#well not today but stil

[sambadeamigosgato]

HAPPY (late) BIRTHDAY TO THE EVIL DEAD!!!!!!!!!!

The first movie with my babygirl....

[cowboypossume]

i hate my brain i hate my need for things to be Perfect i hate how ive been feeling i hate it i hate

[victoronnie]

*is only running on 3 hours of sleep and recovering caffeine crash after drinking one (1) coffee* man why is it so hard to stay focused and writing more than 200 words on a project today ., it must be im a bad writer

[poisonf0rest]

Kiss Shot

♱⋅── zayne x fem!reader

♱⋅── about: Zayne has curated a perfectly polished reputation. He’s a renowned surgeon, the youngest of his graduating class, has a plethora of research papers in his name, and is well-liked and respected amongst his peers. And he would throw it all away to have you like this again, whining and desperate as he fucks you over a billiard table. It’s not fair, really, how easily you manage to get Zayne riled up. Especially when you call him sir.

♱⋅── word count: 8.2K

♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, light bondage, teasing, semi-public sex, praise kink, pwp, dom!zayne, sir kink, pool & billiards, oh he has pretty hands, exclusive tutorial card

Your negroni is fifty percent water by now.

The flock of past classmates, professors, and adorning fans has been relentless, swarming the bar where you and Zayne currently sit— or perhaps more accurately, swarming where the distinguished Dr. Zayne sits. 

You sigh under your breath, fussing with the cocktail dress slit against your thigh before taking another sip of your drink, the melted ice dulling the burn of the gin. It has only been an hour since you arrived, and yet you can already feel your social battery reach its limits, tired of going through the same motions for every other person who bothers to acknowledge your presence: a smile, what’s your name, are you a surgeon as well, what’s your connection to Zayne, no we’re not together.

It’s not that you haven’t met fascinating individuals— your first round of drinks was shared with two sisters, old classmates of Zayne’s who were now Linkon’s top OB/GYN doctors and genuinely the sweetest women you’ve talked to today. 

But everyone has limits. And with the relentless swarm sucking up to Zayne, it hardly gives you a moment of peace, let alone an opportunity to talk with your date for the evening.

Thinking about the stipulations of your relationship and what this night even means for the two of you sends your mind reeling further, and you finish the rest of your negroni in a shot, wincing. 

As if sensing your frustration, the doctor in question looks up from his conversation with a classmate. Zayne gives a knowing, apologetic smile before returning to his conversation, the gesture leaving you with a fluttering in your chest.

Calling the bartender over, you place another drink on the tab before tuning in to the conversation next to you as you hear the echo of laughter. 

“No, no, I’ve been lucky enough to have seen it myself!” An older man laughs again, his drink nearly sloshing over the rim as he smacks Zayne’s shoulder. You snort at the way he stiffens. “Our Dr. Zayne isn’t just a professional at work, you should see him play billiards. Let me tell you, he’s amazing at both the operating table and the pool table”

A deep sigh. “You drank too much…” 

“Nonsense!” The man pats Zayne again before recounting a story from their residency days to the crowd of onlookers.

You yourself are rather engrossed too, more than happy to learn more about your elusive doctor, especially these hidden talents he seems set on keeping from you. Zayne, on the other hand, is far from impressed. Brows furrowed, he turns from where he sits against the bar counter to scan your face. 

Leaning in closer, you inhale sharply at the feel of his cool breath against your ear. “Do you want to go somewhere else?” 

His thoughtfulness would be sweet if it weren’t for the way Zayne had whispered it, lips brushing against your sensitive skin as you shudder at the slow, deep cadence of his voice. 

Noticing your hesitation, Zayne’s hand comes up to rest on your knee, thumb slipping under your dress’ slit. He cocks his head, waiting for your response, drawing soothing circles against your bare skin, which is having quite the opposite effect. 

Panicking, you shake your head. “I’m alright. Plus, I’d feel bad stealing you away from all your adoring fans so soon, Dr. Zayne.”

He scoffs under his breath, but you see the slight curl in the corner of his lips. Still, he has yet to let go of your thigh, and you decide to shift closer, turning in your seat so your knees brush against Zayne’s, his hand involuntarily sliding higher. 

His fingers are calloused and worn, a testament to his many years spent in the medical field, and his grip is firm against your thigh. It feels familiar, and the memories of his hands on you in many different places sends heat rushing to your cheeks.

The thought doesn't seem to have left his mind either, judging by the way his eyes dart down to your parted lips.

Clearing his throat, Zayne looks away. He is about to say something when you decide to interrupt instead.

“Besides,” you hum, taking a sip of wine. “If the rumors are to be believed, then I’m missing quite a show. Is our Dr. Zayne really that skilled at pool?”

“Ah.” Zayne retracts his hand, clearing his throat as he straightens up in his seat. ”You’re trying to gang up on me.”

You know him well enough to recognize the hint of embarrassment in the way he avoids your gaze. But before you can tease him further, another cheery voice interrupts.

“We meet again, sir!” A young man practically bounces over to the bar, caught between a bow and a handshake as he stumbles into both, flashing a gummy smile at Zayne. 

You raise a brow at his overwhelming enthusiasm, glancing at Zayne as you watch recognition flash across his face.

“Good evening. It’s Steven, yes? You don’t need to address me as “sir”.” Zayne nearly grimaces as he says the word, and you take a sip from your drink to hide your growing smile. 

“Yes! I’m honored you remembered.” Steven nods vigorously. “But anything less would be inappropriate. After all, you taught me so much with your hands-on instruction, I owe my knowledge and successful residency so far to you, sir.”

Still, Zayne shuts him down. “I was only doing what I should have done. Any credit beyond that is your own.” 

It’s almost like he’s allergic to praise. 

“Humble and smart,” Steven laughs, winking all-too-obviously at you. “Regardless, I just wanted to thank you for everything formally, sir. You two have a wonderful rest of your night!”

“Yes.” Zayne frowns, leaning ever so slightly closer to you. ”To you as well.”

Quickly feigning ignorance, you pretend to be absorbed in the powerpoint some professor is giving on the opposite side of the venue, immediately lost in a diagram of a heart valve. You’re about to take another sip of your drink when something pinches your ear. Yelping at the sting, you jump in your seat, whirling around to face the culprit.

Zayne scoffs. “I could see you eavesdropping a mile away. Did you find anything interesting?”

“Oh, aside from learning that you are extremely humble, smart, handsome, and rather adept at hands-on instruction, nothing much,” you lean against the counter, blinking up at Zayne through your lashes as you sing the last word, “Sir.”

You watch his jaw clench, a rigid movement that makes your heart skip. Zayne laughs, a harsh, sharp sound. He shakes his head before his hand grips your jaw, tugging you gently but firmly towards him. His eyes narrow, and your heart stutters.

“Clever girl. What is it you want this time?”

This time. As if Zayne could refuse you anything, as if the mere sight of you isn't enough to make him go mad.

But you're not the only one who knows how to play. And he rather likes watching just how far you’ll go.

Smiling innocently, you rest a hand on Zayne’s shoulder. The warmth of his skin seeps through the silky material of his suit. You can't help but slide your hand further up, tracing the curve of his neck with your thumb. “Well…” You lick your lips, tasting the waxy remnants of your lipstick as you fight to keep your voice even under Zayne’s piercing gaze. ”You never did any hands-on training with me, and everyone says what an honor it’s been to be taught by you, sir. I wonder what I’ll have to do to experience it finally.”

Zayne sighs, and for a moment, he appears disappointed.

“It seems like you truly want to learn about surgeries.” A scoff, and Zayne’s face seems to fall back to its stoic facade. But he pulls you closer, tilting your head so his lips graze your earlobe once more. “Who knew my little hunter was so skilled at acting?”

You gasp, placing a hand on your chest in faux surprise. “What accusations, doctor. Besides, I was thinking about something with a… less steep learning curve.”

Zayne hums thoughtfully, thumb venturing from your jaw as it brushes across your lips. Once. Twice. Three times before he stands up, hand finally dropping from your face as he grabs your wrist instead. 

“Then allow me to take our first lesson elsewhere.”

You don’t offer any sort of resistance as Zayne leads you through the crowd, opting to let go of your wrist and guide you away from prying eyes, hand instead lingering against the small of your back as he walks beside you. He opens the door for you, directing the two of you down one of the main venue halls, echoes of conversation muffled by the soft ding of an elevator. Zayne flashes his medical ID before clicking the top floor, the sensor buzzing green as it carries you up with the smooth flow of elevator jazz. 

Zayne’s hand has yet to leave your waist. His thumb goes back to tracing soft circles against the divots in your back as though from habit, nearly touching bare skin due to the sweeping backless design of your dress. You fight the urge to lean further into him, already fidgeting in your heels at the thought of his touch, slow and careful and calculated, elsewhere.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the chime of the elevator. 

Oh, god, snap out of it. You rush out of the elevator, hoping Zayne didn’t notice the furious heat you can feel rising from your cheeks to the tips of your ears.

Smoothing some loose hair back behind your ear, you close your eyes and focus on taking deep breaths, as if it’ll push all these obscene scenarios of Zayne’s large, perfect hands doing unspeakable things out of your mind. 

It works for a moment, expelling all these potential scenarios and instead reminding you of every time Zayne has taken action. Memories of him after hours at the clinic, during movie nights when neither of you paid attention to the TV, and even the drive here where he decided to—

“Does the sight of a billiard table scare you that much?”

The heat from earlier is back in full force. Your eyes snap open, and you are greeted with Zayne’s signature eyebrow raise, feigning concern despite his amused smile that only grows more prominent when he notices the flush creeping across your skin.

“Hardly.” You force a smile, turning your head as you refuse to let him gloat. “I’m just so ecstatic that I’ll finally receive hands-on training from the Dr. Zayne.”

A low hum, “Yes, at least until you feel well enough to go back and socialize.” 

He says this, yet you know Zayne is just as happy as you are to finally escape from the crowds below.

“Well,” you purr, “take care of me until then, sir.”

You giggle as he frowns at the title, waltzing past him to a corner pool table in the billiard hall. The floor is dedicated to different tabletop games, all lined up against numerous floor-to-ceiling windows aglow with a gorgeous view of Linkon City. The city lights bleed in since the entire room was rather dim, no doubt an artistic choice, adorned sensually with faux candlelight chandeliers and the low timber of jazz.

“Have you played before?”

“Once or twice– some call me a natural genius.” You brush imaginary hair from your shoulders as Zayne scoffs before handing you a cue stick. Lacing his hand into your own, you pull the stick and thus him closer. “Why? Are you going to be strict with me, sir?”

Seeing through your jab, Zayne responds without hesitation. “Strict teachers make outstanding students. Let’s start.”

You pout, about to walk to the other side of the pool table to observe his shot, when Zayne’s arm laces around your waist, holding you against him for a second longer. 

“And no more distractions.”

Not trusting your voice, you nod, watching as he bends to aim the cue, muscles beneath his sleeves flexing with each calculated movement. You hear the sound of a cue stick colliding with its target, but your attention is too focused on his fingers to process any of the actual movements.

Another sharp click breaks the silence. You watch as the cue ball collides with a red striped one, sending the former skittering off the sides while the other sinks into the pocket with a dull thud.

“You’re unfairly good at this.”

Zayne raises a brow, “Maybe it’s because a surgeon requires steady hands.” 

And the moment you glance down, any chance of salvation is lost.

You’re not a fool. You’ve noticed Zayne’s hands before, on more occasions than you’d care to admit. But it’s as he says and more. 

Lining up for another shot, you watch him stretch forward, forearms exposed from his deliciously rolled-up sleeves and discarded blazer, your eyes tracing every prominent vein down to his hands, spread wide against the table, tense as the stick rests against his pointer finger and thumb. Even in the dim lighting you can see pale silver scars littering his forearms, and you swear you’ve never seen something so beautiful, like traces of frost against marble. 

Again, it shouldn’t be a surprise that a surgeon must take good care of their hands, but it’s nearly unfair how gorgeous Zayne’s are. Not only that, but you remember how comforting his hands feel against your own, how they caressed your thigh earlier tonight, and just how attentive and precise they can be. 

“You’re not focusing on my lesson.”

Shit.

With a single strike, Zayne tries to sink another ball, but the angle is just off, and the striped ball hits the corner of the pocket, ricocheting against the wood with a dull thud. 

Zayne leans against the pool table, cue stick resting against his shoulder.

"Your turn."

Copying Zayne’s movements as best you can, you clumsily position your cue stick between your knuckles, aiming for what seemed to be a fairly easy shot. Only for the ball to ricochet far left as the white ball knocks into it. Even your cue stick wobbles after, as if shaking in laughter at your poor shot. 

Frowning, you look up to see Zayne’s disapproving gaze locked onto the pool table. 

“Is there not an easier way to do this? One more suitable for beginners?”

“There is.” Zayne leans in, his expression betraying nothing. “First, try adjusting your posture. You’ll see better results.”

Another sigh, and you halfheartedly drape yourself over the table again. “Like this? I’m not sure I fully understand, I think I need your help identifying my weak spots via more hands-on learning, sir.”

“Allow me to guide you, then.”

For a moment you think you’ll have to bait Zayne more, yet before you can figure out how to push the stubborn doctor any further, you feel the weight of his hands, heavy against your shoulder and hip. 

Zayne shifts forward, and you can feel the fabric of his suit vest graze the bare skin of your back, his hands unnaturally cool against the dips in your waist as he nudges your back into an arch. You comply, Zayne’s body nearly folding atop yours as his chest brushes your back. 

He takes the cue stick from your hand.

“You’re too tense,” Zayne pats your back two times. Your waist immediately bends, and you hear him laugh under his breath. “And now you’re too relaxed.”

With his hands still pressed against your waist, Zayne repositions himself and thus you as well, and you can feel the chill of each exhale against the crook of your neck.

He guides your aim, lining it up to the cue ball. The tip brushes ever so gently against the felt surface as it pushes, slowly and deliberately, practicing the gentle back-and-forth motion as you struggle to keep pace. 

“Drop your left arm. Allow it to bend naturally.” He taps your elbow and waist. “Your head, dominant arm, and the cue stick should all form a straight line.”

You begin to shuffle according to Zayne’s instructions, hinging your hips backward before you realize what a wonderfully compromising position he’s placed you in. As discreetly as possible, you allow your right leg to step backward, movement forcing you further against Zayne as you press the curve of your ass into his hips. Immediately, you’re rewarded with a sharp inhale next to your ear. 

But instead of pulling away or reprimanding you Zayne merely continues with the lesson, almost frustratingly unaffected if it wasn’t for the fact that you could feel his reaction grow between your thighs. 

Still, he is nothing if not a professional as he whispers against your jaw, "Behave.”

"I am," you reply, and one of Zayne’s hands comes up to guide your cue stick. “...It just hurts a little.”

You don’t have to see his face to know that Zayne is giving you a smug smile. 

“That means it’s correct.”

