."

The hair on his body rose and he swore he'd never been so angry. But even as he stepped closer to you, you stood your ground. "Excuse me?" He asks. "You heard me. I'm not a kid, and you sure as shit aren't going to talk to me like that. I'm keeping you company and maybe I'm not doing that for you. Maybe I'm doing it for me." You step closer to him, his nose nearly touching yours. "And I know you're not my dad. But unless you're trying to meet him, lower your voice when you talk to me."

Your voice was quiet, but steady. Letting him know that you were not playing around.

He found out through Price the next day that your dad had passed away at some point in your childhood.

He'd never run to apologize to someone faster in his life.

From that point on, he'd gone easier on you.

---

It was a mistake.

A simple mistake that he knew he shouldn't have made as a Lieutenant.

You were the first to be infected.

Captain Price had sent the both of you on a mission. Meant to be a simple one of course. He sent his best he said.

You'd gotten a gash on you, but something was on the knife. Your veins started to glow. Pink almost as Ghost had described, which resulted in your eyes to roll back. He barely caught you as you passed out.

He quickly found a room and barricaded you inside. He needed answers.

After ambushing a man and dragging him inside with you, he started asking questions. "What was on the knife?"

"Was it poison?"

"How long does she have?"

But only seemed to get laughs from the man who he had tied up.

"It's not poison." He grits his teeth. Ghost is sure the knife in his leg is what's making him talk at this point.

"It's a drug."

Ghost grits his teeth. "What is it?" He slams him back into the wall. "So help me god if you don't start talking." He growls. Grasping the knife that's still in his leg, going to pull it out. "WAIT!" He yells, stopping Ghost. "It's..." He pauses. Looking down. "It's a reproductive drug."

Ghost looks at him confused. "What?"

"It's meant to increase your sex drive. Your body goes into overdrive." He hisses. "Reproductive organs work twice as hard and the hormones in the drug help induce pregnancy. It's.. still in the works." Ghost looks back at you. Still unconscious.

"What do you mean it's still in the works?" He asks.

"It's deadly in higher doses. It started out as a drug but it made it into the wrong hands and now it's a weapon." He breathes. "So.. she's going to die?" Ghost asks.

"Well.. Technically yes." He sighs. "Unless." He trails off. "Unless what?"

"How long ago was she infected."

Ghost looks down at his watch. "37 minutes ago." He looks at the man. "So.. In about.. 10 minutes. She'll wake up. Her body will feel hot and she'll probably be more aroused than she's ever been. And if you can stimulate her enough.. Her body might come down from it."

"If you can survive that long." The man laughs.

"We're gonna be just fine."

Ghost grabs hold of the knife and draws it back, where he had stabbed into the mans femoral artery starts to spurt blood out and in seconds the man is no longer alive. Ghost knows he needs to clear out the rest of the compound and come back for you.

He sets a timer on his watch and starts possibly the most stressful mission he's ever been on.

He's moving quietly but quickly, taking everyone he crosses by surprise.

But unfortunately, he gets infected.

Knife wound to the arm, just like you. He watches his veins change and knows he doesn't have long.

He doesn't know what to do yet and Ghost hates himself. You shouldn't be here. You're too new.

When everything is clear and he's sure of it. He's rushing back to you.

He pushes the desk away from the door and gets back inside, barricading it from the inside. "Ghost? What's going on?" You ask. He feels sick to his stomach. He sighs as he turns around, nervous to face you again. "I... I'm sorry Y/N." He breathes. "What?"

"Your wound.. It's infected with a drug."

"Please tell me you aren't gonna say sex drug?" You breathe. Making him narrow your eyes. "I must've heard him in my sleep." You nod to the man who's leaning over now. Ghost kneels down next to you. "I'm sorry Y/N. I never should've let you come here with me." He sighs.

"That wasn't your decision Ghost. It's not your fault."

He shakes his head. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what to do."

"Are you infected too?" You ask.

He nods his head. You sit up. "I think you know what we have to do Ghost." You look at him. Your face is deathly still. Letting him know just how serious you are.

"No. Absolutely not Y/N." He shakes his head. Standing up. He starts to pace the room. He's scared. "You'd rather die?" You ask. "No. No of course not. I just... Y/N. I can't do that to you." He shakes his head.

Ghost knows that you trust him. He trusts you too. You even opened up to him about how you were still a virgin because you'd only been in one serious relationship.

That one person who abused you and hurt you in ways that Ghost could kill for. Ghost never looked at you like this and he hates that this is his only choice. "I can't do that to you. I'm not gonna hurt you like you've been hurt. You deserve way better than this Y/N." Ghost feels like he's got an open wound in his chest at the thought of forcing you into something like this. He hates himself for allowing Captain Price to send you along on this mission with him. He didn't want to take you down with him like this. Before he realizes it, you're standing right in front of him. His racing heart steadies in his chest as you reach for his hand.

