#to be clear I’m not saying what makes the old games good is all the dirty jokes.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sum of All 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The woman doesn’t say a word as she gets in the car. You don’t either. The tension in the car is like the sound of glass about to break. Each breath is another crack. 

The fourth passenger in the car is your confusion. You’re not quite sure why you’re still there. The job is done, right? And this is business. Not your business. You don’t ask. Questions are a bad idea with these kind of people. 

Rogers drives out of town. The old warehouse is ominous and you’re happy you’re not the one he tells to get out. The woman doesn’t hesitate even as you can sense her uncertainty. You only get a brief glimpse of her as she goes as the car pulls away swiftly. 

He retraces the same route. He clears his throat as he passes the city marker. “We needa talk,” he says. 

“We do?” You eke out. 

He sighs and adjusts his grip on the steering wheel, “look, I’m taking you home. You did your job.” 

“Oh, okay,” you fold your hands in your lap. 

“So, let’s discuss the elephant in the room. Discretion,” he intones. 

You thoughtfully mull the world. As far as you’re concerned, the moment you’re out of the car, it’s all behind you. Just a weird fever dream you can forget about. 

“Not that anyone should ask but if they do, you know nothing.” 

He stares at you intently. His blue eyes are bright despite the shadows, as his beard and hair swallow up the dark. He really is a frightening man. You’re fortunate to be walking away. You know that at least. 

“Sure,” you agree. 

“Open the glove box. Your take is in there,” he says. 

You lean forward and do as he says. You take out the envelope. It’s stuffed with bills. That won’t be suspicious at all. You’ll deposit it a little at a time. Wait, should you accept this? It’s blood money, isn’t it? 

“All yours. I’m sure you can figure out something to do with it,” he says. 

You recognize the streets around you. Your neighbourhood isn’t the nicest but it’s home. For now. You watch through the window as you ponder your deal with the devil. You won’t argue with him but you could always give the money to a good cause. 

He pulls up to your building and you tuck the envelope in your purse. That’s it. It’s over. It’ll just be a funny story to tell in twenty years when the heat’s off of you. People won’t believe someone like you had a brush with danger. You can hardly believe it yourself. 

“I’ll stay here til you’re inside. Make sure you don’t have anyone tryna snatch your purse,” he says. 

You look at him, “what are you walking about?” 

He squints and his lashes flick. He shakes his head, “what?” 

“Who are you?” You ask. 

His lips part and he pauses before he speaks, “you hit your head?” 

“Discretion,” you say. “Remember? I don’t.” You tap your head and pull the door handle, “have a good night. Or, er, life.” 

You shut the door gently and turn away. You let out a breath and march staunchly up to the front door. You sense him watching you but you’re not bothered. It’s over. You’re free. 

You go inside, certain to pull the grate door closed heavily before you continue up to your unit. As you get inside, you let your shoulders drop and hang your head back. No more scary men and hopefully, no more fainting. 

You take out your phone and find it just as lifeless as ever. You have a few notices to keep up your game streak but nothing important. Just an email. 

Wait. Before you can swipe it away, your brain catches the name. You applied to the firm months ago. Please, don’t be another rejection. 

You open it, one hand on your phone, the other stirring around for the envelope in your bag. You carry both through the front room of your apartment and into the bedroom. You tap the email to open and put the phone down to look for a hiding spot. 

You tuck the money under your mattress and reclaim your cell. You sit on the bed and read. It’s an offer for an interview. Great timing too. The sooner you can get out of this city, the better. You’ve seen its dark underbelly. No thank you. 

You reply, drafting your acceptance several times before sending. Content, you stretch out the last of the tension. You feel bad for all those people; the man that Rogers beat in the middle of the road, Warren, and whoever that woman was in the backseat. Still, all you have is your empathy. You can’t do much for any of them. 

The night passes so dully that you can almost believe you dreamt the last three days. In the morning, you’re back to the usual, though it doesn’t feel quite so. You get dressed, pack your lunch, and set off for the firm. 

You greet Geraldine as she unlocks the front door of the office. She’s happy to see you. You’re less than happy to see your desk. There’s a dozen post-its stuck to your keyboard. Each with a name and file number. That’s everything you have to catch up on, all scribbled in Brenner’s tight lettering. 

You sit and stack them up neatly. Brenner shows up an hour later. He’s hung over. You can tell by how he keeps his sunglasses on and goes through coffee like a siphon. 

Neither of them acknowledge your absence. They don’t ask and you don’t mention it. If all things go to plan, soon enough, your desk will be filled by someone else. 

You get through a couple post-its before lunch then check your phone. You have a time and date for the interview. Things are moving along. You’re already fantasizing about giving your two-week notice. 

You’re going to be out of here, onto greater things. Just like you set out for. Well, it’s just an interview. You need to be practical about this. One step at a time. For now, you need to shovel through the pile of shit before you. Fresh air is just around the corner. 

[myhyperfixationisback]

Sony please release your cruel and un-creative grip on my autism creature game series. I beg of you. Let them at least start naming the series innuendos again… PLEASE. I’m sorry the Future series ever even got released at this point PLEASE go back to the old ways I beg you‼️

[faesdreaming]

Yandere Fae - Temptation

he just wants to know your name, that’s all. he promises.

tw: yandere themes, possessive behaviour, reader is lowkey okay with it, implied murder, unhealthy relationships, stockholm syndrome (?)

“Come now, darling,” he croons, so very sweetly, “it’s just a name. I promise I won’t tell.”

He leans his cheek against your arm, gazing up pleadingly. You sigh as you feel your resolve waver. He— the fae— Lucian, he says his name is but you don’t know if he’s telling the truth.

Fae can’t lie, you’d been told as a child. The people of your town nary spoke of the faekind, save in warning tales. They’d told of weaknesses, of iron and salt. Lies. Falsehoods born from ignorance. Fae could lie, could weave truths of honeyed poison sweeter than any ambrosia. One thing you did know was not to tell one your name. Your grandmother had told you. She was the same woman who warned you of the dangers, who thwarted the ignorant claims of the fellow villagers

“Please.” Lucian all but whines. You can’t help but giggle in amusement. For such a powerful creature, he’s acting as though he were a puppy. “It’s just a name.”

But it’s not just a name. Name’s are powerful. They hold history, stories, one’s very being. So, you’ll refuse him once more. “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Lucian tilts his head. The slightest hint of venom tinges his tone. His slit pupils are dilated double their size, like a predator catching sight of its prey. “Tell me your name.”

Lucian’s been persistent in his efforts. Ever since you moved into a cottage deep within the forest. Unable to bear the repetitive, noisy life of your village, you left. He’s been following you ever since you moved in. He’s bound, tethered to the place. To the land. Through magical means you don’t understand. Lucian adores pestering you with questions, and inane conversation, that you’ve grown to enjoy. But above all else, he seems determined to get your name. Not that you plan to give it to him.

He makes a frustrated noise, a pout forming on his lips. “You’re so stubborn.” Lucian complains. “Just tell me. I won’t tell anyone else, I swear.”

Liar, you think fondly, It’s cute, really, the effort he puts in.

Biting your lip, you briefly contemplate your sanity. Should others find themselves in this situation they wouldn’t be as calm. They’d panic. You should panic. You should probably run for the hills. For it’s not his status as a fae that forebodes danger. He’s— Lucian is complex.

The good-natured mask he wears is just that. A mask. One he wears for you. Your relationship with Lucian is multilayered. Surface level, it is a give and take. What he gives and what you take remains unclear. Surface level, you’re companions. But that implies trust. You don’t trust him. You’re smart enough not too.

“I’m heading out to town.” You tell him. “To the market.”

Lucian huffs. He storms off like a petulant child, intelligibly whining and a pout on his face. You roll your eyes. Gathering a basket and pulling on a cloak, you step out of the cottage. The way to town isn’t marked by a path. You memorize trees and large stones. Landmarks. You trek through the woodlands, thoughts of Lucian occupying your mind.

You hold a certain fondness for him. For the little game you two indulge in. It’s an odd affection, a tired, old one. He makes you cook for him, bemoaning your atrocious mortal cuisine as he eats all of it. He follows you around the cottage with seemingly no concept of personal space. He lingers around you, as if he were a ghost and you his haunt. He entertains you. With tall-tales spun from silk. He offers you gifts in the form of odd trinkets, flowers, nuts, sometimes gems.

Lucian perplexes you. Because despite the casualness of your relationship, you’d be a fool to not be aware of the power imbalance in between the two of you. There’s something dark, dangerous. An ancient, primal magic tethering him to the cottage. To you.

You shake off your wonderings as you reach a clearing. Down, to the left is a quaint little town. It’s sparsely populated, everyone knows everyone, at least everyone who inhabits the area. Locals are wary of travellers, yet they are not so foolish to deny potential patrons business. Their market, tavern, and inn are what’s to be expected of a place such as this. It’s sufficient for your needs, though. Far be it for you to complain.

You stop by the market, examining items being sold by the vendors. As you take an apple in hand, trying to determine whether the produce is worth it’s price, a hand reaches by you. Curiously, you sneak a glance to the person it belongs to.

You’re met with the appearance of a rugged, rogue. Weary from his travels, if you’d have to guess. He gives you half-grin half-smirk that makes your insides flutter. Normally, you’d offer him a flirtatious smile. Perhaps he’d ask to take you out for the night, to the tavern. You’d drink sweet mead and suggest stopping at an inn for the night. Spend it together. Alas, the sanctity of your normal ended upon your meeting with Lucian.

“‘Scuse me, love,” he says, voice a rough timbre. It’s so different than Lucian’s smooth, honeyed lilt. You like it. “You ain’t from ‘round here, eh?”

You nimbly step aside, appreciating the view. You should leave, you know the consequences if you stay. “No.” You tell him. “I live a little ways away.”

He smiles at that. A small little grin that’s almost a smirk. What a dangerous thing, he is. He starts chatting you up. You know what he wants from you and you’re quite certain he knows what he wants from you. You should be beyond such inhibitions— but it’s been so very long since you’d indulged in a bit of fun. So you let him take you back to his inn, slip something in his beer so when he’s done and your sated, he’ll slip right off. The moment he does, you slink away, trekking through the woods back home. Most people wouldn’t, scared of the dangers lurking. But the forest knows that the true danger resides within your home, guaranteeing your safety.

The moment you make it back, Lucian appears, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Entertaining night?”

His tone is frigid and cold, almost the same as his usual indifference. But you know him better than that. “Very.” You hum. “And yet, I’m here with you.”

“Yet you’re here with me.” He parrots. The shift in his demeanour is almost imperceptible, a change so subtle it appears meaningless. You watch as he slinks away, the satisfaction of his tone lingering throughout your mind. The affirmation, to both him and you, that you were here. That you came crawling back to him. That the pull, the tether he held on your being remained tight as ever.

That you were—

Not his. You were still your own being. You let out a shaky sigh and head up to bed. You’ve had too much to drink, you tell yourself. The next morn, when you awaken, groggily blinking, something immediately feels off. After living like this— after living with him— for so long, you’ve come to understand to trust your intuition while ignoring the warning bells ringing in your head.

You head down the stairs. Your body is heavy from your hang over. It dulls your senses. You know you need to be on guard, lest Lucian have his way. Speak of the devil, you muse, as he leans on the kitchen island smugly. “Rough night?”

“Don’t.” You warn, grabbing a pot and filling it with water to boil. Lician laughs. His laughter sharp and smooth. “Forgive me, lovely.” He croons. “I do not intend to rouse that temper of yours.”

You eye him suspiciously. Of course, you’re always suspicious in regards to him, but this behaviour is odd. Odder than usual. He usually demands you cook for him, asks for your name, then huffs when you rebuff him. It’s routine and Lucian isn’t one for breaking routine. You rake over his handsome, pointed features. He sports an usual grin. Self-satisfied and almost victorious. Then, you spot a crimson splatter along the underside of his throat.

“Is there something wrong, lovely?” He inquires, tilting his head almost as if to show you the blood stained on his neck.

Don’t give in. Don’t pay attention to it. You learned early on giving in only worsens his behaviour. “No.” You answer firmly. You avoid his question, evasive and ignorant. Your ignorance serves as a shield. “I ought to make something, barely ate yesterday.”

Lucian’s eyes flicker with both annoyance and pleasure. “Make me some too.” He orders, before sauntering off.

It sends a shiver down your spine, your compliance. Barely able to deny him, yet unable to give into him. It irks him. It also pleases him. It’s a game between the two of you. One neither of you can quit. You tow the line each time, out of selfishness. The desire to be free. To be as it was. It ends in his possessive fits, with blood shed, staining your hands crimson. Yet you continue. His attention is intoxicating. As addicting as mead. It drives you mad, tantalizes you, taunts you. But you don’t give in fully. Can’t. At least, not yet.

“Come now, lovely. I know you wish to fall into temptation with me.”

[yuellii]

PLEASE ( DON’T ) BE MY WINGWOMAN !

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 his female best friend tries to help him win your love, but knowing her, it all goes wrong

feat. lyney, neuvillette, ayato ( separate )

note. gn reader, features : lynette, furina, ayaka. hello i am officially back and also officially 21 !! :]

LYNEY.

“Oh, woe is me! Please assist, my dearest sister!” The magician sat sprawled atop the couch quite dramatically, backhand over his forehead feigning feverish feelings. “Whatever shall I do when the God of Romance is plotting against a hopeless romantic, such as I?”

“What’s wrong this time?” By contrast, his sister’s voice proved no fluctuations, tone lacking the honeyed sound he needed for sympathy. Instead of catering to his sorrows, she instead sipped lightly at her tea, for it was far more relaxing than her brother’s ‘woes.’

Still, Lyney sighed. “The love of my life—my soulmate!” he cried out. “How should I win the affections of my other half, when I can’t even grasp the scale of romantic favor?”

“Desserts.”

Lyney sat up. “I beg your pardon?”

“Give desserts,” Lynette shrugged. “Everyone likes desserts.” This reasoning totally made the most sense to her.

She watched as Lyney started at her blankly for just a moment, and then he inhaled sharply. “So I should… use desserts as my gift…” With each passing word, Lynette watched as a staggering excitement in his voice grew tenfold. “And then, if I keep giving their favorite treats”—Lyney gasped—“they’ll start to associate the sweetness with me! Oh, Lynette, you’re a genius!”

Lynette blinked at him. That strategy explanation was not what she said at all, but whatever. Not her problem.

But when Lyney dragged her by the hand to go purchase desserts, and then forced her to sit down at the cafe just to watch him gift treats to you, then maybe it was her problem.

“A very special dessert!” he presented, and Lynette sat with disinterest as she watched your eyes light up at his cheap old appearance trick. “For a very special person.” And now came her own eye roll—caused by the way Lyney giggled to himself at the end of his own sentence.

Maybe it was charming ( but personally Lynette didn’t see the appeal ), because there was a sparkle that appeared in your eyes in admiration of him. And suddenly, Lynette didn’t understand why he was trying to win your love at all, because it’s clear to her that he’s already won it.

“This is for me?” she heard you say. “This is actually my favorite! Oh, Lyney, you shouldn’t have!”

“Don’t even worry,” she watched Lyney wave off. “It was given to me for free at the shop”—Huh?—“and I have no space for it”—What was he…?—“so I thought you might like it!”

Lynette blinked to herself. Then she blinked to herself again. And then one more time, and now Lyney was back to her spot with you no longer in sight. “How did I do?” Lyney excitedly questioned her. “A good start, right? Step one of your idea to get my crush to become obsessed with me is complete!”

Okay first of all, that was literally not her idea, but maybe she should’ve communicated it better. And second, “Why did you lie? That dessert wasn’t free—You specifically bought it to give to them.”

Lyney immediately raised a finger with that confident smirk of his. “Because, my dear sister,” he began, “it’s called playing hard to get.”

If she could sigh, she would. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am! And I’m taking this game very seriously, too. Do you know how hard it is to keep my cool when I’m around the love of my life?!”

“Playing hard to get just makes it harder to get someone, Lyney. They might lose interest and move on.” But still, Lyney insisted. And still, Lynette just silently rolled her eyes.

The next time this happened was literally only a day later. So much for playing “hard to get,” she supposes. Perhaps Lyney didn’t quite fully understand the scope of how suspicious it was to offer you another “free dessert” only a day later. Or, he was just so lovestruck he absolutely could not wait to talk to you again.

Lynette decided the answer to be the latter option.

And once again, he claimed not to buy this dessert on his own, and Lynette did not miss the obvious eyebrow raise you gave her brother this time. You were still grateful since it was your favorite, of course, but it was rather clear you were beginning to question this. Lynette sighed to herself.

“Lynette!” Lyney called excitedly once he left you. “Oh, dear sister, did you see it this time? She stayed with me a bit longer—grabbing the plate much more slowly. She must have been at the start of falling in love with—!” Lyney stopped when he saw the empty seat. “Uh, Lynette?”

Farther away, you suddenly yelped in surprise, almost dropping the plated dessert in your hands.

“Sorry,” Lynette mumbled. Oops, she didn’t mean to scare you. But… maybe appearing in your field of sighs so suddenly once you turned a corner and coming from a darkened alleyway was not the most subtle.

“It’s alright,” you brushed of. “Oh, you must be Lynette, right? Lyney’s sister!”

“Correct.” Ah, how would she bring this up? She was never really the best with words… And definitely not when she had to use a lot of them. “Um, my brother,” she started. “Don’t mind him being weird.”

At the mention of her brother being weird ( perhaps she should defend him, but whatever, he was being weird. ), you seemed to relax. “Yeah…” you trailed off. “He’s been giving me these desserts lately—didn’t seem too coincidental that he keeps getting them for ‘free’… Especially since they’re, um, not even having a promotion right now.”

Again, if Lynette could wack her brother on the head right now, she would.

“He likes you.”

The sudden shock on your face tells Lynette that maybe she shouldn’t have said that so bluntly. Or that she shouldn’t have said that. At all.

“You’re a very dear friend to him,” she correct. Oh, wait, but she didn’t want to completely shut off the idea of romance. Correct it again, quick. “Or, very dear person… Yeah.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, probably trying to process the amount of confessions and corrections she just shot at you. Archons, you probably thought her and her brother were so weird. Unfortunately, she couldn’t blame you.

“Thanks, Lynette,” you said, and she noticed your feet shift to walk away. “Actually, I think I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

Well, Lyney certainly hoped you would. She just silently watched as you walked off. But she wasn’t worried, no. As long as you spoke of this “next time,” Lynette was sure her brother would eventually succeed with you, even if he was being weird at this game.

NEUVILLETTE.

The thing that gets Furina the most excited—absolutely elated, much shown in the way she kicks her feet and patters her fingers—is the fact that her dear Iudex has no idea he’s so in love with you.

To not only her, but also the rest of Fontaine, word is quick to spread with the simple way his feet always end up turned in your direction, or how lips curve a slight upwards motion when he speaks to you. Or, the way his feelings of admiration brings out the colors in his eyes, and the shyer tone in which he laughs along with you.

And Furina, being the bestest of friends she certainly is, only wants what’s best for the Chief Justice, truly! It’s such a downer seeing him be a quiet, unsociable, hard-to-get-along-with loner all the time. And so, the moment she catches wind of his feelings, she is more than quick to come up with a way to loop the two of you together.

She pats herself in the back. She’s confident that he’ll totally thank her for all her efforts later.

This confidence still yet remains even when she has you standing up nervously on trial, wide eyes a bit scared to be accused of a crime by the Hydro Archon herself. And Neuvillette atop his seat looks exasperated, much so in a way the audience is always eyeing him with fluttering eyes and chattering whispers—because the Iudex is looking at you with such a public display of concern that he has never been known to show another on trial.

Oh, she could already see the Steambird’s morning headlines! Chief Justice Neuvillette casts eyefuls of worry towards the accused?! Or, The Iudex’s rumored lover: Accused by Lady Furina?! —Oh, oh! She was so excited!

Amidst her internal giggles was when Neuvillette’s cane came hammered down on the wooden floor of his balcony seat, silencing every voice in the Opera Epiclese. “Furina,” his voice scatters as firm as ever, though the Archon could some people gasp to themselves—Ah, she could always trust her people to spot even the slightest difference in his voice; He was clearly angrier today! “I believe you have some explaining to do.”

“Is it not obvious, my dear Iudex?” she loudly proclaimed as if acting in a performance. Her voice was playful and teasing as always, and she could tell Neuvillette was much more annoyed by it than usual today. “I am pressing charges against a darling citizen, yet a criminal over here…!”

And that was when she threw the back of her hand over her forehead for dramatic effect, making you only more nervous upon your stand. Such an increase in your fear was clearly noticeable to the Iudex, of course, as he immediately spoke to silence the Archon accusing you.

“And what would those charges entail, Furina?”

There was a sudden glare in his eyes, almost threatening. But oh well, nothing he could do—She knew he would stick by the law and allow her to make her claim anyways. This was so easy, she could almost laugh to herself!

“For…”

Oh, celebration was already at the back of her mind!

“Murder!”

…Holy shit. Oh Archons. She was supposed to say theft. “Theft,” for stealing Neuvillette’s heart. But instead she slipped up and said murder.

Oh, she can’t take that back now. But… But no worries! She was the beloved Archon that had absolutely no issues performing for her people—ergo, she could totally come up with a new plan! Certainly, a single-word slip-up will surely not mess up her entire pickup line here.

“Yes, you heard me,” she played along, hands balling to fists and dramatically sitting at her hips. “Murder!”

“Furina!” Neuvillette silenced from his place below on the podium. Never before has she seen his facial expression this angered. There was a furrow between his brows that betrayed his usually calm and emotionless look—and aw, she thought it was so romantic for him to show these emotions so outwardly just for you! The audience must love his display of passion right now—all to defend your honor! “What is the meaning of this?” his voice boomed.

Furina cleared her throat. “Murder…” she began to make her case against you. You, who looked up at her so fearfully. She almost felt bad. “For… For breathing…!” Wait, that’s not what she meant. “No, no, like murder… of breath— of my breath— no, of Neuvillette’s breath, I mean—” Okay, at this point, she just needed to spit something out. And that was when she raised a finger, pointing it accusingly down at you and making her claim: “You killed Neuvillette!”

The next instance was filled with a silence so deafeningly powerful that she felt her own stomach churn and her knees grow shaky. Well, this was definitely an embarrassment she hopes to never feel again.

Surely, this silence wasn’t awkward enough for her land the finishing blow…?

“Like, you stole his breath away…” she tried. “So you technically killed him.”

Okay maybe it was time for her to shut up.

Neuvillette’s face; oh, he looked absolutely furious. This was not the picture-perfect sight of cherry tomato blushing she was hoping for here. And you: a horror-stricken disbelief. Your mind looked like it was racing to comprehend both being charged with such a serious crime, and having the Chief Justice just randomly outed in public for… having a crush on you…?

Meanwhile Furina stood still in her usual place, just about ready to curl up and die from her failed attempt at a love confession. But before that, perhaps Celestia heard her prayers.