You take a deep breath. You practice the same back-and-forth motions, thrusting the stick forward on the third, watching as your cue stick strikes the white ball, sending a solid orange one rolling.

Another click and a thud, and you successfully land a pocket.

Just when you feel like you’re finally getting the hang of it, you make the fatal mistake of looking down to where Zayne's fingers guide yours against the cue stick, and your brain turns to scramble once more. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a soft, fleeting sensation.

And you miss.

Zayne is quiet for a long moment, tilting his head, letting the warmth of his cheek press against your neck. “Snap out of it. Are you even paying attention?”

Bastard. He knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“Of course,” you retort, skin feeling uncomfortably hot even when Zayne finally steps back from you, your body searing the memory of his touch into every nerve. “I’ll score the next one myself.”

He hums and cocks an eyebrow as if telling you to go on, prove him wrong. 

“Remember, move the cue stick to gauge the shot two or three times, then stop at the position closest to the ball.”

You do, gauging the weight of the cue stick, bending down over the table so your chest nearly brushes with the felt, narrowing in on the solid green ball. 

“Stop and pull back the cue stick in three, two, one.” 

On Zayne’s command, you strike, a satisfying click followed by the thump of the ball falling into the corner pocket. You scored. All on your own.

“It went in!” You jolt up, spinning as you laugh. 

“So it did. Seems like your pool skills are less about precision and more… passion.” Zayne’s lips twitch into a smile, and you’re not foolish enough to ignore his double meaning. “Granted, you might need a little more than passion to come back and win this round.”

You scoff, attempting to change the subject without drawing attention to how red your face has gotten. “Well then, perhaps if you’re not too committed to this doctor thing there’s still a chance for you in the professional billiard space.”

“No, thank you. Now, think you can make another shot by yourself?”

“Wait a moment. When a student does well, shouldn’t they get a reward?”

“Very well,” Zayne relents, tone even despite the searing gaze he practically strips down your body. “What do you want?”

“There are a few balls blocking my next shot. Help me?”

A beat, and he blinks at you incredulously. “That is all?”

“What’s wrong, Dr. Zayne? Scared that if you give me too much help, I’ll steal this victory from you?”

“Provocation doesn’t work on me.”

“Then come here.”

God, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to how pliant he is for you, obeying your command without so much as a moment of hesitation. His larger frame now towers above you, close enough that you have to crane your neck to maintain eye contact. And you can’t help but tease him a bit more. It’s not your fault his obedience gives you a rush.

“Closer,” you whisper, teasing your fingers against his vest buttons. “Or else I can’t reach it.” 

Still, Zayne complies. Although this time his brows furrow, shuffling closer so his knee slips between yours and your chest presses against his. “What exactly are you…”

You yank his tie, pushing him down atop the felt tabletop before he can finish his sentence. 

There’s a dull thud, Zayne’s vest ruffled as you pin him to the table. He still looks frustratingly composed, not a hair out of place, but you feel his chest rise and fall uncharacteristically fast under your palm.

Smiling in victory, your other hand brings up your cue stick, making a show of tapping it on his broad shoulders. “Ah, look, the ball is so far away. I think I’ll need a cue rest.”

“Using cue rests would be overkill,” Zayne retorts, propping himself onto his elbows as you pout. You’ve been teasing him all night; surely just one more push, and he’ll finally give in? 

Before he can escape from your hold, you lift the cue stick off his shoulder, letting the tip slip under his tie. Zayne watches with a tight frown as you tug his tie loose. “And this is inappropriate.”

“But are you not enjoying it too?” Your leg slides out from the slit in your dress, allowing you to straddle Zayne’s thigh as your arms cage him further against the pool table. “Sir?”

His brows furrow, almost surprised at your brazenness before he looks down with a huff, and you see the smirk he’s fighting to keep at bay. “I shouldn’t have taught you so much.”

Getting revenge for before, it’s your turn to grip his jaw, brushing kisses against his beautifully hooked nose and down his jaw, leaving smears of cherry red in your wake as you purposefully neglect his waiting lips. “What can I say? I have a very attentive teacher.” 

Zayne is about to say something sarcastic back, no doubt, so you roll your hips forward, cutting off his words as you’re rewarded with a groan instead. The angle allows you to grind atop the rough seams in his trousers, nearly catching against his zipper and the heavy bulge you can already feel straining underneath. 

His hand shoots out, gripping your thigh as you gasp. There’s a warning look in his eyes, but he makes no move to stop you.

Encouraged, you repeat the motion, rocking forward against him as you give an exaggerated moan. Zayne quickly cuts it off with his other hand, thumb pressing against your bottom lip as he muffles your noises. You open your lips further, allowing the digit to slide against your lipstick and push against your tongue. 

Zayne tsks, shaking his head.

You gently nip at his finger before beginning to suck the offending digit, flicking your tongue against the rough pad of his thumb. You watch his eyes narrow, the grip on your waist tightening. Zayne is holding himself back. Again. 

You release his thumb with a pop. "Don't worry, sir, no one will hear." As if to prove your point, you stop grinding, instead bringing your hand up to cup at the bulge straining against his pants. “Besides, you’re too pretty like this. I'm the only one who gets to hear all the sounds you make.”

You smile so sweetly despite the way you torture him with every rough drag of your palm against his clothed cock. But it’s only when your smile breaks into something more genuine that Zayne feels himself flush, gazing up at you adoringly before he tries to play it off with a chuckle and a pinch at your hips.

"The things you say..." His expression changes to something unreadable, stone-cold and conflicted. The chances of losing you again are greater than he once thought. He doesn't deserve this, and he doesn't deserve you. Zayne is reminded of that every time he dares get too close.

But he can't help it. He’d eternally become a fool, a martyr, just for you.

Zayne’s jaw clenches, and a stuttered moan slips through his teeth as your hand squeezes his clothed cock. "Do you think I'm that weak to flattery?"

"No. I just think you deserve it sometimes." You smirk. "Plus, I'm not flattering you, I'm complimenting."

"And what's the difference?"

"The intent," you whisper, grinding your hips forward again.

This time, you catch him by surprise, and Zayne moans, the sound low and rough and so fucking addicting. Zayne grunts, head tilting back as he shuts his eyes, lips parting ever so slightly as more soft sighs and moans slip out, spurring you on.

You lean in, breath warm against his ear as you whisper, "What's wrong, sir? I thought you had a lesson to teach me."

Zayne’s grip tightens, and he yanks you down so your palms skid across the smooth felt of the pool table you’ve pinned him against, pulling your hips flush against his as his palm cups your ass.

“If you actually want to learn, there's another way I can teach you…” Zayne leans up on his forearms until his lips brush with yours, and right as his eyes begin to flutter closed, you shove him backward. Denying his kiss. Again.

“Sir, this seems to be highly unprofessional.”

And Zayne finally snaps. 

“First you use your teacher as a cue rest, then you try to talk about professionalism?” He lets out a curt laugh, and you can practically feel his patience wearing thin. It’s terrifying, and your stomach flutters in anticipation.

“ Unprofessional ,” he spits, and your thighs clench at the growl undercutting his words. “Unprofessional, like that time you were screaming my name in the back of my car while we were still at the hospital parking lot? Or unprofessional, like that time you interrupted me during work hours, begging me to eat your cunt out in my office? Or perhaps it’s like when you decided to turn this lesson into an opportunity to tease me since you’re clearly so desperate?”

You can practically feel yourself drip at Zayne’s blunt words, each one harsh and true— your relationship with him had passed morally ethical the moment you pulled him in to kiss you instead of pushing him away months ago.

Using this moment of weakness, Zayne lifts you up, flipping the two of you around so you’re the one pinned against the pool table as he reaches for his abandoned cue stick. And he finally- finally - claims your lips with his. 

Zayne always kisses like he operates, slow and methodical, as if he could spend hours learning every inch of your body, and it never fails to leave you breathless. But today, the urgency in the way he licks into your mouth is palpable, and it has you whining and clutching his suit, legs wrapping around his waist as you try to bring him closer, the oak rim of the table forcing your back into a deeper arch as you whine. 

A firm hand against your hip stops your movement, pinning you down. You feel so small, caged in between his much longer legs, his superior height much too obvious. The difference in size is almost laughable as he bends down to lick deeper into your mouth. You gasp against Zayne’s lips as his other hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb rubbing circles against the column of your throat and your fluttering heartbeat underneath.

You whimper into his mouth, futilely attempting to push him away even though your hips grind insistently against his thigh. “Zayne,” his name tapers off into a moan as he kisses you again, addicted. “We can’t–” another kiss. “Anyone could walk in.” Another.

When he does give you space to breathe, a thin string of saliva connects his bottom lip to yours. He pants heavily, lips shaded a hue of cherry red from your lipstick and teeth as the corner of his mouth tugs into a frown. “Hm, I suppose that’s true. But that didn’t stop you before, did it? So I see no reason why it should stop me now.”

And you realize your fate has long since been sealed.  

Zayne returns to peppering your neck with kisses, teeth nipping the soft skin at your collarbone, and you yelp as he leaves a particularly harsh bite. Your hands come up to fist into his hair, and Zayne groans against your chest.

"Do not think I have forgotten our lesson," He whispers.

"Who, me?" You bat your eyelashes. "I would never. Sir."

His gaze darkens. "Then watch closely, I’m only doing this once.” 

Leaning over you, Zayne positions the cue stick against your shoulder, not unlike you did to him before. But unlike you, he forces your hips up against his thigh, watching your eyes roll back from the delicious friction of his expensive trousers. “There are two striped balls left. As punishment for your attitude during my lesson, I want you to come on my thigh before I pocket both of them.”

Dumbstruck, you can only stare up at him, stammering at his demand as you feel your pussy flutter. “I- I don’t think…”

Zayne scoffs, silencing you by roughly thumbing at your lips again. “Don’t act so shocked. You’ve been humping me like a desperate brat all evening, so go on and come like one. Come for me.”

His words are demeaning, each one cold and seemingly emotionless as he stares down at you. But you can see the truth in his eyes as he watches your every reaction, their gentle green filled with an adoration so tender it terrifies you. You feel the truth in his touch, only moving with your consent, already having memorized your body to learn the way you tick and acting upon your every whim, only pushing you just as far as you wish to be. 

Zayne has never told you he loves you, but he has shown you that he does in a thousand countless ways. 

And he’ll prove it to you in a thousand more. 

”Unless, you want more punishment?” Zayne twists his head towards you with his next statement, and he feels the way it makes you flinch— it makes him throb at the same time. You shake your head. 

You can barely form sentences when he’s deliberately tensing the muscles in his thigh, each movement in time with every needy twitch of your hips like it’s a means to emphasize his point. 

“Use. Your. Words.”

“No.”

His grip tightens, fingers tensing against your neck, and you stammer back out the correction. “No, sir.”

“Good girl.”

Your heart flutters at the praise, a quiet whimper escaping you as you buck against him. Your lips are pouty from being bitten between your teeth, and you still hear muffled sobs and moans slip past your lips as you begin chasing the friction against his thigh, the upward angle punishing your clit. 

Despite how much Zayne likes to front that he’s in complete control, something tells you he’s having a harder time holding back than he’ll ever admit. You think maybe the bulge in his slacks and his low moans against your ear is proof enough of that.

Zayne’s not sure which is more distracting, the sight of your pretty pussy grinding against him, only just covered by the thin silk of your dress, or the sounds falling from your mouth. The room is filled with the wet sounds of your cunt, your whimpers, and Zayne's own groans.

Pressing his forehead against yours, Zayne leans in for another kiss, the tips of your noses barely touching. But the proximity makes you slow, and he clicks his tongue, reaching above you to line up his cue stick for the next shot. But he pauses, instead fully tugging off the tie you had loosed.

"Since you were so insistent on taking my tie off earlier, here. Keep it for me." Zayne grabs both your wrists with one hand, looping his tie tightly against your skin, skillfully making a knot without ever releasing your wrists. 

“Maybe this will help you behave properly,” Zayne whispers, voice low as he mouths your pulse point, a fresh surge of arousal rushing to your core as you feel his length pressing further into you. 

With a broken whimper, you hook an ankle around Zayne’s back as you begin to grind harder against his thigh, moaning at the new angle. It hardly compared to the feeling of his fingers or cock fucking into you, but you barely cared, arousal and lust spurred on by Zayne’s voice. 

You soon fall into a rhythm, painfully slow, the mere friction sending jolts of heat through you until you’re certain Zayne’s trousers must be stained. You nearly beg for something to hold onto, hands writhing helplessly against his tie as your sobs are muffled into your red-bitten lips.

But just as soon as the pleasure builds, you feel it plateau, hips beginning to stutter as the dull friction becomes too little, the coiling heat inside you desperate to be properly filled up by something, anything. 

Zayne, on the other hand, is faring no better. 

He’s thoroughly distracted with the pretty little thing desperately fucking herself against his thigh, caging you down to the table as his hands clench against the cue stick, nearly enough to make it snap. 

You continue to push yourself in desperation to fulfill Zayne’s order for you to come, his continuous praises mingling with the lewd squelch of your cunt, and your eyes roll back with a cry. Zayne’s voice is intoxicating, his steady tone rough with lust sending tremors down your spine, infecting you like an aphrodisiac. You were building further and further, mounting pressure in your core dizzying, desperation for release seeping through you, mind lust-drunk as you willed yourself to fall off the peak.

But the familiar sound of the billiard balls clicks somewhere above you, followed by two distinct thuds. 

A hum, and Zayne pries himself away as you whine at the loss, cold air rushing in. 

You failed. 

“How disappointing.” Zayne scolds as if he wasn’t the one who nearly came from your grinding instead. ”But you know what happens to students who fail to follow clear instructions, don’t you?”

Standing back, Zayne discards the cue stick entirely as one hand readjusts his trousers, and you whimper at the sight of him cupping his bulge, stroking and coaxing it against his thigh just so he can stand straight. 

“Turn around and lift your dress.”

You obey, propping yourself up on shaking arms before you flip around so the rough edge of the billiard table now presses against your stomach, the felt hot beneath your bound wrists. 

Zayne hums in approval, almost apathetically observing the way you squirm before he nods at you to continue. Lowering your eyes from his, you allow your leg to slip out from the slit in your dress, spreading your legs back and to the side as the silk falls off the curve of your ass, Zayne’s piercing gaze following every movement. 

“Didn’t think a game of pool would turn you on this much,” he muses, leaning against the rim of the table as he crosses his arms.

Unable to meet his stare any longer, your head falls between your still tied-up hands, every inch of your body burning in shame and lust as Zayne continues to wordlessly observe you. You swear you’ll burn up with the way he fucks you with his eyes.

 Still, Zayne doesn’t move. 

You nearly scream against the table, eyes scrunched as you snap. “Fuck! Zayne, I swear to god, if you don’t finally fuck me I’ll do it myself or find someone else who will.”