"Ghost. If we don't..." You trail off, looking down at the ground before taking a deep breath and raising your eyes up to look at him. "If we don't do something, we're going to die. You heard what he said. You and I both saw it. Saw the paperwork, the smoke bombs. This... it'll kill us if we don't." You look up at him. "And.. I don't know about you, but I don't want to die like this." You laugh.

"I can't do this to you Y/N." He hisses, clenching his eyes closed. "Come on, lets go somewhere without. You know." You glance toward the man slumped over at the other side of the room. Grasping his hand and dragging him into another room down the hall, conveniently, one with a bed. He sighs. "Sit down." You force him back onto the edge of the made bed. Luckily this was an upkept building. You take his hands in yours, moving between his legs, feeling him stiffen up immediately. "I trust you, Ghost."

He goes to speak up, but you stop him.

"You are honestly my best friend, and I know you probably don't see it the same way I do. But I trust you. You've shown me so much. Taught me so much. You protect me and you always put me first. I trust you to do this Ghost."

He clenches his eyes closed again. "I am your friend Y/N, of course I am. But.. I'm so much older than you. I thought you looked at me like a father figure, not like this."

A hiss leaves your lips, and Ghost can Physically see your veins turning pink under your skin. It seems unreal. Like something out of a movie. He knows if anything is going to happen, it has to happen now.

"Are you okay?" He asks. "Yeah, yes." You take in a deep breath. Knees feeling weak. "It's... Intense." You breathe. He grasps your hips, sitting you down next to him. "Fuck.. Lay back okay? It's gonna be alright." He breathes. "He.. He said stimulate. He didn't say sex." He breathes. Seeing you nod your head.

He helps you remove your cargo pants. Pushing you further up the bed. He swallows hard. He wants to curse himself, feeling himself get more aroused at the sight of you. It's just he drugs, yeah.

Just the drugs.

He lowers himself into you. Wrapping his arms around your thighs. "I'm sorry Y/N." He breathes.

His tongue dipping into you has you gasping out, clutching at the sheets. His eyes feel heavy as you react to him. You taste sweet and he wants to savor it. He wants to ask for forgiveness and take even more. It's just he drugs. It's just the drugs.

Your back arches and you cry out. Tears streaming down your face. It's just not enough.

"Ghost." You sob, making him look up at you.

"It's not enough."

Any of your veins that were visible under your skin are no longer blue in color, but pink. Your skin is beat red and hot. He grits his teeth as he reaches for his waistband. Once he'd gotten himself free, pants down at his mid thigh, there's no going back now.

He moves himself over you, taking a deep breath. He presses his forehead to yours. "I'm so sorry."

Feeling him penetrate you, piercing into you. You can't help but cry out. He grits his teeth, eyes clenched shut tight. He loves this and he hates this. This isn't how he would've wanted this to happen. He rocks his hips into you, body swallowing him up so perfectly. He forces you to look at him, pushing your hair out of your face. You're sweaty and it's sticking to you. "Are you okay?" He asks. You nod your head. "Yes, yes." You whine. You're out of breath. "I didn't hurt you did I?" He asks. "No, please." You claw at him. "Don't stop." You're nearly sobbing when you say it.

"Harder." You whine. "Y/N.. I'm gonna hurt you."

"Ghost." You grasp his face, forcing his mask off. You're surprised when he lets you. "You're not going to hurt me. I don't want you to be sorry." You breathe. "I want this, I've wanted this. And it's not the goddamn drugs talking." You breathe, staring him in the eyes as you say it. It's like a pin dropping in a silent room when those words leave your lips.

"What?" He asks.

"I've felt this way for a long time. Thought about it all the time. How you treat me so well and protect me. How you always come to my defense, you care about me."

"I do, I do care about you Y/N. But I'm no good for you." He grits his teeth, eyes filling with tears as he rocks into you harder. "That's bullshit and you know it." You claw at the sheets, tilting your head back as he drives himself into you harder. "I wanted you to. Wanted you to be the one to take it- I was going to ask when this mission was over."

You're choked up.

"I love you, Simon."

He loses it, chest tight. Tears stream from his eyes and he doesn't want you to see. Burying his face into the crook of your neck. You using his name, his real name. It's raw.