The audience pretty much erupted in girlish screams and whispers—all those watchful citizens of Fontaine who treated your relationship with Neuvillette like the hottest topic of the century, like the storybook romance they were reading obsessively. And now, Furina watched—watched as your expression contorted to slow realization that maybe your Archon wasn’t exactly lying about Neuvillette’s feelings, and that maybe almost the entire nation was already romanticizing you two.

And then, there: that was when Furina watched as your face blew up an expression of pure embarrassment, all the fear being completely wiped away. Then Furina could almost die when she turned her gaze to Neuvillette—who was still watching you very intently—and how the ends of his ears turned a blushing red.

Oh, this view was priceless. Once again, perfect Focalors saves the day!

KAMISATO AYATO.

Thoma clicked his tongue. “Tall and awkward.” He squinted his eyes. “Practically unrecognizable in Inazuma despite your status.” Then, he tilted his head. “Absolutely terrible at small talk.”

Finally, Thoma nodded his head. “Yep, you don’t have a chance, my Lord.”

Thoma yelped as a paper fan hit his shoulder, and that was when Ayaka slid at the seat next to him. He made a quick apology to her, but when Ayaka looked across the table, she saw how her older brother didn’t seem quite phased at Thoma’s mean evaluation at all.

Instead, he seemed to be really considering what was told to him.

“Oh, brother,” Ayaka caught his attention. “Don’t listen to Thoma, he was only being mean. Personally, I think you have a good chance at winning this date!”

“No, no, Thoma might be right,” Ayato pondered. Aw, Ayaka didnt like it when he doubted himself. “All of those traits may make this date go horribly wrong—I might end up appearing as undesirable…”

Ayaka frowned. She may not have a love life of her own, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t watching her brother’s love life like an Inazuman drama act or like a romantic storybook. And the fact that Ayato has downright fallen tremendously hard for you—who Ayaka also loved dearly, and who she admired so much—makes her pray to the Archons every night for your relationship to set sail.

So Ayato scoring this first date with you was already a big deal on its own. Only… He wasn’t quite sure what date plan would make him the most appealing man to be courting you.

Of course, who else could he turn to, other than his darling best friend and sister? Ayaka certainly had no expertise in this, but if there was one thing…

“Brother, please take this!” Across the table, she shoved a stack of just a few papers, slightly faded and lightly wrinkled, into his hands. He blinked in surprise at them for a moment before squinting at the rushed handwriting that clearly did not belong to his sister. “The Traveler gave this to me; It’s a recipe for a pizza dish from Mondstadt!

And that was how she ended up here, watching with Thoma from the sidelines of the estate as Ayato gives you the friendliest smile can force upon himself as he offers to make the both of you food. Now, the last time Ayaka tried this, she blew up the oven with the Traveler in earshot. But surely, she knew her brother had much better survival skills than she did, and there was no way he would ruin a perfectly easy pizza recipe.

But then Thoma almost burst out laughing from their secluded hiding spot, and that was when she noticed her brother bringing out not one, but instead two platters of pizza. A rather odd aroma in the air. Oh.

“I thought we’d spice things up!” they heard Ayato say to you, clasping his gloved hands together and regaining his weird, excited smile and that equally weird, excited tone in his voice. Oh brother… “One pizza is normal, and the other pizza has random toppings I threw on it—as a taste test!”

And when he set the two down, it was… quite interesting. One was a normal mushroom pizza, cooked based on Traveler’s recipe: Ayato certainly made it much better than Ayaka could’ve attempted. But the second pizza was topped with a rather colorful palette: lavender melons, sea grass, and what looked like Sea Ganoderma. Ayaka and Thoma already found themselves gagging at the smell.

When Ayaka glanced at her blonde companion, he was furiously shaking his head at her, running a thumb straight across his throat as if saying “It’s over for him.” And honestly, Ayaka might have to agree this time. Maybe she should’ve never given him that pizza recipe or that cooking idea.

“A ‘taste test’…” you echoed. The two eavesdroppers heard shifts from your side do the table, meaning you reached forward to grab a slice—they quite obviously guessed you picked the regular mushroom pizza. “The host should go first, don’t you think?”

Oh? Did that mean you were interested in this game of two after all? Ayaka’s eyes practically lit up—She was so excited for her brother!

“I’ll take up that offer of yours,” Ayato chuckled lowly. And with no gag or hesitance at all, he takes a large bite with a whole unsavory mixture of the ingredients entering the cave of his mouth. “Mm, not bad at all.”

You were visibly surprised by his calmness, now reaching out to grab a slice of your own and biting it just as he did.

But almost immediately, that bite was spat right back out onto a napkin at the mere taste of this weird concoction. “Bleh, Lord Commissioner! How did you manage to eat a whole slice?!”

The first thing Ayaka and Thoma noticed: The way you said this was amidst laughter. You were laughing, and it even sounded like you were smiling. Because whenever Ayato tried this sort of gross mixing method with Thoma or Ayaka, they would also say the same line of disgust, but in an unfavorable way. But, no—You sounded genuinely lighthearted?

The second thing Ayaka and Thoma noticed ( from even the slightest of peeks ): The big, bona fide grin on Ayato’s face at your reaction. Oh, he was absolutely eating this up, as no one ever showed a positive reaction to his weird little hobby before. And of course, being partnered with the fact he was ( not-so ) secretly in love with you, only made it so much better for him.

“It was alright, I’d say!” he spoke excitedly, a hint of an uncontrollable laughter and uncontrollable smile laced in his voice. “It had the most memorable texture, and the taste felt like I was in touch with mother nature.”

You only scoffed at him in a joking manner, “None of those ‘compliments’ of yours weren’t inherently positive, Commissioner.”

To that, he gave you another big grin before silently reaching to eat yet another slice of this suspicious pizza. Well, Ayaka supposed her brother’s weirdness landing a perfect date with you, after all. And then she pat herself on the back—because maybe, giving him that recipe was the best mistake she could make.

// not proofread ;; THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE FUNNIER THAN INTENDED. BUT IM BAD AT BEING FUNNY :(

[endlessthxxghts]

Best I Ever Had

Jackson!Joel Miller x afab!reader | w/c: 2.3k

Summary: Someone tries to hit on you on your night out with Joel, insulting your man in the process, and oh you don't like that. You blow off some steam in more ways than one.

Content/Warnings: Reader is able-bodied, no physical descriptions. Feminine perception of reader and feminine pet names (Joel calls you mama and babygirl), but no pronouns used. Reader's a fucking badass and can hold their own fights (probably Joel's too, tbh). Slight description of reader getting physical/violent with another person (bby has some anger issues). Established relationship. Implied age gap (exact number unspecified). A bit of insecure Joel. 18+ MDNI! Dom!reader !! Sub!Joel !!!! P in V unprotected. Slight breeding kink (reader just likes being filled, no children talk). Joel has a fast refractory period (don't think too much on it, just enjoy). Definitely some overstimulation. Cockwarming. Riding..straddling.. Teasing. Begging. Edging. Sloppy making out. Multiple orgasms. Please let me know if there’s anything I missed that should be up here!

A/N: Some get post-nut clarity, but I get post-nut lust. This was the product of that. Hope you enjoy, my angels. Thank you @honeyedmiller for beta’ing 🩶 also I picture both game Joel or hbo Joel, so it’s entirely up to you what you wanna visualize ;)

masterlist | notifs blog

It was a busy night at the Tipsy Bison. Everyone was out. Everyone was mingling, getting to know each other. As if it wasn’t a small town already, but hey, it wouldn’t hurt to make sure you really knew the people living in this little forever-town. 

Except, Joel was not one to mingle—especially on nights like tonight. Tommy insisted that he come, it’ll be nice, he tried to reason. 

He eventually agreed. Not because of Tommy, though, but because of you. 

You knew Joel was a certified grump, through and through. And you love Joel, you really do. But the post-apocalyptic world caused you to react differently than your man. Yeah, you’ve become tougher, harder to break, harder to trust. However, you crave any sense of normalcy you can find. So on occasion, you like to go out and get to know the people of the town. You like human interaction. 

And when they say opposites attract, the saying couldn’t have been more true. Joel was absolutely smitten the day he met you. It’s been a long time coming between you two—with his vulnerability, or lack thereof, and his initial unwillingness to accept that he can finally relax and unclench his jaw—but you’re together now, stronger than ever, and everything is worth it. 

You are worth it. 

Which is exactly why all you needed was to give one raise of your brow during his protesting before Joel promptly shuts his lips and takes a defeated breath, fixing his answer to Tommy. “Oh, hell. Alright, brother, we’ll be there.” 

And to be quite honest, Joel would go as far to say that tonight’s little get together was actually decent for once. That is, until he sees you waiting on the bartender for his beer and your old-fashioned, and a man—a boy—approaches you. 

“Hey,” you heard a voice beside you say. Not realizing it was meant for you, your attention stays on the bartender. Still, the voice persists. “I was thinking, uh-” you look at the guy then, eyes staring him down in a way he perceives as a challenge. 

He clears his throat. “I was thinking I could buy you a drink?” 

“No, I’m good,” you say shortly. The bartender comes up to you, pulling you away from the guy’s feeble attempt at flirting. You tell the bartender your order, and before you can take another moment to speak, the guy pipes up. 

“Put it on my tab,” he smirks triumphantly, taking a closer step to you. 

You pull yourself away on instinct— out of disgust, but your eyes stay trained on his gaze. You’re pissed, but this naïve little boy has no idea. Both of what you're capable of and what the older man, your older man, across the bar is capable of. 

“Thanks,” you smile, “my boyfriend’s gonna appreciate the free drink,” you tell the guy, turning to Joel and giving him a sweet smile. You’ve been feeling his stare the second this waste of space walked up to you.

Joel would pounce if you told him to. He knows you can handle yourself, though, and you confirm it through that pretty smile you flash him. He can’t deny the way his cock twitches at the way this scene is unfolding. Part of him is begging for the guy to try something more, to test you—to unleash you. 

The guy scoffs the second he sees Joel. “That old man is your boyfriend? Come on, baby,” his hand reaches for the crook of your elbow. “You can do so much better than that,” he taunts. 

And that was the something more you needed. Immediately your hand takes hold of his wrist, twisting the man to face the bar in a rough fashion as you lean him over the bar counter, his arm twisted behind his back, shoulder ready to snap out of his socket with the tiniest of movements. 

“Wanna say that again?” You seethe, knocking the breath from his lungs as you push him into the wooden counter. 

“I said—” 

He’s cut off by his own high-pitched scream. You push his arm higher, a sharp pain shooting through every nerve center in the guy’s arm. 

“Sweetheart,” a southern twang says softly, but it’s not your man. Tommy. “I know he probably deserves it, darlin’, but it’s not worth it,” he says, not wanting to aggravate you more. Everyone knows not to test you. 

Well, apparently not everyone. 

You roll your eyes, knowing Tommy’s just trying to keep up the liveliness of tonight. “Fine,” you mutter. Leaning closer into the guy, you whisper into his ear. “Talk about my fuckin’ man like that again, and I’ll snap your shoulder so fuckin’ hard, Jackson’s doctors won’t even know what to do with ya. Ya hear me?” You’re not from the South, and before the outbreak, you’ve never even been. But get angry enough, and Joel’s twang possesses you.

You release the crying boy with a shove, and you back up, wanting to pull yourself away from the situation. Your back is met with something hard, and immediately you know who it is. You soften in his touch as his arms immediately wrap around your waist. “You alright, babygirl?” Joel rasps in your ear. You can feel his fucking hard-on pressed against your back. 

The guy looks at you and Joel, chest still heaving as his face turns into disgust, a fuck you muttered under his breath, an aftertaste of jealousy on his lips. 

Smiling wildly at the guy in front of you, you snake your hand up to wrap around Joel’s jaw before you turn your head back and tilt your head up, pulling Joel into an open-mouthed kiss, your tongue pushing into his mouth as he eagerly sucks it, lapping up your spit. He groans into you, his arms pulling you impossibly tighter into him. 

You pull away with a harsh nip to his lip, feeding off the little whimper Joel lets out. “Baby,” he whines. 

You look back to the guy, and the silent audience you’ve accumulated. “Come on, cowboy,” you breathe. “I’m not done with you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies happily, spinning you two around and walking out with you still pressed against him. 

The bar stays quiet after a beat. Tommy’s hand slaps the bar counter before he speaks. “Well. Get the music back going unless y’all wanna hear ‘em goin’ at it all night!” The bar roars in laughter, the music coming back to life. 

Before returning back to Maria, Tommy turns to the guy. “You. Out.” 

He scrambles without looking back.

“Oh my God, baby.”

“Fuck— I- I can’t, baby, I can’t hold it much longer, baby, I need to come.”

“Just one more second, baby.”

“Mama, please,” he cries out, his head lolling from side to side on his sweat-soaked pillow as you grind your hips into his pelvis, lifting yourself on and off him every other moment. His hands hold onto your hips, not in a way to control your movement but to simply feel you. 

“Oh, come on, be a good boy for me, baby,” you moan, your hand fixing itself onto his jaw to make him look at you. “Just wanna feel you twitch inside me a little bit more ‘fore you make a mess inside me, okay?”

“Oh, fuck— yes, yes, mama, yes, okay,” he rambles, trying his hardest to breathe through the pleasurable pain as you take and take and take. 

A particular grind sends your back arching, his pubes soaked in your arousal nudging perfectly against your clit, sending an electric pulse up your spine. You cry out in ecstasy, your climax hitting you instantly. “Oh fuck, oh shit- fuckfuckfuck, baby, come with me— come inside me, baby, fucking fill me,” you nearly scream, hoping that boy can hear you now. 

“Shit, baby, oh my God- fuck- I’m coming, mama, holy fuck- I-” he stutters, his thigh muscles shaking underneath you as you bounce on him through his climax, the mix of his spend with yours bouncing lewdly across the walls of your shared bedroom. 

Your hips come to a slow but never stop, your chest heaving as you lean down to bring your lips to Joel. You let them ghost across his lips, but you don’t let them touch. He knows better not to chase it, not yet, anyway. He can still feel you fuming. 

You can do so much better than that.

“Can you fucking believe him?” You whisper against his lips, barely audible yet fucking scary nonetheless. 

Joel thinks that boy is right, deep down. Even though he’d never want you to leave him, and you’d never want him to leave you. Joel thinks that there’s a crumb of moral rightness in that statement. But he keeps that to himself. 

Nevertheless, you know Joel like the back of your hand. He doesn’t need to utter a lick of anything to you. You already know what he’s thinking. 

“Joel,” you say again. “I asked you a question.”

All questions must be answered. 

Fuck. 

“Y-yeah, baby,” he rumbles, too distracted by the comments from the bar, but mainly still caught up in the way his softening come-covered cock is still nestled inside of you. 

You sit up now. A whine leaves his throat at the movement. “So you do believe him?” 

Only then does he realize what he said. His eyes shoot up to yours. “W-wait, no, baby, ‘m sorry, no. No, I don’t believe him, baby,” he panics. 

You quirk your eyebrow at him. 

“The fuckin’ audacity on ‘em,” he adds for good measure. 

You’re silent for a beat. Then—

“You’re lying.”

Joel’s heart starts to race. “No, baby. Please. Mama, I’m not lyin’,” he tries. 

Still straddling his hips, you grab onto his bicep, pulling upward. He gets the hint and sits up. He’s still inside you, his cock slowly growing to full mast again the longer you sit here. 

You’re face to face now. His arms are loosely wrapped around your waist, your arms tightly around his neck.

“Look me in my eye,” you whisper, “and tell me you’re the best I ever had.”

Joel audibly gulps. 

Slow— so slow, your hips begin to move again. A breathy little moan escapes your mouth, and he lunges forward for you, his tongue dancing along the tip of yours, swallowing your breath. You allow it. 

“Tell me,” you groan into his mouth, practically swallowing his tongue as you shallowly bounce yourself on him. 

“Baby,” he whines, getting lost in this dance of heat and sweat he’s become utterly addicted to. 

You break yourself away from his mouth, not allowing him the option to reach for you anymore. He pulls back, eyes wild and sad. His mouth turned down into a literal pout. 

“My poor baby,” you mutter. “Tell me what I wanna hear,” you say again. “Or you’re not getting my lips nor are you coming for the rest of the night,” you tell him, switching back into your grinding motion to stimulate your sensitive bud, letting him feel the way your pussy flutters around him. 

“Baby,” he begs again as you grind, your warmth forcing him to another climax. Please don’t make me say it, he’s trying to convince you. 

Your fingers find their home at the base of his salt and pepper curls, tugging them in warning. “Tell. Me.”

You force his body down to lay flat on the bed again, towering over him, allowing your body the space to lift yourself off of him, only his tip inside of you. He takes a sharp breath in, knowing what’s coming. 

You drop yourself down on him, fucking yourself on his cock at a bruising pace. You grab his hands and drag them up to your chest, wrapping his thick digits around you encouraging him to squeeze. 

“Fuck- mama, I’m gonna—”

“No the fuck you’re not, baby,” you moan, lost in the pleasure but still rightfully in charge. “Swear to God, Joel, gonna leave you fucking swollen and pulsing for a fucking week— oh fuck,” you cut yourself off, a familiar sensation building at the base of your spine, sending you convulsing around his length yet again. 

Joel’s eyes clamp shut, finally giving into your request so he can finally let go. “I— shit, I’m the—” a rugged moan forces itself out, “—the best you ever had, mama, please, the fuckin’ best, baby,” he cries out, his hips bucking up into you as he covers every inch of you with his spend. 

“Shit,” you moan, his words affecting you a lot more than you anticipated, your hips doing overtime, unable to find it within you to stop even as he begins to soften. “Yes, fuck, that’s my boy, shit—” you breathe, “—the fucking best, always make me feel so fucking good, baby.”

His hands finally use their strength, trying his best to slow you with ease, his nerves reaching the point of painful overstimulation. “Alright, baby, alright,” he winces. 

Recognizing his limits, you immediately begin to slow, lowering yourself onto his heaving chest. You let him slip out of you this time, giving him an actual break. “I’m sorry,” you whisper into his chest. 

“For what, baby?” Joel responds with a kiss into your head.

“Did I go too far?”

He couldn’t help the belly laugh that shakes the both of you. You immediately sit back up, your hands on his chest to keep your limp body up. “What?” you glare at him.

“Too far? Which part, darlin’? Nearly breakin’ that guy’s shoulder or my dick?”

A belly laugh erupts out of you this time. Taking a moment to compose yourself, you respond. “...Both.”

“Mmm…” Joel puts on a fake thinking face. “Maybe to the former, but not at all to the latter,” he hums, his hands finding the back of your head to pull you in for a chaste kiss. 

You hum into his lips, a smile stretching across your cheeks. 

Resting your head on his chest, you let a few moments pass before you speak again. “Tommy’s not gonna invite us to another one of those, huh?” 

“Probably not, mama,” he smiles. “Probably not.”

I’d love to hear what you think!! Any feedback or interactions with you all truly brightens my day. So so so much love for you all. Thank you for being here 🩶

I cannot get myself to write for Joel or for TLOU without mentioning the horrors occurring in Palestine. Please check out the links in my navigation + bio to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can help🇵🇸. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.

graphics by @saradika-graphics (middle divider in fic by me)

[covenofagatha]

I'm a good girl, Detective

You're a prostitute in the town of Westview and maybe Detective Agnes needs to teach you a lesson.

Word count: 1750

Warnings: Rough sex, spitting, spanking, Top Agatha, Bratty Bottom Reader, fingering, prostitution, sex with men mentioned

“What can I do for you, baby?” you say in a sultry voice. The man in the car in front of you gulps excitedly. 

“Blowjob?” he asks, hands shaking on the steering wheel. It’s clear to you that he’s never done this before. You spot the wedding ring tucked in the cupholder in the middle console. “Is that how this works? It’s my first time doing this, sorry.” 

You sweetly smile. “I can do that. It’ll be $100.” 

If the price seems high to him, he doesn’t let on. He must be desperate. “Oh, sure, yeah. Do I pay now or…” 

“Half up front, half after.” 

“Right,” he says, reaching into his pocket to bring his wallet. “I’m guessing you only take cash?” 

It’s a feeble attempt to hide how nervous he is. You don’t even dignify the question with an answer, only a quick nod. 

He’s pulling out a $50 bill when all of a sudden, a siren goes off, lights flashing in your face. 

“Fuck!” he says, hurriedly shoving the money back into his wallet and peeling out of the parking lot because the police car can pull up beside you.

You chuckle to yourself and lift your hand in a greeting, wagging your fingers playfully. The window rolls down. 

“Detective Harkness,” you drawl. “Come to blow off a little steam?” 

It’s a familiar game the two of you have been playing for a little over a month now. She always manages to find you right in the act of accepting money for sexual services – illegal in Westview – and puts you in her squad car to take you back to your apartment. Everytime she tells you that if she catches you again, she’s throwing you in jail for the night, but everytime, she pulls right up to your complex and throws you out. 

Her glare is heated as she steps out of her car. Her blue flannel has two buttons open and it’s tucked into her navy pants. Her long brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail. 

“What can I do for you, Agnes?” you flirt. You like to poke and prod at the tightly-wound older woman, secretly hoping that one day, she’ll take you up on your offer. 

“I told you last time, if I caught you doing this again…” she mutters in her gruff voice, grabbing you by the elbow and leading you over to the other side of the car. 

“He hadn’t even given me any money yet,” you pout. “We could’ve been old friends just catching up. No need to be jealous, Officer.”

“That’s Detective to you,” she shoots back. She yanks open the passenger door and shoves you inside. 

For some reason, she never puts you in the back. 

“Ya know, it seems like you’ve been frequenting this side of town lately. Hoping to run into me?” you say, enjoying the way her jaw tightens. 

“More like hoping to save all your poor men from wasting money on a cheap lay,” she says bitingly. 

You gasp mockingly. “I’m not cheap! And I wouldn’t say they’re wasting money. You should see the things I can do with my tongue.” You wiggle said tongue out at her and note the way her cheeks pink ever the slightest. “I can show you, if you’d like.” 

She glances at you and then turns back to face the road. 

“I could make you feel so good,” you whisper, daring to reach a hand over to put it on her thigh. She tenses and her grip tightens on the steering wheel. 

“Get your hand off me,” she growls. You run your fingers up her leg softly before obeying, not missing the way her breath catches. 

And then you realize that instead of turning left, which is the way to your apartment, she goes straight. 

“Wait, where are we going? Why, Detective, are we going back to your place?” 

She laughs meanly. “I’m finally doing what I should’ve done the second time I caught you on the street. You’re spending the night in a cell, so maybe you’ll think twice about going back out there.” 

Well, fuck. If that’s how it’s going to be, you might as well go big or go home. “But, Detective, I’m a good girl. Let me show you how good I can be.” 

You lean over and press a kiss to her jawbone. Her hands on the wheel falter and she inhales sharply. 

“What are you–”

You slide your hand back on her thigh and nibble on her earlobe. “Let me make you feel good. You deserve it.” 