The words barely leave your mouth when a hand fists into your hair, pulling you backward until you arch back, and you gasp, mouth falling open at the sensation. Zayne's breath is cold against the shell of your ear, the growl undercutting his words sending tremors down your spine.

"Needy little brat," his fingers curl into your hair, pulling until your jaw goes slack. Zayne's other hand finds its way back to your underwear, the material so damp that it almost feels sticky beneath his touch, and you moan at the sensation, unable to formulate a retort as your eyes flutter closed. “I think you’re forgetting this is meant to be your punishment.”

He snaps the band of your panties, and you choke, knees wobbling.

"Remember to count, or we start over.”

Placing the flat of his palm in the space between your shoulder blades, Zayne pushes you down against the billiard table, the side of your face pressed against the felt.

You hear the sharp crack of his hand meeting your ass before you feel it, the burn returning with a vengeance as you scream into the table. The sting of his palm leaves a searing heat across the curve of your ass, and you bite down on the tie binding your hands to muffle the cries that escape you.

Then you remember his order, lips quivering as you say, "One."

Another smack. This time harder. The strike is so precise it nearly sends you toppling over, the sting and ache following pushing you further against the wood. You let out a sob, eyes beginning to water as you clench around nothing, the throbbing of your cunt only worsened by Zayne's firm grip on the base of your neck.

"Two."

The third strike comes down even harder than the last, the resounding echo of his slap followed by a strangled scream from you, the heat and pain making your knees give out, forcing you to rest fully atop the pool table. “Three.”

You feel tears running down your face, undoubtedly ruining your makeup. But before you can process the fourth smack, you feel the familiar sting against your ass and the paradoxically gentle rub of Zayne's hand against the aching spot, soothing the pain as you count.

 "F-Four." You shutter as you feel sheer cold bloom against your skin, his Evol numbing your ass as you whimper from the pleasure-pain.

Zayne’s thumb dips past the seam of your panties, gathering the slick that has been dripping out of you for the entire night. You feel the heat of his stare on you and the weight of his hand heavy on the small of your back, his other hand still gripping your neck with his thumb tracing soft circles against your pulse.

"So wet. Is this what you were hoping for, hm? Testing me until I finally snapped and ruined you?”

You don't dare look him in the eye. "Please, sir. I can't—"

"Can't what? Take anymore? Can't take any more punishment like the disobedient brat you are?" Zayne's voice is low, and you shiver at his words, unable to respond as the tears continue to flow, the mixture of pain and arousal leaving your vision blurred and cloudy. He spanks you again, this time hard enough to leave a mark, and you keen, legs spreading even wider in desperation.

"I can't— ah shit — please. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sir, please, just fuck me already.” you plead, voice trembling as you beg, desperate to be filled by anything other than the emptiness. 

“Language.” Zayne reprimands, and the sting of his strike follows shortly after. “And you forgot to count.”

“Five! It’s f-five.” Your knees buckle with a sob, and Zayne has to hold your waist so you don't slide onto the floor, his touch paradoxically gentle compared to everything else he’s done.

“Shh, you’re far too noisy. It’s almost as though you want someone walking in to find us like this.”

Your dress is only noticeably bunched up from the back and Zayne is still fully clothed. Anyone walking by the billiard hall would just see a couple talking by the tables, but if they were to enter the room it would hardly take a brain surgeon to figure out what was happening. The realization has your walls clench around nothing.

Zayne hoists your wrists up, forcing you into a deeper arch before untying your restraints. You then watch him fist the purple silk into a ball before pushing it into your mouth, gagging you with it. “Don’t worry, this will help.”

It doesn't.

You moan against his tie, saliva pooling against the silky fabric as Zayne pushes the soaked garment deeper into your throat, his chest pressed against your bare back. You look up at him through watery eyes, sniffling, the tingling sensation of being punished in such a way overwhelming you completely. Zayne uses this opportunity to soothe you like he always does— never failing to find the perfect balance between rough and gentle.

"It's alright, I know, my little darling can’t make up her mind. I’ll help you, I’ll show you what you want." Zayne soothes, stroking your cheek with his thumb, his gaze gentle despite his steady and strict voice. Then, he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he whispers, “If anything hurts or becomes too much, tap the table twice." 

You wouldn’t dare, not after finally getting what you wanted.

Zayne slips his hands under the backs of your thighs, easily lifting your weight against his chest as you whimper, the toes of your heels just barely grazing the tiled floor. The position is beyond embarrassing, ass up, face down, completely exposed and at his mercy.

He withdraws one hand, and you cry out, a garbled mess of pleas. The absence of his touch is torturous, the throbbing of your pussy and the soreness of your ass a painful reminder of the punishment you received.

The tent in his pants was tantalizingly obvious, even more pronounced once he pushed his pants down, taking out his length. He spits on his fingers, the slick sounds of him stroking himself making you whine in anticipation. It was oozing with precum, head red and flushed as he jerks himself off with sharp movements between your thighs. You grind your hips back, trying to tempt him, but all Zayne does is coo at your pitiful attempts.

"Look at you, so desperate. All that childish stubbornness just because you want my cock." He lines himself up, the head of his cock catching against your entrance as you shiver. The stretch burns, and you groan, eyes screwing shut at the feeling. "My beautiful, filthy girl."

Zayne whispers, curling an arm between your sweat-slickened bodies. You think he means to finally alleviate the needy throbbing against your clit, but instead his hand presses firmly against your lower stomach as he continues to fuck into you, torturously slow, allowing the blunt head of his cock to bully its way deeper and deeper still. 

The sensation is overwhelming, the stretch of Zayne's cock combined with the sting of his earlier punishment leaves you a mess, fluttering around him as he finally bottoms out.

He lets out a long moan, a low rumble that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You're so full, the head of his cock pressing insistently against the bundle of nerves inside you.

Some distant part of you is mortified of every lewd squelch and moan that echos over the jazz in the public hall, but feeling Zayne gently cup your ass while the other brutally pins you down, hearing him come apart against the back of your neck, knowing that your stoic lover was pushed to such extremes has you keening.

You want to feel every inch of him, so you clench down, and Zayne bites the back of your neck in retaliation, his hips stuttering.

"You’re perfect." Zayne praises, and his breathless voice sends shivers down your spine. "So good for me, taking me so well."

Zayne finally starts moving, letting the tip of his cock pull back until the head catches on the rim of your cunt, trying desperately to keep him inside, until he thrusts back into you in a single harsh motion, watching you fall apart just as he knew you would. 

Your scream muffles into the gag, and Zayne reaches down to push the tie deeper into your mouth, the knot catching on the back of your tongue as he sets a steady pace. 

The hand against your lower stomach shifts, still pressing hard enough so Zayne can feel his cock throb through you, and yet now positioned perfectly to thumb against your clit too. He needs to make you come, to feel it around him. 

Zayne knows your body better than his own, knows exactly what angle he needs to hit, knows exactly where to touch to send your hips jerking back, and knows exactly where to tease to have you clenching down and sobbing into his tie.

It doesn't take long until you're coming, his fingers circling the bundle of nerves until you're screaming, thighs shaking, and he has to hold them open as you fall apart around him, cunt gushing as you squirt over his suit and trousers.

Your orgasm has your walls fluttering, clenching around his cock as it nearly begs for him to be buried deeper inside, and Zayne grunts, a broken moan ripped from his throat as his grip on your thigh tightens.

The pace of his thrusts grows sloppier, and you can tell he's close, the wet squelch of his cock inside your cunt driving you mad as his rhythm becomes inconsistent. You can feel his breath fan against your neck, labored and shaky, with the way he chases his high.

Your cunt aches with how full you feel, overstimulated and sensitive, but you push your hips back anyway, meeting Zayne halfway as you both chase the release that's been building up all night.

With one final thrust, Zayne finally comes inside you, a choked gasp followed by a low moan as his hips stutter, almost fucking his cum back into you as a sloppy mixture of your release drip down his cock and your thighs. 

Your eyes roll back into your skull, and your second orgasm takes you by surprise, your body convulsing at the overstimulation and the warm soothing sensation of being filled to the brim. 

"Fuck." Zayne whispers, his hands holding your hips as his thumbs trace circles against the dimples at the small of your back. The chill and comfort of his hands is almost enough to distract you from the ache, and you groan, legs finally giving out beneath you as you fall forward onto the pool table, the hard surface unforgiving as the wood rubs against your bruised knees.

Ever so gently, Zayne removes his tie from your mouth, turning you around so you’re pressed tight against his chest, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder. You can feel his rapid heartbeat and the way his hands tremble, and you smile, the familiar tenderness of his touch calming the both of you.

He slowly runs a hand down the curve of your back and you hum against the top of his head, your own hand coming up to gently stroke his hair. “I think I love you, Zayne.”

He doesn’t say a word, instead, you feel his other arm wrap around your waist, tucking you further into his embrace.

The two of you remain like this, tangled in each other until your breathing finally evens out and the fever that inflected you begins to cool. When Zayne finally speaks, his voice is muffled against your skin, and you shiver at the mere brush of his lips. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“Hmm, not any more than I’d want to be.” 

You mean it as a joke, but Zayne immediately stiffens in your hold, pulling back just enough to inspect your neck, then your wrists and hips as he kisses each bruise and remaining mark with hushed apologies. 

"Did you mean it?"

You look down at him, his brows furrowed as you thumb at the stubborn crease that appears between them. You’re not sure why, but something in the way he stares up at you, waiting, longing, makes tears prick in the back of your eyes. 

"Zayne," your voice is gentle, and you cup his cheek. "I do. I love you."

The tension in his jaw melts, his expression softening into something unnameable. His hand comes up to cup yours, scarred thumb tracing circles against your palm. " Say it again."

"I love you," you repeat, the corners of your mouth tugging upwards. "I love you. I love you."

"Again."

"I love you, Zayne–"

The last syllable of his name is cut off by his lips against yours, and you smile into the kiss, pulling him up until his forehead finally rests on your again. 

"As do I," Zayne whispers, voice thick as he holds you close.

And you believe him.

[4linos]

clingy, not a burden

lee minho x fem!reader

synopsis/request: after a long day, minho’s need for affection is met with warmth and reassurance, reminding him he can always seek comfort without shame.

wc: 1143

It had been a difficult day for Minho. He'd spent hours at practice, pushing his body to its limits with choreography and vocal runs, and while he appeared fine on the outside, you could see the exhaustion in his eyes. He didn't show it all the time, but when he was this worn out, the sharpness in his usual actions and the brightness in his gaze began to fade. More than anything, he just wanted to be near you.

It started when you were in the kitchen chopping vegetables, with the calm hum of the evening filling the room. Minho entered silently behind you, his steps light and seemingly hesitant. He didn't say anything at first, just stood there and watched you for a bit. He looked a little... smaller, as if all the energy he'd spent over the day had drained him totally. Then, almost as an afterthought, he scooted closer to you, snuggling in next you as if your presence was the only thing that could keep him grounded.

You could feel him before you saw him: his body warmth, the small brush of his palm against yours, the subtle aroma of sweat and tiredness on him. You looked up to see him standing there, staring at you with the gentle, almost vulnerable expression he saved for occasions like this. He said nothing, but you understood exactly what he wanted.

"You okay, babe?" You asked, your voice simmered with worry, but a smile pulled at your lips as you noticed how close he was standing, nearly leaning into you, as if he couldn't get enough of your presence.

He blinked slowly and gave a slight nod, but his eyes never left yours. You could see he was tired, both physically and emotionally, from practicing, but he wasn't the sort to acknowledge it. Instead, he just followed you about the kitchen, lingering close like a shadow.

When you moved to the counter, Minho was there behind you, resting against it and watching you slice the vegetables with a kind, almost drowsy smile. It was subtle, but the way he kept close to you made you feel like you were the only thing he could think about at the time. You could literally feel the weight of his tiredness through the air, and the way he didn't let go of your side all evening told you exactly what he needed: closeness.

"Minho," you teased softly, watching how he kept following you around the apartment, sneaking behind you when you went to the the bathroom and reappearing just a few seconds later when you settled into the couch. His movements were so gentle, his gaze so steady, and the way he leaned in, seeking the warmth of your skin, made your heart hurt with longing. "You're being a little clingy today, huh?"

It was meant to be playful, to ease the stress that had accumulated around him. Minho was not the clingy type, at least not unless he was tired or needed something specific. It was one of the things you like about him: he wasn't overly clingy, always giving you your space unless he truly needed it. But as you said it, his face changed quickly. The smile faded, and the light in his eyes faded just a little. His lips pushed together in a narrow line, and the sorrow returned to his face so rapidly that you nearly missed it. He wasn't offended at all. But you knew him well enough to notice that something had changed beneath the surface.

Minho's shoulders stiffened, and for a brief time, he looked like he was about to leave, walking away and leaving you alone in the apartment's silence. You could sense his sudden distancing before he made a move, and it hit you like a punch in the the stomach. You never wanted him to feel forced to walk away from you. Not right now, when he needed you the most.

"Minho…" you murmured quietly, your voice breaking as you reached out and gripped his wrist, bringing him back into you. His look had softened to something uncertain, the faint sadness still lingering, and you realized you had made a mistake. "I didn't mean it like that," you quickly added, your words tumbling out in a rush. "I wasn't teasing you, I promise. I just... I was trying to make you laugh. I'm sorry."

Minho hesitated, his eyes shifting to yours. There was a hint of embarrassment in his expression as he stood in front of you, his hand clumsily drawing away from yours for a second, unsure how to answer. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out, and you could tell he was still digesting things, feeling a touch vulnerable, with his walls cracking in an unusual way for him.

But then, after a long moment, he sighed, as if the weight of the day had finally gotten to him, and smiled sheepishly. His shoulders slumped, and at the next instant, he leaned forward, concealing his face in the crook of your neck and pushing against you as if seeking refuge. "I'm sorry," he said into your skin, his words muffled. "I just... I'm really tired today. I didn't want you to think I was annoying or something." You smiled softly, your fingers sliding through his hair, the warmth of his body against yours a reassuring reminder that you didn't need to say anything else. You kissed the top of his head; your voice gentle and full of love.

"Minho, you can be clingy. I don't mind," you said softly but really. "If you need me, I will always be there for you. You don't have to hide it or be embarrassed. I adore how you want to be close to me. You are never too much for me, you know that, right?" Minho halted, his body stiffening against yours for a little moment, as if he wasn't sure how to accept the reassurance. But then he relaxed again, his breath slowing as he sank himself further into the warmth of your embrace, as if the sheer reality of your words might lift the weight of his tiredness.

You felt his body soften against yours, the last bit of tension fading as he snuggled even closer, his arms wrapping around you like a lifeline. And in that moment, it didn’t matter that he was clingy. It didn’t matter that he needed something you couldn’t put into words. All that mattered was that you were there, and that he knew, no matter what, you’d always be his safe place to land.

“I’m not going anywhere, Minho,” you whispered, your hand tracing small circles on his back. “You can be as clingy as you want. I’m here. Always.”

