#them even when its hard even after everything that happened

[ghostedbunnie]

trouble comes in fours; simon's ver

you are trying to scare off your ex and who better to send him running than a masked burly guy you've met at a bar and who bulldozed his way into your bed.

simon riley x fem!reader nsfw, minors do not interact!! warnings: fingering (fem!receiving), car sex, exhibitionism, oral (fem!receiving), doggy style, creampie, manhandling

prologue // other versions (TBA)

Everything that happened after Johnny invited you over (which really meant he pulled you by the hand before you could back out) was a blur. You found yourself sandwiched between the masked guy and the pretty boy who introduced himself as Johnny, speaking with a sexy, thick Scottish accent. You couldn't help but steal glances at the masked guy. He said nothing, merely dipped his chin in greeting and met your gaze with an unnerving stare.

From this close-up, you noticed parts of his blonde buzzcut where he had nicked himself with the razor. He had done it himself without a mirror, resulting in some slightly uneven spots. On someone else, this might make them appear unkempt, but for this giant of a man, it seemed just right—almost endearing.

Everything about him screams danger. His thigh is pressed against yours, and you're already sweating because he and Johnny feel like walking furnaces. When you try to pull off your hoodie, the alcohol courses through you, and your head spins. As you finally manage to take the garment off, you accidentally grab onto something solid and hard for support. Too late, you realize that your hand has latched onto the blond's muscular thigh. You immediately let go, as if you’ve been burned by the touch.

You almost swear you hear him snort under his mask. When he finally speaks, your thighs clench. “I think it’s time for you to head home, doll. Come.”

It sounds as if he is talking to a dog, and you feel a sense of indignation rising within you. "I'm not a dog to give orders to. Besides, I don't even know your name."

He rolls his eyes at you. "Simon. That better now?"

"Not really. How do I know you're not some serial killer?" That gets some laughs out of the rest of the table.

He leans down closer to your ear, and you can almost sense the smirk in his voice when he says, "You don't. It adds to the thrill." It could be the alcohol coursing through your veins or the way his voice, with its rough British accent, sends shivers down your spine, but you find yourself agreeing. In some twisted way, it does add to it.

You discover that Simon doesn’t actually drink; the beverage you saw in front of him was just plain water. When he drives you home, he looks absolutely ridiculous in your small car, taking up all the space. He grumbles about your seat being so close to the steering wheel. When you ask him how the other guys are getting home, he simply replies, “They’ll walk,” along with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

He doesn't touch the radio, and you're too nervous to reach for it. You soon realize that he's not much of a conversationalist. He only answers your questions but never offers any additional information that would prompt you to ask more. After you've exhausted all possible conversation starters, all you can do is sit and look out the window. You swear you see him chuckle at your fidgeting whenever the silence becomes oppressive. As you finally arrive home, you can hardly wait to bolt out of the car. The tension is so thick that you need some fresh air to breathe properly, trying to push away thoughts of the consequences of your actions.

Before you can act on those thoughts, a heavy hand grips the back of your neck. "You think too loud. Stop it." A retort dies in your throat as you're pulled into him so quickly that your head spins. You barely register him removing his mask; you can’t even enjoy the fact that his face is finally visible. He latches onto you with the hunger of a man starved, kissing you deeply and urging you to stick out your tongue more.

Just by kissing him, you can feel the scar running through his lips. There's another scar, one that you noticed before, that runs through his eyebrow. When he finally pulls away for a moment, you see that his nose was definitely broken at some point, and he never bothered to get it fixed. You can't help but wonder what it would feel like to sit on his face.

Unceremoniously, he pulls you over the center console and onto his lap, which causes you to squeal in surprise. He doesn’t even bat an eye as he manhandles you into position, making you think about how your ex couldn't even carry two bags of groceries without complaining about the weight.

Something must have revealed your train of thought, or perhaps it was simply the fact that you were still lost in your thoughts, because Simon growls in response. You can feel the sound reverberating through your hands, which rest on his impressive pecs.

"Stop. Thinking." Every word is punctuated by a grind of his hips. To his great amusement, your mind goes blank immediately.

He guides your hands to his zipper straining under his hard-on. "What if someone sees?"

He only replies with "They'll get a hell of a show then." before he drags the pads of his fingers over the wet patch on your panties underneath your skirt that has already ridden up to your hips. He pulls the crotch of your panties to the side and pushes up to a knuckle, wasting no time and making you cling to him for dear life. After he adds another and starts hitting all the spots that make you whimper into his thick neck, he chuckles. It sounds a little mean but it still shoots right to your pussy anyway. "Finally shut that brain of yours up, doll."

He pulls up your shirt with his free hand and drags the cups of your bra up as well before sucking a nipple into his mouth. In reaction you push further into him, making him hum. He ends up alternating between bites to the side of your tits and sucking angry red marks into your collarbones and neck. Every part of you will be sore tomorrow but that's something you'll deal with later.

He lets you ride his fingers, scratching at his back and shoulders, fisting his hoodie and when you finally let go and the orgasm makes your eyes roll back into your head, he pulls you back into him for a kiss. It's messy, all teeth and tongue. When he pulls back there is a string of saliva connecting you two and if your mind wasn't currently wiped by the mind-blowing orgasm you would be embarrassed by the pornographic imagery. Simon forces you to look at him, his big, rough fingers holding up your chin to make you meet his gaze. You finally see the color of his eyes: brown, with pupils dilated wide. "We're nowhere near done," he says.

Simon is a whirlwind; he makes decisions, and you find yourself following them as if they were orders. He doesn’t wait for an invitation; instead, he stands behind you, his chest against your back, providing support as your legs feel like jelly. The drinks you had are wearing off now.

When you take too long to get out of your shoes, Simon tosses you over his shoulder. "You're taking too damn long," he says. You give him directions to your bedroom, and before long, you're dropped onto the sheets. You’re about to call him a caveman for his methods, but the sight of him pulling off his hoodie, revealing he’s not wearing anything underneath, leaves you speechless.

His skin is pale, but you can still see angry-looking scars on his torso and arms. Some of them resemble cigarette burns, while others look like bullet wounds that didn't heal properly. All of that should make you reconsider the kind of danger you’ve just invited into your bed, but as your gaze wanders lower, following his blond happy trail, you find yourself unable to think about the consequences.One of his hands is tattooed up to his elbow, and you can't really tell the design in the low light but it only adds to his appeal. Something possesses you to act, you end up reaching for his zipper before he can and he only gives you a wolfish grin before you pull him out.

He's not wearing any underwear. Your mouth dries up at the sight of him. That's never going to fit. Only after hearing him laugh did you realize that you had said that out loud. He was already hovering above you, caging you in against the sheets. "We'll make it fit."

Your skirt and shirt with your bra soon follow his pants and are lost to the shadows of your bedroom floor. Your eyes are drawn to his dick, you can't help it. He's big and thick you can already imagine the stretch, there's a vein on the underside that makes you wanna follow it with your tongue all the way to the top to catch the pre-cum already gathered there but he doesn't let you. Instead, he drags you to the edge of the bed and throws your legs over his shoulders. You almost want to argue that you hadn't showered, it's been a long day, and he doesn't have to do this but one look at the intense stare makes you swallow all of that down. You don't want to mention that you've never had anyone go down on you before. Your ex-boyfriend wasn't one to reciprocate.

There is no time to think about how miserable your sex life might have been. A bite to the inside of your thigh serves as a warning, both to stop thinking and not close your legs. In your defense, you didn't even realize you were doing it. His eyes are almost unnervingly focused on you before he dives in. He's always been a bit of a messy eater; the sounds he makes in the back of his throat are nothing short of animalistic. If you weren't shaking from his ministrations, you might think he's enjoying himself even more than you are.

He only moves a bit to lock eyes with you and tell you how sweet you are, juices dripping down his stubbled jaw. "Come on now, gotta make sure you're ready f'r me, doll." He alternates fucking you on his tongue and sucking on your clit, fingers digging into the fat of your thighs to keep them open for him. He's only barely controlling his strength so you know there will be bruises on your hips and thighs tomorrow but you can't bring yourself to care especially not this close to another orgasm. He can feel you twitching, getting closer and closer. There's a second of fear that he'll stop but he doesn't. Instead, he adds a finger and pushes on that one spot that made you see stars. That was all it took to wring the second orgasm of the night out of you.

Boneless, you let go of the sheets you were gripping. You only get a second of rest before he's repositioning you on the bed again; it would be infuriating if you could actually move properly.

He presses you into the mattress with his body, his scarred lips brushing next to your ear. "This will be a rough ride for you, don't say I didn't warn you." that's all you get before he bullies the ruddy head of his cock inside of you. You have half a mind to pull away but his weight keeps you in place, when he finally bottoms out there are tears in the corner of your eyes from the stretch, he only drops a few open-mouthed kisses to your shoulders before he rises to his knees and pulls your ass to him.

Everything after that is a blur, you're going crazy from the echo of the slapping of skin against skin, and your arms gave out on you midway so all you can do is scrunch the sheets in your hands and moan out his name like a prayer, to slow down? To go faster? You don't know. If he set out to make sure you can't think he achieved it. Your brain is fuzzy, your legs are shaking and a knot is unwinding in your lower stomach again. It's all too much and not enough at the same time. One of his hands finds your clit and it's over for you. "Come f'r me, doll. That's it." You can hear him hiss from the way you tighten around him as you come. He doubles down chasing his own orgasm now, balls slapping against your pussy even harder. There is a split second of clarity that he didn't use a condom (even though you are on a pill) but as soon as the thought registers he's filling you up with a groan before again squishing you underneath him, cock still lodged deep inside you, keeping his spend from leaking out. When you try to move from underneath him, he only chuckles before his hands find your tits and knead them, making you moan. It will be a long night for you. You've invited a ghost into your bed, and now you must deal with the consequences.

The picture you took with a large black shadow looming over you in the mirror, with a tattooed hand resting on your neck, might help you get rid of your ex who keeps creeping on your social media posts.