Agnes’s breathing has quickened and she swallows hard. “This isn’t appropriate,” she says, but it sounds weak, even to her. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Your hand is trailing higher, unbuttoning her pants. You dip your fingertips inside them and the car comes to a stop with a screech. 

“Get out now,” she demands, slamming the car into park. She steps out and stomps over to your side. 

“Agnes, I’m sorry, I didn’t–” You’re afraid you’ve completely fucked up. 

She yanks you out of the car, spins you around, and presses you against the car. The older woman presses her body against yours. 

“Is this what you wanted?” she hisses in your ear. “You want me to fuck you like the slut that you are?”

You can’t help the moan that escapes from your mouth.

“You think acting like a brat will get you what you want?” 

The next thing you know, she slaps your ass. You jump, feeling the pain give way to pleasure. In all of your time as a prostitute, you’ve never even been close to feeling this turned on, and all she did was spank you. 

“I asked you a question and I want an answer,” Agnes says dangerously. Her hand hikes up your skirt and soothes the red skin. “Unless you want me to do that again.” 

You do, so you don’t say anything. Slap. This time, without your skirt as a barrier, it hurts even more deliciously and you groan. 

“I just wanted you,” you finally say. 

“You keep saying you’re a good girl, but all I see is a spoiled fucking little brat,” she taunts, spanking you during each of the last four words. 

You’re squirming against her, desperate to feel her hands on you again. “Yes, that’s me,” you gasp out. 

“You’re so desperate for someone to take control of you,” she murmurs, tracing her hands over your asscheeks. “You’re so pathetic, needing a woman twice your age to teach you how to be good.” 

“Show me, please,” you beg. “Aggie, please touch me.” 

She flips you around and roughly grabs your throat, a raw moan clawing out from you. Her thigh slots between your legs.

She scoffs. “Of course you’d like that.” A finger forces your mouth open and she leans down and spits into your mouth. “Swallow.” Your brain short-circuits and she nods approvingly as you obey. “So you can follow directions. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

You whimper, grinding on her leg, trying to get all the stimulation you can. You dig your nails into her shoulders so you can get better leverage.

She laughs cruelly. “Look at you, humping my leg like a bitch in heat. I should just leave you here, dripping and unsatisfied. That’d teach you a lesson better than any night in jail would.” 

Your movements stutter and you shake your head insistently. “No, please don’t.” 

Agnes’s grip tightens on your throat and she grasps your hip with her other hand, helping you grind.

“Aggie, I need more,” you choke out. You’re already so close, but you don’t think you can cum from just this. You need to feel her. 

“Aww, the poor slut wants more,” she taunts. In a flash, she moves your underwear to the side and buries two fingers inside you up to the hilt. You bite on your lip so hard you taste blood and you keen. 

“Fuck!” you exclaim sharply as her fingers twist and thrust roughly. Her palm is harshly bumping against your clit with every push.

“Is that good enough for you?” she jeers. You moan your approval. “Do those men fuck you like this? Do they make you feel this way?” 

Your hands scramble on the back of her flannel, trying to pull her even closer to your body. 

“No, no one but you! I’m gonna cum, Aggie.” 

Her fingers stop, still inside you. You whine and keep moving your hips around them, desperate not to lose the stimulation. “Do you think you deserve it?” she whispers hotly. A tear threatens to fall from your eye. 

“I’ll do anything,” you promise. “Just, please, let me cum.” 

A wicked glint lights up her eyes and she resumes fucking you hard. Her nails dig into your throat from where she’s still choking you. “Not so cocky now, are you, brat?” 

“You’re the one who’s two fingers deep in the prostitute she keeps picking up off the street,” you manage to retort. “I’m feeling pretty good.” 

She chuckles lowly and suddenly pulls out of you. 

“No,” you gasp. 

She steps back, corners of her mouth turned up. “And you’re the one who’s not going to get what she wants.” 

You gape at her, shocked. She sways back to the other side of the car and gets in, looking at you, frozen, through the window. 

“Are you coming?” 

You open the passenger door and get in. “Not anymore,” you grumble. She pouts mockingly and swats your hand away when she sees you moving to touch yourself. 

“Don’t even think about it.” 

Your fingers twitch the entire drive, your stomach still burning, wondering if she’s actually taking you to the station. She’s definitely not driving in the direction of your apartment. 

You sulk the entire drive until she parks in front of a house. You turn to look at her, eyebrows raising. She acts normal and exits the car, waiting for you. 

“Where are we?” you ask. She doesn’t answer, just leads you inside. 

She suddenly stops in front of you once you’ve gotten to the living room and you bump into her, muttering an apology. She turns around and tangles a hand into your hair, slowly pushing you down to your knees. 

“Agnes?” 

She smirks. “Why don’t you put that mouth of yours to good use and show me the ‘things you can do with your tongue’. And then maybe, I’ll think about rewarding you.” 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Part 2?

[p1utofairy]

★ your next glow up?

note — i wasn't gonna post this now but i figured fuck it why not?! enjoy, my loves! this is for entertainment purposes only <3 take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. p.s. come in my ask box and tell me what you think!

PILE ONE.

pile mf ONE, you are really stepping into a new era! when i tell you this new you is gonna turn HEADS. tuh, you’re gonna be looking like new money. nicki minaj’s ‘new body’ verse is coming to mind lol “you ain’t fuck me, you fucked the old body. you ain’t fuck nicki, you fucked nicole body! ain’t no miles on this here new body, off with they heads these bitches is nobody’s.” OH YEAH OKAYYY, PILE 1. maybe you’ll be hitting the gym more, switching up your diet or possibly getting some cosmetic work done?

whatever you’re doing differently, it’s gonna be noticeable. people are gonna feel like something changed with you overnight like “um when did pile 1 get so bad?” and this isn’t to say you aren’t already attractive…there’s just something about your energy and confidence that just amplified x1000 and people are really gonna feel and see this change in you. you might start experimenting with your outfits a little more, giving off a more seductive vibe. it’s like you're breaking out of your comfort zone especially if you usually opt for baggier clothes or a more conservative look. wait cause why am i thinking of ‘pretty little liars’ when emily is talking to aria about hanna and she’s like “haven’t you heard? she’s the it girl now.” PERIOD, PILE ONE. giving serena page vibes from love island.

there will be a lot of talk about you and even if you don’t hear it directly, trust me, people are gonna try to keep tabs on you. i’m seeing people re-watch your instagram stories tryna figure out who took you that place and who you’re doing it with — oh these people are spiralingggg. this could very well be potential suitors tryna scope out the scenery, but they’re not sure if you’ll be interested in them. they might fear rejection because you just look so damn good and it looks like you’re in such a better space in life and got your shit together; whereas they feel like they lack the resources/finances to be with you. these potential love interests see you as high value, pile 1. they’re intimidated by your beauty and aura. you’ll be more so focused on attracting a partner that can actually make shit happen.

you don’t have time for the cat and mouse games. you want the real deal and i do see you getting the person that you want. you manifested this person into your life and i sense them feeling like they won the lottery with you! i’m hearing that you are sooo mesmerizing on the outside and your heart & personality makes you so much more beautiful. there’s layers to you and i think this next glow up will allow you to really shine and be yourself unapologetically – you’re leaning into the different aspects of yourself that makes you unique. if there’s anything you’ve got your mind set on or something specific you want to do, go for it! whatever you do, you’ll stand out effortlessly and be successful. say yes by floetry is coming to mind. “see, i’ve been watching you for awhile…your smile and style. wanna know if i can be with you for the night, alright.” i meannnnn need i say more?!

how to tap into this energy?

listen closely to your intuition! work on your third eye because i’m hearing that you’re a powerful manifester and you don’t even truly know it. even if you do know this, you start doubting yourself and limiting your own thoughts. always think big and bigger because it’s in your reach. don’t get so caught up in the “how?” because your manifestations can appear in many different ways, not just one. you have a clear vision into the future – you just gotta adjust your lens and focus on what it is that YOU want. who cares if it doesn’t make sense to anyone else, as along as you see the vision then it’s a go! listen to ‘i want it all’ by sharpay evans lol you need to embody that song and its energy.

PILE TWO.

hey, pile 2! i’m hearing you’ve been putting up with the bullshit for wayyyy too long and this next glow up is gonna be a proper FUCK YOU to all your haters! i feel like people take your kindness for weakness and you feel like you don’t get the respect you deserve. you can deal with a lot of passive aggression in your relationships or friendships and people expect for you to suck it up and be okay with it. what i’m mainly picking up is that you like to keep the peace. you don’t want to ruffle anyone’s feather, but it just makes it worse for you because you’re not truly expressing yourself and your emotions. this keeps you up at night like “ugh! i should’ve said this or I should’ve stuck up for myself and finally cussed so and so tf out.” but you don’t because you know why, pile 2? you’re better than them, simple as that.

you wouldn’t treat anybody how some people treat you, and the reality is that it’s so much harder to be nice than it is to be mean. anybody can be mean and say hurtful shit if they really wanted to, but to always be graceful and kind in the face of adversity and ignorance? rare af. +10000 aura points! don’t let anybody make you feel less than or like you can’t speak up for yourself. this next glow up you’re going to use your voice and really make it known that you are not to be fucked with, okay?! you will be standing your ground and really popping your shit in the most calm and collected way possible & people are gonna be like “wait…did [y/n] really just clock me like that?!” and you’re gonna be standing 10 toes down on it as you should. they’ll have no choice but to respect you lol. you will start to realize what is worth your time & energy and what isn’t.

you might start cutting off people that don’t mean you any good and really start to focus on yourself and your energy. no more walking on egg shells and sparing peoples feelings, this is YOUR life and you have a voice just as much as they do – so use it! i think you’ll also be meeting new friends & a potential love interest during this next glow up. i’m hearing ‘how stella got her groove back’ lol so yeah some of you might be playing the field a little bit.

some of you might just want something casual and nothing more because you just want to focus on your own healing journey. you’ll start to understand why things had to happen the way that they did & why certain relationships didn’t work out the way that you thought they would. you’ll be able to decipher what you are and aren’t willing to put up with and honestly i just see you bossing tf up and advocating for yourself no matter who doesn’t like it. that tiktok “nobody loves you baby! you should only love yourself – ON MY SOUL!” just randomly came to me lmfaooo this is your ‘i’m focusing on what really matters aka me’ era and i think it’s exactly what you need pile 2.

how to tap into this energy?

i think you need to transmute the negative energy that people try to project on you into something positive. 12:12 on the clock, yeah. like look at this way, if people doubt you, don’t respect you or don’t feel like your capable of achieving great things then use that to your advantage. let them underestimate you all they want, and then BAM boss up on them and show them who tf you are. what they don’t know only makes you stronger. you have the power to make some powerful ass connections and make a name for yourself so be calculated & strategic with your moves. people will be eating their words when it comes to you, pile 2.

PILE THREE.

pile 3 your next glow up is gonna be a bit of an emotional rollercoaster ngl, but very rewarding nonetheless. i’m hearing that one tiktok sound “you gotta take the good with the bad, smile with the sad. love what you got and remember what you had.” so yeah i think you’re really gonna be figuring out how to transmute your energy and create something from it – whether that be a job opportunity, a love offer, a trip, etc. there’s something that you really want and you’re doing the work to make it happen. you have the plan, you just need the platform lol.

for some of you, i see a major relationship coming to an end. this could be a lover or a best friend, but this person will be exposed because they’re not who you thought they were. this person has very sneaky/deceptive energy and you’ve been in the dark about this for way too long. this person/connection means a lot to you, so you will feel like this is a tough situation to completely walk away from; but my sweet pile 3’s you will be more than okay! you will be spectacular! 10:10 was just on the clock.

allow yourself to sort through your emotions and learn from the situation, don’t let it weigh you down. sometimes we get too caught up in how long we’ve been with somebody and all of the good memories we made with them, that makes us hesitant to move on. sometimes things just run its course and you’re no longer in alignment with that person. you can’t force anything or anyone in your life that doesn’t align with your highest self and that can be very hard to process when emotions are involved but i’m happy to let you know there’s light at the end of the tunnel.

i see some of you traveling to a place you’ve always wanted to go and possibly meeting a potential love interest. in this next glow up, you’ll be doing things that you’ve always wanted to do cause there’s no one holding you back. you’re stepping out of your comfort zone and just taking a leap of faith – high risk, high reward. you’re gonna be making time for yourself and also prioritizing your hobbies/interests. this is beautiful, pile 3. i see you really getting in touch with who you are at the core. be kind and gentle with yourself, because you are a precious gem that a lot of people value and care about.

how to tap into this energy?

stop giving your power away. work on your throat chakra, my loves. your voice is your power and it’s one of the major keys to your success. a closed mouth doesn’t get fed, so you need to speak up and communicate what it is that YOU want and not just say what people want to hear. this next glow up will really have you standing in your power. release is needed especially verbally cause you know that tight feeling you get in your throat when you’re tryna stop yourself from crying? yeah no more of that. no more walking on egg shells, pile 3. say what you feel and stand on it & watch how the tides turn in your favor. mwah!

PILE FOUR.

alright, pile 4! for this next glow up i see you moving. some of you might actually be moving into a new home or apartment and it’s gonna grant you so much peace and comfort. for others of you, this could be you moving on emotionally from a toxic relationship and/or familial bond and finally getting the clarity and peace you need to cut all ties and move onto something better. whatever the situation may be, it was weighing heavy on you and making you feel very down.

you’re gonna feel so free when you leave this situation behind, it’s not even funny. i’m hearing that you were a gilded bird in a cage. some of you could’ve been moving from place to place, not feeling quite settled or financially stable. if you feel lost right now and like you don’t know what to do with your life/where it’s taking you, i just wanna say keep going – W.A.Y.S. by jhené aiko is coming to mind. “if there's one thing that i learned while in those county lines, is that everything takes time. you have gotta lose your pride, you have gotta lose your mind just to find your peace of mind.” awww yeah that’s your theme song for this next glow up. things might not make sense right now, but please trust me when i say that everything is going to work out in your favor & things will be better than you could ever imagine.

you will be blessed with the tools you need to get to this next phase of your life. you are the source, pile 4. whatever you put your mind to, you can surely achieve! don’t let 3D circumstances throw you off, you are so abundant and prosperous you will see in this next glow up just how much of a powerful manifester you really are. you’re still trying to find yourself and figure out where you fit in in the world, but you don’t have to put yourself in a box, pile 4. pave your own way and once you do others will want to follow suit. no one can see your future the way that you do, so keep doing your thing because i’m seeing that you will come across people/friends that share similar interests and niches as you. awww pile 4 you’re going to find your soul tribe.

you have this flighty energy about you (air sign energy/esp gemini) like you’re from one thing to the next and you can’t figure out what you truly want to do. some of you might be in college or almost about to graduate and when people ask you “do you know what you want to do?” you’re like uhhhh….]>|>]^>.]€]€]£ like you truly don’t know but like that’s okay cause actually you do know! on a soul level, you know. what’s understood doesn’t have to be explained pile 4 lol people might not get it now but when you pop out living the life you’ve always dreamed of, TUH. they’ll understand then.

how to tap into this energy?

get out of your head so much and just vibe, pile 4. you can plan plan plan all you want but the reality is: shit happens! it might annoy you or make you feel incredibly frustrated when another problem or inconvenience pops up in your life, but there’s nothing you can’t overcome. it’s life. you will be greatful for these experiences in the long run because it will be another bridge that you’ve already crossed and dealt with, so you won’t fold under pressure – you’ll just already know what to do. you got this, pile 4. shit is about to get really good for you.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Not-So Secretive Rendezvous

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: smut, fem!receiving, age gap

Request by anon: I'd love a Spencer X Fem Reader thing,  say season 3-4 prince charming hair version ya know?  That era is totally hot.  Anyway, reader is Hotch's sister or Daughter, 10 year age gap between reader & Spence.  I'm a total sucker for a forbidden, sneaking, secretive thing with them getting caught in a very compromising position.  Hotch is fine with it but disappointed they didn't clear it with him. Maybe she works in the BAU but maybe not?  Some hot spice with his awkward self.  I always have a thought of him being so awkward around women in social situations like with JJ in the baseball game stuff, but with his Eidetic memory he definitely knows how to please women for sure.   Any other details i'll leave you with free rein!

Summary: You and Spencer are a new couple that is hiding your relationship from the team for two reasons. Hotch is your dad and Spencer is ten years older than you are. That doesn’t stop you from being with him. Not your dad and certainly not an office full of people.

Square Filled: public sex/voyeurism (2021) for @cm-kinkbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

There are two reasons why you’re at the BAU--Spencer and Hotch. This is the place you want to work when you have the proper training and have done everything that’s required of you. You graduated high school before summer started and now you’re taking college classes with a degree in criminal justice while also getting in some hours at the police academy. It doesn’t hurt that your dad is the unit chief of the BAU, but you try not to let that affect how well you’re doing in and out of school.

The other reason is Spencer Reid. You two immediately hit it off when you first met and he’s been showing you around as much as he can without getting in trouble. He can’t tell you much about the cases the team has but he can give you advice and pointers for when you get a job here. Derek helps you with the physical stuff while Spencer is your own personal library book that just so happens to have all the answers you’re searching for.

After a few months of visiting your dad and the team, you and Spencer developed a relationship that only you two know about. Keeping your relationships a secret isn’t something you normally do because if you like someone, you’re all about showing them off to everyone. However, you and Spencer are ten years apart in age, and you don’t think your dad will appreciate his eighteen-year-old daughter hooking up with his twenty-eight-year-old subordinate.

It’s not a big deal to you and Spencer since you’re not newly eighteen. It’s September and you turned eighteen back in January. He’s been so good to you and is such a gentleman. He’s a romantic and loves taking you out on dates as much as he can. Your favorite date is when he puts a tent on the roof of his building, makes everything for a picnic, and you two spend the night stargazing there.

Unlike now when your visit is anything but romantic.

It’s been over a week since you’ve seen Spencer and you’re craving his touch. You’re not normally a sex-crazed teenager but you’re ovulating and you really need to feel his body on yours. You’re not ready for kids and you don’t know if or when you will be, so you’ll be using condoms because it’s a terrible time to get pregnant.

Not to mention your dad will quite literally kill Spencer.

“Hey, Y/N, what are you doing here?” Derek asks when he sees you.

“Just wanted to stop by to say hi. I hear the B Team is out right now so what better time to come?”

“Your dad is in his office.”

“Where’s Spencer.”

“Bathroom.”

“Okay, I’ll wait for him. Thanks.”

You turn to leave but Derek stops you.

“Hey, we’re still on for tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, I’m ready to learn that new self-defense technique.”

You walk straight for Spencer’s desk only to walk right past it and toward the bathrooms. Derek smirks and shakes his head knowing you’re not here to see your dad at all. Spencer comes out of the bathroom with his phone in his hand so he doesn’t see you right away. You open the door to an empty office and wait for him to pass by it before grabbing his arm and pulling him inside.

“Wha--?” He looks up and smiles when he sees it’s you. “Hey, baby. I didn’t know you were coming today.” You close and lock the door before shutting the blinds so that no one can look inside. “What are you doing?”

“Come here.”

You pull Spencer in and kiss him without warning, and he grips your hips not too hard. He gets lost in the kiss before the alarm bells ring in his head.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Spencer pulls away from you but you’re not done kissing him. You back up into the desk and sit on it while kissing down his neck. “Not that I’m not happy to see you but we can’t do this here.”

“Why not? Don’t you want me?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then get me naked and fuck me.” It’s hard to think when all Spencer is thinking about is getting you naked. He’s not a sex machine who wants it all the time but it has been a week since he’s seen you, and the last case he went on was very stressful. “School has been stressing me out and I really just want some dirty sex with you.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. He spreads your legs and steps in between them before kissing you again. He runs his hands down your thighs and back up, only to slip them underneath your dress. You wanted to make sure you gave Spencer easy access. He expected to feel a barrier between his fingers and your pussy but there is none.

“You’re not wearing any panties?”

“I came here for one thing and one thing only,” you grin. “I wanted to make this easier for you.”

Spencer rolls his head back and cracks his neck before sinking to his knees. He’s not an expert in this department but he’s read enough books and watched enough amateur porn to know what he’s doing. He places a hand on your chest, pushes you down onto the desk, and bunches your dress around your waist.

“Remember, we’re at work and your dad’s office is right down the hall. You gotta be quiet.”

You’re about to respond when Spencer latches onto your clit. You slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the moan that slips out. It would be a disaster if your dad found out about this… or anyone. He kitten licks your clit and circles it before sliding his tongue down to your slit. He straightens his tongue and pushes inside of you, and his right-hand hooks up and over your leg so that he can rub your clit in hard fast circles.

“Fuck, Spencer, right there,” you gasp quietly.

“God, you taste so good,” he mumbles. “I can’t ever get enough.”

You reach down and slide your fingers into his hair before tugging on it gently. This is the exact reason why he’s been growing his hair out. He loves it when you tug on his hair. His mouth and fingers switch positions so that he’s sucking on your clit and sliding a finger into your tight hole. You squeal a bit loudly at the sudden change in pressure, and you bite down on your lower lip to prevent yourself from crying out again.

“Please, Spencer, I need more,” you moan.

He slides in another finger and curls them both so that he’s touching the spot that makes you see stars.

“Are you close?”

“Yes, fuck, yes.”

“Do you want to come?”

“Yes, please, Spencer,” you moan.

“Go ahead, darling.”

He gives a particularly hard suck on your clit that makes you come all over his face. He removes his fingers and laps up every drop you give him before standing to his full height.

“God, you’re so good at that.” You pull him down and kiss him, not minding that you can taste yourself on his lips. “I need to come again. I have a condom in the pocket of my dress.”

“You’re so needy,” he grins but doesn’t refuse you.

He pulls away and takes the condom you give him before unbuckling his pants. He’s always awkward at this part because he still can’t believe that he has someone who is interested in him like this. He’s not ripped like Derek or as confident as him but you like him because he’s none of those things. You love how socially awkward he is. You love his ramblings. You especially love it when he tells you random facts that have you questioning how he came to know that in the first place.

Spencer pulls his cock out and you almost salivate at the sight of it. You’ve given him blow jobs before but there will never be a time when you don’t want to suck him off. However this time, you just need him to be in you. He takes out the condom from the package and carefully rolls it onto his hard cock.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes, Spencer, please. Just get in me.”

You spread your legs wider and allow him to step closer to you. He pumps himself twice before lining himself up at your entrance. You toss your head back and gasp at the one… three… seven inches of him until he is fully seated inside of you.

“Let me know when you’re ready,” Spencer groans.

“I’m ready. Please, Spencer,” you beg.

He doesn’t want to be too loud so he doesn’t fuck you as hard as he wants to. He starts at a normal pace before slowly picking up speed, and you’re trying to stop the moans from coming out but failing. He covers your mouth with his hand as if that will stop you from moaning his name.