And with that, he finally let himself rest, his exhaustion slowly melting away in your arms.

//

masterlist

[k2ntoss]

I need more baby daddy Jason. Maybe sitting at the park watching him with ur kids and hearing the other moms ogling over him

yall dangerously feeding my brain rot and it's giving me a baby fever i do not wish to feed !!!!!!!!!!! but whoever says baby daddy jason you have my heart rn bc i adore that man!!!!!!!!!!!

by the end of the week it was already time for your kids to go out and have a pretty day at the park, jason had been really busy lately so you took the stroller and placed your babygirl on it before calling your boy, living copy of jason when he was a kid and you couldn't want it any other way because both of your babies had those pretty emerald eyes you so adored.

the way to the park was easy, those two kids had a way to be pretty little angels when it came to go out to the park and you loved that because jason would usually catch up with you sometimes when the work was too much and today was one of those days. your little boy was six and your little girl four, which made it a bit hard to have him playing around and keeping an eye on your babygirl but as soon as jason joined you it was time for the girl to also leave your arms.

jason has been an amazing dad, always making sure his kids and girl were just fine, that they had everything they could ever need and want and it was easy to see in the way the little girl giggles loudly when he sweeps her out of your arms and walks to the playground while you sit, keeping an eye on your son and it's easy to hear the small group of moms muttering and giggling close to where you're sitting.

"do you think he's single? maybe divorced... he just came and picked up the girl from her arms" one of the women says and you roll your eyes because you know how damn well jason looks and how easy it is for him to trigger a baby fever in anyone but the small pang of possessiveness and jealousy that stirs in your chest is there.

"he didn't kissed her, i bet she is the kids' mom but they're not together... i should try and get his number," oh, over your damn dead body anyone would even dare to try and getting jason's number but you know better so you sit, looking at your family with a fond smile because now your two kids are held by jason.

you look at him and you can tell he's been working out more recently because he seems fitter, a little less of that dad body he had gotten since your second child was born and you loved how he looked, broad and muscly but there was a little tummy that only made you drool even more for the father of your kids.

you had to endure the comments and ogling from that group of moms for at least half an hour until you decided you had enough. walking over the place where jason was playing with the kids you stood close, looking at him with a smile when he lifted his head to glance at you and the glint on his eyes made you heart flutter, he picked up the kids on his arms and strode towards you with the widest smile ever amd without saying anything else he leaned in to press a tender kiss on your lips.

"hey there, ma," he whispered still close to your face "i missed you..." the words never fail to make your whole body shudder as you stand in front of the love of your life because that's what jason was, flaws and everything he was everything you could ever want.

"missed you too, jaybird... mind if we take the kids for ice cream?" you ask with a soft tone and it's easy for him to notice what's going on when you don't even pull away but stand even closer while looking up at him like a lovestruck teen again.

that's when jason gently places your girl in the stroller and wraps his free arm around your waist before he peppers a few kisses on your neck earning a chuckle from you and a soft 'yuck' from your boy's lips.

"daddy! stop kissing mommy! let's go for ice cream" and the childish protest makes jason smirk, knowing now he had yet to deal with a whole bunch of spoiled babies instead of just you but he wouldn't have it any other way and like that, with his arm still around your waist jason makes the way to get ice cream and you can satisfiedly feel the disappointment in the group of moms that were shamelessly planing to hit on jason.

[emacrow]

Alfred's new ward making sure everyone is having great day during their day off from crime whether they want to or not.

Previous original post

Damian knew from day one of meeting alfred's new ward that he was going to be trouble..

He may have been stalking the kid doing alfred's work while alfred sat down in a comfy couch with a plate of fresh jasmine tea, his prescription medince bottle at ready and a raspberry strudel to nibble on.

He ain't going to replace his favorite Butler, not now, not ever. So Damian got Tim and Dick to help sabotage this heathen from taking over...Not knowing this kid was expecting their over the top sabotages. They tried scaring him with Titus but the little traitor lay there on his back getting belly rubs like it was heaven itself.

Changing the plumbing in his shower to freezing cold, but he walk out there refreshed. Tim trying to look of anything to blackmail him only for the batcomputer to go off the frizz with a virus.

Alfred did make sure to have his work sort out alphabetical because he is the Glue that keep these Wayne Manor going and everyone living in it not because caveman style creatures of the night.

Danny made sure Bruce didn't escape to his batcave on his supposed day off after 96 hours without sleep and spite driven nature, and don't even come with Justice never sleep excuses is going to run by him. He got Alfred's speical Bruce's tranquilizer gun at ready and he is not hesitating to shot you Bruce.

He does kept Tim from overdoing with the coffee addiction, giving him a better offer of coffee as long as he goes to sleep. Dick will still talk about Saturday night when Tim tries to sneak out to do some more investigating in the batcave only to see Danny dragged a unconscious Tim back to his room, a two tranquilizers to the back and one of his arm, though he didn't mention the Danny's glowing cat light green eyes that shine in the dark.

Danny's funny puns neon ghost stickers made dick's days, every morning as he goes to get his lunch, and he really want to know where he get them from.

Danny did actually helped a lot with the Wayne Manor as it never been cleaner before, Jason visited one time even mentioned that the chandelier never feel so clean to hang on from, not a speck of dust on it.

Damian getting a new animals book/documentaries, a new knifes for the collection or art supplies that match his demands in a way that keep his stabby nature at sate and bay for now.

Barb, Cass and Duke are amused by the fact that Bruce, Tim and Damian are having a little mid crisis that danny making them have day off on certain days such as holidays.

All this free time actually had alfred's going back to old hobbies that were nearly long forgotten such as conversations with old dear friends, practicing his old shooting skills, and having well deserved rest. Once his arm was healed, he stil did his duty along side with Danny as it was much quicker to do together as two people at hand.

What they will probably find out later on in the future that danny is actually Bruce's great grand uncle from his older sister side, and that he had disappeared when he was 20 years old in a old spooky town that vanished and still on today uneXplained series after his great grandmother moved to gotham. (But that another story for next post)

[astroismypassion]

Astrology observations 🌷🌷🌷

Credit goes to @astroismypassion

🌷 I noticed there is often a correlation or that aspects are revealing so to say. An opposition or a square between planets might indicate that you didn’t do something. Conjunction indicates you came very close to almost doing it, but then it not happening. And sextile/trine revealing that you in fact did that. For example: someone who has Sun conjunct Mercury could came very close to dating (Sun) someone in elementary, high school (Mercury), but it actually never fully came to fruition since it’s a conjunction. Another example would be: Venus square Jupiter, you likely weren’t in a committed partnership (Venus) during your college/university years (Jupiter), because it’s a square. However, you might have been if you have a sextile or a trine.

🌷 Taurus Jupiter and Venus Jupiter aspect natives often have their own little philosophy, rules and outlook on partnerships and they are willing to make very few compromises. They behave much like an Aquarius Venus or Aquarius Jupiter honestly. They have their own set view on how the their partnership should be.

🌷 With Mercury in the 8th house Synastry, the Mercury person can label you (the 8th house person) with something you don’t agree with or even you don’t agree about the label of the connection itself. For example, Mercury person wants 8th house person to be their best friend, but 8th house doesn’t want that, because they already have a best friend. Or Mercury person might suggest friend with benefits, but 8th house want a committed partnership. Usually the view on the nature of the connection is different.

🌷 I noticed Leo Lilith, Lilith at a Leo degree (5, 17, 29) attract such distant, detached, aloof people. Those that are very Uranian/Saturnian with them. These people rarely receive the level of attention they would desire in a romantic partnership from their partner. They also often go for Aquarius/Capricorn Sun or those with Sun Saturn or Sun Uranus, Moon Saturn, Moon Uranus aspects.

🌷 Venus square Jupiter native is often too stereotypically described as promiscuous, lacking standards, lacking self-worth, self-esteem when discussing their approach towards partnerships. They feel “out of luck” of finding a suitable partner to commit to. So someone of them hold onto their partner out of fear. They think it’s hard for them to come across a partner. So if they break up, they could stay single for 6, 7 years or even more.

🌷 I noticed Aries Moon men are really thirsted after, mainly due to great sex appeal. One great example would be French actor Alain Delon, who both women and men found him attractive.

🌷 Taurus Suns, especially those who have Taurus Venus as well, often feel disappointed and let down by the todays, modern dating. They feel not only there is a lack of growing stability within a connection, but also lack of responsibility. Really this word is more connected with Taurus than Capricorn, especially when it comes to partnerships. Taurus Sun always teaches their partner the importance of responsibility and stability, so this is how they teach their partner to mature more in life.

🌷In 8th house Synastry there is always friendly competition, like “oh you’re trying to outperform me?😁”, because you want the other person to prove themselves to you and make an effort. But there is also this element of joking involved. You could often say something truthful, but then follow it by “I’m just kidding”, but there is stil an air of “unless you want to👀”.

🌷Venus square Jupiter native has a lot of friends in their friend circle that are single or unwilling to commit to a long-term partnership.

🌷 I noticed if you have for example Aries over the 5th house, probably the person you often end up having a crush on is a Fire sign! If you have Venus in the 5th it’s often an Earth sign. If you have Mercury could be an Air sign or an Earth sign.

🌷A lot of Aries, Scorpio Moon women consciously decide with time and age to only have female friends. Due to some “fake male friends” in the past, they do it as a form of protecting themselves from disappointment. Otherwise, these women have quite a few male acquaintances, even likely having more male than female friends.

🌷I feel like some Libra Juno or Juno in the 7th house people end up having this mentality of “don’t let your boyfriend stop you from finding your husband”. Because it’s kind of true for them more so than others. They could actually meet their future spouse and being friends with them when being in a partnership with someone else.

🌷 Libra Juno is hating on the same people with your spouse.

🌷 Leo Juno cannot be in a partnership where there is lack of affection, physical touch.

🌷 You might think that Mars in the 7th house in Synastry is all so romantic, great chemistry and romantic affection. Yet, I noticed it more in charts of really good friends even. Another thing to be said here is that both people have their own set view on what is “fair” in the connection and how balance looks like. So it’s actually not that easy to get along, because both have different definition and view on how they should go about fairness, balance in the connection, so often times it results in unbalanced situations. In Composite charts Mars in the 7th house often manifests similarly.

🌷 Aries Moon women and men care in the younger years less about love, being in a partnership and more about money and financial stability. They want enough money to support themselves more than they want love. However, when they achieve that financial stability they start thinking more about family, partnerships etc. later on.

🌷 Composite charts are literally so telling! If you have Composite Scorpio over the 10th house, you and your person could really respect and admire Scorpio Suns. You could both find Leo Suns attractive if you have Composite Leo over the 7th house. If you have Composite Capricorn over the 12th house, when together you both love to listen to Capricorn Sun musicians.

🌷 No one talks how Virgo Venus, Venus in the 6th house doesn’t get taken seriously enough in relation to partnership. People could love spending time with the native, hanging out, but often get friendzoned or that the other person want things more casual. It’s like people think Virgo Venus/Venus in the 6th house don’t have “serious feelings” for someone.

🌷I noticed usually people with Lilith in the 10th, 11th house or Aquarius/Capricorn Lilith, even Saturn Lilith aspects often come from a family where there was an age gap in partnerships throughout many family generations. Like there is at least 5, 6, 7 years difference between their father and mother, grandfather and grandmother etc.

🌷Virgo Mars people have the fanciest hands. They put on jewellery, always hand cream, well kept nails, always perfect manicure, some really see their hands and fingers as a canvas, hence hand tattoos. They just scream “rich hands”. One example would be Hailey Bieber, who is more and more known for fancy hand gestures and perfect hands. Even men here with this placement could have well kept hands, fingers and nails.

🌷Gemini Sun and Mercury in the 5th house love pampering themselves before a trip or they get their nails, hair done, they love looking good on trips.

Credit @astroismypassion

[honeydazai]

୨୧·࣭࣪̇˖ 𝆬  having a secret enemies to lovers relationship with them 𝆬 𓏸

feat.: Jayce Talis, Vi, Ambessa Medarda, Mel Medarda, Ekko

content: f!reader, nsfw content, mild violence mentions

notes: this was commissioned by the most lovely @angelltheninth !! thank you so much again!! 💜

Honestly, JAYCE refuses to admit just how much he finds himself drawn to you. You're everything he's not, working in the shadows for Silco while he's Piltover's golden boy, the Man of the Future, and yet there's some odd tension between the two of you that he can't deny. He aches to label it as natural hate, though that couldn't be further from the truth. The catalyst for your eventual growing fondness of each other is when he's got you pinned down, imposing hammer so close to obliterating you and, God, he can't do it. You're his enemy, certainly, and yet he finds himself absentmindedly brushing some dirt off your cheek, touch gentle despite those huge hands.

After that, things go all too fast. One moment you're kissing, you softly moaning into his mouth, the next you try and sneak into the Academy, trying your hardest not to appear suspicious and, well — if you end up making out on one of the tables he usually does science stuff on, who can blame you? It feels all too nice to wrap your legs around his wide waist, pulling him closer while his dick pushes into you, calloused fingers roaming over your skin as if he's desperate to feel as much of you at the same time as somehow possible. It's all too good, until the sound of approaching footsteps, accompanied by the rhythmic thumping noise of a cane, makes both of you flinch, and you're forced to hide in an empty storage room, still dripping with need.

“Fuck, talk about horrible timing—, quick, in here, in here. God. Hopefully he'll leave real quick again, I'm stil hard; don't you worry, we'll continue just where we left off in but a moment. We just can't get caught.”

There is no word for what VI feels for you other than 'hate'. How could she not? As an Enforcer, you're her complete opposite, you're used to the riches and comfortable life of Piltover and, well, she would've never thought she could ever grow fond of you, but it turns out you look awfully pretty underneath her, pinned to the ground of Zaun. There's mud caked to the side of your face and a stray trail of blood runs down your forehead and, oh — for some reason, you don't do anything but moan softly when she leans down to meet your lips in a bruising kiss, her thick thigh spreading your own apart.

It's adorable how your cheeks flush when she calls you a teasing nickname; it's downright sweet when you whimper and press your body against her own. Your very reactions make you so very human, so very much like her. You're not that different from her at all, it appears, and that realisation itself makes things complicated. Vi swears she despises you, hates you with all her heart, but when she sneaks away to your usual meeting place, the sixth time this week, rough touches having turned into loving embraces along the way, she can't say she's being entirely truthful.

“Hey, sugar! You made it. Fuck, I'm always so happy to see ya, it's ridiculous. My heart's beatin' all fast. Oh—, hey, you're eager today, hm? Wanna continue that badly where we were interrupted last time? Fine by me. You gotta spread those cute legs of yours then, darl.”