[kingkat12]

feeling (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, fingering, voyeurism, semi-public sexual activities, smoking, teasing, praises, Roman shouldn't be allowed on school grounds

summary: you've finally mastered the art of feeling nothing at all. emotions don't serve you, they're painful, and everything about them downright suck. however, what happens when you're suddenly faced with the fact that feeling can feel... good?

word count: 3,200

a/n: hey luvs!! I've always hated being someone that feels everything deeply and painfully, even the smallest things, so I wrote the start last night just to get it out of my head, but... you know me, it spiralled, SORRY!!! tihi oh well, enjoy!<33

Everything in life had to be a fight. Always.

Living could be so painful sometimes. Feeling was exhausting. Therefore, it was easier to shut down all my emotions instead of dealing with the overwhelming pain cramming itself down the veins of my forearms, ripping through the vessels of blood at the tips of my fingers with every bad thing that happened in my life. 

If I could walk around with a sign saying 'I'm not trying to be mean, I just don't care enough', I would. People always assumed I was a piece of shit due to my inclination never to smile. However, the sign would make me more of a freak at school than I already was, and I had an inkling that I shouldn't dig myself a deeper hole than I already had. High school was hard as it was, why complicate it further?

My lack of social indulgence left me rather lonely. Not that I cared. It was easier this way-- I didn't have to pretend to be bearable to be around. I didn't have to smile, I didn't have to laugh, and I didn't have to fake anything in the world. 

However, I wasn't allowed to live peacefully on my island of isolation. Every so often, a little boat would float by the shore and ask to park by the dock for a short break, to rest from its travels and seek momentary company, despite the fact that I hadn't sought this out whatsoever. And to make matters worse, the boat would do so every day, with its voice calling louder with every passing of the sun and moon-- eventually, I had to relent. 

So here we sat, on my island of isolation, also known as the empty bleachers. Roman pulled two cigarettes out of his box and placed them between his plush lips, lighting both at the same time. It had become a ritual of sorts, where he'd approach whenever he saw me at school and sit with me in silence for a little cigarette break. When we first started running into each other like this, he would try to small-talk, but this died down when he pieced together that silence was the best for us both. 

We needed the time away from everyone, Roman probably more than I. He handed me the cigarette, and we exchanged a short nod at the other with the exchange.

Someone wise once said that you learn something new every day. Because after all this time watching his extroverted social life from afar, wondering how he had the energy for all the people around him all the time, I realized there was only one other person in the world that understood the wish to surrender of a full-body shutdown as well as I did-- and that was Roman Godfrey. 

And that was why he sat here with me, smoking in silence.

Still, after all this time, I never knew why he sought me out. Why he had approached at all the first time, and why he had chosen me. Was it maybe that he saw solace in my carefree rejection of everything and everyone? I wondered whether he wished to be like me. 

And I wondered whether he knew that I wished to be like him.

I loved to watch the way Roman inhaled the first drag of his cigarette-- it was always with a small moan followed by his eyes closing, his legs spreading out on his seat, and a nod to himself. Like he had been waiting for a new hit for years. Because whenever I watched him and his ritualistic ways, I felt specks of something. The only something that didn't hurt, and didn't feel like my arms were about to rip themselves open and gush blood. 

When he didn't look, I allowed myself to smile. I could give in to it. And today, after months of sitting in silence and barely exchanging more than a few sentences about ourselves, I wanted to tell him what was on my mind. "Roman?"

He slowly opened his eyes, surprised that I had spoken. "Shit," he breathed, exhaling a ring of smoke. "You broke your vow of silence for me? I'm flattered."

I would've laughed. His tone was dead serious, yet I could see him fighting a smile. Nonetheless, I went on, but in a different direction; "Do you think we're friends?" I asked, inhaling another drag of smoke.

Roman stilled, watching me. He was surely trying to calculate the way this conversation was going, or what I was trying to get at. Eventually, he spoke; "No,"

"No?"

"No," Roman shrugged-- "You sort of remind me of this guy I once knew, Tyler. He was at every party I was at, and he always had a stash of weed with him, so we ended up smoking it on the porch at, like, every occasion. I never knew anything about him, though, so I don't think we were friends."

"And... you don't think Tyler thought you were friends?"

It looked like Roman hadn't thought about that. "I don't think he ever cared," he mumbled. "And I didn't think you did either."

I nodded to myself as I exhaled the smoke, unsure whether to keep his gaze or look away. I was scared I'd start feeling again, with the way this convo was going. "Alright then," I said, rolling the cigarette between my fingers. 

Perplexed, Roman's brows drew together. "Would you want to be friends?"

"No,"

"... Okay?" He let out a laugh which sounded an awful lot like a huff, and he shook his head as threw the cigarette down to the floor and stomped it. "Luckily for you, you've made it to the rapid round of today's quiz." Roman turned to me, nudging my shoulder. "And I'm allowing myself to be nosy, for once. So, tell me why."

"Why what?"

"Why you don't want to be friends,"

It spilled past my lips easier than I thought it would; "Because you make me feel,"

A pause. It was too long. 

"Feel?" Roman looked more puzzled than before. "Feel what?"

"Just... feel. You make me feel stuff,"

"What stuff?"

"Just stuff!" I wasn't sure why it annoyed me to explain it to him. In my mind, he should've gotten it. Understood it. "It's not a particular feeling, it's just feeling in general."

Roman cleared his throat, and with his next breath, he took the cigarette between my fingers into his hand. "Ever heard of sociopaths"? he muttered, taking a drag. With the way his shoulders tensed, I couldn't make out whether he was nervous or excited. 

"I'm not a sociopath,"

"Then what the fuck do you mean?" Roman leaned in closer, yet I didn't move. Up close, his eyes were much greener, much more vibrant-- I didn't want to think about it. It made my stomach flutter. 

"You stole my cigarette..." What else was I supposed to say?

Roman stifled a laugh. "I didn't steal it. Ever heard of sharing? It stems from an emotion called caring,"

"Fuck you,"

Being so close to him was intoxicating. Stupid. Dangerous. My heart hadn't beat this fast in months-- why had I opened my mouth at all? My thoughts raced as Roman reached forward, gently placing his thumb on my bottom lip as he watched my eyes widen. A shaky breath escaped me, fanning the skin of his fingers. With a soft push that didn't meet much resistance, Roman pressed down on my lip, parting my mouth as he took a drag of my cigarette, maintaining just about the most intense eye contact I had ever had in my life. 

There was nothing I could do to move away. Not that I wanted to, anyway. So when Roman's upper lip brushed up against mine as he leaned in close, exhaling the smoke into my mouth, I was sure my heart would jump out of my chest, up my throat, and leap right at him. 

Even after I inhaled the substance, Roman didn't move away. My mind was buzzing, wondering what to do, whether to say something, whether to ask what was going on-- all I knew, was that I had enjoyed the first physical contact I'd had with another human in a while. 

"I've always wondered what it must be like to be a sociopath," Roman whispered against my lips, his thumb leaving my skin. "Do tell."

The more flustered I became, the more my cheeks burned. "I'm not a sociopath,"

"What are you, then?"

"Exhausted," I breathed. "Do you know how tiring it is to feel?"

Roman let out a huff, a laugh, as he let the cigarette burn out between his fingers. "It can be exhausting if you're feeling all the wrong things, sure. But if the feelings are good..." His voice lowered as his nose nudged mine with a teasing touch, and I could feel him smile against me as he heard the small hitch of my breath. "If they're good, you'll suddenly find yourself wanting to feel everything all at once." 

Everything indicated that he would kiss me. I couldn't believe it. My heart raced in my chest as air refused to leave me, and I could feel the drumming of my blood coursing through my veins in anticipation. This was a rush unlike any other. So I braced for it, stilled in my seat, made my mind accustomed to the thought--

Until I couldn't feel his breath falling against my cheek anymore. Until all I felt was the cold breeze of the air brushing a strand of hair away from my face. I opened my eyes only to find Roman was getting up from his seat next to me. He briefly turned to catch a glimpse of the stunned expression on my face before he gave in to a snicker. "There you go, there was my crash course," he joked. "Sorry for making you feel things again, I guess. It wasn't my intention. This was nice though." Roman motioned to the both of us-- I didn't like his tone. This felt like a goodbye. This felt like I had broken some holy contract I didn't know I had signed. "I'll leave you alone from now on, don't worry. I'll find out whether Tyler is available for cig breaks at school instead--"

I had no idea what came over me as my hand shot forward and clasped his wrist. "Don't do that,"

"Do what?" Roman was unreadable-- a part of me wondered whether he was dragging this reaction out of me on purpose. Had his skills with people brewed down to developing mastery of manipulation? 

"Did I piss you off somehow?" I tried. "Did I say something wrong?" 

Roman's brows raised in confusion. "You haven't done anything,"

"Then why are you leaving?"

He blinked. Once. Twice. "You said that you didn't want to feel anything. And since I make you feel stuff, I'm doing you a favor, no?"

Roman was a smart guy-- I had known it deep down. Still, I rose from my seat, only to be reminded of how tall he was. How handsome he was. "And what if I... want to feel?"

Silence laid itself like a thick duvet over us as we stood and stared at each other, none of us knowing when to speak or what to say.

Eventually, Roman let out a short hum as his eyes rounded out. There was an emptiness to his gaze. "I don't have any love to give," he breathed. "If that's what you're looking for, you've come to the wrong place."

That was almost nice to hear. Love would've been too grand of a start. I finally spoke; "Not that. I just... want to feel good again. I don't remember how that feels anymore," 

Roman's ears perked up. "Oh?" The corners of his mouth curved into a look I couldn't decipher. It was somewhere between intrigue and calculated success; 

"Well... I could make you feel real good, that's for sure."

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

So... I succumbed. Not everything had to be a fight, at the end of the day. 

I succumbed in a secluded part of the school library, a section Roman said nobody ever came to. He had led me down a path of stairs, past the archeology section and the biographies of famous mathematicians, and into the far corner of the philosophy area. 

It was there that he had finally kissed me, finally pulled me in by my waist, and led my back against the wall next to a whole row of books about Platon-- and it was there that he put his large hand beneath my skirt and pressed the heel of his palm into my clit through my underwear, making me gasp into his mouth. 