"Goddamnit I love you too." He sobs, drawing his hips back and burying himself inside of you again. Biting down on your neck. You look up at the ceiling, feeling his weight on you. Everything finally starts to sink in. Tears spill over the corners of your eyes as he works you to a high you're sure you'll never come down from. You clench your eyes closed once more, allowing yourself to feel everything. His pants and sobs in your ear, knowing that he feels this way too. They're getting unsteady and you know by how sloppy his thrusts are getting that he's getting close.

Feeling him, every inch of him. Sliding inside of you, drawing you closer and closer to the brink of pure bliss.

You're gone when he mumbles into your ear.

"I love you Y/N."

You cry out, the sounds leave your lips uncontrollably. He lowers his hand, rubbing circles over your clit. Pushing you through your high. The first time you've ever cum at the hands of someone else. He groans out, drawing away. He stares down at you. His eyes are bloodshot and his eyes are still watery. "I love you Simon, I trust you." You cup his cheeks with your hands again. "Give yourself to me." His body shakes as he reaches his high. Groaning out. He rests his forehead on your chest, trying to calm himself down. Relishing in the pleasure he feels. He knows he needs to calm down now, he's too worked up still. His heart pounds in his chest, but as he relaxes into you, it settles. He stays like that for a while. Calming himself down. When he finally pulls away, sliding out of you. He lies next to you. Pulling you into his side. You rest your head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around you. It's silent for a while, but he finally breaks the silence. "I'm so sorry Y/N." He breathes. Hearing you laugh lightly. "Simon..." you trail off. "Why do you keep saying that? What do you have to be sorry for?" You look up at him, eyes piercing his. "Because you deserved so much better than this." He breathes. "Yeah? Like what? An uncomfortable barracks bed?" Your lips raise in a smile and he laughs. "You're such a brat." His chest shakes as he laughs. "It's my best quality, thank you very much." You sit up, climbing over him. Straddling his hips. "I wouldn't have wanted this to go any different. Listen." You tilt your head back. "Hm?" He asks. "Nothing but silence." Your eyes flutter closed and he breathes out, resting his hands on your thighs. Thumb gliding up the inside. "Did I hurt you?" He asks. You shake your head. "No. Not even a little." You breathe, laying your head on his chest. He covers you with a blanket. Wrapping his arms around you and holding you right. "Simon?" You mumble. "Yeah darling?" He asks, pushing your hair out of your face.

"I want to be with you."

He takes a deep breath. "I'm serious. I want everything with you. I want the good days. The bad ones too. I want a life with you, and it's okay if you don't want that with me. But I think you should know." You sigh, relaxing into him. You're completely relaxed. You're always relaxed even in dangerous situations with him. He keeps you safe. "We'll talk more about it when we're out of here.. okay?" He trails off. You nod your head against him.

—

The fire reflects in your eyes, they're glossy. Simon stands next to you. Arms crossed over his chest. His mask is on again, but pulled down around his neck.

The building is nothing but burning flames now. Everything that happened inside is a memory now. It's gone. "It's pretty huh?" You turn to look at him. He laughs. "Yeah, it is." He smiles. "You think it'll be all gone? The drug and everything inside?" You ask. He wraps an arm around your back, pulling you into him. "I'd like to hope so. But.. I don't think this is our last time crossing paths with this." He looks back at the flames. The warmth on your skin feels nice. "Let's get to exfil, yeah?" He looks down at you. "Wait-" you stop him as he goes to walk off. "Simon?" You ask. He turns his head to you. Taking him off guard by pressing your lips to his. He's frozen for a second, but relaxes into you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him. You cup his face again.

When you pull away, you grasp his balaclava. Raising it over his nose once more. "Let's get out of here." You smile. He grasps your hand, pulling you along with him. Picking up all of your gear and returning it to where it belongs.

[bunicate]

Alhaitham making his little sister ride her stuffed toy for him! grinding her pussy on one of her favourites as she whines about how it’s gonna ruin her favourite stuffie!

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ 𐙚 ₊˚ warnings ꒱ྀི incest. infantilization. handjob. brief blowjob. pillow humping ﾉ 18+

“this is so unfair .”

you’d cross your arms if they weren’t currently occupied. reluctantly, one hand knits into the bedsheets to keep yourself in place. the other commits to slow sensual strokes of his cock, timed with the messy ruts of your pussy, defacing the once pale pink bunny.

the innocent stuffed animal with beady eyes, now the color of mulberry from your arousal, was ruined. if you didn’t know your big brother so well, you’d easily miss the subtle flicker of mirth in his blue-green eyes.

“how is it unfair? I'm playing with you just as you asked.”

you narrow your eyes at him, but its merely an undignified expression when the stuffed bunny's hard nose pokes your clit.

“t-this is not — hmmph— what I meant.”

his eyes lower and the side of his lip upturns. it’s not audible, but he’s laughing at you. you’re certain of it, and his cock only hardens in your grasp.