It comes as no surprise that a powerful woman such as AMBESSA has quite a lot of enemies. There's all too many people who wish her death or worse for the countries she's conquered or the people she's slayed — and yet you're the only one who has ever caught her eye. It's all too easy to have you brought to her luxurious chambers, and even when you're glaring at her, eyes narrowed with nothing short of hatred, she doesn't care, really. Her fingers come up to grab your chin, keeping your head in place as her gaze rakes over your face, taking every feature of your face in.

You're not sure whether to be enraged or relieved that, apparently, she's satisfied with what she sees, though it's a lot preferable when, minutes later, she seats you on one thick thigh of hers rather than having you beheaded. Really, you couldn't stifle your mewls and moans even if you tried when she grinds said leg up against your already dripping folds. Over time, you grow fond of her — something you hadn't thought possible —; your relationship stays a secret, but your smile at her praise is honest, your laughter joining her boisterous one is not an act at all. She's surprisingly sweet for such a bold woman and, well; the fact that she leaves you unable to walk for a day or two whenever she's between your legs is a pretty convincing factor to stay with her, too.

“Aren't you just the sweetest little one? C'mon, now, no need to be shy. You've been grinding against my thigh like a bitch in heat before, haven't you? Surely you can do it again. Though, if my leg isn't good enough for you, maybe you're just not as desperate to cum as I thought.”

There's always been tension between you and MEL; how could there not be when you were anything she didn't stand for, being her political enemy and everything? Really, the amount of bickering you two did was close to ridiculous, and yet neither of you seemed to mind it all too much. Even though you don't make a pretty picture up on a stage or behind the council roundtable, you look all too ethereal on her bed, legs spread wide and arching your back while slender fingers alternate between gently rubbing and meanly pinching your throbbing clit.

Really, you'd worry about it being all too obvious how often you search up her quarters, though she's quick to distract you with soft kisses and the occasional cruel graze of teeth against your neck. There's no need to worry about anything, truly; when Mel wants your relationship to stay between the two of us, it will remain a secret at all costs.

“My, my. You're quite adorable today, hm? So very needy for my touch, and yet I remember quite clearly how you've challenged me in front of the rest of the Council. Love, it almost looks like you were aching to be punished by me. Is that not the case? I might go easier on you if you at least admit it.”

EKKO despises you. There's no way around it. Ekko despises you and, if needed, fights you with all his might, and yet his expression, Firelight mask long knocked off his face, softens oh so visibly when he, one day, meets you at random, your injuries awfully bad. He's not sure what he's thinking when he takes you in and cares for your wounds, nursing you back to health; you're his enemy, damn it, and he should act like it, but the only explanation he has for how he's acting is that empathy is an all too human trait he can't seem to get rid of, no matter how hard he tries. He can't just leave you in the Undercity to rot.

By the time you're back to full health, you can't deny that, even though you're supposed to be enemies, you've bonded quite a bit. He's funny and loving, protective of you, even; and even though your relationship has to stay secret at all costs, given how he'd otherwise lose credibility with the Firelights and you'd be called a traitor, you both can't help but sneak away at night to see each other, you embracing him in a loving hug and his lips pressing against yours all too eagerly. With Ekko, it takes a while until it gets to making out and getting even more intimate, but that's quite alright. There's no need to rush it; you're both more than happy to lose track of time while cuddling and kissing.

“Would've never thought that, one day, I'd be kissin' someone like you like this. Hey—, in a positive way. Don't get me wrong on purpose. Y'know I love everything about you. Yeah? Good. It's almost sunrise, though. 'm afraid you'll have to go back soon.”

tags: @vislovelywife @Mamanaga @vaemadz @cicada-teeth @jinxsslut @silcosnumber1 @coochie-intervention @inertiacreams @shinwifexx @rhaeena @bumbookitten @greeniegreengreen @my-awakened-ghost @afidiofobia @helloyellowsheeps @yuuotosaka3 @sccarymonster @satoruislove @pastelsbaby @artsyxabbyx @ cyan-skulls @arboranimus @marina-and-the-memes @holysmokesblog @twilightdollie @kaaylvst @definitely-not-v @innerstrawberrypolice @misty-q @perylinsus @pleasemakeitgayer @imaginesbymk @meimayooo @doxmino @smolbeandrabbles @darknessbyme @darthkenobii @mars738 @cupcakkesinflatedwetbussy @illicittete @lemzhargreeves @festivalthrash

@savagemickey03 @rosepxtlz @user4837 @Nervousartisanheart @mikariell95 @mechmoucha

@silcobrainrot @Medeaa5 @nocturnal-onlooker @modernamilf @catsaiem @t0r @beyondblissxoxo @zillahvathek @brainrottingrn @klaudia7 @okura-s

@666abby6666 @ironnieincarn8 @watercolourdreams @scturne19 @ladykatakuri @lunerenzo @cowboykiri @soullessbody @thottywizard @celebrity-crushes27 @ygrworld @sevikasslvtt @chaoticevilbakugo @trashbod @MiloMalaise @berywritesstuff @alice0blog @gooseberries88 @s1t1n0ny0url4p @black-rose-29

[thehauntedetheral]

Yandere Enemies to Lovers

Requests are open!

• You and yan were detectives at x police station. You hated each other more than anything. The whole station knew this. You both were like cat and mouse chasing, teasing, mocking, always arguing with each other. You both were like a free entrainment to watch for your colleagues and senior.

• The whole station knew it was a recipe for disaster from scratch when your senior assigned you two together on a case for fake pretending to be a couple in a wedding and not any wedding but the wedding of a drug dealer's daughter where you both will be surrounded by mafia, underworld , corrupt powerful people. One mistake and you both are dead.

• The whole station has bet so much money on your failure that you decided no matter what happens you are gonna successfully complete this mission and prove all people wrong and take that money. The only problem? Your partner yan detective is a pain in ass.

• "I can do this without screwing up" you chanted many times in your mind while standing at the venue parking smoothing out your beautiful pink silk dress you had wear for your facade waiting for yan to arrive.

• Yan arrived in a few seconds wearing a dashing black suit, hair set, looking handsome. "You ready my lady?" He asks coming towards you with a huge grin. Making you glare at him.

• "You don't like my lady? What about my love?" He said teasing you. While you ignored his words and started walking towards the venue were wedding was going to take place.

• Yan put his hand on your back and started leading you forward. You looked at him and he just whispered " in loving boyfriend character". You just nodded.

• "I swear to god yan. This is important. One mistake and I will pull out my gun from holster and shoot you." You said entering the hall and taking your seat beside him.

• "Lovely. I like my woman being dominant and feisty" he whispered in your ears his hot breathe tickling your neck his faces inches away from your making you all red while he just chuckled. Definitely playing and teasing you around you thought and started paying attention to the guest present and looking for your target.

• The ceremony ended and the whole crowd was shifted to another hall for reception. Yan Detective has been working with the drug dealers, mafia people as one of their group's people undercover for months hence everyone knows him and were talking to him as a part of family. While you just stand beside him giving nervous smile. Well you were never a people's person. He is really good with people you thought. You on other hand are new and meeting them today for first time as his fake date.

• You observed how even talking with many people he never left go you. He would always touch you whether holding your hand, his hand wrapped around your waist, or behind your back. Kissing your temple or cheeks and smiling when someone says How good you two look together. He was really into character you thought.

• An grandpa flirted with you while yan said "Grandpa I respect you but stop flirting with my woman." Making everyone laugh.

• He was separated from you by some people for some separate chat when an women in her early forties came to you gushing " Oh my god you are even more pretty than yan described" the lady said complementing.

"I am sorry what?" You asked confused.

"I am sorry I just talk to much when I am excited. Well that dear boyfriend of yours always talk about you with so much love and admiration and I have to admit that you are pretty just as he said. Beautiful long hairs, pretty eyes and an adorable face." She said but excused herself when someone called for her.

Wait a second!! You were assigned to this case with him two days ago so why he has been talking about you with love and admiration long before? Pretty eyes? Adorable face? Is this the same yan colleague of yours or mafia kidnapped him and send you a duplicate one? What does all of this means?

You looked at yan seeing his tall handsome self still talking with the group of men which took him. Is it possible that he likes you? You thought but soon threw that idea out of your mind thinking it might be one of his pranks on you again.

Your senior informed you through your ear piece in disguise of earring telling you yan has collected enough evidence and the team outside the hotel is ready to enter and strike now. "Be ready officer." He said before cutting off.

You feel yan being beside you now and whispering "You got the message from senior?"

You simply nodded looking forward not ready to look in his eyes.

The door burst open with your team surrounding every exit and screaming to surrender and to get down on floor. You took your gun from your holster hidden under your dress and pointed at them while yan detective doing the same with a evil grin as everyone was surprised to get to know he was from police side. He really played well as his character.

After some screaming, cursing, bullets flying your team arrested most of them some ran but you were satisfied with the people you guys catched.

After everything under wraps You got to your senior and thanked him for putting you on this case as it will definitely increase the chance of your bonus. But your senior's words shocked you. "You should thank Yan Detective. I told him he can take anyone with him. It was all his plan. He chose you not me."

You got of his office and moved towards your table before taking a peek at yan detective on his table working. Thinking " Is it true? That this man might like me?" Well as a good detective one thing is sure you are gonna find out the true feelings of yan detective about you no matter what it takes.

Oh baby you have no idea how badly this man is bad for you. He teases, argue, pranks, fight with you just to get your mere attention. This man will do anything to get your attention. Good luck with finding out about his feelings for you!

Want part 2? Let me know through comments.

Requests are open!

For more yandere reading:

[yourmidnightlover]

getting it over with - ch 2

pairing: bucky barnes x virgin fem!reader

summary: waking up after accidentally admitting a bit too much to bucky about your lack of action, you reveal that you remember everything.

warnings: kissing, fingering, cunnilingus, nervous!reader, bucky is very tender and a SMOOTH talker in this one, please let me know if i'm missing anything!

w/c: 2k+

a/n: THE LONG AWAITED!! i've been in such a rut lately and am so sorry if this doesn't meet everyone's expectations. i kinda like how it turned out and think it's definitely how classic 40s bucky barnes would treat a lady. anywho, enjoy reading my lovelies!

CHAPTER 1

waking up in your jamie’s arms made you wish you were still asleep. sure, you had cuddled before on movie nights when you had to share a blanket, but this was different. this meant he had chosen to stay, of his own volition. fate didn’t need to step in for him to cuddle you. or maybe you were reading far too much into it. 

regardless, you relished in this rare moment of closeness you had with bucky. his arm was securely around your waist as your head remained on his chest. you let your chin rest on his chest in favor of looking at the face that was now free of his perpetual frown lines. you let your hands move the stray pieces of his hair from his face before he began stirring. his arm gently tightened around you before his left came to hold you as well, leaving you softly laughing at his cuddly tendencies.

“mornin’, doll,” his raspy voice scratched all the right parts of your heart. “sleep well?”

“slept like a baby,” you replied as you plopped your head back down on his chest, the rise and fall of his chest nealy lulling you back to sleep.

“so…” he trailed off. “do you…”

“i remember, jamie,” you were squeamish. he obviously kindly rejected your offer in an attempt to let you keep your dignity, but you couldn’t lie to him. “i-i’m sorry for all that. i never wanted to make you uncomfortable, and clearly, i did.”

“you didn’t make me uncomfortable,” he assured you as you quickly got out of your bed. “y/n,” he called after you as you threw a sweater over your tank top from last night. he stood to meet you, tenderly holding your shoulders so you would get still. “you didn’t make me uncomfortable. the only thing that made me uncomfortable was the fact that you were drunk when you asked me, doll,” now it was him who played with the strands of your hair that were still wild from sleeping. 

“so, if i were to ask you that now, with a sound and sober mind… what would you say?” you avoided eye contact, opting to play with the frayed ends of your sweater. 

“that depends,” he nudged your chin with a curled finger. “i’m gonna need you to ask me first,” he teased. 

you rolled your eyes, “there’s a reason they call it ‘liquid courage’, jamie. sadly, i haven’t had any today.”

“you already know what i’ll say,” he shrugged casually, as if it weren’t practically humiliating what you were asking of him. the depth of desperation you had reached to ask your best friend who you’d loved for so long to do you this ‘favor’. “you know i’d do anything for you.”

“i want you to want me,” now you couldn’t stop looking in his eyes, captivated by the pretty blues you’ve always loved. 

he chuckled, “don’t you know i always have?” 

looking into his eyes, you wanted to believe his sweet, serene words that were dripping from his lips like honey. god, how you wanted a taste of the sickly sweetness that oozed from his presence near you. the attraction that pulled you towards him like he was stronger than any magnet tony had created was somehow amplified any time he looked at you the way he was. you only hoped the attraction wasn’t one sided. sure, he was telling you he’s always wanted you, but that doesn’t mean he wanted you romantically. maybe he just meant he wanted your body. either way, you would have him any way you could. 

“say it,” he urged you. 

“will you be my first, jamie?” you swallowed and looked away from him, somehow still afraid of his answer.

“only if i can be your only, too,” he grasped your waist, pulling you against his chest. 

finally, you broke your eye contact with the floor in favor of his bright blues as he leaned in to press a searing kiss against your lips. in spite of the anticipation of what you had just asked asked him, the kiss was incredibly tender and unrushed.

your tongues danced in sync as if you had done this a million times before. his hands squeezed your waist more as you gently sucked his bottom lip into your mouth.

“you’re pretty good at this,” you giggled as you grabbed onto his forearms. 

“we haven’t even done anything, yet,” your eyes went wide at the insinutaiton. 

“are we-did you want to… now?” 

“no, of course not,” his thumbs began rubbing on your waist over your sweatshirt. “i’m gonna make your first time special, like you deserve. if you want, there are other things we can do now. again, only if you want to.”

“well-uh-what were you thinking about?” your arms rose to his neck, thrown over his shoulders as his grip tightened on your waist.

he lifted you by the waist, signalling for your legs to wrap around his own so he could usher you back to the bed. he gently laid you down, hovering over you before pressing a searing kiss to your cheek, just as gentle as when he laid you down. 

“i’m gonna eat your pretty little pussy, doll,” he gingerly kissed down your torso, making the long trail to your center. 

“you don’t have to if… if y’know, it makes you uncomfortable? i know guys aren’t really into that sometimes,” you rose to your elbows, observing him as he spread your legs further to make room for him. the way his eyes were fixated on you was as if you were the only woman he’d ever seen. 

“uncomfortable?” he scoffed at the thought. “the only thing that’s making me uncomfortable right now is how many clothes we still have on.”

“that can easily be fixed,” you swiftly tore your shirt from your body, revealing yourself to him. his eyes were immediately drawn to your bare chest. 

“fuck,” he breathed. “‘s like you’re trying to kill me, doll.” keeping his place between your legs, his arms trailed up your torso to massage your tits. “so fucking gorgeous.”

you placed your hands on his wrists, encouraging him to continue. “jamie…” you sighed as your head was thrown back. 

“has anyone ever touched you down here, doll?”

you shook your head

“only me?”