I squirmed, my grip in his hair tightening as I pulled him closer. Roman tasted like cigarettes and smelled like expensive perfume you'd test out at an airport when you're bored at Duty Free. However, my thoughts dulled as my hips keened into his hand, against the sweet pressure, and my heart thumped harder in my chest with every brush of his lips against mine. 

"So..." Roman whispered, his cocky smirk gracing his beautiful face. "Feeling anything yet?"

Bastard. He knew damn well. "Yeah-- Yes," 

"Good," With a rather patronizing laugh, Roman pressed kisses to the corners of my mouth. "I've waited to see you like this for so long, do you know that? Since the first time I sat next to you and you barely paid me any mind, I've wanted to see you squirm." My breath hitched as he pressed his finger into the wetness that had formed in my underwear, tapping it to test the slick. His lips brushed over my ear; "Should've done this earlier, hm? Relieved you a little, made you feel good?"

This was the most horrifying feeling of gratification ever. I never thought I'd be the type for this sort of behaviour, but I suppose life pushes you toward the direction you're destined to take, right? 

"Who would've thought," Roman purred, a small chuckle building in his chest. "And here I thought you were one of those people that don't even get horny. Bet you're the type to lay in bed and get off when you're bored." 

My cheeks burned. Burned. "N-No--"

"No? Aw, you're still fighting," And just as I thought it couldn't get any worse, Roman pulled my panties aside and eased a finger into me. I couldn't meet his eyes anymore as my hands gave into a tremble, and I clutched the fabric of his shirt as I hid my face in his chest. 

"Tell me, then," Roman whispered, reaching his free hand into the hair at the nape of my neck to pull me away from him. He dragged my head back, forcing me to look up at him as he pressed himself further up against me, cornering me as he pushed my back harder into the wall. I was panting against his lips at this point, feeling him curl his finger into my sweet spot like he had done this a thousand times before-- he probably had, anyway. I hated the jealousy that coursed through my veins, one of the emotions I hadn't allowed myself to feel in ages. He spoke with a smug grin; "Tell me what you're feeling, you little psycho."

That would've earned him a snicker, had I not been in such a compromising position. "Good," I breathed, finding his green eyes. "Feels-- Feels n-nice."

"Nice? Only nice?" Roman tsked, shaking his head. "That's not enough." And with that, he eased another finger into me, which only had me gripping his shirt harder. Being filled by Roman's fingers like this, knowing we could be walked in on at any moment, made my whole body burn with adrenaline. "Ro--"

"How many times have you thought about this when we've been smoking, huh? Don't tell me you've been wishing I'd do this shit this whole time?" Roman pressed a kiss to my ear as his fingers stroked into me, pressing into my sweet spot with a gentle rubbing-motion. 

I could only shake my head. That was the truth. I hadn't ever allowed myself to think about him like that to spare my feelings. I know I'd have been squirming in my seat, staring at the way his hair always fell over his eyes, and the way his broad shoulders sunk in pleasure with every inhale of nicotine, if I had allowed myself to think those thoughts.

"No?" he cooed, feigning disappointment with a pout. The way he was almost mocking me made my stomach flutter-- or was that his fingers? "Well, I have. Many times. I've always wondered if it'd make you talk or shut down more. Or mostly, I wondered how you'd look if I did--" Roman placed his thumb on my clit, and the added stimulation only made my eyes water with pleasure as my hips bucked into his hand once more. "This."

"Fuck--" I hissed, leaning forward to kiss his neck. If Roman wasn't going to make it easy for me, I had to shut myself up somehow. Now more than ever, his perfume was prevalent. 

He let out a small sigh of pleasure as the thrusts of his fingers grew harder, not paying any mind to the way my knees gave into a slight tremble. "God, wouldn't it be bad if we were caught right now?" he said with a laugh. "You wouldn't be known as the quiet one anymore, that's for sure." Roman pulled me away from his neck with the hand he had in my hair and scanned the look on my face. My eyes glossed over as I drowned out my moans with heavy breaths; "Fuck-- Fuck you!"

"Is that how you talk to your friends?" Roman cooed, leaning down to press a short kiss to my lips, the soft pillows of his mouth pushing me into submission. "Cause wasn't it friends you wanted us to be, hm?" 

I couldn't answer. Not when his tone made me clench around the stretch of his fingers, not when he looked this good, not when he talked to me this way. "N-No,"

"No?" 

"No!"

"What, then? Best friends?"

If I could punch him, I would. Yet I only managed to gather the strength to suppress another moan, feeling my high creep up on me faster than ever before. It was almost embarrassing how fast I was about to cum on Roman's fingers in the fucking school library. He was making a wreck of me. "Wait, I-- no, fuck, I might--"

"Ulta-mega-best-friends?" Roman only giggled as his unrelenting pace continued. "Fuck-friends would probably serve us both the most, though, hm?"

"Okay, s-sure--"

"Don't you think?"

I let go of his shirt as my body keened against his fingers, sinking down a little against the wall as I squeezed my eyes shut. The pooling feeling of arousal in my stomach made me tense up, and I prayed I wouldn't collapse to my knees-- I hadn't had a standing orgasm before. How did that even work? "Yeah," I cried. "That-- That sounds good."

Roman kissed me again as a reward, smiling from ear to ear as my muffled moans filled the empty section of the library. I clamped down on his fingers, feeling my clit pulse against his thumb as I gave in to the strongest, most intense feeling I'd had in months. 

"That's it, feel it all," he purred, rubbing me through my orgasm. 

"Good girl."

[dinsbeskar]

Shelter in the Storm (Sauron/F!Reader)

Journeys end in lovers meeting

But what happens when you keep meeting, and leaving, and meeting, and...

Sequel to And In The Darkness Bind Them // AO3 Link

Soundtrack: De Selby Part 2 by Hozier, Judas by Lady Gaga, Harder to Breathe by Maroon 5, Persephone by Tamino

A/N: Post S2, we are in Rivendell (idk when it comes about in the RoP timeline but I've built it now idc) and we're moping after our crazy breakup at the end of S2. We're also doing some LOTR too, idk guys ✌️ Man is down bad and so are you. Girl, run, he is evil!!! Girl!!! ...okay babe you do you (and him)

Warnings: 18+ only!! YEARNING AGAIN, smut, angst, toxic relationship shenanigans, mutual obsession, dream sex, P in V sex, creampie (that our man then cleans up for you, you're welcome lmao - have i ever told you guys how deranged this guy makes me? This is me reining it in, fyi lmao), oral sex (female receiving), so much yearning

Word Count: 5k!!

The haven of Imladris becomes a shelter for your people, one that you have worked so hard for, but one you don't feel as if you have earned, nor could you ever.

Walking away from Sauron was the most torturous thing you'd ever had to do, but it was done. His parting gift lies on a chain around your neck, a glimmering gold ring that whispers to you in the dark of the night.

But you cannot put it on; you cannot bear the idea of sullying the light of your wedding ring with his twisted mockery. Despite its palpable dark power, it is beautiful, and it calls to you, his voice in the air that sends shivers down your spine even now.

You take it out from beneath your bodice, twirling it in your fingers. You find yourself doing it more and more often lately, and frequently more absentmindedly.

"Deep in thought, even at this hour." Elrond's voice interrupts your brooding, and you hasten to clasp the ring between your fingers, hiding it in the thick pages of the book you have been pretending to read.

No one tends to visit the library at this hour, especially the tiny nook you've made for yourself at the back of the shelves near a large window overlooking the valley. Dust motes glimmer in the rays of the setting sun, and you can hear the merriment of your fellow elves at dinner, song floating in through the window. So while happy to see him, you are surprised.

"There is much to think about, dear friend."

He nods, gesturing to the seat beside you.

"Of course, sit." You smile at him, glad for the company, eager to forget your broken heart for a moment.

"You've been distracted of late. We've all noticed, but-"

"But there is nothing one can say to absolve me." Your eyes prick with tears, but you refuse to let another fall out of spite for your lord husband.

"It is not that." Elrond takes a breath, pondering his next words carefully.

"We care for you, we always have, and we do understand." He grasps your hand to comfort you; it takes everything in you not to pull away.

"We are here for you. I know your guilt weighs heavily, but let us take the burden from your shoulders. It is not your fault."

You are very tempted to let yourself crumble, to sob into his embrace as you weigh up all the sins for which you feel responsible, for which he is trying to absolve you.

"I doubt very much everyone feels the same way." You do not need to imagine the wrath of your people, the pointed stares, the whispers when they think you cannot hear, avoiding your presence at all costs.

And you have been so wrapped up in your grief that you have let it all wash over you. But the longer you are ostracised, the greater the ache in your heart.

"Does it matter? They will come round, you have already done so much to help us rebuild."

That is no understatement. After healing the wounded and burying the dead, you had thrown yourself into protecting the valley in which you made your home. Songs and spells that your husband had helped you create, no less, with the power of your people and their rings, had created a safe haven for your kin to regroup and rebuild after losing Eregion.

"I was so blind, my friend. Wilfully ignorant to what I knew he could be, what he was. Everything that he did, I let him do it." You take a deep breath, holding up a hand to prevent Elrond interrupting you as he so clearly wants to do, comforting words on the tip of his tongue.

"I will never cease to feel guilty, and I don't know if it's possible to move on, feeling the way I do." You meet his gaze, knowing that the unspoken crushing weight of your burden is something he knows all too well, feeling equally responsible for the downfall of Eregion as you.

"But move on, we must." He takes your hand with a comforting smile.

The simplest of advice is often the greatest, Celebrimbor once told you. You briefly muse on his words as Elrond's wisdom takes root.

"We learn from our mistakes, and we move on. It is all we can do." He squeezes your hand one last time, before standing to leave. "It would be a pleasure to welcome you back to us, my lady."

You nod, forcing a weak smile, your fists clenching in your dress where he cannot see.

Once the door is closed, you lean back and sob, the ring at your breast whispering loud in your ear.

Perhaps to move forward, you should try wearing it. Just once. Two steps forward, one back, perhaps, but still one step forward.

Before you can think, the ring is on your finger.