It’s been a long and stressful time for you both so it doesn’t take long for the two of you to get close to the edge.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come.” Hearing Spencer swear when he normally doesn’t is so hot. He hates swearing since he has such a big range of vocabulary that he can use, but he can’t help it when you feel like Heaven. “Are you close?” You nod wordlessly since Spencer’s hand is still over your mouth. “Come with me. One.” Thrust. “Two.” Thrust. “Three.”

You explode all over him just as he fills the condom up. He rides out both your highs as much as he can before slowing down. He removes his hand and you gasp when you feel him start to pull out of you.

“I don’t know how you haven’t had more girlfriends before,” you laugh as you pant.

“It’s usually my incessant need to ramble that drives them away.”

He takes the condom off and ties it at the end before pocketing it., He doesn’t want anyone to find it in the trashcan so he’ll throw it out in the dumpster outside.

“Have you seen Y/N? I saw her come in earlier.”

You freeze when you hear your dad’s voice outside the office.

“I think she went to see Garcia. You should ask her,” Rossi responds from right by the door. You hear your dad walk away before Rossi knocks twice on the door. “You two aren’t very quiet or sneaky.”

“Shit, I should go,” you giggle. You fix your dress and Spencer tucks himself back into his pants. The room smells like sex but you’re sure it will air out by the time anyone else comes in here. “I love you and I can’t wait to see you on Sunday.”

You lean in and kiss Spencer before unlocking the door.

“I love you, too,” Spencer grins. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Oh, we definitely are.” You open the door and notice Rossi is in the break room. You make sure the coast is clear before leaving the office. You turn the corner and go crashing into your dad. “Daddy, hi. I was just looking for you. Someone said you wanted to see me?”

Hotch looks up and sees Spencer leave the office from which you just came out. He didn’t bother fixing his hair as much as he should have so it’s a big messed up from how much you were tugging on it, and your lipstick is a bit smudged from Spencer’s hand over your mouth.

Hotch isn’t an idiot.

“My office. Now.”

You look up to see him looking at someone behind you. You look back and see Spencer staring at Hotch with wide, fearful eyes.

“Daddy, listen--”

“Don’t you have a class to go study for? Reid, now.”

“Yes, sir,” he nods and scurries past you to get to his office.

“Daddy, I love him. Please don’t kill him. I’ll talk to you later.”

You leave before your dad can say anything else. Hotch isn’t mad that Spencer is seeing his daughter. He’s upset that you two hid it from him. He’s not gonna kill Spencer but it is sure going to be fun to watch him squirm because he thinks he is.

x

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[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

Childs play (Miguel O’Hara x fem! Reader [ex-Childhood best friend turned Fwb AU]) Part 1

Hiiiii! I’m so freaking excited for y’all to read this I’m literally shaking! This will only be 1 part. (Edit: I’ve changed my mind it will get a second part but it won’t be put right away) Shout out to @chickenshit03 for beta reading the one shot. Absolute sweetheart 🫶🏼. Not proofread, enjoy!!

(Y/N)-Your name.

NSFW!! SMUT!! MDNI!! Cursing, light choking during the deed , protecting PinV, Miguel being a big meanie near the end, Comfort/Hurt, lmk if I can’t think of anymore

Word count: 4.6k

Part 2

Masterlist

—

Knock knock…

“Hello, I’m sorry if I’m intruding but I wanted to introduce myself, me and my family just moved in next door and I wanted to introduce ourselves.” Your mother said as she stood at her neighbors door, you hid timidly behind her leg as she spoke to a Hispanic woman with curly dark hair. Your eyes wandered around her living room, or at least as much as you could catch from your spot. Not paying any mind to the conversation they were having when your eyes spotted a young boy around your age, about five or so walking past with a few legos in hand.

Your shyness was quickly overtaken with curiosity as you went to pull on your mother’s hand, she must have been watching you stare at the brunette, because before you could even turn up to ask her if you could go play, she was already shooing you in the direction of him as her and the other lady went to go talk over coffee in the kitchen.

He didn’t glance up at you as you sat down in front of his spot on the living room floor, being too preoccupied on the Star Wars set he was working on.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“My name’s (Y/N).”

“Cool.”

“What’s your name?”

“Miguel.”

You paused, shifting to sit down better before speaking again.

“Can I help? I love legos.”

He stayed quiet, and for a second you think he’ll say no, until he shrugged and moved the instruction book so you both could read it, making your lips come up in a smile.

“Sure.”

—

“You can teach me to play street fighter a million times and I will never understand it.” You huffed as you dropped the controller on your lap and leaned back on the couch, the tv in his living room sounded out a “finish her” as Miguel’s character killed yours, you couldn’t even be bothered to remember the names, peeved off that’d he beat you for the upteenth time, him not even having the courtesy to let you win one round.

“I’m not gonna be sorry for you being bad.” He retorted in a teasing tone, sticking out his tongue at you, and blew a raspberry. Your arms quickly crossover your chest as you puff your cheeks out with a pout.

“You’re so mean to me Miguel, I hate you.” You mumbled the half-lie to the other ten year old, looking away as you felt your cheeks heat with embarrassment, you didn’t even notice his movements until you felt him grab for your hand, turning your head to realize he was now standing in front of your spot on the couch.

“You don’t hate me, I’m your best friend.” He states, making you nod your head in confirmation after a beat, “Good. Because you’re my best friend too.” You smiled.

“Can we play something else then?”

“Nope.”

“Ughhh.”

—

“(Y/N), it’s your turn to spin the bottle.” Mj’s voice snapped you out of your head, suddenly aware of all the other fourteen years olds turning to stare at you. Was it a bit embarrassing you were about to lose your first kiss in a game of spin the bottle?

Half-dried nail-polished fingers gently grabbed the base of the empty Coke bottle, praying to god no one saw the way your hand trembled slightly, as you gave it a good twist. As your eyes tracked the blur of clear glass, you got your lower lip, silently hoping it was someone who you wouldn’t fluster up in embarrassment when you had to tell them who was your first kiss in the four walls of the lunch room. Like Kyle, or Ben or-

“Oooo- you got Miguel!” One of the other girls giggled as your eyes shot up to where the tip was pointing and surely, there he sat in front of you. Miguel was good…yeah, great even! You trusted him, he was your best friend since you were practically in dippers…So with a fine silent look of confirmation, you crossed the circle, closing your eyes as your lips connected for the first time.

Is it normal for your heart to skip a beat during a kiss? God how red is my face right now? Have I been holding it for too long? I wonder if he’s enjoying it, he hasn’t pulled away so that’s a good sign right? I should probably stop now. It's been like four seconds.

You finally pull away, sitting down on your knees as you bring a hand up to wipe some excess saliva away from the cover of your mouth. The sound of the next person going to spin the bottle muffles out around you as you focus on the weird flutter in your stomach.

—

“SLOW DOWN MIG-YOU’RE DRIVING LIKE A MANIAC!” You yelled as your left hand flew to grab at your seat belt, right hand gripping the overhead handle so hard your knuckles were turning white, pushing yourself as much as you could into the passenger seat at you could while he just let out an eye roll and chuckle as you were being dramatic (you weren’t).

“I’m not taking driving advice from someone who doesn’t have their license yet.”

“You got your license yesterday! I don’t turn sixteen for another four months!”

“Don’t care, you could ever shut up or take the bus.”

You couldn’t respond right away because another scream came from your throat as he turned a corner.

“If I die in this stupid car, I’m going to haunt the shit out of you O’Hara!”

“I’m not gonna let you die, stop being dramatic.” He scoffed, finally pulling up to the school parking lot, finally slowing down as he looked for a place to park. His arm comes around the back of your car seat as he goes to backwards park in an empty spot. “See I didn’t let you die.”

“I’m actually traumatized…” You muttered, eyes still wide as you kept still in your seat. Miguel let out a huff and he goes to take your seatbelt off once the car was shut off.

“If I buy you some subway during lunch will you stop complaining?”

“…yes.”

—

“Maybe I could just take a gap year-or-or go to the community college nearby, just until I can transfer, then I can try for Columbia again?” You kept fumbling your words, looking at the rejection letter in your hands. If you tried to focus on it enough, you’d be able to hear the paper shaking lightly in your hands. Glossy eyes trying to rapidly blink away tears before they fell on the paper. Miguel quickly shook his head as he placed his coffee cup down on the table of the cafe you two would frequent.

“No. Not happening, I’ll just reject my application and we can go to Stanford together in California.” He told you, making you copy his actions as you placed the paper down next to your other University letters.

“Are you crazy? That’s your dream school! I am not letting you do that for me. I’d never forgive myself for that.” You admitted, looking at him in those familiar brown eyes, praying to god yours weren’t growing bloodshot from the emotional moment between you both. Miguel letting out a heavy sigh, his hand going to run through his pushed back brown locks as he looked down at his letters again. The silence that grew over you two was almost suffocating, a thing it never felt like around him. It made your heart ache, trying to keep back a whine and some tears as you closed your eyes and took in a shaky breath before opening them again and finally breaking the silence between you both. “I mean…FaceTime is a thing right?” Miguel raised a brow at your sentence, before it clicked in his mind what you were implying. Quickly shaking his head, his hand coming up to stop you.

“No. No. I can’t even go a week without seeing you, I’ve lived next door to you for thirteen years and you expect me to be okay with us being two thousand miles away from each other!?” You glanced around you when Miguel raised his voice slightly, luckily other than you and the owner the place was practically barren.

“Mig, we’ll figure it out! We’ll call and text, FaceTime, and I’ll come back for breaks! And besides, you don’t strike me as a type to enjoy California.” You attempted to lighten the mood, thankfully being met with an amused grunt and his lip twitching up slightly.

“Fine… just, promise we aren’t going to end up like all those friends who stop talking because we’re going to separate college’s alright?”

Your smile grew. “I promise.”

—

Ring…

Ring…

Rin- “Hey it’s Miguel,” your ears perked up, quickly scrambling up from your position on your bunk bed, where you were laying on your stomach, “I can’t come to the phone right now, leave me a message.” Beep.

“Hey Miguel… just wanted to see how you were, I finished my exams for the semester, and I’m going back to Neuva York tomorrow. I wanted to see if you’d want to hang out during the break, let me know… bye…” You mumbled before you hung up the call, tossing your phone on the other side of your bed. Running your hands through your head, letting out a heavy sigh. Closing your eyes to keep any forming tears of frustration from spilling out.

You and Miguel weren’t as close as you’d like to be anymore. How did a few months apart completely unwind the tight knit threat that had kept you both close for years? It had started out well, you did good at keeping your side of the promise and he did as well. Texting every hour, FaceTiming him every weekend, calling every night while you both studied, it almost felt like nothing had changed.

Then, classes became harder, you’d both start to develop new friends, new routines. The text became less frequent, now lagging to every few days, FaceTime sessions were now non-existent and your daily calls now became monthly, never lasting more than half an hour. You hated how you two were growing apart, and it hurt to see that Miguel didn’t seem to care. You didn’t have to see him in person to notice his new friend group was starting to change his personality. He was starting to seem more stoic, dry, it almost seemed like he was constantly agitated or something of the sort when you finally would get a hold of him. Still… despite the gradual change he seemed to be going through you still had hope that deep down he was still the same old Miguel you had grown to love and cherish. And that spark of hope only grew when you heard the faint buzz of your phone from the foot of your bed, quickly grabbing it to read a new message.

Text me when you get in tomorrow.

—

This was not what you had in mind.

Somehow Miguel had convinced you to go to some random bar that didn’t ID with him and his college buddies. “I’ll be fun” he said, “you’ll love them” he said. Now here you were forced to listen to some snobby trust fund kid bitch and moan about how he had to inherit his father’s company and blah blah blah. You weren’t even paying attention anyways, his words were going into one ear and flying out the other, opting to sip on your mixed drink to help keep you from banging your head into the bar counter. Tonight had simply e been the worst. Not to mention Miguel had been acting… different.

Maybe he just wasn’t good with distance, but it still struck you as odd how the second you were both finally in close proximity it was almost as if nothing had happened, like your friendship with each other wasnt badly strained for weeks on end. It didn’t stop there though, no no no. Because now that you were with him in front of his new friends and all dolled up he had been more… touchy, and not in a way he had been before.

A hand on your thigh, an arm around your waist, a finger idly twisting and twirling your hair. It was so… intimate… like he wanted them to think there was something there that was more than just a childhood friend. You couldn’t say that you hated it, it was just unexpected.

“Hey… let’s get out of here?” Miguel’s whisper snapped you out from your thoughts. The way his voice murmured lowly against your shoulder as he all but rubbed against it like a cat making your cheeks flare up and a shiver ran down your back. Quickly ignoring the feeling of the spike in your heart rate and the wetness growing in your panties, nodding as you go to stand up, not wanting to be in the over cramped bar any longer and just waiting to head back to Miguel’s place since you were staying there for a week. Feeling like your knees were going to give out from underneath you when he slid his large hand from between your shoulder blades and upwards to squeeze your right shoulder.

Not sure if your hazy mind was from the alcohol or from his actions anymore. Not sure if things would go back to how they were before you’d left when he went to leave sloppy wet kisses on your neck as soon as his apartment door was closed and locked. Not sure if you could look at him the same way after he made you see stars from the comfort of his sheets. Still you couldn’t stop. It felt too good, he felt too good.

“Fuck- felt so fucking good…” He hissed as he pulled out from between your legs, taking a moment to let himself to catch his breath before rolling the condom off and tossing it in the trash can. You didn’t respond, still out of it from the aftermath of experiencing nirvana in the form of drunk sex. Letting out a sigh as you turned to your side and closed your eyes as drowsiness starts to seep into your bones. Feeling the other side of the bed dip before a strong arm came around to hug your waist.

“…Miguel?”

“Yeah?”

“This… was a one time thing right?”

A pause, a heavy sigh before you felt his soft lips kiss the nape of your neck.

“… of course.”

—

A flash of light shined through the darkness of your studio apartment. You didn’t even need to check the notification screen in order to know who it was. Only one person would text you at two in the morning.

Come over?

If you told your high school self that the only time you ever saw Miguel was in the deeps of night while you were tangled in his sheets, she would have thought you were lying. The most fucked up part was that it was starting to affect you mentally, how your best friend had turned into a booty call because of one night from a drunk fuck seven years ago, it was painfully obvious you’d never get to the point where you’d be able to go back to the way you both once were. You couldn’t help but cling to the last broken bits he was willing to give you though. So every time he calls or texts you at random hours of the night since you’ve moved back to Nueva York, you’d show up at his doorstep like you are now.

“I know it’s late, I'm sorry, these Master exams are kicking my ass.” He apologized while letting you in after a few seconds. Closing and locking the front door before gently pushing you against it, his lips already finding their usual spot against the crook of your neck. Calloused hands began to slip underneath the baggy material of your hoodie, his large fingers gently grazing the exposed skin, you’ve learned to stop wearing shirts to these sessions a long time ago. “Need to blow off some steam…”

“Miguel…”The way you’d breathe out his name always made him feel like he had died and gone to heaven, your hands wandering upwards against the black fabric of his tank top. His lips separated from the blossoming red and purple mark they left in their wake so he can pull your jacket off before stripping off his own shirt. Your arms quickly wrap around his neck, any guilt that had been lingering in your mind quickly melted away when his hands ran down to your hips underneath your waistband, thumb fidgeting with the thin fabric of your panties. “Need you-“

“Need you too Cariño.” He muttered before going to place a gentle peck against the edge of your lips, you couldn’t help but let out a small whimper at the movement. You’ve noticed he never kisses you directly on your lips, always on the edge, on your neck or cheek. You would have felt your heart ache if the feeling of your core throbbing when his hand dragged your bottoms down to squeeze your ass wasn’t more overwhelming, lifting you up to wrap your legs around his waist.

Half of the time you two didn’t even make it to the bedroom, finding a spot on the hallway wall or against the kitchen counter. This was one of those times, he stumbled over to the couch, too distracted on leaving hickies all over your chest and dipping his fingers into your wet cunt. You let out a gasp when you landed on the brown leather rather harshly, making the couch move a few inches from its original spot due to the weight of both of your bodies hastily climbing on top of it. He made quick work to strip the rest of your clothes from both of your bodies once he made sure you hadn’t accidentally hit your head. Quickly slipping a condom before lining himself up.

“Fuuuuck-fuck…” He groaned, as he pushed the tip of his cock between your folds. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream from the deliciously painful stretch that he always provides. Giving you a second to adjust to his length and girth before pulling out and slamming his hips against yours, each thrust making your silent whimpers and whines turn into pornographic moans and incoherent babblings. “Love filling you up. You love this cock don’t you?” He taunts, it was so cruel the way the words fell from his mouth but you loved it nonetheless. Nodding rapidly as you gushed around him for the first time tonight.

“Nah uh… need to heard you say it. Use your words.” He smirks, enjoying the plop plop sound that started to quietly reverberate off the walls of his living room. Glancing down momentarily to watch a thin layer of cum that was forming a ring around the base of his cock. “Tell me how much you love it.” He urged.

“Fuck-fuck… love it so much.” You moaned, overstimulated from your orgasm, squirming underneath him just the way he liked. He couldn’t help the way his ego swells at the way you feel apart for him.

“Don’t know what I’d do without you.” He cooed as he propped your leg over his shoulder to get a better angle, his sweet words always messed with your foggy mind. “Such a sweet little thing, all for me.”

“Don’t-don’t say that Mig.” You whined, head turning to the side, as your hand dropped from his chest to drop off the couch. His right hand quickly leaves your hip and runs up to your neck, keeping his grip light as he props your head back to face him with his index finger.

“Aww poor baby, can’t handle when I talk all sweet to her, huh?” He let out an airy half chuckle. Despite the honey-like toned he’d use, the underlying taunt was always present. “Let me make it up to you baby.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he thrust deeper into your core, making your hips subconsciously jump up to meet his.

“Mig-Miguel, I’m so-so close.” You whimpered and whined, clenching around his length, his hips stuttering slightly as you felt the heat building in your lower belly start to grow with each thrust.

“Cum with me baby… Cum all over this cock.” He groaned.

“Fuck-Fuck.” With one final thrust, you finally came undone around him, his name falling from your lips over and over like a mantra. Miguel followed suit, stopping his thrust while fully inside your cunt, letting out a deep groan as he came.

“Shit… You okay?” He asked once he was able to collect himself enough, climbing off top of you before rolling the used condom off his softing member, picking up his forgotten boxers and placing them back on.

“Mhm…” You nodded, trying to stabilize yourself on shaky arms and legs. Miguel seemed to have noticed, picking up your clothes from the floor and making his way over to hand them to you.

“Let me get you some water.” He said before retreating to his kitchen. The only sound in the air now was the faint noises of him rustling around his cabinets, and the quiet shuffling of clothes. Hating the feeling of putting your legging and hoodie back on due to the thin layer of sweat still on your skin. Once you were decent enough Miguel came back with a glass of water and handed it to you. Mumbling a “thank you” before taking a sip. Miguel cleared his throat as he sat down on the other edge of the couch, eyes cast down, hands rubbing anxiously together, finally deciding to break the steadily growing awkward silence. “Look, (Y/N), I wanted to talk to you about something… something kinda important.”

You raised a brow, noticing the sudden change in his behavior, taking another quick sip before placing the half empty glass on his coffee table. “What’s up?”

He released a heavy sigh as he brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck, still not making eye contact as he continued. “I’m not sure how to say this, so I’ll just put it out there…” He finally brought his gaze up to meet yours, “We need to stop seeing each other.”

Huh?

“I’m sorry what?” The words came out of your mouth before you could stop, your face quickly filling up with confusion and a bit of disbelief as you stood up. Miguel follows your actions as he puts his hands up in defense, but you continue before he could try explaining. “You can’t just fuck me on your couch then tell me afterwards we need to stop. You know how much of an asshole you sound?”

“I know, I know it makes me sound like an asshole.” He tried to reason with you, going to finally put on his shorts and tank top that were still on the floor. Not feeling like being half-naked during this conversation. “Look, there’s this girl I’ve been seeing and it’s getting pretty serious-“

“A girl you’ve been seeing?” You repeated in disbelief. “You can’t be for real.”

“Well, we never agreed to be exclusive. It’s not like we were going to start dating or anything.”

Ouch.

You had to turn away so they didn’t see the tears building in the corner of your eyes, but even with your face hidden your body language gave you away.

“I know we weren’t exclusive but fuck Miguel.” You shake your head, going to make your way to the door. “I’ve known you since we were five and you’re just gonna throw me away like some old toy?!”

“Hey-no. That’s not-that’s not what I mean, you know that.” He takes a step forward, grabbing your arm before you could get too far. “We can’t sleep together anymore, but we can still be friends.” You couldn’t help the scoff that left your lips, finally gathering yourself enough to pull your arm away and face him again, not caring if he saw the tears cascading down your cheeks. He’s made you cry one too many times, it’s about time he saw what he did to you. “We can still be friends! You’re still my best friend (Y/N)!” He couldn’t help but let his voice come out in more of a panic, a bit more rushed. You quickly shook your head.

“No. No, we aren’t best friends anymore Miguel, we haven’t been in a long, long time. I know that, you know that. So don’t pretend like we are just because your afraid of losing your emotional support fuck buddy.” You finally head toward the door and towards your car in the driveway, not turning to face him as you hear him call your name. “Don’t call me, don’t text me. If you're as serious about this girl as you say you are, you’d do the right thing and block me. Because I’m so tired of waiting around and pretending like one day you’ll wake up and realize I’m in love with you.”

You froze once the words came out, hand still on the car door handle as you came to the realization you finally admitted the secret you’ve been holding for the past ten years. Your free hand going to cover your mouth as you finally turn to look at Miguel, the look of shock from the confession was evident. You shook your head as you attempted to back track.

“Wait, Miguel I didn’t mean to tell you that-it just happened-“

“… You should leave.” His voice suddenly became stoic, his face hardening so it was hard to read his emotions. “This is just helping my case. Leave.” The tears flowed harder down your face as he slammed the front door shut. Leaving you to sob into the emptiness of the night as you finally let all the pain from the last seven years catch up to you.

You weren’t surprised to see your text bubbles turn green the next morning.

—

“I really think this one is it.”

“Me too!”

“He’ll love you in that dress.”

“Aww I can already see the waterworks.”

All you could do was smile, your hands repeatedly smooth non-existent wrinkles as you looked at yourself in the mirror, you looked like a real life princess. After what felt like hours you finally found the wedding dress. You couldn’t be happier.

“Alright Miss future Osborn.” Your maid of honor squealed, finally getting your attention, “You need to get out of that dress, you need to meet up Harry to look over the venue.”

You sighed, as you turned back to admire the white wedding dress one more time. “You’re right, I don’t wanna keep him waiting just cause I can’t stop staring at myself.” You giggled, before heaving to the back.

You and Harry have been dating for four years now, and he had proposed last month during your anniversary. You couldn’t be happier, he treats you like a queen, better than any other Man you’ve ever been in romantic contact with.

Once you had finally finished changing out of your regular clothes, you grabbed your phone out of your purse. Sending a quick text telling him that you found a dress, before doing a quick check on insta, wanting to look at the engagement pictures you posted on your page last week. But the soft smile on your face quickly dropped, like your heart did to your stomach when you checked your activity page.