“only you,” you swear his eyes darkened by four shades, swallowing his pretty blues into the abyss of his lust.

he moved from his place between your legs to help you remove your shorts and underwear in one swift motion, quickly getting right back to business as soon as he was able to. once he was settled back between your plush thighs, you felt his hands gripping them tightly. 

“such a pretty pussy you’ve got here, baby,” his face was so close to your center you could feel his breath against your skin with every word he said. “can’t believe you’ve kept it from me for so long.” he littered your thighs with kiss after kiss, each time getting closer to your center. 

“please, jamie?” your hands made their way to his hair, gently grasping his hair and tugging to emphasize your need to him.

“please what, doll?” he mocked coyly.

“you know what,” your hips began to rise from the bed, searching for some relief.

“nuh uh,” he moved his head further from where he was, “i wanna hear you say it for me.”

“i-can you-i want you to eat me out please?” you rushed out and squeezed your eyes shut, not being able to see bucky as he finally connected his lips with your center. “o-oh my GOD!” his tongue traced your clit lightly, barely giving you much stimulation but even that was enough to make your legs begin to quivver. 

while his tongue tracing your clit felt absolutely amazing, nothing prepared you for feeling his tongue tracing along your soaking slit before delicately prodding inside of you. 

“holy shit, jamie,” his tongue trailed back to your clit before you felt his finger slowly enter your pussy. your grip in his hair tightened, pulling him even closer to your center. 

he was so passionate about pleasing you, humming into your skin as he felt you tighten around his finger the deeper he went. 

he made sure to wait for you to relax, welcoming the pleasure rather than being surprised by it, before beginning to slowly thrust the single digit in and out of your center.

you tossed your head back against the pillows at the feeling of his long fingers reaching parts of you that you could never reach yourself. 

“fuck!” his finger found the perfect spot inside of you, curling to massage it gently and bring you closer to the edge. you could hear the squelching of your pussy in rhythm with his thrusts in and out of you, and somehow you had no idea that you could be so wet and messy.

you felt him moan against you even more as he brought his metal hand up your torso and begin to squeeze your tits, pinching and pulling your nipple before switching to the neglected breast, simultaniously adding a second finger inside of you. 

he wanted to thank whatever gods existed for allowing him to be in between the safe haven of your thighs in this very moment. the soft plushness of your thighs that cradled his head as your fingers continued to tighten around his locks with every move his tongue made against your clit proved that heaven was real.

it took everything in him to stop jumping the bed like a horny teenage boy, because he knew he would’ve blown a load with how pretty your moans sounded, in spite of your thighs encasing his ears.

“ja-jamie,” you cried to him. “i’m so-so close, please don’t stop! please don’t stop!” you back began to arch off the bed as his ministrations continued, his fingers pounding into your pussy as his lips continued to suck eagerly at your clit. “oh my FUCK, JAMES, YES!” you cried as your hips continued to grind into his face, riding out your orgasm as he refused to cease his actions on your body until you couldn’t take any more and were pulling him away. 

he pressed feather-light kissed up your torso, paying special attention to your neck before he met his lips with yours once more. you sighed into his mouth as your arms were lazily thrown over his shoulders, pulling him even closer to you. 

“that was amazing, jamie,” you heaved as he rested his forehead against yours. “i had no idea i could… y’know, that hard! it was intense…”

“i just ate you out and you still don’t want to say the words?” you shook your head rapidly as you tucked your face into his neck. “you came, y/n. you can say it out loud.” you felt his smile against your skin. “now i can officially say that you’re the sweetest thing ever.”

“jamie!” you shoved his shoulder lazily.

“you’re so cute when you get all flustered,” he brushed some of your hair from your face to watch you biting back your smile. “let me take you out? on a real date. i wanna give you what all the other nimrods ‘ve been to dumb to do themselves. wanna show you what you deserve to be treated like. will you let me show ya, doll?”

“you really wanna take me out?” you furrowed your brows. “i don’t mean that in like the killing way… not that you’d do that! i know that you’d never hurt me, i just phrased it weird and then i kinda got- y’know what? i’m gonna shut myself up this time before i get too stupid to even say the word ‘yes’. so, yes, i would love to go out with you, jamie.” you looked past bucky to avoid the further embarrassment from your incessant rambling.

he chuckled at your embarrassment in spite of being the most intimate you had ever been with anyone with him, you still got tongue tied when he asked you on a date. adorable, he thought as he got up, rushing to the bathroom to grab a washcloth, getting it damp before returning and wiping the mess from between your thighs.

"thank you," you closed your thighs as he sat beside you in bed once more. he lifted your arms so he could push his long forgotten shirt over your head to cover you up.

"any time," he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "how does next friday sound for you, doll?"

tags:

@sebas-ass

@nyctophilic0vitnir

@cjand10

@stinkerbelle007

@wilsons-striped-ties

@vicmc624

@ladyfreakingda

@kandis-mom

@charmedbysarge

@raelorns21

@hhiggs

[rashad12]

🚨*To everyone who has a merciful heart,🚨*

May the peace, blessings, and mercy of God be upon you,

I am writing to you today and I hope that I will find compassion and mercy in your hearts to help my family in this difficult ordeal that we are going through. I have a first-born child who suffers from a serious heart disease, and he was supposed to undergo open-heart surgery on October 15, 2013. However, unfortunately, we have not yet been able to perform the operation due to the difficult conditions in which we live in the Gaza Strip.

My son suffers daily from the pain of illness, and we as a family are unable to provide him with the necessary treatment inside the Gaza Strip, in addition to our inability to secure his exit to receive treatment abroad. We face great challenges and harsh living conditions that prevent our ability to cover travel and treatment costs.

Therefore, we ask you for urgent assistance to save our son’s life and give him the opportunity to live in health and well-being. We need your financial support to help cover the costs of the operation and travel abroad. Any donation, no matter how small, will make a huge difference in the life of an innocent child and their family.

We ask God to reward you, bless you with your health and your children, and place your help to us in the balance of your good deeds.

May God reward you for your support and standing by our side during this difficult time.

With sincere regards and appreciation,

@fairuzfan @ibtisams @fallahifag @vakarians-babe @sar-soor @plomegranate @nabulsi @sayruq @palipunk @palidoodles @el-shab-hussein @communistchilchuck @northgazaupdates @stil-lindigo @queerstudiesnatural @bluebellsinthedells @palestine @rizzyluke @kordeliiius @self-hating-zionist @thenewgothictwice @raelyn-dreams @unfortunatelyuncreative @licencetokill @jezebelgoldstone @ramelcandy @petracourtjester @labutansa @sammywo @autistwizard @tortiefrancis @sparklinpixiedust @feluka @revcuse @golvio @leftismsideblog @star-and-space-ace @rainbowywitch @marscodes @oursapphirestar @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @boyvander @the-bastard-king @13ag21k @agentsofshield @ammonitetheseaserpent

[mylovesstuffs]

FRI(END)S - Kim Taehyung

Genre: Non-idol au, bestfriends to lovers and romance

Pairing: Taehyung × fem!reader

Content: Love, comfort, slightest bit of angst, mutual pining, best friends in love, confession scene, domestic setting, fluff , bestfriend!taehyung, kiss and sweet physical intimacy (non-explicit)

Content Warning: Emotional vulnerability (e.g., fear of rejection, discussing insecurities), mild angst (e.g., tension in the confession scene, fear of losing the friendship), other than these there's no explicit content or heavy themes requiring further warnings

Word count: 2.04k+

A/N: Happiest birthday to our winter bear 🐻 we love you so much! I hope he's doing well in the military. I wonder if Jin and J-Hope will visit Tannies today. Also, I've made Joshua's oneshot for his birthday too so check that out as well.

And you were there on my lonely nights keeping me together, so wouldn't it make sense if I was yours and you could call me your baby? But we say we're just friends...just for now

You were no stranger to this room—the familiar scent of sandalwood mixed with hints of citrus lingered in the air. Taehyung had a thing for candles, and his apartment reflected that in abundance. Still, you hadn’t expected to find yourself here again, tucked under his favorite beige blanket while he strummed absentmindedly humming a tune that had yet to find its lyrics.

Your weekend plans were supposed to include lounging in your sweats, binge-watching some show you’d forgotten the name of. But one text—

“Come over, love.”

—and you were already slipping on your shoes and heading to his place.

It had always been like this with Taehyung. He was your best friend, your partner-in-crime, your favorite constant since 2009, when you first met in your awkward teenage glory. But somewhere along the way, lines had blurred, and your heart had started to ache in ways that best friends’ hearts shouldn’t.

-

“Why are you staring at me like that?” he asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You blinked, realizing your eyes had been fixed on the curve of his lips as he sang softly. He stopped playing and tilted his head, those dark brown eyes searching yours.

“I wasn’t staring,” you said defensively,“Your voice was just…nice.”

His brows raised, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Nice? That’s all I get? Should I be offended?”

“Fine,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “Your voice is stupidly amazing. Happy now?”

He chuckled, a sound that wrapped around you like a warm hug. “Much better.”

The evening rolled on like it always did between you two. Comfortable. Easy. He made you tea while you ranted about your coworkers, calling one of them a "walking HR violation," which made him nearly choke on his laughter. It was moments like these—normal, mundane moments—that always made you question how this wasn’t something more.

When he returned with your tea, he sat beside you, closer than necessary but not close enough to feel like too much. His knee bumped yours, and neither of you moved away. He sipped his tea quietly, but his eyes lingered on you as you spoke. You always had his full attention.

“You know,” he began after a moment, his voice soft yet tinged with something you couldn’t quite place, “you really should stop wasting your energy on them. They don’t deserve you.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true,” he countered, leaning back against the couch but never breaking his gaze. “You’re too good for people like that. Too good for a lot of things, actually.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips twitching in amusement. “Careful, Tae. People might think you actually like me or something.”

He didn’t laugh. Instead, his expression softened, his smile faltering just so slightly, and the air between you shifted. “What if I do?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the weight in his tone and not processing what he had just said. “Huh?”

“What if I do?” he repeated, his voice steadier this time but still so tender, “Like you. What if I’ve liked you all along?”

You stared at him, the tea in your hands growing colder by the second as you tried to process his words. “Tae…”

“Why do you always show up when I call?” he followed up to maybe urge you to think, there's no teasing edge to his voice.

“Now, what kind of question is that? You’re my best friend, Tae...Of course, I’m going to show up.”

He set his mug down with a sigh. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his sweater—a tell you’d learned meant he was nervous and slightly frustrated. “That’s the thing,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “You’re always here. And I’m always calling you because I—” He stopped, running a hand through his hair as if searching for the right words, “I don’t think I want to just be your best friend anymore.”

You blinked at him, unsure if you’d heard him right again—questioning your hearing ability, “What?”

“You don’t have to say anything,” his hand reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. The touch was light, fleeting, but it sent a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the tea. “I just… I need you to know. You’ve always been there for me, even when no one else was. And I can’t keep pretending that this—us—feels like just friendship.”

Your breath hitched as his words sank in. You wanted to say something, to tell him you felt the same, but the lump in your throat wouldn’t let you.

“I know it’s scary,” he continued, his hand lingering near your face before he pulled it back, resting it on his knee. “And I know it could change everything. But doesn’t it make sense? After all these years, after everything… doesn’t it make sense for us to be more?”

You want to tell him that it does make sense, it always has but nothing comes out of your mouth.

After you don't say anything at all, he let out a nervous laugh, shaking his head. “Forget I said anything—”

“No,” this time you voiced out interrupting him, now placing your mug down too and leaning closer. “Say it again.”

Shocked, his eyes searched yours, filled with a mixture of fear and hope. “I don’t want to be just friends anymore. I don’t think I’ve wanted that for a long time.”

Then the room fell silent, the weight of his final confession settling like a soft, undeniable truth in the air. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing in the quiet room. His words replayed in your mind, intertwining with memories of the past—every stolen glance, every touch that seemed to hold a deeper meaning, every late-night conversation that left you wondering what if. You thought of those moments when the lines between friendship and something more blurred so effortlessly, leaving you breathless and confused. Now, with his words hanging between you, it all made sense—every laugh, every comfort he offered on your loneliest days, every unspoken feeling tucked into the corners of your shared history. And suddenly, the weight of it wasn’t heavy at all. It felt like coming home.

“Tae,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes.

“Why are you crying?” he asked softly, concern etched across his face.

“Because I’m an idiot,” you said, letting out a watery laugh. “I’ve felt the same way, but I was too scared to say anything.”

He stared at you, his lips parting slightly as if trying to process your words. Then, in one swift movement, he closed the distance between you, pulling you into a hug so tight it felt like he was trying to hold you together from breaking.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he murmured against your hair, his voice breaking slightly.

“Because I was afraid that my feelings won't be reciprocated, you'll drift away,” you admitted, your hands clutching the back of his sweater. “I didn't want to lose you.”

“You could never lose me,” he said firmly, pulling back just enough to cup your face in his hands. His thumbs brushed away the tears streaming down your cheeks. “Not in this lifetime, love.”

Love.

His gaze flicked to your lips, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. Then, with a soft, “Can I?” he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was everything you hadn’t known you’d been waiting for.

It was warm and gentle, like a promise whispered in the quiet of dawn—a promise that neither of you had spoken aloud, but both had been carrying in your hearts for years. His hands cradled your cheeks with a tenderness that made your chest ache, the pads of his thumbs brushing against your skin to reassure himself that this moment was real. He held you close, but not too tight, as if giving you room to pull away if you wanted. You didn’t pull away. You couldn’t. Instead, you leaned into him, your heart racing yet somehow feeling entirely at peace. Your fingers found their way to his hair, threading through the soft, messy strands. The texture of it under your fingertips, the subtle way he shivered at your touch, sent warmth coursing through you.

You tugged him closer, closing the last fragile inches between you until there was no space left, no room for doubt or hesitation. His lips moved against yours slowly, unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to memorize the shape of you. Every touch felt deliberate, every movement careful, pouring years of unspoken feelings into this one kiss.

It was vulnerable not desperate. His breath mingled with yours, shaky and uneven, but it made you feel grounded, like you belonged right there in his arms. The world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the quiet hum of his presence, the soft brush of his lips, and the steady thrum of your heartbeat that seemed to echo his own.

When he finally pulled back, just an inch, his forehead rested against yours. His breathing was ragged, his gaze still heavy-lidded and vulnerable. But the way he looked at you—made you feel like the most loved person in the world.

“So,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips, “does this mean we’re putting the end in friends?”

You laughed, swatting his arm lightly. “That was terrible.”

“Yeah, but it made you laugh,” he said, grinning.

-

Later that night, after he’d handed you a bouquet of flowers he’d somehow hidden in his kitchen, because of course, the hopeless romantic that he was—you found yourself back on his couch. His arm was draped lazily over your shoulders, pulling you just close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body pressing into yours.

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a single lamp casting golden hues across his sharp features. His thumb traced absentminded circles over your shoulder, sending gentle sparks up your spine. You tilted your head to glance at him, and the smile on his lips was crooked, almost shy and then his boxy smile, but his eyes told a different story, a gaze so deep and intent that it left you breathless.