An overwhelming sense of peace and clarity consumes you, the world at once feeling lighter, and you realise how difficult each breath had been before you put it on.

For the first time in a long time, you feel like yourself. The grey clouds of your stupor clear, blue skies and the gentle breeze of hope lifts your spirits for the first time in months.

Tears begin to pour down your face, not out of sorrow, but pure relief. Hot wet streams of catharsis cascade down your cheeks, and you feel lighter than you have in years.

"Curse you, you wretched creature, for ruining me like this. For twisting and melting us into one. A wicked alloy of light and dark." He cannot hear you, but you curse him anyway.

With each tear you feel the darkness lift, so you sit and allow yourself to cry.

When you next open your eyes, the room is dark, the candles have all burnt out, and the crescent moon casts a dim glow through the open window.

You go to pick up your book from the floor, dropped when you had fallen asleep, when you notice the warmth of someone beside you.

You look round, expecting to see someone trying to rouse you, expecting anyone but the ethereal vision of your husband, his hand on your thigh, pressing close with an affectionate smile as he realises you know he is there.

You jump out of your skin and go to stand, but his iron grip keeps you in place, even as he regards you with a smile so tender you can almost forget why you are estranged.

"You cannot be here."

He cocks his head slightly, looking at you as if you've grown another head.

"Of course I am here. You called for me and I came. I will always come for you." He traces your hand, then lifts it to the dim moonlight as if to remind you of his golden gift.

"The ring..." You breathe shakily, angry with yourself that you didn't realise that of course it was no mere trinket.

"I told you, my love, they are a pair," he holds up his own hand, showcasing his own gold ring. "They work best together, like their masters."

"Don't. Don't do that." You pull away from him, or try to, as he keeps a steadfast hold on your hand.

"Don't do what, darling? Remind you of what you're missing with me? The power we could share, the realms we will rule," he leans down to whisper in your ear, "the love we endure."

As tempting as that sounds, you fix him with a glare.

"That was always your problem, my love."

He has the audacity to look confused, so you elaborate.

"Your quest for power will always come before us. Before me. And I cannot fight you forever over that, it is who you are. But I cannot stand at your side while you seek to dominate Middle Earth, no matter my love for you."

"So you do still love me?"

"You're impossible!" You shake your head, wrenching yourself from his grip and standing finally, moving as far away as you can.

"After everything I have said, that is what you cling to? I tell you I cannot follow you and that is your response?" Your voice shakes like your resolve, but you press on.

"I love you. Of course I do. But that does not mean I will blindly follow you to ruin. I cannot."

His face begins to fall, his eyes growing dark, your words sinking in for once.

"Sauron-"

"Don't call me that." He is visibly crushed, the name he detests falling so freely from your lips.

"Do not-" you press your lips to his; you cannot hear his silver tongue again, cannot open yourself to the possibility of his victory over your heart.

At least that is what you tell yourself, as you find yourself aching to be close to him again, heart yearning for his presence, his touch, his soul near yours once more.

He runs his hands up your back, digging his fingers into your spine as if to anchor you to him, unwilling to let you go again. He offers no resistance to your charms, utterly spellbound even now as you kiss him to shut him up.

You have to pull away, your chest fit to burst at the separation.

"It is your name. And I must use it. I can't let myself believe you again, my love. I can't."

For once he lets you speak, but he is itching to have his say, you can see him fidgeting, words on the tip of his tongue.

"You think I use the name you hate as a sword against you? Meant to wound you, to cut you deeply? No. It is a shield. A reminder of who you are, so I don't let you in again."

Your heart hurts, splintering with each word.

He feels the same, the anguish in your soul mirrored in his, like a flaming knife between the ribs.

He pulls you to him, resting his chin on the top of your head. The urge to sit and relish in him is so strong, and he holds you so surely that he must feel the same but alas.

"I love you, Sauron. Shadow of Morgoth. But I have to let you go."

His eyes widen, and he reaches out for your hand, but it is too late.

You wrench the ring from your finger and he is gone.

You wake with a start, gasping for breath, the ring on its chain in your hand.

Throwing the ring back around your neck, you breathe a deep sigh of relief at your victory, but the catharsis you felt while wearing your ring beckons again.

Torn between the peace you had with him and the peace you know you're fighting for without him, the temptation to use the ring ebbs and flows, but never falters completely.

It is a burden you must bear alone, for you cannot tell the others that the ring you bear is a direct line to the enemy himself.

~

For centuries you wander Middle Earth, attempting to heal some of that which your husband has destroyed.

The more magic you expend, the more you seem to have at your disposal, which would be a good thing, but it calls him to you.

Even without the ring, he walks in your dreams. Well, admittedly there isn't much walking involved.

Your apartments in Eregion are his favourite place to see you, with blankets and cushions nestling you close to him, making you both so cosy; how could you want to leave him here alone?

"Will you not come to me?" He murmurs, breaking your reverie.

You can't help the exasperated sigh that escapes you, but you remain clung to his side, your fingers entwined in the hair on his chest, the scent of iron and smoke intoxicating you even as you dream.

"I have to ask." He chuckles, stroking your hair.

"Yet you know my answer."

He pulls you tighter then, never once losing hope that his will would prove stronger in the end.

~

There is no such thing as chance meetings, as your husband used to say, and you take it as a sign your fate was on the turn.

You hadn't been to Rivendell in many a year, your wanderings through Middle Earth taking you far from any civilised lands, searching for peace and purpose.

So when you hear that a ring had been found, and not just any ring, your stomach drops. But you need to see it.

"Elrond, please, allow me just one glance-"

"You know how dangerous that would be, we cannot risk the whole world knowing we have the weapon of the enemy in Imladris."

"It's not the whole world, it's me!" You huff an exasperated sigh. "You can trust me, you always have!"

He turns and avoids your gaze, reaching for the balustrade to look out over the valley, resting wearily on the white stone.

"Elrond..." You gingerly reach out for his shoulder; he doesn't pull away which you take as a victory.

"I have to see it. I have to know if it's his."

He pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing.

"Very well." He pauses, seemingly in thought. "Come to the council. Perhaps your input might be helpful after all."

The moment you lay eyes on the ring, you know it is his.

Its fine craftsmanship would easily give it away, if not for its heavy aura and sheer magnetism. You can’t look away, even as your stomach drops and your heart races, guilt consuming you once more.

Raised voices fade to white noise, his whispers in your ear, the unmistakable scent of salt and iron on the breeze.

"I will take it!"

A small voice shakes you from your reverie, as you take in the hobbit who has so bravely volunteered for a trial that many of stouter heart would have refused.

And you volunteer immediately to accompany him.

Whether it is to deliver your husband the justice he deserves, or to assuage your guilt, it might be a fool's errand all the same. But you figure you should see it through.

~

"I'll take first watch." You mutter, regarding the rest of the company as they begin to bed down for the night.

"You'll do no such thing." Aragorn's hand on your shoulder startles you, but his voice is calm and warm, reminding you of someone, a long time ago.

"I'm fine-"

"You've taken watch for two nights now, get some rest. We need you at your best." He gives you a warm smile, clapping your shoulder before turning back to the burgeoning campfire.

You give him a wan smile in return, but worry gnaws at your very bones.

You haven't slept in nigh on a week. You no longer need your ring to call him to you; the closer you are to the Ring, the more Sauron appears to you in your dreams.

He always enjoyed doing so, and you never used to mind. Even over the past age, when he did so, you were slow to eject him from your mind, guiltily enjoying his presence even from afar.

But now it would be far too risky, far too dangerous, to allow him inside your head.

The others fall into a deep slumber almost immediately, the journey taking its toll.

But you remain awake, upright, pinching your bare skin to stay awake.

Elvenkind do not need to sleep quite as often as other races, but it catches up eventually.

"Sweet wife." His murmur in your ear sends a chill down your spine; you'd be lying if you said it was one of terror not arousal.

"Husband." You whisper to the dark, not daring to look round.

"No need to whisper, darling, they can't hear us here."

Strong arms enfold you in a warm embrace that you're powerless to resist as you melt against him, your back to his torso.

"You can't be here." You murmur, entwining your hands with his.

"And yet..." You feel his nose in your hair, feel him draw you closer, kisses on your neck.

You can't help but moan, long years of being starved of his touch taking their toll, and your sleep-deprived consciousness is in no fit state to resist his charms.

"You haven't been sleeping." He remarks, tracing your knuckles and relishing the feeling of you in his arms once more, even if it is only in dreaming.

"You noticed." Your quip falls flat as he growls in your ear.

"Avoiding me, love?"

"I wish I didn't have to." You rest your head back against him, letting yourself give in, just for a moment.

"You don't. Join me, come to me, be with me-"

"Don't. Don't spoil this." This perfect moment, even as you plot his downfall, you would crystallise it and keep it forever.

He grumbles a little but eventually hums in assent, seemingly placated by you allowing him to stay.

You just need to rest, perhaps a good night's sleep will refresh you enough to keep him at bay later.

At least, that is the excuse you use when you find his hands wandering, his lips tracing your skin, peeling every inch of clothing from you.

Your breath hitches as he frees your breasts from their confines, enjoying his hands roaming so freely across your body as he takes his fill.

He works slowly down to between your thighs, and a fleeting thought of resistance crosses your mind before vanishing in the lust that clouds your judgement.

You can feel his hard length pressing against the small of your back, aching and needy for you even in this psychic realm.

His lips on your neck peck softly at first, before beginning to lick and suck more insistently. The sound of his lust in your ear drives you wild, and you shuffle out of his grasp to turn and face him.

He's gorgeous. Of course he is. He can't appear in any fair form now, but since he isn't here physically, he can take any form he wishes in your mind.

"I always liked this face." You chuckle, running your fingers down his jaw.

"I know, my darling."

Now that you're facing him, straddling his lap, he wants to do nothing but stare at your face.

Memory is no substitute for the real thing, and every time he looks on you, you're more beautiful than he dared recall; it leaves him breathless.

You feel tears prick at your eyes, and his hands are already at your cheeks ready to catch them when they fall.