Miguel.Ohara.99 and 4 others liked your post.

Miguel.Ohara.99 started following you.

1 message request from Miguel.Ohara.99

Fuck.

—

Taglist: @famouscattale @strawberryjuice9 @loser-alert @maomaimao @franceseca-the-1st @scaryplanetdestroyer @miguels-aranita @beezusvreeland @raginghomo62 @miguelbaby @thedevax @vera4luv @alialucille

[parkersgnome]

⭐️Mima Rants⭐️

I remember coming across slideshow on tik tok this about a year ago, and even *I* (as someone who used to be grossed out by proshipping) thought was ridiculous…

This is the title of the slideshow.

Just a heads up guys, just like our favorite ships, None of these stories are real.

And if they were based on actual events, wouldn’t it make more sense to make a video about that instead of making up shit that never happened?

But, Let’s go through each of these as if they were real stories, shall we?

First one

“Caleb uses the internet to deal with his trauma”, Alright, I’m gonna stop you right there.

Isn’t “Staying off the internet is beneficial for your mental health” something we learned in, idk, fucking grade school? Cyber safety PSAs in middle school? Something that dozens of people have screeched from the top of their lungs since social media was invented?

Who the heck told him that being on the internet was going to help with his trauma and improve his mental health???

His feelings are valid, I get that. He has every right to be disturbed by Sage’s writings and fantasies. However, it seems that Sage isn't encouraging these actions in real life and keeps them strictly within fiction. As long as it’s in text or art, Sage has every right to express his fantasies.

Anyways, Caleb should seek a better therapist who can teach him better coping mechanisms like going out for walks, yoga, baking, or some other fourth thing instead of browsing social media where there’s a good chance he can run into something that makes him uncomfortable.

Next one…

“Jackie is 10-”

Yeah no no no no no no.. no… NO.

10-years-old. That’s, like, what? 4th grade? Shouldn’t Jackie be watching cartoons, playing with toys, or better yet, playing outside? Why did her parents give her internet access? Why aren’t they monitoring what their elementary schooled daughter is watching online?

If Charlie was going out of her way to promote this to minors then I would say she’s in the wrong, but this story never implies whether her content was specifically targeted to and/or letting minors come on to her account.

I've never seen proshippers create accounts specifically targeting children. If Charlie makes it clear her content isn't for kids, then it's not her fault if some random little girl she doesn’t know ends up consuming it.

If Jackie started to think this was normal, then it is her parent’s fault for neglecting her online safety and allowing her to access adult-targeted content at an age when media literacy is at an all time low.

The last one

“dEGenErates LiKE hiM 🤓” 💀💀

Once again, unless you can present to me a REAL LIFE incest/pedophilia case where proshipping was involved, this is not a valid argument that fiction affects reality.

Alas, we're treating these stories as if they were real. If Trey feels compelled to SA his sister after seeing writings or drawings of problematic ships, this suggests he’s likely an untreated mentally ill individual, especially since he can't differentiate fiction from reality.

What? If Trey played GTA V and started shooting and robbing a bank because he wanted to be like Trevor Phillips, should we consider banning violent video games?

As proshippers, we do not endorse real-life criminals and genuinely terrible people. The essence of proshipping is that all negative or degenerate actions should be confined to fiction. Understand?

End of discussion.

Anyway, as ridiculous as that slideshow was, please refrain from harassing or bothering the artist who made it. They have the same freedom of speech we do, and stooping to harassment and bullying wouldn't make us any better than antis who promote such behavior.

[help-itrappedmyself]

Dead On Main AU Part 4

Masterpost

Jason listens carefully to Jazz’s half of the conversation, but Jazz seems to be mostly listening. Jazz says he’s taking him to Nasty for dinner, which Jason can’t say he’s excited about. He doesn’t know if Nasty is supposed to be describing the food or the place. Either way it is not comforting that whatever Nasty is, it is somehow a better source of food than his soulmate’s house. 

Eventually Jazz hands the phone back to him. 

“Everything good?” Jason asks.

“Yeah, your dad, Dick, and Tim are going to be driving me over, but It’s a long drive so Jazz will get you dinner and then you can do whatever. I have a gaming system, and you’re welcome to use my bed. If you need help finding clothes, or really with anything, then Jazz will help you.”

“Got it.” Long drive with B, Dick, and Tim. They’re all going to interrogate him immediately. While he’s trapped in a box with them for hours. “Hey, my family is really nosy and they will pry and they have no emotional cues so they will not know when to stop. Just… Tell them if they’re bothering you, and you don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to.” Jason doesn’t know who will be worse in this scenario. Bruce is going to interrogate him for literally everything, Dick is probably going to be all relationships and feelings, Tim is a nice in-between which just means he’ll probably support any and all interrogating. 

“Same goes for you. Jazz is studying to be a psychologist, and my entire family forgets that we’re not all test subjects for whatever they’re working on. Mom and Dad with their gadgets, and Jazz with her… studying and analyzing you. There are no boundaries.” 

“Oh, I’m familiar with that concept.” Jason chuckled.

“Well, given the circumstances I’d say if we can survive each other’s families that’s probably a pretty good sign.”

Kid is probably right. Fate and everything. 

Jazz goes out to clear a path to the door, making sure there are no weapons to run into. When she gets back she leads Jason out, but when they get to the ground floor Jason is grabbed. 

“Happy Birthday Dann-o!” The person holding him is tall. Very tall compared to Danny, and taller than Jason in his regular body. He has black hair and it looks like he's wearing a jumpsuit. After squeezing to the point where Jason couldn't breath for a second Jazz gets the man to put him down. 

“Dad, this isn't Danny right now.” 

“What do you mean princess, of course it is!” 

A woman comes around the corner to stand next to the man, she is also in a jumpsuit but she has Jazz’s red hair.

“Guys, it's his sixteenth birthday.” So Danny's parents remember his birthday but not how old he is? Could be that they’ve forgotten the significance of a person’s sixteenth birthday, but given it should be an important day in a child’s life, they should have remembered.

“We know it's his birthday dear.” The woman comes over to give Jason a hug as well, but this one is less painful. And she's tall too, Jason is not used to feeling this short anymore.

“Mom, Dad, this is Jason. Danny’s soulmate.” The both of them just blink for a second. Jason, this is Drs. Jack and Maddie Fenton, Danny’s parents.”

“Nice to meet you both.” Jason gets out.

“Well, this is wonderful!” Dr. Fenton-Maddie says. “Figures Danny would be the younger one. Are you going to be here for dinner?”

Jason glances over at Jazz.

“No, you told us that you would be busy, so we already made plans.” Jazz sidesteps the invitation. Jason couldn’t tell if that was true or a lie to get him out of the situation. Would they tell their son that they were too busy to have dinner with him on his birthday? He wants to think the answer is no. “Shame Danny will be missing out, but we’ll save his presents for him.”

“Alright, well you kids have fun then!” Maddie and Jack left as quickly as they came, rambling about something that Jason could not understand.

“They didn’t want to know where Danny is? Who he’s with? Where we’re going? Anything?” Jason turned to Jazz who had a pinched look on her face.

“Neither of us get up to much trouble, they’ve trusted us for a while now.” 

“Trust him to be magically transported who-knows-where?” Jason is almost stupefied by the utter lack of regard for Danny’s well-being. He is insulted on his soulmate’s behalf. “He could be in another country for all they know! They didn’t even ask!”

Jazz nods. “Best not to think about it. Everything is turning out alright anyways. Now come on, let’s get dinner.”

Jason is seething, but doesn’t think it will do much good to argue with her here so he decides to calm down. He startles a little when he realizes how easy it is to calm down in this body. Just decide to, and then move on. None of the lingering churning in his gut or fog in his mind. 

He frowns as he follows Jazz out the door, hoping that Danny’s not having too hard a time in his body.

[solarbird]

“Are we willing to fight for it?” Crowd: “YES!” “And when we fight?” Crowd: “WE WIN!” — Kamala Harris to campaign staff, 22 July 2024

That’s right, the “if we fight we win” isn’t from me this time. It’s from Kamala Harris, and I am kind of in shock.

One of the things I most feared about the “replace Biden” movement was the donor class yanking the party right again and hand-picking an all old white dudes ticket and absolutely tanking every chance we had of winning this election and stopping Trumpism for good.

Politically active Black people I know personally were expecting that to happen, because that kind of shit has happened so many times. And when political Black people talk about this shit in the Democratic party, you better listen, because their history on this stuff is solid.

I mean, that’s not the only reason I feared it, I have plenty of my own experience watching this same shit go down. But it’s a big one.

That – and all the many money and organisational problems I have described which would result – was about the biggest problem I had with replacing Biden. Particularly once it was clear the money people were moving on it so hard. I was so sure they’d do again what they’ve always done, slide the top of the ticket back to the “right,” repudiating so much economic and climate good the Biden administration has done, trying to haul us back to Clintinesque neoliberalism which would fail more spectacularly than ever before.

That’s also why I was an instant loud and dare I say it strident pivot to Harris when Biden actually did drop out – it was all to stop that money move from happening. That’s why I was out Sunday as loud and long as I could be, shouting, “WHITE PEOPLE, GET HER THE NOMINATION. FUCKING DO IT” while various usual clowns and dilettantes wibbled on demanding an ‘open convention’ and nattering about a ‘flash primary’ and going off about ‘not voting for a cop’ and the wretched spectre of Joe Manchin dipped a skeletal toe into the race.

None of that was an option. It’s still not an option. It had to be her; it has to be her.

And that speech I’m quoting shows why.

I’m still stunned. I never expected to hear a presidential candidate echoing my own words back at me.

I mean, Biden understands exactly what we’re dealing with – fash propaganda aside, he really is still all there, and his words show it. But he’s not able to frame it that way, it’s just not who he is. To see a candidate frame it like this… exactly like this… that’s something new. And I did not expect it.

I am so rarely truly surprised in politics. It has been a while since I have been surprised at all.

This has surprised me.

Another political writer I follow described her as the first Generation X candidate, and maybe that’s why. Technically she’s like two months too early for GenX, she’s in that transition zone, but y’know what? If she wants to grab that label I am fine with that, because those are some words from someone who fucking gets it. From someone who has figured it the fuck out.

Go watch her speech, particularly, oh… the “I know Donald Trump’s type” section starts around 19 minutes in, but the part after that, that’s where it really starts to matter, at 21:45. Here, I timestamped for you, hopefully it’ll work where you’re reading this and if not, just skip ahead:

I’ve been saying – this is the turning point year. The peak year of a fascist movement weakened but not destroyed by self-inflicted wounds of COVID, the last year of the backstop, the year after which we can start to win.

But still I expected that this year that we’d still have to fight under the old rules, playing the old games of the Baby Boom, even if I knew that one final year of holding would shatter it all, and let us make and play by new rules in ’26 and ’28.

Hence, one more year of the bulwark, one more year of the hold.

Until two days ago, on Sunday, July 21st, 2024, that was exactly how it was playing out.

Then a political miracle happened. Biden left the race and the donor class didn’t get their push to the right, and some of them apparently didn’t even want it because they dropped money again the moment Harris announced her campaign.

I guess maybe those rich bastards finally learned a thing or two about not throwing elections.

And that means…

…maybe we don’t have to wait ’til ’26 and ’28.

Maybe it’s not one last hold after all, before the spring.

Maybe the rules can change now.

Maybe Millennials and Zoomers are going to seize the moment this year.

If they do – if you do, if you go in, if you mean it, if you don’t waver and trip yourself up in details and personality and propaganda and purity tests and and and all of it…

…then…

…this year won’t just be a hold.

This year will be the fucking landslide we have needed for eight years now to wipe Trumpism and its like off the map for a century.

Wanna make that happen?

France and England have shown us the way, and christ, I want to make that happen.

How about you? You up for it? You ready to do the work?

Let’s go, then. Everybody.

All in.

104 days remain.

[humanpurposes]

August

Part 3: Summer's Over

The aftermath of dinner leaves you with some doubts. The month is drawing to a close and the cracks are starting to show.

Aemond Targaryen x Reader // Modern AU

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected p in v sex, angst, trauma dumping

Words: 8.8k

A/n: Part 3/3!! Ignoring the fact that it is now October :)

You follow glimpses of him through the house only to lose sight of him at the old oak staircase, but you guess where he is heading.

When you reach his bedroom door it’s closed. You place the tips of your fingers on the door handle. There’s an awful feeling in your stomach, like you’re empty, like you’re missing something. Maybe this was just a cruel joke. Maybe Daeron’s a sore loser and says stuff like this all the time. Maybe it was only a cheap way to cause upset. Maybe Aemond didn’t want to deal with it. 

Did he expect you to follow him from the dinner table? Is he expecting you to care? 

This isn’t your problem to fix and Aemond isn’t yours to comfort. That evening on the beach, before you would have called him a friend, he said you were a good listener, but when has he asked you for advice in the days since? The lines have all become blurred. You’re not ‘just friends’, that’s clear enough, but you’re not more than that either.

“It’s just that Aemond’s usually into older women–”

If it was only teasing Aemond wouldn’t have left. He would have given something back. 

“Aemond?”

At first there’s no audible reply. You hold your breath waiting for a response, even just a sigh, even if he just told you to go away.

You step back, startled as the door opens.

He’s still in his slacks and shirt from dinner, the top few buttons undone and revealing a silver chain sitting at the base of his neck. He takes a moment to look at you, then swallows thickly and steps aside to let you in.

The room is cold and smells of sea salt. A breeze blows in through a thin opening in the window, the curtains thrown open to the violet sky of dusk. The moon is out already, full, bright and beautiful.

You take a few steps before you turn to face his figure standing against the light of the hallway. Muted moonlight shines on his blinded eye and the scar that frames it. His face is passive, calm, but something about this seems so wrong. 

What if he doesn’t want you here? What if he wants to be alone?

“Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he says.

That’s it? You aren’t sure what else you were expecting from someone usually so perfectly composed. Maybe a glimpse into his mind. Maybe a suggestion of how he feels other than trying to seem unbothered. Now you’re standing in a room where you felt at ease only hours before, by the bed where he fucked you, wondering why you even bothered to follow him in the first place. 

“It was all very backhanded, what Daeron said,” you say.

Aemond hums in agreement.

“I’m sure he was doing it on purpose, he just wanted to upset you after you beat him.”

You stay in silence, a dangerous game because it gives you a chance to think. There’s something you don’t know, something everyone else is in on. Aemond doesn’t know anything about your past, the people you’ve loved, the people you might have loved if things had been different, the memories that live inside of your head. Equally, you don’t know anything about him.

You can’t take this, the blanks, the empty space, the overwhelming quiet of the wind.

“Do you want me to leave?” 

Aemond’s face falls. He comes into you, taking the sides of your face in his hands. Every point of contact sends a shiver through your skin, the heels of his palms by your chin, his thumbs against your cheeks, his fingertips at your neck. “No, I want you to stay.”

Maybe he thinks kissing you will make you forget everything. To an extent, it works. Once his lips are on yours it drowns out all the noise in your head and all you feel is the sensation, the delicate way he moves against your mouth, his heat, his hands trailing down your body. 

He’s slow to take off your clothes, to lay you on his bed and kiss the exposed parts of your body. Once he has you how he wants you, bare and breathless and wanting, he tugs at the buttons of his shirt, eye always on you. You figure it’s only fair to admire him back, the lines of his slender and toned torso, the definition in his arms, in his neck when he tenses when his breath hitches. 

There’s a dazed look in his face, parted lips, softened brow, as he positions himself between your legs. He wastes no time on preamble or teasing you. Your hands move into his hair. His tongue is firm and purposeful, moving with every jolt of your hips, every sigh and moan. Once he slips a finger inside of you it’s easy to let go, to give into the pleasure and let yourself fall apart, tugging his hair at the roots and you know that he doesn’t mind if it hurts. 

He groans as he pulls away from you, straining underneath his slacks.

Helplessly, you reach for him, only managing to graze your nails over his hands as he holds your thighs open. He tilts his head at you as he stands and bares himself, taking his time with it, knowing how desperately you want to feel him near again. 

It only takes a few strokes until he’s hard, then he’s leaning over you, dragging his head teasingly against your cunt. Your back arches every time he presses against your clit.

“Please,” you whisper, “Aemond, please,”

“That’s a good girl,” he says with a hum, finally pushing inside you. 

You gasp at the sensation, the pleasure through the initial pain. “Need you– need you deeper,” you whine. 

“So impatient,” Aemond says, “need to stretch you out first, don’t I?”

You nod and hum incoherently. Anything. Anything he gives you, you’ll take it. 

He holds your wrists by your head as he starts to fuck you. He rests his head against yours, lips ghosting over your temple, his breath hot, heavy and strained with grunts and groans. More than anything you crave the sounds he makes, the way his face feels pressed against yours.

You could die when he pulls away, but he repositions himself, laying back on the bed, moving you on top of him to straddle him. 

You adjust your hair and brace yourself against his chest with one palm. “I’ve never been on top before.”

“We’ll go slow,” he says as he guides you to sink down onto his cock.

The angle is hollowing. You feel your jaw go slack and Aemond grins at the look on your face. He’s infuriating, intoxicating. 

You set yourself a steady rhythm, looking down along your breasts, your stomach, to the point where your bodies come together. Aemond moves against you, pressing deeper every time your hips meet yours. 

“Is this good?” you say.

He nearly chokes on his own breath. “Fuck, yes,”

You press your lips together, determined to quicken your pace, chasing the feeling bursting at your core. You’re close. Aemond is holding your hips, bucking up into you, trailing his thumb to your clit to circle over it. 

Sounds of pleasure slip past your lips. It’s in the back of your mind to keep quiet, considering the risk of other people being in the house, even if they’re miles away. There’s no space in your mind for logic or self preservation. 

It builds slowly, tearing through you, tides and riptides. Aemond holds you as your body starts to shake and eventually you have to push his hand away because it’s too much. 

He pulls you into his arms, laying you along his body. Your hair falls over his face and he laughs it off. You bury your face into his neck as he grips you, fucks you frantically.

“I’m going to come,” he hisses against your ear.

You’re floating in the aftermath of your orgasm, hints of pleasure licking up your spine where he pushes against a particular space inside of you. “Please,” you feel yourself mumble, “please, please,”

“Where?”

“Inside me.”

He holds you tighter, goes faster, tries to hold in his moans. When he stills he pushes deeper inside you, bringing his lips to your temple as if to thank you. 

Your skin is covered in a thin layer of sweat and now you’ve stopped moving, the breeze dances over you. You press your teeth together to stop yourself from shivering, clinging a little tighter to Aemond for his warmth. He’s sweating too but it doesn’t occur to you to be discouraged.

He slips out of you, places you on your side and covers your bodies with the duvet. You cling to him again, your head on his shoulder, your arm thrown over his stomach. It would be a bad idea to fall asleep here. Even if the heat is inviting, the stillness makes you nervous. You glance at his face and he’s staring seemingly into nowhere. What is he thinking about? What is he picturing beyond the sight of his bedroom, books and childhood memorabilia in the gloom of night?

The wind whistles through the window. Eventually you move away from him, out of the warmth of the duvet and enter the glaring white light of the ensuite. Naked, you stand in front of the mirror. Your hair is messy, your mascara smudged around your eyelids. Pale patches of red and purple proudly mark your thighs and breasts, in places only you and Aemond will see. You look tired. You look like you’ve been fucked. 

Back in the bedroom, Aemond has moved from the bed. The curtains and the window are closed. He’s in a t-shirt and a pair of boxers, sitting at the desk, elbows on the surface, looking at something on his phone. When he hears the door he looks at you and quickly turns off the screen. As casually as you can, you put your clothes back on. He’s leaning back in the chair, watching you.

“I’m going to bed,” you say when you’re dressed.

Aemond stands to meet you before you can reach the door. “Listen,” he says, taking a delicate hold of your arm, “thanks for staying. And for checking on me in the first place.”

You shrug. It wasn’t a favour. You wanted to make sure he was alright. “I was worried about you.”

“Don’t be,” he says, and leans in to kiss you. It’s quick, affectionate, almost domestic.

When he pulls away he’s still looking at you. He lets go of your arm, dragging his fingers lightly down your skin until he has no trail left to follow, right to your hand, your fingers. You hesitate, wanting to kiss him again, but something stops you. Something’s still missing.

“Night, Aemond.”

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eye. “Night.”

It’s raining when you wake up. You’ve been so lucky with the weather all summer, but now the cracks are starting to show. At breakfast you sit with your parents. Your mother asks how your night was, having not seen you since you left the dining room. You say you went to check on Aemond. He was a little upset but he wanted space and you were tired, so you went to bed.

“You two are quite close, I’ve noticed,” she says.

You try not to smile, more out of embarrassment than anything else.

She pulls the same face, trying not to laugh. “I don’t blame you, darling, he’s gorgeous.”

“You saying that must be illegal,” you say.

“Oh please, he’s in his twenties.”

“You’re also married.”

“Oh yeah,” she says, looking at your father, “that too.”

Helaena comes to affectionately pat you on the head when she appears. Aegon grins at you through his teeth, like he knows all your secrets. Daeron is defiant, making a point to greet Viserys, to kiss Alicent on the cheek.

“No Aemond?” Otto says to the Targaryen siblings gathered at one end of the table.

“He got up early I think,” Helaena says, “went for a run.”

You imagine him in a t-shirt and shorts, drenched in rain mingled with sweat, slightly overgrown silver hair sticking to his forehead. You manage a few bites of toast before you start to feel nauseous and try a peach yoghurt instead. It doesn’t help.

You follow Helaena to the library. It’s the perfect weather to watch trash reality TV and psychoanalyse the cast. For a while it’s entertaining, but at some point you start to feel like a scientist watching lab rats. 

“How was Aemond last night?” Helaena asks. She’s facing towards the TV, her legs covered in pink patterned leggings, propped up over the arm of the sofa she’s lying on. 

“Bothered, clearly, but not very talkative.”

“Hmm.”

An argument has unfolded onscreen. Dreamfyre wanders in through the door and makes a home for herself on Helaena’s lap. “Should I call Cole and ask for some snacks?” she says, flicking the screen of her phone with her thumb. 

In a way you’re surprised Aemond hasn’t messaged you, or come to find you, even just to see what you’re up to. You’re sitting on a sofa, a glaringly vacant space next to you.

“I was worried about you.”

“Don’t be.”

“Helaena,”

“Mm hmm?”

“What did Daeron mean about Aemond liking older women?”

She doesn’t respond for a while. The chatter on the TV continues. “He wanted a rise out of Aemond. They do it to each other, they always have.”

“Helaena.”

She turns her head to look at you, craning her neck in an awkward position. You can feel the worry in your face, where it tenses, where your eyes are wide. You’re trying not to overthink it, you really are. Helaena understands it as soon as she sees you. She reaches for the remote to turn the volume down on the TV, shrill, angry voices fading into the hum of electricity. “It’s probably not my place to say, I don’t know what he’s told you.”