“You’re staring,” you teased softly, though your own eyes lingered far longer than than him.

“Can you blame me?” he murmured, his voice low and warm, tinged with that deep timbre that always seemed to melt you.

You felt your cheeks heat under the weight of his gaze, and before you could respond, he leaned in, his nose brushing against yours in a touch so soft it almost wasn’t there. His free hand moved to your knee, his fingers resting lightly but firmly, like he was testing the waters.

“Taehyung,” you whispered, his name falling from your lips like a secret you weren’t sure you were supposed to say.

He chuckled quietly, the sound rumbling against your skin as he shifted just a little closer. “Hmm?”

“I can hear your heart racing,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, it’s racing,” he admitted, his smile widening just enough to make your stomach flutter. “But so is yours.”

His words hung in the air, a quiet challenge wrapped in sweetness, and without thinking, you leaned into him, resting your head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, grounding, and as you closed your eyes, his lips pressed a feather-light kiss to your hairline.

“You know,” he began softly, his voice dripping with a teasing undertone, “I think I’m going to keep hiding flowers around the house. Just so I have an excuse to see that look on your face again.”

You laughed, your voice muffled against his shirt, and he tightened his hold on you, “that's ridiculous.”

“Is it? I think you'll love it every time,” he countered, grinning as his hand slid to gently tilt your chin up, his eyes locked on yours. You didn’t deny it. How could you, when being there, wrapped in his arms, felt like the most natural thing in the world?

Friends don't say words that make friends feel like more than just friends, just for now...now I'm over pretending, so let's put the end in friends ~ FRI(END)S

[sweatyracoon]

Hey:) can you please do a part 2 of Tell me and make it smut

A/n: This is part two to a story I made a while ago, but can be read separately. Enjoy! Thanks anon for the ask! Feel free to suggest more. Part one

Warnings: smut, obviously. Vampire Felix, biting, blood?, pinv, unprotected sex, dom felix, pet names, let me know if I missed anything

It had been nearly a month since you and Felix had the heart to heart, and things seemed to be going smoothly.

His features matured in ways you would have never thought.

He switched back to his natural blonde about a week ago, and you almost felt relief.

Although you didn't mind the black, you had noticed that it affected you in ways you shouldn't be by your best friend.

He was hot.

The black made him look mysterious and sexy. It nearly killed you to look at him, much less be near him.

Today was one of your mandatory hang nights, more specifically, a movie night.

You had found out that he no longer had the same needs as normal people. He doesn't sleep, but can force himself to for a short period of time.

He doesn't eat like he used to. He found that yes, he needs blood, but not often. And when he eats, he takes a few bites before feeling full. He can walk in the light, but it makes him a bit weak, like muscle aches.

It had been surprisingly easy to accommodate these new discoveries. And he had been so grateful to you for being so accepting.

He was sitting on the couch, his blonde hair peaking from above the head rest. You smiled as you walked around to join him, a bowl of popcorn in your hand.

"Ready?"

He grinned at you, his eyes shimmering from the blue light.

"Yep!" He barked, snuggling against you after you got comfortable.

You pressed play, watching the beginning with interest.

The movie was barely forty minutes in when you felt Felix tense against you. He felt colder than normal all of sudden, even under the blankets.

"Felix?" You turned to look at him, seeing that he was avoiding your gaze.

"Lix, what's wrong?" You went to reach for him, but he flinched, making you stop.

"Don't." His voice was deeper than usual, rough around the edges.

It almost sounded like a threat.

"Felix what's wrong? Remember, you promised you wouldn't shut me out," you whispered, unsure of what was wrong all of the sudden.

He sighed before drooping his shoulders, still not looking at you.

"I lied the other day. I-" His voice cracked. "I wasn't able to feed on Thursday."

Your eyes widened, your blood running cold. Wasn't that needed for him to stay sane or something? You weren't entirely sure what would happen if he didn't feed, and he wasn't either.

It was still entirely new.

"So what's wrong now? Are you hungry?" You asked, turning your whole body to him. He had your full attention, even if the movie was still playing.

"Yes, but that's not all," he gulped, looking at you finally.

You gasped, seeing the bright red hue in his eyes. They almost seemed to be pulsing, as if they glowed in the dark.

"I felt the blood going through your arm...when I was laying on you. It was weird." He frowned, wanting to look back to the tv.

Suddenly an idea popped in your head, thinking you might be able to help the poor guy out.

"Have you fed from a human?" You asked.

His eyes blew up. "Uh...Kinda? Bang Chan, he's like me, and he let me bite him. But other than that, just animals," He cleared his throat, his eyes getting brighter by the second.

"Do you want to feed from me? Do you know when to stop?" You tilt your head, watching him freeze like a deer caught in headlights.

"What? No! I don't want to hurt you,"

You blinked. You didn't think about that.

"It hurts?" You couldn't stop the words from leaving you. You cringed.

"Well, Chan said it felt really good when he bite people, but it doesn't have the same effect on him."

"Bite me then," you giggle, shoving your wrist to his face, making him recoil.

"I've never fed from a person. I can go out real quick so we can still have movie night-" he was stuttering at this point and you just wanted him to stop and breathe.

As you listened to him, you brought your nail you where your shoulder and neck meet, scratching just hard enough to break the skin.

Even though it didn't breach your skin yet, the sudden smell of the iron liquid reached Felix's nostrils, igniting something within him he didn't even know was there. His eyes darkened, and before he could stop himself, he was on you in seconds.

You let out a yelp of surprise, now on your back with Felix straddling your hips, locking you in place.

His face was buried in the crook of your neck, and you heard him breathe in deeply, wanting to burn your scent in his memory.

You heard his jaw clenching beside your chin, and you took a deep breath.

"It's okay, Felix. I want it," you breathed. You didn't know entirely what it is you wanted, but he got the idea, latching his teeth into your pulse point.

It hurt at first, the pierce through the skin, his sharp teeth cutting through the many layers of skin. But once he got deep enough, it turned into a cooling heat that then turned into a flame, one that burned hotter with each passing moment.

The shock ignited the pooling arousal in your abdomen, and you let out a moan into his ear.

He growled as he knawed at your neck, squirming above you. You could feel his hardening cock through his sweats, your mind reeling at the thought of him inside you.

He groaned, finally pulling away from your neck to look at you.

His eyes had gone back to their natural color, and his face was flushed. His breathing was heavy, and his lips stained red with your blood.

He looked like an angel.

"You okay?" He asked softly, bringing a hand to rest on your face.

You nodded, unable to speak all of the sudden.

Your gaze blurred, your mind fuzzy.

He seemed to have caught on, hearing the small whimpers emitting from your throat.

"Whats the matter, honey? Can't talk? Did it feel that good?" He cooed at you with a grin, rubbing circles on your cheek.

You sniffled, nodding in response, nuzzling into his touch.

"Can I, y/n? Can I touch you?" He whispered, staring into your eyes deeply.

His free hand rested on your waistband, gently messing with a stray thread.

"Please, lixie," you mutter, suddenly hotter.

You lifted your hip gently, the skin of your torso meeting his cold fingers. You sighed at the contact, tilting your head back slightly.

He watched in awe as he pushed his fingers under your clothing, his index and middle finger playing with your folds before flicking your clit. You groaned, your arms coming to grasp at any part of him that you can. Your left hand found purchase on his forearm, your grip tight. The other fisted the fabric of the couch, scratching roughly on your skin.

“More, lix. Please…” you breathed, loving the way he touched you.

He said nothing, but showed that he heard you by shoving two fingers deep within your sopping cunt, pushing at a fast pace. Though his hands looked small, they seemed to be finding your g-spot immediately, grinning as he abused that sacred spot,watching as you let out louder moans. He forced himself down to catch your lips in his, sucking the air out of you as he continued to finger you, curling his fingers every other thrust. He brought his other hand to rub roughly at your clothed nipples, feeling them harden under the fabric.

“Want me to fuck you, y/n? Just tell me the word and I’ll take care of you, love. Let me take care of you,” he all but begged, sounding fucked out before even undressing.

He loved the way you clenched around his fingers, pulling him in, not wanting him to leave. If Felix had it his way, he’d never let his fingers leave from you. And if you wanted it to be his cock instead, who was he to deny you?

“Yes! Please Felix!” You moaned, your stomach doing somersaults as it begged for release. You whined as h pulled his fingers from you rather quickly, and watched as he fumbled with his sweats. He rushed to pull them off, nearly falling from the couch in the process, making you giggle at him. It quickly died down once you saw him.

He sprung out of his pants, a loud thud emitting rom where his cock hit his stomach. You nearly let yourself drool at the sight of him.

No other guy has made you feel this way about his cock, but boy was Felix beautiful. What he lacked in length, he made up for in girth, almost looking like the stretch would be painful. But you’d take it. You needed it. Almost as much as he wanted it.

He grabbed the bottom of his shirt, bringing it up to bite, showing of his abs. You moaned just from the sight of them.

“You sure you want this? We can stop…” he mumbled with the tee between his teeth. His eyes shimmered in the dim lighting, looking as if he held stars in his eyes.

“Yes I’m sure, lix. I just have one question…” you smiled at him. “Could you…bite me again?”

His eyes widened at first, but he felt himself twitching at the thought. Your blood was certainly way better than that of an animal. Yours was more fresh and almost electric with the way your adrenaline spiked. It was almost like his own alcohol just walking around in the apartment. He was head over heels for your taste, plus his long term crush on you.

He relaxed before placing himself at your entrance.

“Of course, baby,” he pushed in slowly, watching your back arch off the sofa.

He quickly came down to latch onto your neck, sucking, hoping to ease the pain with the pleasure of the bite.

It seemed to calm you down, because shortly after that, with each draw he took from you, your moans became louder. He started to move, cursing himself suddenly. Drinking from you was enough to make him finish, but he didn’t want to finish before you. He pulled his mouth back, looking you in the eyes as he picked up the pace.

Once again, his lips were stained with your blood, the amount a lot more than previously, making droplets form, and threatened to fall with each thrust. He hit deeper, pushing harder against you causing slapping sounds to echo the room. You both grunted with one another as each of you closed in on your high.

You felt the knot forming in the pit of your stomach, watching as his eyes fluttered shut as he rammed into you as if he never would have sex again. He wanted to make it last. He found that he was struggling just to not cum from staring at you. He loved how helpless you looked right now.

You finally felt the knot snap, your high washing over you like a ton of bricks. You shivered as he continued, your walls clenching around him desperately, wanting to absorb his delicious cum.

One droplet of blood finally parted from his lips, landing onto your own. He watched as you stuck your tongue out to taste yourself, moaning at the flavor. The sight of you tasting your blood finally made him snap. His cum shot out in spurts inside you, riding out his high until he was shaking from overstimulation. He collapsed onto you for a few seconds before pulling out, making you whine. He grinned, pulling his shirt of all the way.

“One second,” he muttered, cleaning you both before pulling the blanket over you both once more. “How are you feeling? Did I take too much?” He nuzzled into you, trying to make sour you weren’t uncomfortable.

“No, I’m okay. I don’t feel any different,” you responded with a yawn. Your shoulder aches slightly, but you deemed it worth it.

“You might not feel that way later, though!” He whined, pawing at your hands.

You giggled as you saw the ending credits to the movie you were supposed to watch.

“Good thing I took the next two days off!”

[gigglesandfreckles-hp]

Hello!!

7 for the Spotify prompt pretty please??

Now you're taller than you've ever been There's a mark on the wall, you see I'm sure that someone will draw a new one And cover it before they leave House Song by Searows

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Her finger trails down the wall, tracing each notch, each January 30th etched into the wood. She remembers standing as tall as she could, her socks slipping on the hardwood as she’d call for her dad to mark her new height. Her finger catches on the most recent one, almost a full foot shorter than she is now. She closes her eyes, the image vivid: her last year at home before Hogwarts, always away during her birthdays after that.

A soft knock at the doorframe pulls her from the memory. She turns to see James standing there, a large cardboard box balanced in his arms.

“That’s the last of the kitchen,” he says, his voice quiet, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

She nods and turns back toward the wall, her hand falling back to her side. “Everything’s finished, then.”

The box shifts with a faint clatter of dishes as he sets it down on the floor. His footsteps are light as he comes to stand beside her.

“Thanks for coming,” she says, her voice steadier than she feels. “And tell your dad thanks for the help with the Portkey. I—”

“Don’t mention it,” he interrupts, shaking his head.

“It would have taken ages for me to do this all by myself. I…I really appreciate it.”

She senses rather than sees him nod beside her. “Anytime, Evans.” His voice is warm, familiar, and when he takes another step closer to the wall, she notices his gaze lingering on the notches. “That you?”

A small smile breaks through her sombre expression as she watches him trace the path her fingers just left. “Yeah. My dad used to measure me first thing in the morning on my birthday each year.”

“1970,” he reads aloud, pointing to the highest mark.

“Yeah.” Her chuckle is soft, wistful. “We got a bit behind.” She takes a breath, her voice quieter. “Suppose it’ll all be painted over soon anyway.”

She tries not to dwell on the implications of that. Another thing taken from her, one of the last pieces of proof that her parents were living and breathing only a short time ago.

“Petunia’s meeting the new owners this weekend?” he asks after a moment.

She nods. “Vernon’s grabbing the last of the boxes tomorrow. Tuney said it was…” She swallows hard, her voice tightening. “She said it would be easier, for us not to all be here at the same time. Not in the way of each other.”

James looks at her, and though she keeps her eyes on the wall, she can feel his gaze, searching for something. He’s too good at finding the cracks, at gently pressing on the parts of her she’s gotten used to keeping hidden.

“Come here,” he says abruptly, turning to face her.

“What?”

He steps closer, gently guiding her by the shoulders until her back is flush against the wall. His movements are careful, deliberate, and she realises almost immediately what he intends to do.

“James,” she sighs, exasperated, but there’s a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips despite herself.

“Just hang on a minute,” he says, already reaching for his wand.

As he leans in, she becomes acutely aware of him—of the warmth radiating from his chest, the way his arm brushes hers, and the scent of him, earthy and clean, with a faint trace of something sweet. It’s utterly distracting, and she has to remind herself to breathe.

The wand slides lightly along her scalp, and then she hears the faint scratch of it against the wall above her head. His brow furrows in concentration, the tip of his tongue peeking out slightly as he works, and she can’t help but watch him—really watch him.

She doesn’t usually let herself look at him like this, but today is different. Asking him to come with her had been a bold move, and she still isn’t entirely sure what made her do it. Mary or Hestia would’ve made more sense. Even Remus.

But it was James she’d wanted here. James who made her feel… well. She still isn’t sure. Safe, maybe. At peace.

“There,” he says, stepping back and pocketing his wand, his grin widening as he gestures toward the wall.

She turns to look, her breath hitching.