"I miss you." You whisper, closing your eyes and kissing him so sweetly, so softly, he fears he might melt.

He answers with a moan, his love and lust for you pulling at his heart and soul. His hard cock is wet with precum, that makes your hand glide so much more easily over it as you stroke him to distraction.

"No, no, inside-" he stutters and groans, delicious noises that make your clit throb.

You kiss him hard and lower yourself onto him, hissing at the slight burn of him filling you so completely. But before long, you're rocking on his hips, hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, savouring the exquisite fullness between your thighs, his mouth on yours, his hands palming your breasts.

Your souls pull toward each other, uncontrollably and without limit, and your hearts sing a harmony that no two others could ever hear.

He grasps your hips and pulls you down on his length, twitching inside you as he fills you, wasting not a single drop.

You gasp at the sensation, his hot seed on the brink of dripping out of you as he rides his orgasm, looking up at you as if you were the most divine thing he'd ever beheld, chanting your name like a prayer.

You slow your pace, riding him, focusing on milking his cock, draining every drop.

When he is finally sated, he slips out of you and turns you over, letting you rest your aching thighs, parting your legs wide to take in your cunt, quivering and full of his seed.

He smiles wide, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire.

"Look at the mess we made. That desperate messy cunt, my love, how perfect you are."

His words shouldn't make you feel the way they do, surely, but the fresh wave of arousal that pools at your core says otherwise.

"My good girl, so perfect for me... let me take care of you, darling."

His tongue between your thighs sends your heart pounding, as he delves deep into your entrance.

He feels so good, but it's the depravity of his desperation for you, that he'd paint you with his seed then delight in licking every trace from your skin, just to get a sweet taste of you, that's what sends you over the edge.

Your grip on his hair tightens as your peak crashes over you, pulling him closer to you, wrapping your thighs around his head-

-you blink and he's gone. You wake gasping for breath as multiple hands shake you from your slumber.

"My lady?" It is Aragorn who speaks first, the rest appearing shaken.

"What happened?" You mutter, still not quite back with them, clinging to the feeling of Sauron encompassing you.

"You were thrashing, shaking, we were worried for you." He and Gandalf exchange a look that you can't quite interpret.

"I'm fine. Nightmares, nothing new." You try to smile but the feeling of them all staring at you is perturbing to say the least.

"Go on, back to bed, I'm fine."

You go to stand but Gandalf puts his staff on your shoulder in warning. You look up at him quizzically, but he shakes his head.

When the rest have settled, he motions for you to follow him, a little away from the camp to talk undisturbed.

You stand waiting for him to speak, but he simply regards you from under his bushy brows, pulling out his pipe.

"Everything alright?" You eventually have to break the silence, the tension killing you.

After a long pause, still regarding you as he cleans out his pipe, he speaks.

"I was hoping you would tell me."

He stops fiddling and locks his gaze with yours.

"Amarië, if there is something we need to know-"

"There's nothing." You interrupt him before he can insinuate anything close to the truth.

"Are you quite sure? Because-" he lights the pipe, the embers glowing ominously to illuminate his face- "He was here."

Sweat breaks out on your skin but you hope he won't notice.

"I don't know what you mean, Mithrandir, I think I would know if-"

"You would. That's why I'm asking you."

You look anywhere but at the wizard currently boring a hole in your skull with his gaze. You can't tell them, they can't know.

"I have Him under control."

You're not sure why you said that, but Gandalf seems anything but reassured.

"Under control? So He was here. Do I need to worry about you, my lady?"

You shake your head slowly, reminding yourself why you're here. The torment Sauron has inflicted, the lives he has taken, not to mention his countless betrayals.

"Our souls are bound, you know that. Where I am, he is sure to follow. But he knows nothing of Frodo and the Ring, I can assure you. I would tell you."

You make no mention of the ring hidden next to your heart. They wouldn't understand.

His eye twitches as he contemplates your words.

"How long? How long have you been seeing him?"

"That was a good guess." You give a derisive snort, shaking your head and laughing slightly.

Apparently subterfuge is definitely more your husband's game.

"A while. But I figure if I distract him, we can focus on getting to Mordor undetected."

He gives a small "harrumph" in response, with a disapproving look that makes your toes curl, and not in a good way.

"I am sorry, Mithrandir. But I promise, I want the same as you. To see him answer for his crimes."

His face softens and he claps your shoulder with a wrinkled hand but firm grip.

"Go to bed. Tell me if you have anything to report."

A spy for the peoples of Middle Earth, you would never have thought it.

Meanwhile, a guttural scream of frustration renders all the orcs in Barad-dûr paralysed in terror, as your husband is ripped from your mind. He can still feel you beneath his fingers, taste you on his tongue, his soul grasping for you as he clings to the memory of your soft smile, the one you reserve only for him.

~

Racing through the mines, chased by a league of goblins, this wasn't how you hoped the passage through Moria would end.

"With the ring, his servants would respond to me as if to him, I can send him back to the shadow!"

"No!" Gandalf cries, grasping your shoulder and holding you back. "You risk the fate of the quest if you invoke his power, do not be tempted now."

"But I can help-"

"You will fight another day. Go! Take them to safety, they will need your wisdom now."

His words tell you to be strong, but his expression betrays his fear. Without another word, you turn and run, ushering the hobbits toward the bridge with a cry, willing your old friend safe passage.

"Fly, you fools." And with that, he is gone, passed beyond your sight. You think to use your ring, to see him in the next world before he passes over, the band inches from your finger-

-but your arm is wrenched almost out of its socket as Aragorn pushes you down the winding stairs out of the dead mines.

Everyone collapses in grief on the rocky outcrop outside Moria, dissolving into great sobs as they mourn their fallen mentor. You can only watch on, no more tears left to cry, as you vow this loss will be avenged.

If Sauron is listening, you speak directly to him, that his folly was choosing you as his bride, for you would not rest until you had returned him to the darkness from whence he came.

~

Lothlórien is a place you should all find rest. But the prospect of staying with Galadriel, even after you'd passed an age apart, was nerve-wracking to say the least.

You can hear her whispers in the others' minds, but when she looks at you, it's as if you've turned to glass, her gaze passing straight through you.

"I will find no rest here."

You overhear Boromir telling Aragorn of Galadriel's message for him, think perhaps to comfort him. But Aragorn, as ever, does a far better job than you could ever.

One thing Boromir and you share, is the inability to find rest.

The stars blaze overhead, and the soft lament for Gandalf fades as the moon rises.

But you toss and turn, your mind racing and your body tense.

The ring at your breast is mercifully quiet, the power of Nenya keeping it at bay. And the silence is so heavy, the absence of your husband's voice in your ear so perturbing after centuries of listening to him beg for you.

You can't breathe, can think of nothing of hearing him again, your mind full of your own voice for the first time in years innumerable.

Rustling underfoot distracts you momentarily, but your thoughts turn back to the weight on your chest. What would happen if you were to slip on your ring in this sacred grove? Would he be able to find you? Or would her magic keep him out, to stalk the edges of the forest as he used to when he came to you as a beast in the night?

For one brief moment you feel his fingers on yours, and your breath hitches, panic setting in as you begin to sweat.

The mirror.

You jump to your feet and race down to find Galadriel standing over Frodo, the hobbit breathing hard, his terror palpable.

"I pass the test. I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel."

You pull Frodo to his feet, dusting him off and picking a leaf from his curly hair.

"Go get some rest, you need it." You try to sound reassuring, but you're not sure you wholly convince anyone.

As he departs, throwing a nervous glance behind him, you turn back to the golden-haired Elf who regards you silently.

"Was that a good idea?"

"The mirror merely showed him what he needed to see."

"And you? What was that? I have not felt such darkness in an age, Galadriel, what happened?"

She gives you a knowing smile, crossing the space between you silently, and taking your hand.

"It was a test. One you must take too."

You shake your head, panic once again threatening to overwhelm you. But the mirror beckons and perhaps you'll be wrong.

You stand over the basin, water swirling with visions of fallen cities, the atrocities that you've witnessed, the things that your husband needs to pay for.

His face swims in the water, his various forms rippling through visions of crumbling stone and blood and bone.

Your heart wrenches. How can it not? The other half of your soul, within your grasp, responsible for so much pain. How can you still yearn for him?

You see the black tower, you see his shadow pace within its walls, seeking you, ever searching.

Fire and ash and blood fill your vision as the tower crumbles and you're so torn. Your justice feels so empty, your heart rent in two, when a golden light fills your eyes and you hear a song you haven't heard in many an age.

"Will you tell me what you saw?" Her soft voice breaks the silence as your mind whirs, close to shattering.

"You know what I see. It is the same every time."

Long golden hair, an adoring smirk, the face of the man you called husband. Call husband, for all your sins.

[suzukiblu]

Day thirty-one of “Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it” behind the cut. And we have now successfully done the month! 💗🎉 Think I wrote about . . . 25k this time, give or take? So pretty pleased with that, haha, I think that's pretty good! (( chrono || non-chrono ))

That’s about when he comes, but Tim told him not to stop even if he did, so he doesn’t; so he rides them just as hard even as everything goes all oversensitive and overwhelming and his body wants to shake apart right down to the bone and Bernard keeps kissing him and Tim presses a soft, gentle little kiss against the back of his neck and either he’s still coming or he just comes again, somehow, and it’s all he can do not to sob about it. 

Kon doesn’t know how long the other two last after that, because he absolutely forgets how time works for all of it. He doesn’t have a sense for it, a sense of it; everything’s just the too-much, too-intense, too-perfect pressure and heat and fullness and how their hands hold onto him and how their cocks fill him up and how they both kiss him, kiss his mouth and spine and throat and collarbone; everything’s just him trying to make his body work right, make his body keep working right–keep riding them the same, and keep kissing Bernard back, and keeping his TTK from doing too much, except that part he’s not so sure he manages, but it just feels so fucking good, but–

But Tim didn’t tell him to keep his TTK from doing too much. Tim just told him not to stop. 

So that’s the only thing Kon can actually be sure he’s gonna manage, one way or the other. 