He’s told you some things, harmless things. No mention of exes or past summer flings. In a way it scares you that you might become an unmentioned thing in his life.

Helaena shuffles the cat off her lap and sits beside you. “Aemond is…a mystery. He doesn’t tell us anything, then one day something will take us all by surprise.”

“Was him moving back to King’s Landing a surprise?”

“In a way. He was so determined to do his own thing. Get out from under dad’s thumb.”

“So why would he come back?”

“Well he…” she lets out a long sigh. “He got involved with someone while he was working at Harrenhal.”

“A girlfriend.”

“He tried to be all secretive about it but I know when he’s hiding something.”

“Were they together for very long?”

“Two years? Maybe more? He was head over heels for her.”

There have been so many possibilities playing around in your head since last night. Maybe there was a one night stand he wasn’t proud of, maybe an unrequited crush. Two years sounds like a long time to you. 

You can’t expect Aemond to have not had a whole life beyond now, beyond you, but there’s a restless feeling in your chest. Daeron mentioning this woman was enough to get to Aemond. And you were the one that went running right to him.

“Sorry, I know you like him,” Helaena says.

“And what, they broke up so he’s moving back?”

“I think it got a bit messy, she was his manager. He probably thought he was better off in a different job, and when your dad is Viserys Targaryen why not take advantage, you know?”

“And she was older than him?”

“Gods yeah, she was twice age, divorced, no kids though.” 

“Right.”

“He’s been brooding for months, even over the phone I knew something was bothering him.”

You’re trying to keep your face relaxed. This woman, she’s in the past now, it shouldn’t change how you feel about him, or how he feels about you. But the seed is planted. You don’t know what she looks like but you imagine a deep, sultry laugh in your head, red painted lips, expensive high heels.

“Which is why it’s been so nice to see him come out of his shell lately,” Helaena adds, patting your knee. “You’ve brought that out of him.”

Around lunchtime the weather clears up. The sun shines through the panes of clear and coloured glass in the dining room and Aemond walks in dressed in jeans and red jumper. He sits next to you, smiles at you, offers to pour you a glass of white wine and insists on serving you portions of salad and fries to go with the cuts of steak brought out. His leg rests against yours. When he makes a joke to the table he looks at you while everyone else is laughing. He picks a few stray fries from your plate and grins at you with perfect teeth when you scowl at him. “You’re adorable,” he says, leaning into you, hand wandering to your thigh.

After eating, you hang around with Aemond and his siblings. Aegon claims to have a deck of cards which turns out to be Uno. The lingering tension is obvious. Daeron can’t look Aemond in the eye, even Helaena’s being short with her youngest brother. In the first round of the game you all have a silent agreement to gang up on Daeron and make his life a misery at every opportunity. That makes Aemond smile, so it makes you smile. When Daeron is on the verge of tears Aemond says “fine, we’ll go easy on you then,” and poor Daeron ends up losing again.

“That’s karma, mate,” Aegon says.

After dinner that night you and Aemond drink cocktails, sweet and strong, in the drawing room with the adults. You’re reminded of how charming Aemond is, how well he can work a room when he’s switched on. Always understated, never too brash or too loud. He laughs with your father, compliments your mother’s dress. You feel yourself getting tipsy, hypnotised by the lowlights of the room, the colourful glass lampshades, the glow of the ends of cigarettes. 

On your way to bed, Aemond stops you at the bottom of the oak staircase. His pupil is blown wide, black and blue, drinking in the sight of you. He takes a hold of your waist, gently presses you back into the bannister and kisses you like he’ll never get the chance again. Grasping at your body, pushing and pulling you in closer and closer until you’re caged against him.

There’s a silhouette of a woman lingering in the back of your mind. What would a woman from the Riverlands be like, the kind of woman Aemond Targaryen could fall in love with? Did she listen to him talk about history? Did he list his favourite books to her? Was she clever like him, understated like him? If she was divorced was she cold and guarded, or was she gentler?

You shouldn’t overthink it. You shouldn’t think about it at all.

Aemond takes you to his bedroom. He’s eager to get your clothes off, more hurried than he usually is. Once he’s made you come with his fingers and his tongue he gets you on your hands and knees, pushing into you from behind. Your body feels weightless with every thrust inside of you, every snap of his hips against your ass. Your moans are lewd and gasping. 

Aemond pulls your torso up, one hand over your mouth, the other keeping you in position. “Can’t fucking help it, can you,” he says between laboured breaths. “Does it feel that good, sweetheart?”

You can only moan against his palm in response. 

“You’re so fucking sexy when you’re desperate.”

You’d say the same about him, if you could.

And the days are all fading into one again. Summer will soon be over to the sound of rain hammering against the windows, thunderstorms and the violent roar of the sea.

Daeron’s comment at dinner is mostly forgotten. He and Aemond are joking again, taking their own jabs at Aegon. Helaena is relieved the boys are all friends again, she says she can’t stand it when their family fights. You watch movies indoors, Helaena walks you through a recipe for lemon cakes with the last of the fruit from a tree on the grounds. When it’s not raining you and Aemond walk Vhagar and Sunfyre around the gardens. You spend every night in his bed and wake up in his arms each morning.

One afternoon Aemond decides to take the dogs on a trail along the cliffs. A light shower falls from the sky but most of the path goes through a forest, evergreens, which keep the rain off you. The sea stretches out to your right and Aemond holds your left hand to keep you on his seeing side. 

Nothing in particular prompts you, but the thought has been there for some time now. In less than a week you’ll get back into your parents’ car and drive to King’s Landing. You’ll begin the rest of your life. You’ll see your friends again, go to your favourite pubs on Conquest Street, find a job, maybe live for yourself for a little while. And Aemond would be in the same city. 

“How come you’re moving back to King’s Landing?”

He’s doing that thing again, not looking at you. He keeps his grip on your hand, pouts his lips slightly, thinking. “It’s where my job is.”

New job, you think. He didn’t have to go work at his father’s company. 

He turns his head when you don’t reply, eye meeting yours. “Is that not a good enough explanation for you?” he says with a slight grin. 

“I didn’t say there has to be an explanation.”

“But?”

“But you don’t seem that thrilled about it.”

He shrugs. “It’s just how life has worked out.”

You walk on in silence for a few minutes. Aemond keeps looking ahead to make sure the dogs are still in his sight. You feel the weight of his hand in yours, the heat of his skin and his fingers curled over your knuckles.

You catch the side of your mouth in your teeth. “Helaena mentioned you had an ex at Harrenhal.”

“Did she,” Aemond says, stone faced, eye fixed on Vhagar as she prowls around the trunk of a tree. “What did she tell you?”

Twice his age. Divorced. A coworker– no, manager.

“Not much, that you were together for a while and you worked together.”

He stops walking. His gaze is stern, almost focused. In the gloom of the trees and the overcast sky his eye is more grey than blue. 

“When did you two break up?”

“January, just after New Year’s.”

“Why?”

“We kept having these fights, and I suppose she didn’t want to deal with it anymore.”

“Did you fight a lot?”

“For the last few months. Work took a lot out of her, and me too, but at some point it became harder to balance everything.”

“She was your manager, right?”

“Hel told you that? Yeah, she was. I know how it sounds, we knew it probably wasn’t a good idea to let anything happen. But we got on, and something did happen, and it worked.”

You try to soften your expression, to show him you’re listening. He’s opening up and that should make you happy, right? “So what went wrong?”

“Grandfather was the one who wanted me to work for Targ Corp. We have a half-sister, Rhaenyra. It's a bit of a weird situation but she took her kids and moved to Pentos with my uncle Daemon and his wife, Laena.”

“Oh,”

Aemond makes a sceptical sound against his teeth. “Father was furious, mum was mortified, I don’t know why she took it so personally, but Rhaenyra was always the favourite. Otto saw the opportunity, as he always does, offered me a job and a place on the board.”

“And you took it?”

“Actually I turned him down. I was happy at Harrenhal, I liked my job, I was trying to convince Alys to move in with me, why would I throw that all away? But then she kept asking about it, said Targ Corp was a bigger company and I’d have better opportunities, said I was stupid to turn down a board position.”

“Didn’t she want you to stay?”

His hand comes to his jaw. “I would have hoped so. After that we kept picking arguments, even at work. It wasn’t feasible anymore. If I was around her we’d fight, if I kept my distance she’d complain. Nothing was ever good enough.”

You feel his hand loosen in its grip. You try to hold onto him tighter, but he slips from your grasp and shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat instead. 

“I wanted it to work so badly, but eventually she just… gave up on me,” he says. “Sorry, you probably don’t want to know.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you say. You thread your arm into his like a half-hearted hug. He’s watching the sea, breathing deeply, brow furrowed, lips fallen. “Do you miss her?”

“I miss when things were good. I don’t miss the rest of it.”

After dinner that night, when Aemond starts to corner you and ask if you want to go to bed, you tell him you’re tired and want to go straight to sleep. He seems concerned but doesn’t question you. He walks you to your bedroom and kisses your forehead. Before he can pull away you peck him on the cheek.

When you close the door, you feel an empty space inside your chest. Sleeping in your own bed, you miss the presence of another body beside you, his limbs intertwined with yours, the smell of his shower gel, his sweat, just him. It’s a peaceful sleep nonetheless. 

The 31st of August. It’s just after breakfast and this time tomorrow you’ll be driving through the gatehouse of Dragonstone, through the town, past all the bookshops and cafes you could have spent more time in. At least now you can say you’ve spent a month as a guest at a castle. You treat yourself to a final walk through the house, the library, the portrait gallery adorned with paintings of members of the Targaryen family; silver hair is a common theme. 

Viserys has already hung up a portrait of himself. He’s sat in a chair in a hall you recognise from the Red Keep; you visited years ago as part of a school trip. To his right stands a woman with silver hair, her hand resting on his shoulder. To his left is another woman, short hair, black suit, the family sigil on her lapel. Sitting below them, on some kind of steps are his remaining four children, Aegon, Helena, Daeron, and Aemond at the end. The painting certainly wasn’t painted in real time, all of Alicent’s kids would have been born after Aemma Arryn died, which means Viserys chose to include his first wife and exclude his second. 

You take a step closer until you can see each brushstroke. Aemond looks about ten, chin in his palm, looking solemn and serious where his other siblings have subtle smiles on their faces. His left eye is clouded over, but there’s no scar. 

Aemond hasn’t said anything more about the ex, Alys. You found her on LinkedIn one night when you couldn’t sleep. She doesn’t seem to post often, but reposts a lot from her company’s profile, Harrenhal PR. She has a square jaw, a pointed nose, short black hair and pale skin. Gorgeous, but just a normal person. 

When you woke up the next morning you felt so guilty you cleared your search history and deleted the app from your phone for good measure. 

Helaena said you’d brought something out of Aemond this summer, that you made him happy. You want to make the most of that. And there are twenty four hours left.

The rain has stopped since last night. The air is clean and clear, the sun even feels warm again. You decide to have a final walk around the pool, conveniently spotting Aemond pulling a packet of cigarettes from a back pocket when you open the door to the patio. Really, you’ve been meaning to talk to him. Properly talk to him.

He puts a cigarette between his lips, curled in a half smile as he raises a lighter to the end. Flame flickers, smoke floats from his mouth and disappears into the faint smell of greenery and chlorine. He takes a long drag and pouts his lips to exhale. “So, are you packed yet?”

“Mostly. I’ll only have to throw a few things into my bag before we go.”

He takes another drag, his breath heavy against the back of his throat. Cigarettes smell like nights out, leaning on the balcony of a dorm party, hangovers and questionable decisions. Now cigarettes smell like Aemond and summer.

He’s looking at you intently. “Are you going to miss me?” smirking as he says it.

You force yourself to laugh. For some reason you’d been expecting him to say something sweet, honest. It puts your defences up. No, I’m not. Can’t wait to be rid of you actually. You could play it off like a joke too. You fold your arms and shrug. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“What’s the plan when you get back, job applications?”

“I guess so. What about you?”

He taps the cigarette, ash floating to the ground. “Well, work.”

You don’t like Aemond pretending to be unserious, his short responses. “Do you have friends in King’s Landing?”

“A few acquaintances. Work will keep me busy enough.”

“Right.” You can feel your heart creeping up into your throat. You can feel it pulsing. Aemond takes another drag and half smiles. “We should go out one night, the two of us.”

He takes the cigarette between two fingers and pulls it away from his mouth. You know something’s gone wrong when that air of self assuredness starts to melt away. He puts his weight into his hand on the balustrade, leaning slightly away from you. 

He says your name like he’s exhausted. “Look, we’ve had fun, but I didn’t think–” another drag, another audible breath.

“Didn’t think what?”

“I’m not looking to be in a relationship right now.”

The way he says that word makes you sick. Relationship. Like it’s poison in the air around you, like it’s churning in his stomach. It’s making yours turn now.

In a way you knew it. You knew you were missing something.

Aemond tosses the cigarette onto the grass and places his hand on your arm. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

The space behind your eyes is hot and stinging and your hand is trembling. You try to dig your nails into your palm to make it stop. All of it. Your head has tilted down, your eyes are on the concrete tiles, Aemond’s white sneakers. “Okay,” you say. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologising.”

“I just want to be honest.”

“Hmm.”

“I think you’re amazing, I want you to know that. It’s just not the right time for me.” 

He looks at you, a combination of sadness and hopefulness in his expression. Was he planning on telling you this? Or was he going to stop replying your texts once you’d left his family home? 

He’s stroking his thumb along your arm. You take a step back.

“I’ll see you at dinner, Aemond.”

He calls your name as you walk away. You don’t need explanations right now. You don’t need honesty. You need to be alone.

Part of you worries he’ll follow you down to the poolside. Part of you wants him to. But you know he won’t. Why would he? When you reach the sunloungers, you look back to the patio and Aemond is gone. You look around you, at this beautiful garden this beautiful house, the trickle and hum of the pool filter, it’s all so perfect. This whole summer has been perfect. But it was always going to end.

Aemond doesn’t show up for dinner. Aegon says he’s got a headache and that he’s going to take the dogs for a walk.

Most of the other guests are leaving tomorrow, the Velaryons, the Wyldes, the Lannisters, and everyone wants to make the most of the night. It’s like a Christmas party, jokes and toasts, stories reminiscing better times, declarations of hopes for the future. Helaena sits beside you and keeps asking you all sorts of questions to keep you engaged in the conversation. You put on your best smile. “I loved that little bakery in town… I can’t believe I got to stay in a castle, I feel like a Princess… alright, I admit it, Aegon has good taste in films.”

You try to ignore the empty space at the head of the table.

Is it better that he said no then and there? Imagine if he’d taken you up on the offer, if you’d gone for dinner or drinks, if you’d ended up at his place or yours. Would it hurt more if he told you a week or a month down the line? Would it have been better if none of this had happened in the first place?

You tell yourself not to regret it. It was good in the moment. It was fun and exciting, it was good to feel wanted for once, and being with him made you happy. You thought it made him happy too.

Dinner is followed by drinks in the drawing room. You join in for a while, until Aegon, Daeron and Helaena want to go down to the beach, one last time for summer’s sake. The sun is still setting and it's mild out. You and Helaena swap your heels for sneakers and wear coats over your dresses, while the boys go in their shirts and slacks. 

Damp sand shifts under your shoes and a sharp wind stings against the skin of your cheeks and hands. As the sun slips closer to the horizon the sky burns brighter and fiercer. You breathe in the air, the smell of salt, the sound of the waves. Aegon and Daeron run towards the edge of the water, ditching their shoes, flicking seawater at each other, laughing hysterically.

Helaena links her arm through yours.

“I’m going to miss it here,” you say. Being by the sea in King’s Landing isn’t the same. In the city there are busy harbours, factories and old power stations along the shore. There are some public beaches, none that would offer the same peaceful isolation of right here, right now. 

“Me too. I miss it every year, but then we come back to it.”

You can’t see yourself coming back here. Maybe Viserys will invite your parents again, but by next summer you could have a job, your own life in King’s Landing you won’t be able to leave behind for a whole month. And even if you wanted to, this whole place reminds you of Aemond. You imagine Sunfyre and Vhagar running along the beach, pawprints in the sand, Aemond by your side, talking with his hands, retreating into himself when you mentioned King’s Landing.

You don’t want to be upset about it.

“We’ll hang out in King’s Landing,” Helaena says.

A shudder goes through you. “It won’t be like this,” you say.

“Will it matter where we are? We’ll still be friends.”

You look at her, eyes watering with the wind. She smiles.

“Yeah, you’re right, I’m just being stupid.”

She squeezes your arm. “No, you’re not.”

“It’s just, I’ve really liked this. It’s been nice living for myself, not having to think about lectures or exams or what the rest of my life is going to look like, because I’ll figure it out like everyone else. Only it wasn’t– I’m leaving and the month is ending. How could I think this feeling was going to last forever?”

A shriek of laughter from the boys catches both of your attentions. Aegon’s fallen on his arse and drenched himself completely.

“Idiots, they’ll get hypothermia,” Helaena mutters with a grin. She turns back to you. “Maybe this is an ending, but maybe it’s the start of something else.”

You nod. You know she’s right. The world doesn’t start or end with a single person, but it still hurts.

“I thought it was weird Aemond wasn’t at dinner.”

“Yeah, well,”

Helaena looks like she wants to say something, but she pouts her lips, like Aemond does when he’s thinking. 

Aegon and Daeron call you down to the shore. You slip your shoes off and place your feet in the water, it’s like ice shooting up through your legs. You shriek and giggle, and kick water at Daeron when he tries to splash you.

Aegon puts one arm around Helaena, another soaked arm around yours. “Ladies, gent, it’s been a pleasure.”

You’d forgotten the Targaryens were about to part ways for another year too. Aemond and Helaena will be in the same city, but Daeron has another year left at Citadel Boys and Aegon never seems to stay in one place for very long.

“Don’t get all emotional on us, Aeg,” Daeron says. 

“And don’t miss me too much when you’re in Oldtown, kiddo.”

“I’m sure he’ll survive,” Helaena says.

When you finally reach the top of the path back to the house, shivering and damp, you’re the first to spot someone standing just outside the main doors. You know it’s him, you recognise his silhouette and his posture, the faint glow of a cigarette.

You hang back a little. Aegon and Daeron show off their soaked shirts and wet hair. Helaena gives him a kiss on the cheek and they all head inside. 

You stare at each other for a moment, alone.

“Did you, um, have a nice evening?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

He takes another quick drag. “I was just thinking and, you know, I feel bad about, well, everything.”

You’re so ready to get out of the cold. All you want is a shower and the weight of your duvet. You’re too tired to fight this fight. “It’s fine, you were just being honest.”

“But I don’t want you to think–”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you say. “I want to go to bed.”

Aemond hangs his head, taps some ash onto the ground. 

You take a step towards the doors. And stop yourself. 

“Actually, it’s not fine. You’ve spent the whole summer flirting with me, talking me into your bed, making me think you liked me, just to throw it all back in my face?”

Aemond seems utterly perplexed. “No, gods, don’t say it like that,” he says in a harsh whisper. 

But you’re done being gracious and apologetic. “Like what? Like I was a convenient fuck? That’s what this was, wasn’t it? And now I look like a complete dickhead for thinking this actually meant something to you.”

“It does— it did.”

Your heart beats furiously in your chest. How could you possibly believe him? “So you liked me enough for a summer fling, but not enough to keep me around, is that it?”

Aemond tosses his cigarette to the ground and drives it into the gravel with his foot. “Is that really what you think of me?”

“I don’t know what to think. Was this all a lie? Were we playing pretend?”

Every time you caught him looking at you, every coffee he brought you when he was grovelling for your forgiveness, every conversation, every time he kissed you, every night you spent in his bed, it wasn’t real.

“I like you. I never played up my feelings. I wasn’t trying to get something out of you,” he says.

Then why does it have to be so confusing and complicated? Why can’t it be enough that you like him and he likes you? Why can’t it be enough that you like being with him? 

Your heart sinks. “Is this about Alys?” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, that’s nothing to do with you.”

“Are you not over her or something?”

“Yes! No, I– I don’t fucking know. I haven’t thought about her for months and then…”

“And then what?”

He looks at you like he’s pleading for something. You’re waiting for him to say he still loves her. You’re waiting for him to admit you were just a placeholder, someone to fill a missing space. He huffs in frustration, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead.

“Do you still have feelings for her?”

“Are you jealous, is that it?”

You flinch at the harshness of his tone. Jealous of someone you’ve never met? Who he never brought up until his brother wanted to be petty? You can’t bring yourself to say it outright. If he still loves her or not, the mere mention of her made him withdraw.

Aemond steadies his breathing. He steps into you and your instinct is to back away but you let yourself stand still. His chest is close to yours, your faces inches apart. He doesn’t touch you. “This,” he says, gesturing between the two of you, “this was good, why can’t we leave it at that?”

Then you do back away from him and as you look at him you realise he’s being sincere. Tears stream from your cheeks. You don’t gasp for air or try to stop yourself from crying. You can’t stay out here in the cold. You can’t look at him any longer.

But you look him in the eye one final time, even though it hurts, even though you want nothing more than to lose yourself in his embrace, and say, “maybe this is for the best. I don’t want to live my life afraid of the future.”

You give him another moment to say something, but all he can do is look at you. There’s nothing else you want from him. You head inside the house, dried tears on your cheeks, your heart that little bit more guarded, into the warm light of the chandeliers hanging over the entrance hall.

The 31st of October. It’s 5pm and it’s already dark. Even though the same thing happens every year it somehow manages to surprise you how short the days are in autumn and winter. You’ve watched daylight come and go from behind the counter of the cafe, a job which your dad thinks is a waste of time. You change out of your t-shirt and apron, into some blue jeans, a black sweater and wrap yourself up in a coat and scarf. As you pass the counter to leave one of your colleagues hands you a white paper bag, a slice of pumpkin loaf cake, which you’ve been eyeing up all day.

You walk quickly to the bus stop, grateful to see you’ve arrived at the same time as the bus, no need to wait in the cold. You find a seat near the back, put some headphones on and take a few bites of the cake, sweet and spicy. Lights and Halloween decorations turn into a blur. You watch people heading home from work, chatting outside pubs, the odd group of girls in fancy dress.

Rain starts to spit against the window as a large white building comes into view. You press the red stop button and stand by the doors as a robotic voiceover will be announcing the next stop as National Museum.

Once you’re off the bus you hurry up the steps to the museum’s main entrance. Someone scans a ticket on your phone, a security guard looks through your bag where he’ll only find your work clothes, a bottle of water and some spare mint tea bags. 

Visiting hours are about to end and the main hall of the museum is practically empty, save for a few statues of Kings and Queens and academics. It’s eerie. A few voices echo through the pillars and vaulted ceiling. You see some people dressed in suits and smart dresses head up a marble staircase on the other side of the hall and suppose that’s the direction you’ll be heading in too. There are signs to help as well, pointing you towards the Tyrell Lecture Hall. 