“y’got me ruining mr.cuddles. . .” you grumble.

“I can buy you another.”

a curse dies on the tip of your tongue just as frustration settles from his retort. the last thing you want is to add to your torment. as promising as it could be, al haitham had an immeasurable amount of self-control.

he’d wring your little cunt dry, and you don’t think you could handle much more of his teasing, but god, the poor creature was soiled.

you know how much embarrassing you arouses him and you sure don’t miss the pre-cum that deliciously clumps at the tip of his member. you know it’s at your expense because he throbs within your palm.

his fingers, veiny and all encompassing, cup the back of your head, slightly tugging at the roots of your hair.

it doesn’t hurt, but there’s enough pressure to signal his intolerance of your potential defiance.

“enlighten me. tell me what you meant.”

your head lolls back, staring at the scribe with tears blurring your vision. you thumb his tip and whine when you feel a dollop of his warm seed land on your thigh.

“when you told me you wanted to play, let me guess . . . did you mean on . . . my cock ?” 

theres a swirl of something you can only describe as unadulterated desperation at his show of mockery. there’s a sardonic glint as he soaks in how pretty you look jerking him off.

you nod stiffly. “u-uh huh.”

but he only feigns pity.

“that’s too bad, isn’t it ?” he reaches down to grip your backside. he lifts you slightly and sees crystal strings of wetness connecting from your cunt to poor mr.cuddles.

“look at that mess,” the scribe whispers, and that only fuels your need to bury yourself under your sheets.

“this isn’t what you wanted and yet, you’re dripping . . .” he shakes his in farce disappointment, “but nevertheless, let’s problem solve.”

he lets go of you to stop your hand from stroking his leaking member.

he firmly grabs himself, pumping his swollen cock slowly — roughly, until a pretty coat of pre-cum envelops his tip.

he points his throbbing appendage towards your mouth, pressing it towards your quivering lips. he wipes his head messily around the surface until trails of slick begins to glisten.

you physically resist the urge to suck and swallow even when the faint taste of salt drips on your tongue.

there’s a deep hum when you meet his wanton stare.

“would you have more fun if I put my cock in your little mouth instead ?”

you mewl. god, you can smell him. it’s a rich and musky scent mingled with a woodsy vanilla.

your mouth collects spit as he continues to drag his fat tip down the seam of your plump lips.

his cock is just as pretty as the rest of him. it’s wide with an odd number of veins running down his length. it wilts from its own weight despite being so hard.

his eyes glaze over, chuckling before he answers for you, “yeah, of course you would,” he murmurs. “you’d suck it just like how you suck those lollipops.”

al haitham rubs at your scalp, dragging your head so his member slides against the opening of your mouth. by now, you’re panting like needy pup with your tongue lapping up the underside of his cock.

“what if —“ his eyes flicker down to between your thighs, “I put it right here ?”

his fingers skillfully slide past your overstimulated clit to nestle in your little hole. you breathe out a loud sigh of relief when they slowly sink in, stretching your tight walls.

“h-haithy. . .” your mouth parts as meek cries fall from your sweet lips, breath fanning his dick.

“oh, what cute sounds. is this what you want ?”

“mhm. . . I dooooo,” you drawl.

your hand tangles around his wrist. it was a brave action, but he didn’t seem to mind. you were insatiable at this point as you unabashedly hump his thick fingers, chasing your own pleasure.

“I wan’ it, h-haithy. need your cock inside me.”

slick sticks to your thighs and your cunt audibly squeezes around his digits until he suddenly halts his movement.

“what do you do when you want something ?”

you sniffle, “u-use my big girl words.”

al haitham gives you a subtle look of approval.

“precisely.”

he falls silent, giving you a chance to speak but you remain hushed at first. rather, you’d let your actions allow him to draw his own conclusions.

you pull away to position yourself on your back, his fingers slipping out of your warmth.

he watches you closely, anticipating your next move.

your arms come behind your knees, revealing both of your pretty holes. delicate fingers part your puffy folds like pages of his books, displaying the gaping hole he was moments away from fucking.

with pursed lips and gleaming eyes, you ask just like how he taught you.

“big brother . . . can you please make me cum on your cock ?”

your tight pussy clenches around nothing, pushing out a stringy rivulet of creamy white.

there’s a crack in his composure.

al haitham effortlessly pulls his shirt over his head. his strong abdomen on display flexes with every breath he takes. it’s intimidating how stalks towards you, inching towards the bed with purpose.

he’s eager to mount you, his sweet little sister with a perfect ass, and a fat wet cunt he’d milk over and over again.