He thinks Tim comes first, maybe–thinks he feels Tim come first, maybe–and Bernard comes a few seconds or minutes or hours later, and Tim’s gasping and panting against his neck in a way he doesn’t during the literal end of the world and Bernard’s groaning appreciatively into his mouth as they both fuck up into him through their orgasms, as he rocks down onto the both of them, as they both come inside him–inside him–and all he can do is clench up tight and cling to them and be tight for them and–and– 

“Pet,” Tim rasps against his pulse, the hot puff of breath that comes with the word enough to make Kon moan louder than either of them, and takes a hand off his thigh to wrap around his cock again. Kon didn’t notice himself getting hard again. Didn’t notice if he ever actually went soft to begin with. 

Either way, it’s still only a stroke or two before he’s coming again, and Tim’s saying something to him, and Kon’s brain’s not there to hear it but his body listens and rides out its orgasm and slows its rocking hips under Tim’s hands, or maybe Bernard’s, or maybe both of theirs, and stops riding them and then just feels them both inside it as deep as they can get like this and almost sobs about it again. Everything’s buzzing and electric and Kon’s whole head feels like a cloud, or a thundercloud, feels all sparks and electricity and lightning and barely there at all, feels like the perfect stereo-thunder of the complementing heartbeats in his ears, and everything left of him’s gone all soft and all lit-up and all perfectly empty and all perfectly perfect. 

And then Tim wraps a hand under his jaw and tugs him back just enough to kiss, tight and certain and gentle, and everything else in the world just stops existing. 

There’s nothing else in the world at all. 

Bernard says something, maybe, and Tim definitely says something too, but Kon doesn’t understand a word of any of it. He doesn’t think he can. He’s just this melted, empty, electric buzz, and nothing else. There are hands on his back, he thinks, and arms wrapped around him, and he forgets when it happened but he’s just sort of . . . slumped forward against . . . something, he thinks, or maybe someone, and everything feels like so much, and everything feels so good, and his vision’s all blurry and his body feels as warm and lit-up and full as the sun makes it feel, and . . . 

And there’s nothing else he has to do or be, so he doesn’t, and he isn’t. 

“Fuck, that’s cute,” he thinks he hears, eventually, and thinks he hears a soft, affectionate little laugh too. There’s a hand in his hair, stroking and combing through it, and arms around him still. His eyes are closed, maybe, and his body feels heavy and loose in the best, best way and his head feels like it could just float away and drift off into the sky. He doesn’t remember how to open his eyes or lift his head or anything like that; doesn’t really remember how to move at all. 

It’s fine, he knows from some distant, different place. Tim would tell him how, if he needed him to do it. Of course he would. 

Kon thinks he maybe wants to cry again, maybe? Like . . . just a little bit. 

Or maybe a lot. 

He doesn’t really get it, because he feels really good. He feels so good he thinks he wants to cry about that, maybe. Or maybe something else, but just . . . it feels like it’s about that. 

But it feels like it’s about something else too. 

The hand in his hair strokes again, and Kon stops trying to think. It doesn’t matter, whatever he was thinking about. He’s just–here, right now. He’s here, and he feels good, and he was good, and that’s all. If anything else matters, Tim will tell him. 

Like–of course he will.

[danyasblogsblog]

FIVE MONTHS SIMON RILEY

warnings : cheating, mentions of sex, lotsss of angst and yelling. implied reader is a female. toxic relationship

- simon riley is cheating on reader, over and over again, when they are just wishing for his love back.

ps. guyss if u like keegan p. russ smut read my last blog!! love u guys 💕

being simon riley’s girlfriend in the beginning was a dream come true- it was all you ever dreamed of. a strong man who matched your personality and made you feel whole. first 4 months was perfect, going out together, meeting his friends and getting close with them, the most amazing dates and sleepovers at eachother’s apartments. it was a dream come true.

but once 5 months hit, something changed in him. he was out late after work. he wasnt home after deployments on the day he was supposed to come back. he went out late on the weekends you longed to be in his arms. he was cold and distant. why?

you knew he had been cheating. gaz told you- he was rubbing up against some other girl at a party and kissing her- practically shoving his tongue down her throat. and his idiotic ass posted it on his private story. it was like he wasnt even considerate about your feelings, not even trying to hide it.

everyone told you to leave him. even simon’s closest friends told you too- you were loyal, kind and so caring. he use to be the same, but now hes cold, carless and seemed pissed everytime he saw you.

7 times. he cheated 7 times. every time he did, you could feel more of your heart cracking like porcelain. tears spilled from your eyes everytime you got a message from gaz, or soap or random girls you barely knew. ‘simon is cheating again’. you got used to be message, but the ache in your heart burned more every time it happened.

simon didnt know why he did it- you were perfect for him. you made him feel right in everyway, your personality, your appearance and your love for him was everything he ever wanted. he just had to be a jerk. someone awful towards you, even though you treated him with love.

the 8th time was different. you had been having a hard week- work was tough, and one of your friends was really ill. all you wanted every day of the week was the come home and sit in simon’s arms, but he was never there. you just got the notification ‘ill be home tomorrow’. you knew what he was doing, and he knew you knew.

this specific saturday, after months of dealing with the heartache of having your boyfriend cheat on you so often, you snapped. you came to simon’s apartment tired- your feet aching so badly. ‘simon?’ you called out, praying he would be home. you were greeted with silence- all the lights in the house off. you sighed, tears already prickling in your eyes. you checked your phone- notifications from your friends, apps, but not simon. maybe he got tied up at work? you opened your contacts and called him, listening to the phone ring.

you looked at the profile picture you had his contact saved as, your first date as boyfriend/girlfriend. an unforgettable experience. even though you two were just getting to know eachother as a couple, that day felt different. you cooked for him, and you opened up to eachother over a bowl of macaroni and cheese. he said he felt safe with you. his words from that day echoed in your head as the vibrations from your phone ringing him made your hand shake. what happened to your sweet boy?

the phone line connected, and you put it on speaker- not bothered to press it against your ear. ‘simon? hello?’

you could hear grunts in the background, your heart cracked. a female voice answered the phone. your heart shattered. ‘oh… you’re his girlfriend, right?’ the girl snickered. ‘simon, its your girlfriend!!’ you heard her talking to him down the line, making sarcastic jokes about how you were calling him when he was having fun with her. ‘give me the phone, come on.’ you heard him say, although his voice was slightly incoherent due to his distance from the phone.

you hung up the call. the world went black and white. the silence around you rung in your ears. your heart thumped against your chest, the hot tears rolling down your cheeks. you couldn’t do anything but cry.

cry because you thought it would change. cry because you thought he would change.

the phone rang, simon’s name lighting up the screen. your back slid down the wall, your hand over your chest. your breathing got thick, and your nose filled with snot. more tears poked out of your eyes, and your eardrums felt like they were going to explode. god- you were such a dumbass. sitting around, thinking he’d stop his shit.

your hands covered your face, trying to hide your tears from the world around you. you couldnt do this. not for a 9th time. a 10th time. 11th. 12th. it was the worst. you had never felt worse.

he was the worst.

you just wished simon was with you, letting you cry in his arms. you thought, if you loved him enough he would stop. he’s not stopped. you wanted to stop loving him- but you knew you couldnt. god, simon, please stop it. stopitstopitstopitstopit.

you heard the front door unlock, and you remembered you were still in simon’s house. he ran over to you, his eyes full of concern. you looked up at him, apologies running out his mouth. he kneeled down to you, trying to get you to talk to him. ‘please talk to me, y/n. please, please im so sorry lovie m so sorry’ simon’s usually gruff voice was filled with concern. ‘talk to me darlin’ please im sorry’.

your tears of sadness became tears of anger. you tried so hard. you tried to be the best for him. you tried so hard. but he didnt care. he went out, and cheated. he went out, fucking other girls for 5 minutes of pleasure while you were at home, cooking for him. caring for him.

you stared up into his dark eyes that were filled with sorrow and regret. you stood up, backing away from him. ‘where are you going? y/n? talk to me, please.’ he followed you around his apartment as you took your purse and coat, looking around for your wallet and keys aswell. ‘y/n, please. im sorry. im so sorry lovie give me another chance.’ you stopped. ‘give you another chance?’ you said, staring at him with disbelief.

‘i gave you so many chances. you knew i knew. everyone told me to leave you, everyone told me about what was happening. but i thought you would change. i thought you would go back to how you used to be. i miss you, simon and i love you so much but why. why- how could you do this to me..’

tears uncontrollably fell from your eyes, and your knees felt as if they were giving out. you walked away from him, frantically looking for your keys and wallet. you needed to get out of here. away from him. he grabbed your wrist and turned you around the look at him.

‘i can’t convince you that im not a dickhead, baby but please. please im sorry- i cant explain it but i just-’

‘why don’t you love me anymore?’ you yelled, your anger practically radiating off as heat. (in the most love quinn style way btw, youre my bff if you understand)

‘why did you cheat on me? why did you ruin us, simon? you treat me as if i dont have feelings.’ ‘it was just a bit of fun, please lovie. i cant loose you, darlin’

you saw your keys and wallet on an end table. simon went around, following you with his half-assed apologies. you snatched the necessities up, and the feeling of finding them was a true relief. you turned and glared at simon, stopping his babbling- something you werent even listening too anymore.

‘we’re over.’

[livefromthedas]

Surviving Purely Out Of Spite

(Also here on AAO3)

Chapter 1: Dishing Over Dishes

“All right, ready?”

Rook smiled and nodded, watching the fire light tired but kind brown eyes as Lucanis glanced her way.

“Go,” he said. The pair of them manned either side of the enormous cauldron of boiling water from the fireplace, both struggling to lift it at his command.

“There has got to be a better way to do this,” Rook teased, barely able to get the words out against the strain of such an incredibly awkward trek. Together, they looked a bit like a big, goofy crustacean, crab-walking their way from the dining room’s fireplace, back towards its little nook of a kitchen. The screaming hot pot between them kicked up steam the whole way.

“If you figure one out, let me know,” Lucanis mused. “Good - Up,” he directed, even though, in all truth, the pair of them had this nightly routine down to an art, and had for months.