Your phone buzzes as you head towards the doors. You fumble to turn it on silent and check an incoming text message. Dyana, from work, the two of you became fast friends when you started working at the cafe: Offer’s still there for tonight btw!! Would be great if you came xx

But then I understand if you wanna spend Halloween talking about dead people. Very fitting lol

You walk towards the door to the lecture hall while looking down at your phone. The book launch ends at 8pm. People probably won’t show up to Dyana’s until 9pm. You could make it. But you don’t  have a costume. You could go back to your place first. But then–

Knowing that you’re probably a few steps from walking face first into the doors to the lecture hall, you look up. Someone is holding the door open. You make eye contact with a single blue eye.

“Hi,” Aemond says. He’s in a black turtleneck jumper which accentuates his jaw beautifully. He has a purple lanyard around his neck and a brown coat thrown over his arm. His hair has grown since August.

“Hi,” you say, without taking a breath.

“You’re here for the book launch?”

“Yeah,” you say, peering inside where people are taking their seats on rows of ornate wooden benches around the main stage.

“I didn’t know you were interested in Valryian history?”

“I’m not to be honest, I just thought it would be interesting, especially after spending the summer at Dragonstone…”

An awkward silence falls between you. 

You’re still looking at each other and Aemond suddenly smiles. “How are you? You look good,”

You raise an eyebrow.

He clears his throat and runs his free hand through his hair. “I meant, have you found a job yet?” His cheeks and the tip of nose are turning pink.

“I did. Not the one my parents were expecting, but I wanted some time to figure things out, go to book launches and exhibitions and plays, you know?”

“What’s the job?”

“I’m working in a cafe on Sisters Street, Blue Moon.”

His eye brightens. “No way, on Sister’s Street? I pass that place all the time, it’s right by my department building, I keep meaning to go in.”

You try not to frown, but the Red Keep, the main office for Targ Corp, sits on Aegon’s Hill overlooking Blackwater Bay, a good distance from Sisters Street. “Department building?”

“Yeah, so, right, I spent one week working for my father and I hated it. It was all very last minute and my father was furious but I enrolled in a curation course at King’s College.” He holds up his lanyard to show you and sure enough, it’s attached to a student ID card.

“Wow, Aemond, that’s amazing.”

“I was thinking about what you said, actually, about not being afraid to live life.”

You wince. That was the last thing you had said to him, until now. You said that because you were upset and frustrated at him, at his ridiculous logic, that he would end something to avoid an outcome neither of you could be sure of. With time and space to think, you’d realised he had done it for himself, not for you. It hadn’t saved you from the heartbreak, but maybe that was your fault for getting your hopes up. And to hear him say it back to you is a bittersweet feeling.

“I’m really happy for you,” you say.

It’s getting close to the start of the presentation, the other attendees are settling down but you can’t quite bring yourself to walk through the door yet.

Aemond lets the door close so the two of you are alone in the hallway. “Look, I know we’re about to go in, but I’ve thought a lot about you”

You press your jaw together. The morning you left Dragonstone he didn’t show his face at breakfast. He didn’t come to the entrance hall as you were leaving. When Helaena followed you outside and walked with you to your parents’ car, you took a final look at the facade of the castle, at all the individual windows and saw nothing. You thought he wanted to forget you, to move on and leave you in the memory of summer.

“I wasn’t fair to you. And you were right, I was afraid. I was scared of having something good in my life because I thought, what’s the point? It’s not going to last forever.”

“But isn’t the alternative worse?” 

“Well, exactly. Helaena says I’m on the right path if I want to be miserable forever.”

“That sounds promising,” you say lightheartedly.

The corners of his mouth curl shyly. “Turns out, I might not want to be miserable forever.”

Being so close to him is comforting and disorientating. You’ve thought about him too, cried over him, thought about what it would be like to kiss him again, to put your head on his chest, pictured a moment when you might run into him by chance. He’s wearing the same aftershave he did in August, underneath a faint smell of smoke and mint. 

You’ve forgiven him before. Could you do it again?

“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have pressed you about Alys, it wasn’t my place.”

Aemond tilts his head. “It’s alright. I thought I was over the whole thing, but then I met you and it messed with my head.”

“Oh, sorry,”

“No, sweetheart,” he laughs, “not in a bad way. I know I fucked it when we first met, but the more you were around, the more time I spent with you, all I wanted was for you to like me. I hadn’t felt like that in a long time.”

The sound of applause erupts from inside the hall. Dr Orwyle will be about to start his presentation.

Aemond offers his hand to you. “Come sit with me?” he says, and you take it.

You sit together and find seats near the back. Dr Orwyle is a professor at King’s College, presenting his book The Doom of an Empire. He talks about Old Valyria, its presence as the greatest empire of the ancient world, ruled from a capital built into a volcano, the legends of dragon lords and bloodmages.

In the corner of your eye you see Aemond turning his head towards you occasionally. You catch his eye and he smiles.

As Dr Orwyle starts to talk about the final days of Valyria and the mystery of a disaster known as The Doom, you shuffle in your seat and your leg brushes against Aemond’s. You take a breath and let yourself settle against him.

Aemond is practically bursting with questions for a Q&A portion, and Orwyle recognises him as a member of the King’s College History society. You can’t help but feel proud seeing Aemond so animated talking about something that he loves. 

You wait with Aemond to get his copy of the book signed and he’s still talking excitedly about an upcoming exhibition on the Valyrian Freehold, which he’s convinced his father to sponsor and loan pieces to.

And when the event is finished, you and Aemond slip your coats on and walk through the museum, his arm in yours. The rain that was starting as you arrived has lulled into a drizzle. You wait under the cover of the grand archway over the museum’s entrance. 

You look up at him, trying to bury his chin in his coat, keeping close to you when he sees you shivering. 

Noise exists in the space around you, cars, buses, tyres against the wet roads, music from a pub on the other side of the road. You and Aemond are removed from it, standing on the steps of an ancient building. His voice is gentle and you’re close enough to hear it.

“How are you getting home?” he asks.

“I’ll get the bus.”

“You could always– I’d be more than happy to give you a lift?”

“No, it’s fine, but thank you.”

“Would you text me when you’re home, so I know you’re safe?” 

A warmth blooms in your chest. “Yeah, of course.”

You wonder if this could be the last time you see him. Maybe he’s thinking the same. You look towards the bus stop, anticipating that it could show up any moment. You wonder if Dyana’s texted you again, if she’ll be waiting for you to show up at the party. You tell yourself you should go but you don’t want to walk away from him. 

“I think you should stop by Blue Moon sometime,” you say. 

“Yeah?”

“I can get you a discount on pumpkin spice lattes.”

“Damn, I don’t suppose getting you coffee to apologise will work the same now.”

“No chance.” You let yourself close the distance between you, your chest pressed into his and place a gentle kiss on his cheek. His skin is warm against your lips, his breath hot over your ear. You feel his hands at your waist. “But I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

Thank you so much for following along with this mini series, I really appreciate all the love <3

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[zo3mess]

Bitter-sweet

Summary: Officers from other towns were reassigned to help the understaffed police force in Evergreen after the butterfly massacre. The good old game of cat and mouse begins with Vigilante continuing his shenanigans and one police officer determined to catch him. Except it is not entirely clear who is chasing whom.

Warnings: 18+, smut, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t be stupid and use protection guys), blood play, gun play (but not really) enemies to enemies with benefits type of relationship, violence, dead bodies, alcohol consumption, foul language. Female reader and no use of Y/N.

Word count: 5.4k (my hand slipped, I’m sorry) 

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Extra songs for this fic

Masterlist of my works

Note: I realized I missed writing so much since I don’t write essays in school anymore and I got quite a positive reaction on my last work Laundry girl (I love you guys fr). This time I tried something different? I feel like this is messier than the last one, lousy idea, but you know how it is. Also I have never written smut before, so get ready for some weird shit. English is not my first language, I apologize for mistakes, especially with tenses. Criticism is very much welcomed! Thank you for every like, reblog and comment, it makes me all giddy whenever I get a notification <3

The Project Butterfly was a case that shocked everyone. Aliens invading Earth? Shady business with convicts led by Waller? Something that shocked you personally was the sudden disappearance of whole police precinct in Evergreen. Whole town ended up with no cops and needed help. Which was a great opportunity for you to start up.

Your dream? Gotham. City swarmed with villains. You needed to prove you’re tough enough for catching real supervillains. Where better to start than Evergreen? You agreed to relocate there to help, however your real target was Vigilante.

Some people said that what he was doing was good, catching criminals and ending their lives before they could do it again. But no one deserves to be above law and deciding fate of souls that can still reach redemption. Even if he helped saved the world from alien invasion.

So many times you saw him creeping through the streets late at night, but never managing to get close enough. After a few encounters, he realized you were specifically after him. A fan who kept a close eye on his work.

One night when you were stumbling home back from a bar, you heard weird sounds coming from an alleyway next to an abandoned store. Nothing out of the ordinary you would think, but it sounded like someone was in pain. You would be a bad cop to not help someone in need, no matter if it was past your working hours.

And since then, he started taunting you. Leaving a big V with the blood of his victims for you, quite few times even turning the signature letter into a heart.

And they say romance is dead.

With caution you walked over there, lamp lights did a shitty job illuminating the streets, but you were able to recognize a body laying on the ground. Blood was seeping from under the man who was killed by a clear headshot, judging by the injuries you were able to see.

Quiet shuffling and groaning was audible from a distance. The realization that something is very wrong came far too late. Before you could even recognize what was happening a stranger pulled you around the corner and your yelp was muffled by a gloved hand.

“Shhhh shhh. It’s just me.” Vigilante. As if that made it any better. “If I remove my hand, will you scream?”

Decisions, decisions. You were more likely to punch him in the face rather than scream, but if he just killed the guy, it wasn’t smart to start a fight with someone riding on adrenaline and someone who is far more ready to fight. You would not cause much damage in high heels, short dress and still tipsy from the bar.

Eventually you shook your head, and he removed his hand from your face. Uncomfortable silence filled the air. Should you even ask what happened?

You searched for his eyes behind the red visor, until you noticed he was staring down. Was he…

“Are you staring at my tits?’’

A gloved hand made its way to your cleavage, pressing his hand against your skin to feel it rise and fall with every shallow breath you took. Your wide eyes followed his bold move, you felt the warmth of his body and it was making you feel insane.

“Your heart is beating really fast.” A simple observation that mesmerized him. He also wasn’t completely calm, quite the opposite. Since you disrupted his hunt so abruptly.

Before you came he had been planning on drawing a nice big V on the floor for you, a greeting he sent you every time he left a corpse behind him.

All this time in Evergreen you focused on getting near to Vigilante, to catch him and serve some justice for reckless behavior, for playing God. And now he was closer than ever, even daring to touch you without a doubt in his head, it made your brain circuit.

“Not so fast on your feet now, huh?”  You had to mock him for it of course. All this time he was counting on his swiftness, it finally caught up to him.

You noticed he started to breathe faster too, his chest piece was rising with every deep inhale, and even in the low light of the street lamp you saw a dark stain on his mask. It did not take long before he rolled up the bottom half of his mask in exhaustion.

No wonder he had trouble breathing when blood was flowing from his nose onto his lips that did not look exactly intact too.  Must have been a heavy fight.

“Shut up.” Vigilante tried to wipe the blood off his face with his wrist, groaning as he did so. Simultaneously you were taking a mental note that he was in fact comfortable with showing you the bottom half of his face. What was in your head an investigation of a target, he saw as blunt staring.

For a moment you two kept ogling each other. You took interest in the little human part he showed you, bloody puffy lips, clean-shaven jaw and few moles on his cheeks all felt surreal after all this time you saw him as a simple masked head with a red visor.

Vigilante on the other had studied your eyes, how bright they suddenly looked, how they gazed at him with curiosity and most importantly how they kept flicking to his lips. He was no genius but a voice inside his head told him there was a tad more to this.

Something about stopping the alien invasion made him bolder, more confident, most of the time he felt like king of the world. Of course, people that knew him as Adrian Chase, a dorky weirdo, had no idea he basically saved the world.

But you knew and he loved it.

He suddenly pressed his lips against yours, releasing a low painful groan when your noses got smushed. Hands dropped to your waist to pull you closer and yours found their way to his chest. Finally there was an opportunity to touch the expensive suit.

You saw him as a villain, or at least desperately wanted him to be, and Adrian saw himself as hero of Evergreen.

Heroes always get the girl, right? That’s how it should go.

Vigilante pulled away before you could kiss him back. Maybe the alcohol made you much more reckless than you thought.

“You taste bitter.” He commented and licked his lips. Was it that surprising? Considering you rocked a perfect sour face every time anyone even mentioned his name.

His tongue pried its way into your mouth and brought the savory taste of blood with it. Who would have thought this psycho would be a good kisser. Conscience started flipping with guilt when you realized you enjoyed this more than running after him.

“I’ve been drinking gin and tonic at the bar.” Immediately as you explained your bitter lips and his bloody ones got connected once again in a far hungrier kiss.

Regrets of tomorrow will be ringing in your ears for days. Will you be able to work with peace of mind when you’re making out in a dark alleyway with your nemesis?

Your inner voice urged you to bite his lip, to worsen his wound, make it bleed again. You wanted to get back at him for pulling you into this situation and maybe, just maybe, you enjoyed the taste of iron in your mouth.

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards before he quickly latched his mouth just under your jaw. You felt the sticky remains of blood he left with every kiss on your throat. It felt good, too good, but he you couldn’t grant him the satisfaction of you bearing throat to him. He did not deserve to feel like a predator, like he could simply latch his teeth into your weak spot.

Your tongue swiped over his lower lip, searching and then probing into his split lip. The action made him tighten the grip he had on your waist, bunching up your dress. And when you bit harshly on his lip, tugging away and releasing it with a snap, he whimpered out the most sinful noise you have heard. It got stuck in your head, what would you give to hear it one more time.

He pulled away in surprise and you got a chance to see your work, lip swelling and beautiful red appeared once again and his tongue licked the new blood that trickled down.

“You realize that I have to do something about the dead guy, no matter how much you kiss me.” You manage to find the strength to keep your voice steady in between heavy breaths.

“Or you can just leave him here, he got what he deserved,” You immediately missed his warm lips on your neck. “You could get what you deserve too, if only you weren’t so stubborn. I could take good care of you” Vigilante murmured and left his position on your neck. With a little concentration, you were able to recognize two wide eyes staring at you through a red visor, twitching between your lips to your neck, clearly admiring the claim he landed on you. Blood and spit glistening all over your throat, oh could you get any sexier in his eyes?

“I should be putting handcuffs on you and taking you out of here.” You spat back and straightened your back with hopes of appearing taller, confident.

“How do you know about those?” Blood in your veins grew colder in an instant. Then it hit you, this freak does more than laugh in your face every time you arrive at the crime scene too late, taunting you for every criminal he managed to catch before you.

“Only if they are the pink fluffy ones you keep in your top drawer.” Smug smile played on his face as he presented his wrists up to you with a dramatic sigh. Your pink handcuffs? Wouldn't it be too on the nose for a police officer to have kinky handcuffs?

He got it wrong anyway, you do not keep them in your top drawer, they’re in the third one. A stupid birthday gift can always turn out to be useful in the right situation.

“Are you stalking me?” Your voice cracked a little, it had been a long night and this just gave it a crown. Eyes glinting with surprise? Anger? Excitement? This is wrong, right? So why did your heart skip a beat at the thought of Vigilante watching you through your window?

“No?” More of a question rather than an answer. Fucking liar. “I happened to be walking around your house when you had your curtains open.” The way he said it was so slurred, he realized his mistake. Gloved hands were twitching along his sides, biting his lip in frustration of fucking up, wincing once the pain of split lip reminded him of his condition.

“Fucking unbelievable!” You pushed him away and with wobbly legs, you slithered past him. “I’m reporting this dead body to the precinct. Pack your shit and go.” You absentmindedly pointed to the dead guy bleeding on the pavement.

Meanwhile Vigilante was still standing there with eyes following your every movement as you walked over to his victim, listening to clacks of high heels. Part of him could not believe you would let him go just like that, especially after you learned of his occasional late-night visits, the other part wanted to run and save his ass, just to play this game a little bit longer.

Before he decided to listen to your order and leave, he took a last quick look at you as you tried to scrub off the dried blood he left on you while searching for your superior’s number on your phone.

 Oh, the fire you two just started will keep him awake the rest of the night, he was sure of it. Whether it was cursing the world for throwing obstacles in his life with a bottle of whiskey or succumbing to his perverse mind in the shower.

After your strange run-up with Vigilante in the alleyway everything started to tangle up more than it used to. Starting with a patchy explanation of why you suddenly found a dead guy in valley without blowing out the truth that you made out with the killer a few minutes after he shot the poor guy.

Sharp mind turned into a dull organ sitting in your head, thinking about Vigilante in the opposite way you should. If you were still in middle school, you would be probably drawing stick figures of him and you with hearts all around while simultaneously stabbing a pencil through his head. Were you truly so weak to his charm? All you needed was to clear your head, right?

Same thoughts over and over again swarmed your head, even after a long day in work. You barely dragged your feet to your small house in exhaustion. You kicked off your shoes in hallway with a sigh and went straight to the living room. All you wanted was to lay on the couch, watch some stupid chick flick and let sleep take you.

The last thing you expected though, was a large figure lounging on the couch in complete darkness. Once you switched on lights you quickly recognized the one and only Vigilante.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You yelped sternly and swiftly pulled out your gun from a holster, wasting no time to point it at him. You were used to having everything under control, nothing could surprise you, so how did this guy manage to catch you off guard all the time, how did he manage to make your life so messy and most importantly how did he manage to break into your home?

“You’ve been slacking, I wanted to know what’s up.” Vigilante cocked his head up with absolutely no other reaction to being pointed at with a gun. You wanted to shoot him in the face just for this nonchalant gesture.

“You don’t chase after me anymore,” Another bored shrug, this time he sat up on your couch and leaned his head to the side like a confused puppy. “I missed your sour face.” The way his tone changed, from accusing to clear and soft, made you loosen the grip on your gun.

The first time Vigilante got almost caught by you got him addicted even more to the adrenaline. All this time he was getting kick from killing criminals, beating up scums that don’t respect rules. Getting drunk on the feeling of power. But the second he was cutting corners, sprinting through streets with you on his tail, unlocked a whole new world for him.

The intensity of danger, one wrong step and you would catch him, put handcuffs on him and throw him in jail. This little addiction he had was as dangerous as being addicted to any other drug. Doing anything to get another dose, this time it meant sneaking into your house and confronting you from eye to eye.

“How did you get in here?” Overreaction was audible in your question and there was no wonder. Usually secure house was suddenly intruded by the masked menace of Evergreen that basked in running away from you while laughing like a maniac. Now? He came up right to you, giving you opportunity to catch him right in act of breaking and entering.

You just kept standing there watching him walk over to you without fear, without a doubt.

“You forgot to close your bathroom window,” The tip of your gun met his chest piece when he finally stopped right in front of you. Even without the benefit of seeing his face, you knew in your bones he was smirking “It was hard to squeeze through, I’m expecting applause or something.”

A frown was all he got in retaliation, nothing more and nothing else was in place for his stunt. A sensible reaction from someone whose house just got broken into, he knew it damn well, yet it did not please him.

Vigilante freed his hands from gloves and threw them hastily on the floor beside your feet, all while staring down at you. Curiosity got the better of your conscience, finger slowly moving away from the trigger, but the gun kept being pressed against his body.

Big hands cupped your cheeks, thumbs pulling at the corners of your mouth and forcing them into a lousy smile as his reward. If you refuse to give him acknowledgment it will be taken by force. His laugh was being muffled by the fabric of the dark mask, the one that had blood all over a few weeks back.

That time you were the one under the influence of alcohol that bent your consciousness, this time you felt a whiff of alcohol in Vigilante’s breath. The thought of him having to take a shot or two to give him enough courage to actually step into your territory made you all giddy inside. Maybe the all-mighty Vigilante, the menace of Evergreen, is not as indestructible as he claimed to be.

“Just between you and me, I know you don’t want to lock me up for real-“

“But I do.” You quickly interrupted him. Don’t give in.

“No, you don’t. I can see it on your face. You’re enjoying it far too much just like I do.” Debatable. But he had a point. “I mean yeah, you are pointing a gun at me and shit, but you kissed me back that night. That means something!”

He threw his hands in the air and a cheery voice just completed his dramatic bravado. However, as much as you would like to deny it, you did in fact make out with him back in that alleyway instead of doing your job.

“Do you usually make out with police officers to shake them off your track?”

“Just with you.” His hands found their place on your waist and started to play with the belt loops. And you let him continue… What is wrong with you?

“Oh I’m flattered, how is it working out for you?” With a fake smile, you pressed the gun more into his chest.

“You tell me.” Vigilante strikes again with painful truth. Yes, you were pointing your gun at him, but he had you cornered in your living room, hands seductively rubbing your hips and you let him get away with yet another murder. Well done.

His mask got rolled up and you got a chance to admire his lips. Before you could say another snarky remark, Vigilante silenced you with an urgent kiss. It was his time to shine, to bite your lip, to shove his tongue in your mouth and tangle with yours. He gave you no time to think about anything else except him.

“You know how the saying goes: Keep your friends close and your enemies even closer.” He hastily unbuttoned your work slacks, pulling the zipper down far too hard you were afraid for a moment he got it stuck. Even though you should have been more worried about the fact you just got your pants shown down your thighs.

“You consider me an enemy?” You sighed out and focused on his warm fingertips playing with the elastic of your underwear. Touches light, like his fingers were asking for permission. The lack of protests signalized a green light he was waiting for.

“Only if you shoot me.” A toothy grin plastered his face when you pressed the barrel of your gun sternly to his chin and tilted his head up. How could you pass on that opportunity to rile him up like this.

“If it means you’ll stay close to me I just might.”  With those words his hand slipped past the hem of your panties, going straight for the kill and giving all the attention to your throbbing clit. He chuckled at your reaction, how you acted all tough and yet your body begged for his touch.

Your eyelids fluttered at the sudden contact, the precision he held in killing criminals clearly dominated other areas as well. Small and stern circles changed to slow and light flicks and back and all of it was accompanied by an intense gaze that searched for any kind of reaction.

You wonder what color his eyes are, that red visor was not flattering them in any way. Would he stare at you so shamelessly even without his mask or did it bring him a fake feeling of anonymity that pushed the boundaries of this escapade.

Vigilante bent down his head to the gun that lingered near his face. You could not believe your eyes for a second when he pressed a kiss to the tip of it before smirking. He’s practically begging for a bullet in his head with bullshit like this. He did not care he was basically being held at gunpoint.  A decision was made to hide your gun back in the holster harness, for the safety of both parties involved.

Your hands sneaked up to his neck that was bared to you, nails lightly scraping along his prominent Adam’s apple. You soon found out it made him wild, because the second you touched his neck, two fingers were recklessly shoved inside you, forcing out a loud moan out of you.