It was no small feat, tipping that enormous iron cauldron into the kitchen’s wash basin, but they always managed, even after the longest days. Steam poured right back at them as water cascaded over eight people and a griffon’s worth of dirty dishes for the evening.

“I mean, you’d think a place that's able to stash things we haven’t owned in years in our quarters could at least flirt with the idea of making dishes easier.” First Rook had, to an unsettling degree of distress, found a perfect replica of the little griffon doll that she knew had gone up in flames with the same fire that had taken her parents when she was eight, sitting eerily upon the couch in her room. Within days, Lucanis had found a beloved childhood book about wyverns in his.

Dirty dishes, however? Apparently the Lighthouse thought those needed to be done the hard way.

“Ah,” Lucanis chuckled in that low purr of his, “I don’t mind this.” The glance he gave her made Rook’s heart flutter in her chest - That warm, heavily lidded flirt of his that always seemed to be reserved for late evenings and Rook’s company.

Rook flashed a lingering smile, reveling in the moment of sincere affection, before the feeling in her chest became more of an ache than a flutter.

It was still hard, weeks after having very nearly kissed the man in the pantry.

Rook still wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. One moment he had seemed so confident, so calm - As genuine as she’d yet seen him - With that same gorgeous smirk and mischievous gaze. He had leaned in for a kiss.

She had thought - had so genuinely hoped - that he had felt the same of her as she did of him. But the in the same breath, Rook had watched the weight of everything he was dealing with - from his imprisonment in the Ossuary, to the loss of Catarina, to the demon now squirming its way around his head - crash down on him so heavily she could swear he’d winced in pain. He’d apologized, and left.

It had been three days before they’d spoken again. Three days of awkward failures to meet each other’s gaze over dinner. Three days of Rook finding favor in dragging Bellara and Lace to help the Veil Jumpers in Arlathan instead of spending too much time at the Lighthouse.

Three days too many, they’d since come to agree - but just long enough, nonetheless, to make one thing very clear to Rook. Friendship with Lucanis Dellamorte was far better than nothing at all.

She loved him. She was fully aware of that now. He had so quickly become her best friend - The person easiest to talk to among their motley crew of adventurers. The person she trusted most. The one she felt safest with, against blood mages, against demons. Against gods.

And if the only way he was able to be loved was as a friend - That, she had decidedly resolutely, was how she would do it.

He stabilized her. Made her feel safe. Made her feel seen. And he seemed to relish their time together, always a little warmer in his smile, a little lighter in the weight of the world he had on his shoulders (Nevermind the demon in his head.)

And after startling the assassin with a hug after three agonizing days of silence, they had fallen quickly back into the habit of being inseparable.

As Lucanis dug into the dishes, elbow-deep in suds, Rook pulled a pair of hair ties from a pouch at her hip. The moment her own shock of long, curly hair was in a ponytail, she reached to run fingers softly through Lucanis’s endearingly overgrown shag, gathering it out of his way as well. It wasn’t lost on her that he went still as she did so, eyes fluttering closed, tension in his shoulders easing just a hair.

With as frigid as he could be about his personal space with most, Rook seemed to be the one person whose touch he deemed safe. Wherever they ventured, his presence was a close constant - a hand at the small of her back, the brush of her hand to his. She had been yanked out of the path of danger, off her feet and squarely into his arms, more times than she could count. Rook had joked that he seemed to be more aware of her surroundings than she was half the time (impressive, given Rooks years of keenly honed survival as a Veil Jumper) Always vigilant. Always close. Always the protector.

In recent weeks he’d gone from accepting that touch to actively seeking it out. It was getting harder and harder, she suspected, to forgo so much sleep. It was wearing on him, exhaustion clawing at the back of his eyes with nearly as much fervor as the demon that lurked there. Time with Rook, he had admitted, made what would have been agonizingly long nights far easier.

They’d since poured through books together. Stayed awake until all hours sharing stories of their very different lives; Lucanis with as many questions about her often solitary life as a Veil Jumper as she had about his very public existence as a Crow under the First Talon. And they always did so curled up on a couch or a chair, basking in the simple pleasure of feeling safe with their person.

Or, so Rook liked to think. He was certainly hers, at any rate. And that was good enough.

Lucanis nudged her shoulder with his own, and Rook was pulled from her bird’s nest of thoughts. She followed his nod, only to smile.

“More coffee?” Lucanis offered as Strife headed their way. He and Emmrich had been the only stragglers remaining in the hall so long after dinner. They’d been chatting over coffee, tea and pie for well over an hour. Now, the Professor lingered by the door as the elder Veil Jumper came to say his goodbyes.

“Nah, I was just about to head out,” Strife replied. Rook ducked out of the kitchen cove to give the old man a hug. They had been getting along a bit better lately - it was nice.

“Lucanis, thank you for the meal, it was fantastic. You,” he looked to Rook, holding the younger elf at arms length, only half-kidding as he barbed, “Try to stay out of trouble.”

“No promises,” Rook grinned. She looked so vexingly sly that the old elf shoved her teasingly back towards Lucanis.

“Watch that one, Dellamorte. She’s trouble.”

“Only the sort of trouble I like to get up to,” Lucanis mused so smoothly that Strife and Rook both took a second to realize what he’d said.

“Uh… huh,” Strife replied, one eyebrow raising. He looked between Rook and the assassin with a studious, critical eye.

Suddenly blushing and feeling a little too warm, Rook dove back into drying dishes… though, not without giving Lucanis a soft elbow to the ribs.

The Crow was barely stifling a smile. He was very clearly teasing.

“Right, well. Goodnight you two.”

Rook was a breath shy of chucking a sopping wet dishrag at Lucanis’s neatly pressed shirt when something snared her attention.

On their way out of the hall, heading out into the unnatural daylight of the Fade, Emmrich had placed a hand at the small of Strife’s back.

“Well, that’s new,” Lucanis deadpanned as the double doors closed behind them.

Rook, meanwhile, completely lost her shit, “What?!”

“You didn’t see that one coming?” He laughed, “Rook, they’ve been eyeballing each other for weeks. Why did you think Emmrich kept volunteering to go with us to Arlathan all last month? Because he’s interested in halla?”

“It’s Emmrich. He’s interested in everything, Lucanis. I just…” Rook pulled a face, “This is weird, right? This makes things weird.”

“Why, because he’s basically dating your dad?”

Lucanis caught a washrag with his face.

“Gaaah, yes, that,” Rook did the oddest little dance, as though trying to shake the weirdness from her bones, “And… more like grumpy uncle who’s been making sure I don’t die doing something—“

“Rookish?”

“Wow. I see how it is,” Rook joked flatly. Lucanis practically giggled like a schoolgirl.

The pair fell into a comfortable silence before long, interrupted only by the sound of dishes, crackles and pops from the fireplace, and Rook occasionally catching herself humming the tune in her head out loud. It was only once she caught Lucanis leaning on the counter behind her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention that Rook’s efforts to put away clean dishes were set aside.

“Hey,” she said quietly. He started, an almost imperceptible catch in his breath, and quickly righted his posture. Rook had a hand on his arm, “Go sit down. I’ll put on some coffee.”

Lucanis was rubbing weary eyes by the time Rook placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of him.

“Gracias.”

The more exhausted he got, the more often he stumbled out of speaking in Trade tongue, Rook knew.

With a cup of tea of her own, she manned the chair beside him, turned to face his way. She leaned back for a while, giving him time to get some caffeine in him, before nudging his shin with one foot, “I’ve barely slept in two days, and I know it’s been longer for you. How long?”

He grimaced and said nothing. He also failed to meet her eyes.

“Lucanis.”

“I don’t know, three days? Maybe?”

“Lucanis,” Rook groaned, “We talked about this. Because it was two days straight before that. And four before that. Nobody can keep this up - You have got to let yourself rest.”

“Not with Spite pushing back like he is. He’s… I don’t want to say worse. But the last 3 times you’ve caught him trying to waltz his way through the Vi’Revas? Also the last three times I’ve tried to sleep. In a row.”

“Maker’s nu— that’s all you’ve slept? In over a week? You—”

“Creador dame fierzas - Rook,” Lucanis bit. His tone came out harsher than he seemed to have intended. He winced, and sighed, “It’s a test of wills with him. He’ll get tired of it soon. He always does.”

Rook wasn’t even sure Lucanis was sold on the idea. He just sounded so, so tired.

“I know you don’t like my quarters.” Dislike was an understatement. Lucanis had inevitably had to fess up that the eerie, aquarium-walled room reminded him far too much of the Ossuary for comfort. They spent far more time in the dining hall as a result, “But I can stay here again if company would help. I could grab that book you’d—-“

“No,” Lucanis waved the idea off, “You said it yourself, you’ve barely slept in two days. And there’s no point in having both of us out of commission.”

“There’s no point in either of us being out of commission if we can help it,” Rook replied.

“I’ll be fine,” he pressed, irritation edging its way back into his tone, “I have a whole pot of coffee, fresh.” He gestured behind him before chasing off Rook’s frustrated glare with, “Which is actually pretty good, by the way.”

Rook sighed, “Well, that’s something.”

“Small victories,” Lucanis teased, “Look, as soon as Spite gets off of whatever tear he’s on, I promi—“ Lucanis had gone to stand, teetered, and reached for the table to brace himself.

“Lucanis?” Rook was quickly at his side, a hand on his back.

“Just… light headed,” he grumbled, a palm to his swimming forehead.

“Oh… my god. Lucanis.”

“I know. I know,” the Crow finally relented, “I will go lay down, all right? Mierda.”

Rook huffed a sigh, her forehead falling to his shoulder for a moment, before meeting his gaze again, “Thank you. And just… Feel free to let Spite know he’s on my shit list at the moment. You hear that, Spite?”

Lucanis grimaced against the flash of violet light in his eyes.

“Message received,” he groaned. Rook was surprised he seemed to be refusing to let Spite speak at all, “Now go to bed.”

Rook had nearly turned to do just that when Lucanis caught her hand. It was a spontaneous thing, his touch warm.