Shameful whimpers started pouring out from your lips, wetness seeping into your completely ruined underwear. You had to ground yourself against the wall since your legs started buckling under you. The feeling of submission poured over weak body, something you weren’t used to. With an abrupt yank you pulled Vigilante’s lips onto yours to give yourself just a second of control. You will allow him to take you apart with his fingers, but you will control when a how much he will kiss you.

Twisted part of your mind craved the taste of his bloody lips on your tongue again. There was no doubt he wouldn’t tolerate you biting his lip again to make him bleed like the last time. Or would he? You did not dare.

A better option was to sneak your hands to the back of his neck. A bit of hair poking out from his bunched-up mask caught your attention. Now you knew he had brown hair. Add it to his dimples, surprisingly sweet laugh, bold demeanor and an idea of a person is born, suddenly so real. Especially when he was jackhammering his thick fingers right to your G spot.

You wanted more. You needed more. Fingers tried to slip under his mask with hopes he would not notice it when you were distracting him with your tongue in his mouth. This wasn’t fair towards him at all, he was making you feel so good and you were trying to pull his mask off.

If you knew how he looked like it would not be any trouble to find him and arrest him. That’s why you came to Evergreen voluntarily after all. If all of this was just a means to an end…

But Vigilante quickly realized what were you trying to do and caught your wrist before you could continue. “Seriously?” Annoyance seeped from his voice, grip on your wrist so tight to the point it almost hurt. But your wide eyes that stared at him like deer caught in headlights made him soften his hold.

“At least buy me a dinner before you try to pull my mask off.” He laughed it off, but pulled his fingers from your pussy and you whined at the loss.

He let go off your hand and let it drop to your body. Instead he pulled his fingers from your panties and inspected the arousal coating them before bringing them to his lips. The sight alone made you sigh.

“You taste so sweet. If only you treated me so sweetly too.” Fingers popped from his mouth, covered in spit instead of your wetness. Oh, you’re fucked.

“Lose these.” You playfully tugged on his tactical belt.

“So demanding. Very sexy of you.”

The suit had quite a complicated mechanism and rather than losing his pants he just popped the button open to free his cock, hard and leaking precum. Hot and ready to go.

His gaze lingered on you as you pulled your pants and underwear down your legs. Breath got caught in his throat at the sight of your skin. A blank canvas for him to paint.

In an instant he lunged back at you, hooking hands under your knees to raise you up and making you hook your legs around his waist. Heat radiating from his body to your core was such a lovely contrast to the cold pieces of his suit that pressed against you throughout the evening.

“Are we really about to do this?” You were breathless, sandwiched between a wall and Vigilante leaning over you.

“Only if you want to.” So genuine. A man with no boundaries asking for consent, it surprised you more than it should have. “I do.”

“Baller”

Head of his cock swiped over your clit roughly. That bastard was teasing you more and more and enjoyed every second of it. His lips parted in awe, eyes were glued down to watch the pretty sight. You became something more than a police officer going after him or prey for him to take, but God forbid if he ever admitted that to you or even himself.

“I hate you.” Voice was shaking with anticipation and so was your body. A quick chaste kiss washed away the hate you felt even if it was just for a second, then he slid into you in one clean glide until your pelvises were flush against each other.

You both moaned out into each other’s open mouths. Someone would say it was just a noise of shameful lust. For you? A nasty symphony that set off something inside, the same type of addiction that controlled the man in front of you.

“If you sound so heavenly when you hate someone I’m really curious how you sound when you love someone.” He licked his lips and bucked his hips up to force another sweet mewl out.

“Go to hell” You knew it did not sound convincing and that fucker saw right through you. Because if you truly hated Vigilante so badly he wouldn’t be balls deep inside you, stretching you out with burning pleasure. With another vain chuckle, he started snapping his hips into you with urgency.

Vigilante filled you in the best and the worst way possible. Relieving the thirst your body was screaming with as well as putting a patch over the deep hole of anger and frustration he had been digging in your heart since you met him for the first time.

There was nothing gentle or graceful about what happened. Messy, desperate, vicious, and addictive is what it was.

You tightly hold onto him with arms around his neck, clinging like a koala.

If only your squad saw you like this. You have been boasting and promising how you’re gonna be the one to catch Vigilante. And here you were, it seemed he caught you more likely. Driving his cock into you in the dimness of your living room like it was his usual nightly activity.

Truth be told, he kept fucking with you all this time to make you mad, but never in a million years you would have guessed he will be fucking with you for real.

The strong grip he had on your thighs loosened with every hard thrust. Legs were slowly but surely slipping from his waist to the floor. All his power was concentrated on snapping hips and harsh kisses until nothing was left for his arms to hold you up, yet he refused to let go of you. Gnarly bruises were forming where his fingertips dug into the soft skin of your thighs, making this meeting even more bitter-sweet.

“You can be so good when you want to be,” You barely whispered it against his lips between your combined moans “You’re so good for me. Such a good boy-“

“Fuck I’m gonna cum! Fuuck!” His whine was long and high-pitched, you wanted to hear more of it, but he muffled his cries with a bite on your neck. Normally you would not allow him to bite you, there could always be an exception, and this was one of them.

Especially when he got into a sprint to the finish line, he found hidden strength to bounce you on his cock as much as this lousy position allowed him.

His pelvis was hitting your pulsating clit so gloriously, wet slaps filling your ears, moans and whimpers digging deep into your memory, there was no way you could hold on.

And you did not. Fireworks exploded behind closed eyelids, tingly heat spread from your core to the very tips of your toes, ecstasy consumed every fiber of your being.

Too busy floating on cloud nine to notice Vigilante clenching his teeth around the skin of your neck, creating another vulgar bruise. Too busy to register a loud groan he let out with one last thrust. Too busy to notice ropes of cum coating your spasming walls, filling you to the brim.

His hold no longer supported you when he leaned all his weight on you, chest rising and falling against yours with every deep breath. Being too sensitive to pull out he nestled inside you, basking in the warmth of your cunt.

“You know… You almost got me that one time. After that burglary in the liquor shop,” He murmured against your neck, pressing apologetic kisses to the spot he had bitten. “And I’ve been thinking about it tonight-”

“Where are you going with this?”

“I’m trying to tell you! Don’t interrupt me, dude.” Did he just call you ‘dude’?

“I wanted to say that I realized if I’ll keep fucking you until you can’t walk, you have no chance of catching me.” He pulled away from the crook of your neck and genuinely smiled at your dazzled face.

“Bold of you to assume I’m letting you inside my house ever again. I will remember to close that window next time.” At this point, you started to struggle to keep your head calm.

“Bold of you to assume I don’t know about the spare key in the flowerpot in front of your house.” That motherfucker. Now you have to relocate the key somewhere else.

“Sounds like a threat.”

“More like a promise.”

He pulled out and tucked himself back into his pants without a second thought. You watched with open mouth as he gathered ruined panties and pants while you leaned against the wall with weak legs. He acted so nicely, it made your heart melt. Just a little.

All of this almost made you feel bad for your intentions. You were there to throw him in front of a court and move on to the big league, but Vigilante just enjoyed your presence, your interest, albeit the wrong kind.

“Don’t pretend you hate me,” He handed you clothes and booped your nose with the tip of his pointer. With one last pretty smile, he pulled the mask over his face and made his way to your front door. “See ya later, loser!”

He just left you standing there with his cum running down your legs like it was nothing. Like he didn't just give you the best orgasm you had in a while. Oh God, What have you gotten yourself into…

[cosmic-expressions]

⋮ ♯; ⤷ ADORE .ᐟ

꒰꒱ i keep getting closer, i know it's too late

childe x fem!reader, modern!au, roommate!au, smut; unprotected p-in-v sex, creampie, finger sucking, dirty talk(?), degradation and praise, sub!reader????; implied multiple rounds, overstimulation; written while painfully horny sorry not sorry wc: 1.7k a/n: i have nothing to say but: childe. and getting rough fucked. by childe.

reblogs and thoughts are appreciated <333

it’s been… what? weeks? months? you have no idea exactly, but for sure it’s long enough to drive you crazy. doesn’t matter what you tried to occupy your mind with, he was always running through your mind.

at this point it seems you tried everything: bringing other men over, walking around in revealing or daring clothes, and yet… nothing works on your roommate you effortlessly try to win over.

childe has been your roommate for years now and you two grew too comfy with each other's company; your friends always say you two argue like an old, married couple… and there’s something to it. living together for years already made you two learn a lot about each other, but… also made some things awkward.

it’s another sunday evening, the autumn weather clear in the way the rain is knocking on the window as if wanting to get in. trying to get ready for classes, packing up all the needed things for university classes, you don’t even realize it’s… a bit late. and you have an assignment tomorrow. shit.

ready to almost cry, you sigh and get to the bathroom to wash your hands. life’s been frustrating lately, classes starting and childe not helping with his teasing antics. on top of that, you can’t blow off the steam that’s been building up inside you for weeks.

and that’s when it happens again. he’s jacking off. and moans your name in the sluttiest way possible.

the walls are thin, too thin even; at first, it was almost bearable, but now? it’s agonizing. it’s agonizing to hear him being so needy for you, to hear him moan for you which means he’s thinking about you- and that is painful.

“enough!” you speak to yourself, too horny to think straight. you make your way to childe’s room.

“you good?” knocking, you ask through the door with your hand already on the handle. he must be shuffling around, probably covering himself up, but he finally opens the door.

“oh, hi- yeah, i’m- fine, why are you asking?” he tries to play it cool, to play innocent but you two know the truth; he’s just stupid enough to think you don’t.

“well, you called out for me and i thought- something happened,” shrugging, you lean against the doorframe, the satin nightrobe loosely tied around your body. “it’s late and i’m getting to sleep soon, so i would prefer to know if something happened… i could help then.”

you’re playing a dangerous game and both of you know it; teasing him like that when he’s in the middle of fucking his fist to the thoughts of you would never end well-

childe takes in a sharp breath, not thinking much before speaking up.

“wait- you can- help me with something.” he starts and pulls you closer, the grip on our wrist loose but firm. you were about to give up, let go, but your teasing doesn’t go in vain-

“with…? what?”

he’s silent for a second, staring at you with wild hunger in his eyes before pulling you into his arms and guiding your hand onto his crotch; a visible and hard bulge throbs under his pants and your hand. “with… this.”

the light touch of your beautiful and small hand already makes him go insane, makes him shudder and roll his hips softly into your palm. with eyes full of hunger and desire, he’s seizing you up, his stare stopping at your cleavage, the nightrobe hiding your tits only a little.

childe doesn’t even have to say or ask; you’re already gripping him by the collar of his shirt, lips crashing against his in an urgent kiss.

“fuck-” he’s clearly taken aback, almost as much as you yourself… but is he complaining? not in the slightest. his lips steal hungry kisses from you, swallowing every moan and whimper you let out.

his control is slipping rapidly the moment you push him against the door, body flushed against his and your hips working against his.

“nngh! p-please…” you mumble, not sparing him a glance; you’re too, embarrassed to speak your mind. it’s tough to fight this feeling though, so horny you can’t think straight, all on your mind being: childe, childe, his dick, and childe’s dick.

“please what?” childe effectively stops your movements, earning a whine from you when his big palms hold your hips tightly against him. “tell me what you want, so i can help you-”

“fuck me. ruin me so bad i can’t walk properly for tomorrow’s classes. please.”

oh shit. that’s not what he was expecting; granted, you always were the straightforward and honest person, never really beating around the bush. even though you never were subtle, now childe is definitely not complaining.

humming in approval, his hands move to your ass, squeezing it softly while you pull him for another desperate kiss.

“never thought you’d tell me that,” he starts, voice low and a little breathless already. switching sides effortlessly, he’s the one who’s holding you by the door. but not for long. “anything for my princess.”

the little surprised whimper you let out is so cute his brain short circuits for a second, his dick throbbing hard. with you in his arms, he walks up to his bed, sitting up against the headboard. with you straddling his lap, you really look like a princess sitting on the throne and childe being your devoted worshipper. he’s staring at you with such a mix of feelings it’s hard to define a few. he clearly loves you… or more like adores you, the awe blends with desire and lust, making him a little guilty about the lewd scenarios with you which he’s been coming up with a lot.

“childe-!”

your little whimpers and whines right by his ear successfully ground hum back to reality; that’s when he feels you leaving marks and kisses on his neck and jaw, hips grinding against his again.

“you want me that bad, princess?” he teases and when you nod almost shamelessly, he holds your chin with your hand, smiling at you with that predatory smile. “mmm, needy princess- always thought about you, how would you look on me, under me-”

his dreamy little monologue quickly comes to an end when his thumb that’s been tracing your lips softly suddenly is inside your mouth, licked and sucked on.

“fuck-” childe groans at the sight, his hips bucking up sharply. hearing your muffled moan, such a pretty and needy sound, makes him growl, thumb pressing slightly on your tongue. “you’re gonna- kill me, darling-!”

he’s enchanted, feeling like he’s dreaming; he can’t believe he has you, such a fierce and confident person, in such a desperate state in his bed, in his lap, moaning and whining – it’s too much for him to comprehend.

breathing heavily, he unfortunately has to pull his thumb out of your mouth, earning a quiet whine; the sound is quickly replaced by a series of whimpers, a symphony to his ears and it’s all because he’s rolling your t-shirt off, unclasping your bra by the way.

“fuck- childe, please-” the sweet begging paired with your whimpers is such beautiful music, a song he could listen to on repeat. his lips are glued to your neck, hand fondling your breast. with your head thrown back, you let him leave all those burning and stinging marks, knowing how pretty they’ll look on you tomorrow.

his patience is running thin and he’s sure you’re taunting him to ravage you; there’s no way you’re letting out such shameless sounds willingly and out of real pleasure! he’s not complaining though, getting his ego boosted with each louder moan falling from your mouth.

it takes moments to take (or more like, rip) off the clothes that have been separating your already warm and needy bodies. the moment is heated and fast; clearly desperate and so horny for him, you don’t even warn him before sinking on his cock, warm and wet pussy enveloping him just right.

“shiit-! you want me dead, princess?” childe groans, almost whole body tensing in pleasure as he’s grabbing your hips. there’s no verbal answer coming from you because all you can let out are the most erotic and hottest moans he ever heard.

his big hands hold your hips firmly, guiding all your movements, helping you bounce on him like you’re in heat. well, you don’t need much help, the eager and fast movements of yours are already driving him insane enough.

“you’re such a-” he has no idea if you should be praised or degraded, the insane tempo and shameless sounds of yours are both arousing and kind of concerning; seems like you’ve been on edge for some time now…

“childe-!” moaning and crying his name, you can’t calm down; pussy clamping and squeezing him so tight like it’s afraid his cock may escape. frantic and messy movements only show your hunger further and it’s clear you’ve been craving his dick for a while.

“good girl,” with constant and quiet praise, he’s prodding with his index finger at your lips, urging you to open your mouth. and when you do, so obediently he almost melts, he pushes his two fingers in, the pads gently pressing on your tongue again. “so crazy- you’re so- fuck-! i can’t believe i have you- like that-!”

his lips twist in a wicked smile, eyes stuck on your face that’s a canvas for pleasure. your eyes rolled back, half-lidded and with eyelids fluttering, swollen and spit-coated lips wrapped so cutely around his digits, nose scrunched in pleasure – all of this, all of you, look so heavenly, angelic, ethereal, even if what you two are doing may be seen as deranged.

your legs shake and yet you don’t stop jumping on him, hips moving up and down on his length. it’s so sticky, covered in your juices cock is sliding in and out your tight hole perfectly, hitting all the right spots and making you see stars. and it gets sweeter and sweeter every time childe decides to be a little menace and jerk his hips up further, drilling his cock even deeper into your insides.

it continues through most of the night, sheets wet and sticky due to different bodily fluids such as sweat or cum, your bodies completely spent and overstimulated. and when the sun hits the window, creeping in on the two of you, you realize… you really can’t walk properly. there go your classes for today, whoops…

[main-mlist] [genshin-mlist] [kofi]

tagging the homies: @4kdj @kuniihoonii @baesoobibi @gonjie

@ / cosmic-expressions 2024, do NOT repost !

[ktsumu]

YOU TOLD ME TO DO IT SCARED

Iwaizumi was sixteen when he lost all of his fear.

He doesn’t really remember exactly what it was that the two of you were talking about, or when, but he remembers how his voice echoed in the alleyway home — the shortcut, he called it.

Iwaizumi remembers rambling and he remembers that you let him; you were never one to cut him off. He was a good listener, as it could be especially hard to get a word in around people like his group of friends, but you?

Around you? He couldn’t shut up.

He was rambling on and on about something — he forgets what, but it was big for his sixteen-year-old self. Nerve-wracking.

“Are you done?” he remembers you asking, side-eyeing him as you walked.

“Uh, yeah. I’m done.”

“Great. What are you even worried about, Hajime?”

(He still doesn’t know what. It turns out that you were right, and it was so insignificant that he can’t even remember what was bothering him to this day.)

“I don’t know. Rejection. Failure—“

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “Yes, because Hajime Iwaizumi is known for failing.”

He furrowed his brows. “Don’t be mad that I’m nervous.”

“Scared, Haji.”

“I’m not—“

(You gave him a look and he shut his mouth.)

“So what?” he asked then, dropping his hands in his pockets. You never really knew why he was so good with you, why he talked so much — you never dared question it. “How do I get over it and just do it?”

You smile, shaking your head.

“You don’t get over it. You do it scared.”

“What?”

“Fake it ‘til ya make it, Haji.”

(Iwaizumi doesn’t remember what he did, but he knows he did it terrified; he did it well, too. Passed the test, won the game, cleared the hurdle, got the job. Whatever it was.)

Iwaizumi was sixteen when he lost all of his fear. He’s twenty-eight when it all comes crawling back.

By now, he’s more than a decade older with a bunch of fearlessness under his belt, from spiders put back outside to funny noises in the yard. He’s carding his fingers through your hair on the couch you both picked out, and he hasn’t been this scared in a really, really long time.

(Probably not since you told him that he just needed to do it.)

Iwaizumi is scared because, for the first time in the three months he’s been carrying your ring in his pocket, he really wants to fucking give it to you.

He’s always wanted to — no shit, it’s why he bought it — but tonight is the first time he wants to ask you. He doesn’t just want to picture it on your finger, he wants to feel it against his hand when he holds yours.

The same movie you’ve seen four times plays on the TV. You’re leaned right against him; your eyes are heavy, you’ve yawned a few times.

Half of him wants to do it, half of him knows it’s late.

It’s just — it’s you in his shirt, in his sweatpants, in his arms. He has been yours for way too long to not have done this sooner, but neither of you have ever been in a rush to do anything.

Until now, half past midnight on your long weekend and all he wants to do is plan a wedding.

Iwaizumi can’t even sit in his imagination for long, because soon enough you’re sitting up with a look of confusion and you’re lifting his hoodie up, putting a hand over his heart.

“What?” he says, half a breath and half a laugh.

You look … concerned. He can’t tell whether he thinks it’s cute or distressing. “You don’t feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“Hajime, your heart is racing.”

“Is it?” he asks. He sets his hand beside yours. “Nope, don’t feel it.”

You roll your eyes, yanking his sweater back down as you sit at his side. “Well, something is making you two steps away from arresting right here. Spill before I call an ambulance.”

“It’s nothing, seriously. Watch the movie, will you?”

“But I’m nosy, damnit. Don’t you know me at all?”

God, so fucking well. Somehow, not well enough. Tell me more. Tell me everything I already know.

“It’s nothing!”

“Hajime,” you say, and finally your voice is stern. “Whatever you want to say, you know I could never be mad at you for it.”

Iwaizumi takes a deep breath. The box in his pocket feels like it’s made of fucking lead.

“I—“

“Stop. It.”

(He does. He stands up instead.)

“Okay, wait,” you start again, “I didn’t mean leave.”

“Give me a second, damn,” he groans, dusting off his pants, checking it’s still there. Of course it’s still there, but if it wasn’t, this would be bad.

Iwaizumi knows you deserve a thousand flowers and a candle-lit beach, and maybe he’ll give you both. But he’s neck-deep and the water is rising; it’s now or within the next hour, really.

“Hey, are you alright? You’re pale,”

“I’m fine,” he reassures you. Iwaizumi kneels in front of the couch.

“Hajime,” you say again, face contorted in worry. “Seriously, are you—?”

You don’t just trail off, you jump off the road.

In one of his hands is a box. A small one, fitting for a ring. His other hand rests on your knee.

“Are you—“

“—dead serious? Yeah,” he says, sounding way less strong than he looks. “I am.”

He opens the little box, showing you what’s inside. It’s in your colour, a pretty diamond glistening beneath the warm light of your table lamp and the movie. You swear you even mentioned that shape once, probably years ago.

“No,”

“Yeah,” he says, “yes.”

“Are you serious?” you whisper, feeling your tears jerk to the surface, rimming your eyes. You rest a hand on his.

He’s shaking.

“Hajime,” you laugh, wiping a hand under your eye. “You’re shaking.”

He sighs.

“I know,” he nods. Iwaizumi cracks a small smile — he thinks he might cry, too. “You told me to do it scared.”

Your brows furrow and unfurrow in the matter of a few seconds. Yeah, you did say that.

(You were sixteen and talking about less major things, but you did say that.)

“So I’m doing it,” he finishes. “Scared.”

“Scared of what?”

He shrugs. “That I’d stutter when I ask you to marry me. Or that you’d say no.”

You smile. “Have you asked me?”

“Not yet. I was gonna make a speech, but I,” he slows. He stops — he has to, he’s getting choked up. “I might have to save it for later.”

“I don’t want a speech, I wanna hear you say it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” he says. Iwaizumi takes your hand in his shaking hold, his thumb swiping over the top of your ring finger. “I’m gonna do it now.”

“Get on with it, Hajime.”

You’re unmistakably excited.

Iwaizumi kisses where the ring will be if you tell him yes. Scared and all, he looks up at you.

(He speaks the words you’ve been waiting for into your skin. Will you marry me? murmured into your knuckles.

You don’t even tell him yes. Not coherently, anyway.)

You throw yourself into his chest and he has to hold himself up against the coffee table behind him to kiss you upright.

“Yes,” you answer again, over and over. “Even if you were scared to ask.”

“It just means I love you, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, taking your hand and moving it back in front of him. He slips your ring onto your finger. “Just scared on the off chance you were gonna spit in my face—“

“Shut up,”

“Hey, don’t talk to your fiancé like that.” Iwaizumi hesitates, looking up from the ring to your face. His eyes are so soft that you know they’re for you. “That has a ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“Fiancé,” you repeat. Husband to be.

“Yeah. That does sound pretty good, doesn’t it?”

“Just imagine how I think fiancée sounds, honey.”

“And look — you didn’t even stutter.”

“Oh, come o—“

“Careful what you say, now. Happy fiancée, happy life, Hajime.”

“I don’t think that’s the saying, but okay.”

note; tagging @shotorus because this is your man :3 happy late birthday sel!