“Rook,” his tone had gone softer in a clear effort to calm down, “I’ll be fine. I’m fine.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Exhausted and frustrated and knowing there was little she could do to sway him, Rook stepped in to give him a hug. He tensed for all of a moment before a now-familiar melt, relaxing into the contact. Rook shivered as he sighed warmly into her hair. She gave him a last little squeeze before heading for the door.

“Good night.”

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

New Years | Gi-hun x Fem!Reader | S2

Summary: one year after the games you and Gi-hun battle to find the men who recruited both of you and also try to survive.

Warnings: Takes place right at the start of S2 - There is still another full year till they meet with Salesman - Paranoid Gi-hun + Reader - Depression - Survivor guilt - Soft!Gi-hun - Mentions of medication - Starving -

"Really how many will be coming today" You whispered, your eyes checking the cameras of the Love Hotel Gi-hun and You were using as a base and to live.

Currently another couple came to the door, looking for a room only to meet with a closed love hotel.

Your nerves were still high as you keep on checking the camera from the door and the rest, your gun close just in case.

You jumped when you felt a hand on your shoulder, turning around fast you met Gi-hun worried eyes.

"Hey its just me.." He said lowering your gun that was now pointing at him.

"Fuck, announce yourself next time, I could have shoot you" You said tone cold.

Gi-hun made a sound like he was giving you the reason and sat besides you on another chair seeing the cameras.

"How many?" He asked looking to fill up the silence

"Last hour? At least six" You responded "One would think they would be with their families or at least at home, like really, on New years ?" You said closing your eyes for a moment, missing the old simple worries you had in life.

One year ago, Gi-hun managed to track you down back in Seoul after you two won the games.

Maybe you two were in love but also too broken to go on and parted ways. You thought you would never saw him again.

Big was your suprise when he knocked at your door one afternoon and forced you to cut off no less than a tracker from behind your ear.

These fuckers were still in your life even when you had walked out victorious but with lots of scars.

To said you became paranoid after it was to be too simple. You destroyed all your devices and would not leave your aparment. If it wasn't for Gi-hun who took care of you during that time you would have died.

He would bring you food, clothes and even medication after you told him how you have ended needing them after all of what happened.

He never judged you. He was there for you. Even when you acted reclutant at first to help him, to you his idea was nuts, but you also understood him.

The nightmares that would wake any of you. Sometimes you screamed for him and sometimes he did it for you.

The two of you were a mess for a few months, but one thing was clear. You both needed each other.

And so you accepted, moved in with him to his new "home" where he showed you just how real he was about his plan.

Cameras, guns, and the peopel who he was in debt before now worked for him ? It felt like a fever dream, even he admited he would wake up somedays and find this new reality hard to accept or believe. He would ask himself if everything that had happen did truly happen.

"(Y/N)" His voice made you come back. You looked at him, he looked so tired, so done with life but there was also that spark, that need to understand why or how. Maybe it was the only thing that kept him going.

"Im here" You assured him, tough he was not convinced.

"Are you alright? I saw your meds, you are taking more this days..." He was worried not trying to judge you.

"Its just" You paused tears starting to form "I keep seeing them and each day that fucker manages to escape us. Its has been one year and we have no trace of him.

Gi-hun undertood your frustration, he was frustrated too. But he could not let them win and could not let you fall and get worse because he asked you to help him.

"Lets go, I managed to get us some takeout"

"But-"

"I dont think they will try anything today, these fuckers must be working for next years game" Gi-hun said taking your hand and softly guiding you to the couch, in front was a small table were the food was.

"Im not hungry" You told him sitting down besides him.

"You have been eating less and less, you need to eat, you must eat"

"Whats the point? Maybe this is what I deserve to starve myslef...after all"

"It was not your fault (Y/N)" Gi-hun said in a firm tone making you look at him. "All the deaths were never your fault, it was all the fault of them, you and I were victims"

"Then why, why do both of us get the luxury to live ? Why did they let two winners at the end ? Why did they put trackers on us  ?"

"Because they are sadistic fuckers who does not care for others and does not sees us as humans. But nothing good will come from you starving yourself.

I need you, and im sorry we got separated when we first got out, I should have never leave you, and im sorry for have asked you to help me again. I was, no Im still lost, I fear everyday one of them will find you or me and just kill us like nothing. I fear everyday that what im doing its for nothing but when I see your suffering I just get streght to go on and end them.

"Gi-hun...how can you be so strong?"

He smiled pulling your hair behind your ear then he got closer his forehead against yours.

"Im not. I never was, remember how I ran from my debts? How I ran from you? I was never strong or brave but you make me less bad, less well useless"

"You were never useless you were lost and then we both were broken...I should have insisted more on you staying by my side"

"Im here now, and nothing will change that" He assured you taking your head between his hands. His eyes soft, full of love and devotion.

"I wont ever run away from you again (Y/N) I can guarnated you that, you are all I have left, the only person who can understand whats going on inside my head. Im in love with you, I was for such a long time, but I always ran because I was scared. But I cant be scared all my life, not when I was so close to lose you.

You started to cry as he softly clean your tears, it was too much. You felt happy but you also felt like you did not deserve any of it.

And Gi-hun must have read your mind because he continued

"You deserve to feel loved and good (Y/N), nothing I repeat, nothing was your fault or will ever be your fault. Do you understand me?"

You nodded slowly then moved to hug him.

"Never leave me again, please never again"

Gi-hun's heart ache by how fragile and vulnerable you were being right now. All these days of acting strong for him...

"Dont cry, we will get over it, I promise you"

Silence filled the room again till the sound of fireworks and cheers started.

That happiness seemed too far away for both of you.

"Gi-hun..."

"Mhm" He said not having stop the hug

"Happy New Year" You finally said with a hint of humor in your voice, one that you had not show in a long time.

Gi-hun could not help but chuckle a it

"Happy New year to you (Y/N).."

"And Gi-hun...I love you too"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

FINAL NOTES: This was kind of a New Years special. Love ya all.

[heatwa-ves]

I don't even ship this but I can tell you guys are doing it wrong

[hecksupremechips]

Honestly though I think it’s really a bad sign when I look at Shin Tsukimi and literally feel like he’s a self insert 😩

[phagodyke]

I will say while I've loved most of elden ring I'm really glad I'm down to just 2 more main boss fights (malenia + maliketh) before I start the endgame boss fights... whew 😮‍💨

[infizero]

you guys dont understand how much splatoon means to me. you will never understand

[unproduciblesmackdown]

speaking of, was remembering like i think i heard parts of defying gravity in the wild ever but i know popular & uhh. loathing from someone's showtunes playlist & then it's like oh yeah i know Of that one finale duet b/c i knew you i have been changed for good b/c they & a third party who were besties would be like okay if either of us die the other one will sing just one of those parts at their funeral & i'm like when you guys have hourlong conversations in here with me 7 ft away not included i sometimes have a contribution & say it during a long organic pause & nobody responds b/c you filtered me out....in parallel / affinity with being queer (& also not knowing that at the time, half a lifetime so far ago) where it's like okay i don't even want to get in on what you've got going on right now or be involved with that ever but it makes it quite Apparent i'm on a different & lower tier here

[mossterunderthebed]

Y'know what honestly frustrates me about the JJK fandom?

When people make stuff that's like JJK 0 Gojo and Getou talking or whatever, and it's like Getou being totally deadpan about all the horrible things he's doing/going to do/believes in *insert various types of wholesale murder here* and Gojo just laughs along, treating it like it's a joke and Getou's so cute and funny.

Like, no.

Gojo did NOT indulge Getou's philosophy. That was The Whole Point.

What do you think the whole encounter on the street in front of a random KFC was about? That's why there was such a deep divide between them. That's why Gojo was furious and disbelieving. That's why they didn't see or talk to each other for TEN YEARS even thought they were best friends.

Because Getou killed people, chose to kill people, and chose to keep killing people. Because he dehumanized an entire, MASSIVE group of people who were good, bad, kind, cruel, and everything in between, men, women, children, everyone, simply because of something they couldn't help and didn't even know about. Because he took advantage of those that Gojo had decided and felt duty-bound- even though he didn't like it much- to protect.

(And all that came BEFORE Geotu ever stepped into the picture. Yeah, Gojo whines about having to protect the weak and admittedly thinks it's a drag, but he still does it. He was raised with the ideal that he should do it.

That wasn't a Getou thing. Getou believing in that as a teenager did change the way Gojo saw it, but it wasn't New. He already was raised that way, believed that way, and intended to live that way, or why go to Jujutsu High at all? Even if he found it annoying, he was still always going to become a sorcerer, not only because it was kind of his only option- which is it's own kind of horrible- but because he was a sorcerer, down to his bones.

He had that madness in him, and maybe it was nurtured, but that doesn't change the fact that it was there. He wanted to be a sorcerer, loved fighting and killing curses, whether it had anything to do with helping others or not.)

I know it's just fanart and fandom, and look, I myself really like art of Gojo and Getou in their good days. They were kids and they were happy. While I don't ship them, they were best friends, and their own kind of soulmates, I've never not believed that, it's too forking obvious. Gege practically shoves it down our throats and literally designed them to balance each other and be Messed Up Forever when they split. Every official art we see of the two of them practically has them as each other's reflections. I know, okay? I can't not know.

I just get really frustrated when Gojo's disregarded like that. He is his own person with his own beliefs who's made his own choices. They both are. And maybe it's dumb to get up in arms about a story that's not even real, but Gojo's a really imperfect person who struggles and suffers, and at the end of the day? He tries his best.

Even with all the power in the world, he's still only human. He can still only do so much. He's expected to be more than he is a lot of the time, and still he really tries. He wants to make the world better. He wants to make life better for the next generation. He has, in a way, given up on himself, but he's still going, because he knows his place in the world is still one that needs filling.

That's a narrative that means a lot to me. It's disheartening when it's misinterpreted because of the fun, silly, giggly side of his personality, or the reckless, careless, cocky side, both of which are wonderfully, excruciatingly human.

That's all.

[pears-trinkets]

.

[dxsertrot]

Actually everything has been too complicated and now that the sun is out I've decided that everything is actually easier than I thought and nothing has to hurt me unless I let it