“Your turn,” she says softly, her voice steady but quiet.

“It’s your room, Evans,” he protests, shaking his head. “I don’t—”

“Just stand still,” she interrupts, gently pushing him toward the wall. Her hand rests briefly on his chest, and he lets out a sigh of quiet defeat, stepping back until his shoulders meet the surface.

He watches her as she stands on her tiptoes, her wand poised in her hand. Her other hand finds his shoulder for balance.

Lily stretches upward, her brow furrowing slightly in concentration as her wand scratches into the wall above him. When she steps back onto her heels, she smiles up at the mark with quiet satisfaction, her hand lingering on his shoulder for a beat longer than perhaps strictly necessary.

James turns to look, and when he sees the mark, a grin spreads across his face.

1977

He chuckles and throws an arm around her shoulder, tugging her into his side.

“The new owners are going to be so confused,” he says, his tone laced with fond amusement. His gaze flickers between their marks on the wall—the notches tracing her childhood, the singular, deliberate line she’s made for him. “What freak accident happened to the girl with the yellow bedroom in 1977 that made her shoot up like a beanstalk?”

[lincolndjarin]

Best Kept Secret

chapter twelve : pretend (RE-UPLOAD)

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 4.4k

summary : reader plays pretend

warnings, etc. : language, angst, references to sex

A/N : i had to change accounts so this is a re-upload of my ongoing fic bks!!

Two days.

That’s what you’re willing to give yourself. Two days to get over it. One to get it all out of your system and one to pull yourself together. 

So you need to get through day one. 

Which is going fine until you step out of the closet and into the main room and you look for a pair of scissors, opting to just cut yourself out of your dress from yesterday rather than try and unlace it yourself. It’s not like you’ve ever worn the same dress twice anyway. 

And then you're faced with your reflection. 

You remember thinking you’d looked like a stranger when you first arrived on Naboo. It’s like that. You stare at your reflection as you carefully cut away the dress, you look unfamiliar, the bruises on your waist are starting to yellow and fade, you trace your fingers across them gently and you sort of wish they wouldn’t heal. It’s the only physical trace of him left on your body. 

You don’t bother covering them when Elaine and Lysa walk in. You can’t seem to find the energy to care, if they notice they don’t say anything as you quickly wave them off, insisting you don’t feel well and want to spend today in bed. 

You don’t look to see if there’s a glint of silver outside of the door. You know there is. 

So you do exactly what you told the girls you’d do and you retreat back to the closet, crawling into the blankets, staring at the door. Normally you’d push down any thoughts that might be creeping in right now, but why does it matter anymore. 

“I don’t want you.”

That’s what he had said. 

Was it so wrong to want him to come through that door and crawl into your makeshift bed with you? You don’t think it makes you weak, it just makes you… human. You’ve spent your entire life being turned away by the people who were supposed to keep you safe. Your family first, sending you here, to this nightmare. Then your husband, sending you away until he decides that you’ve become useful. And now Mando. 

But this hurts more than the first two. 

As much as you didn’t agree with it, you knew your parents had thought they were doing the right thing when they sent you away. And you couldn’t care less what Kodo thought of you. 

Mando had been kind. 

He had been your friend.

Had he? He seemed to think he hadn’t but maybe it was just a one sided friendship. That still counts, right?

Bodyguard, rival, friend, protector, confidant, lover, nothing.

You decide lover was the right word. You didn’t necessarily love him. Love is a very volatile word. He had loved you, physically that is. 

“I was… bored. You were entertainment.”

Of course he hadn’t loved you in any other way, only physically. He had made love to you. 

Now he didn’t want you. 

He had grown tired of you so quickly. 

You shake off the thought. No sense thinking like that, you weren’t a helpless victim here. You knew that it wasn’t a permanent arrangement. You just hadn��t expected it to be over so soon. It was bound to happen eventually, it’s actually probably better that it happened now. Before you got too attached. 

Were you already too attached? 

Right now, here in the darkness of the closet, wounds still fresh it feels worse than any break up you ever went through back on Hoth, and most of those relationships had been much longer than this short lived affair. 

You had liked him. 

There’s no harm in admitting that now that it’s over. You had not loved him, maybe you had simply liked him. You had a crush on your friend, that’s completely normal, especially considering you were doing plenty of other things together. 

It feels nice to admit that. 

Like a weight has been lifted off your shoulder. Of course it doesn’t matter because there’s still a million other things holding you down right now but it’s a brief sense of relief. 

You had liked the Mandalorian, as more than a friend. 

Nothing’s gonna happen with him anymore so you can admit that to yourself now. 

It’s good to get that out of the way, it’ll help you get over this faster. 

Except it doesn’t really, your relief is brief as you burst into tears, burying your face in a pillow for the rest of the day. It hits you like a ton of bricks, you’re finally willing to admit that you may have had genuine feelings for him and he’s already moved on. It makes you feel pathetic, it makes you cry harder. But that’s okay, because that’s what day one was for, getting it all out. 

When you wake up, eyes red and puffy, you’re ready for the next stage in your plan. It’s time to recover from yesterday. You send the girls away again like clockwork as you stretch in front of the mirror. You’re more than capable of getting through this. He’s out there, and the longer you hide in here from him the worse it’s gonna be. So one more day, you can find some busy work to keep your mind occupied. 

You organize the closet. It’s massive, so you search through the drawers, trying to figure out what goes where. You open one of the drawers tucked in the back and you can’t help but gawk at the contents.

Pants.

You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed pants. Honestly you didn’t hate the dresses but you were getting a little sick of being dolled up beyond belief every single day. This entire time there’s been a whole drawer full of trousers you could have been wearing, you slip on the first pair you find and after a few more minutes of searching you find a drawer full of simple cotton tunics. It’s probably the most comfortable you’d been in weeks. 

It’s such a breath of fresh air you wonder why you hadn’t looked for simpler clothes sooner. Now when you walk to the mirror it is a familiar figure. 

It’s you. 

It’s almost enough to bring a smile to your face. 

Almost. 

As you organize the drawers you're pleased to find a lot more pants and shirts, you set them aside in piles, you were going to convince the girls to let you wear these outside your room, even if it was for just a day or two out of the week. You never saw anyone anyway, there was no need for you to be wearing gowns and heels to the library to read everyday. The only person you see is the Mandalorian. 

“I don’t want you.”

You couldn’t become any less attractive to him at this point so who cares. Besides, you like the way you look in these clothes, it’s how you used to dress at home. It was too cold for frilly dresses and it would have been impractical to get so done up on a day to day basis. Something about the familiarity of it all seems to help push you into the next stage of grief because suddenly you’re angry at him. 

What gave him the right to do what he’s done? To make you like him just so he could get his dick wet? If he had wanted that he could have just had it, you had been rather attracted to him physically early on, it probably would have been better that way but no, he had to go and make it personal. 

So you’re angry. 

And not just petty surface level anger, this is something new. Something you don’t even feel towards Kodo. This is deep rooted and raw. He had cut you open and laid you bare for him to see, he went through to pick and choose what parts he wanted and left you to try and survive with what remained. 

And what remained was furious. 

It doesn’t feel as good as it did last time you hated him. Last time it was almost fun because you hated him for being annoying. Now there is a deep sorrow in your anger. Last time there was the entertaining prospect of scheming his downfall, and there was teasing and conversation. This anger eats away at your insides. It doesn’t demand satisfaction, it just rests in your stomach and consumes you. 

It consumes you so much that you feel sick. You don’t know when you sat down on the floor but when you come to your senses it’s dark out. You push open the windows. Desperate to get some air into the room, it works, for a moment. But everything is too much right now and without thinking you decide you need to get out of here, go get a book, maybe one of the boring history books Mando’s always reading. You pull open the doors to your chambers without a second thought and you’re taken aback by the sight of what stands before you. 

Actually, what sits before you. The Mandalorian is sitting on the floor. His back resting on your door, at least it was before you opened it. He’s looking up at you and you know it’s impossible with the helmet but you swear he looks embarrassed. 

Your instinct is to crack a joke, or at the very least ask what he’s doing, it’s the middle of the night, he never stands guard over night. 

But that isn’t your relationship anymore. So you just sidestep him and make your way to the library, you don’t protest when he follows behind you. It’s the strangest thing but in the two days without him you had missed your shadow. The presence of him walking a few steps behind, you hadn’t even realized that was something you’d grown fond of. You shake the thought out of your head as you descend the stairs. 

You don’t acknowledge him and you don’t acknowledge the way your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest. This is a quick in and out task, you’ll get a book to help relax your mind so you can sleep. 

You squint in the darkness of the shelves. Maker, you should have brought a glowrod, or a lamp with you at the very least. It’s useless, you can’t make out any of the titles so instead you grab the two books off one of the tables that you’d seen him reading a week ago. You shove them under your arm and hurry back to your room. Neither of you say a word about the encounter as you shut the door behind you. 

You hear the soft clunk of metal on wood just before you shut yourself in the closet. 

His helmet leaned on the door again. 

Huh. Maybe Kodo had recently requested he guard you at night as well. You aren’t going to ask him what he’s doing. You aren’t going to do anything. 

You close the closet door. You turn on one dim lap as you put on pajamas and sit in your blankets, picking up the first book to take your mind off things. 

A Deep Dive Into the History of Classic Ships and Speeders

Yeah you’re not reading that. You’re bored just looking at it so you toss it to the side and hope the other book is less of a dud. it’s bookmarked near the end and you worry that maybe he’s still reading this one but then you remember he doesn’t care about you so why should you care for him. Your eyes scan the title. 

Wild Flowers & Flora of Naboo : A Beginner’s Guide for the Identification of the Planets Native Plants

You think back to when you had asked him so many questions when he’d taken you to the garden and he never knew the answers. You always thought he seemed upset with himself over that. 

This is what he had been reading all those quiet days together in the library. You flip to the bookmark. You recognize the flower being showcased on the page immediately. You had pointed the patch of them out because the petals were an identical match for the shade of pink your dress had been that day. 

Your heart skips a beat. Which makes you feel sick. 

Even after he ended things he’s still messing with your head. 

Then again, this is not a small book by any means and the bookmarked page is near the end. He must have read quite a lot of it…

No. 

No doing this. Hoping. Not anymore. You can admit to yourself now that you liked him, and had a little crush. But he hadn’t liked you back. He didn’t want you, he was just bored. You need to remember that.

You don’t feel like reading anymore. 

So you let your mind go blank as you lay down and close your eyes, hoping for a dreamless sleep. 

Of course you aren’t that lucky. 

And even worse is the contents of your dream. 

You wish they were carnal and needy like they usually are, you would trade the dream you have for a hundred gut wrenchingly painful erotic dreams.  

Because this dream is warm, and soft, and above all this dream is familiar. 

This dream is kisses on your thighs, and they aren’t sexual, they don’t insist on more. They’re soft and chaste and leave a lingering scratch of stubble. 

This dream is him embracing you. Holding you like he did when you gave him his birthday. 

And he doesn’t ask for more, he just holds you, his hands roam your back but they don’t push for anything other than your company. 

This dream is him sitting across from you in the library in silence. But the silence isn’t forced, it’s comfortable and domestic. And you both read your respective books as the sunlight shines in through the windows of the nook. 

And worst of all this dream is the garden. It’s him giving you the one thing you’d wanted since you were a little girl, real flowers, and playing the game, and sitting in the gazebo watching the pond ripple. 

It’s promises of more good days, it’s books with little messages scrawled inside and it’s whispers in Mando’a. 

When you wake there’s a dull ache in your chest. You’ve always slept alone yet your makeshift bed feels emptier than ever.

The girls dress you in silence. Like they can sense something is wrong. 

You don’t want to leave. You don’t want to have to face him but you know it’s inevitable. So you suck it up. You’ll do what you’ve always done and you’ll go to the library and read. 

And you won’t look at him. You won’t talk to him. You won’t even acknowledge that he’s there. 

You give yourself one last look in the mirror. Elaine and Lysa really matched your mood with the dark gray dress you find yourself in. You look empty. Like there isn’t any life behind your eyes. 

You have to look away from your hollow reflection. 

Taking a deep breath you open the doors and there he is. As constant as ever he stands against the opposite wall from your door and you give him no more than a glance as you turn on your heel towards the library. 

You can do this, this is simple and easy and you are more than capable of handling this. 

His presence is stifling. 

You can’t escape the feeling of his eyes on you and if you don’t think of something fast you’re gonna snap at him and you know you can’t take another argument right now. 

Make a list. 

Stick to a list. 

Walk, sit, read. It's simple, you can do that. 

You manage to walk to the library with no issues; it's the second task on your list that causes immediate problems. 

Because your instinct is to sit in the nook, you walk there purely on muscle memory. But the moment you look at it your brain short circuits. 

Metal, gunpowder, leather. 

There’s suddenly a lump in your throat. 

“Are you paying attention, mesh’la?”

Your bodice must be laced too tight. Your breath picks up as your heart threatens to burst from your chest. The feeling of phantom touches roaming your body, gloved hands hiking up your skirt, is suffocating. 

“What is it, copikla?”

You need to breathe. You’ve only just started the day, you’re pleading with your lungs to take in air, your eyes locked on the nook. He has to know what’s got you rattled, he’s standing right behind you. 

Why did you leave your room? You weren’t ready for this, two days wasn’t enough, how are you supposed to deal with the million different thoughts that are screaming for the spotlight right now in your mind? One thought seems to be pushing itself to the front, demanding your attention. 

What if no one ever makes you feel like that again?

You can’t cry. He’ll look at you like you’re pathetic if you cry at the sight of somewhere he fucked you. That’s all he did, for Makers sake, he fucked you. 

It shouldn’t feel like a place where he loved you. 

When you close your eyes you can feel the stubble pressing against your inner thigh accompanied by a kiss. 

Stars, keep your eyes open. 

You finally remember how to breathe but the breaths come out short and shallow and you need to come up with an escape plan or something because otherwise you’ll be petrified in place for the rest of the day. 

Suddenly you don’t need a plan though. 

Because there’s a hand on your lower back. 

His hand. 

It gently pushes you to a different part of the library. He doesn’t say anything, the modulator doesn’t crackle, he just guides you to a different spot. A chair and a table, the nook is out of sight from here and you can breathe properly again. 

His hand is gone too soon as he gently pushes down on your shoulders to make you sit. His touches are featherlight, like you’re made of glass. Right now you might be. He takes a step back and you regain your composure like it never happened. 

Walk, sit, read. 

Well, you really fucked up the second task on your list. 

And you don’t do well on the third. 

You reach towards the closest shelf and grab the first book your fingers touch. It’s some sort of mystery novel, you can’t focus on the words. Your brain feels fried and you’re still processing the last few minutes. He’s leaning against one of the shelves, his helmet facing away, almost like he’s giving you privacy to collect yourself. 

You take a deep breath and let your eyes scan the page but you just can’t bring yourself to read. Your mind is too foggy, your heart still racing, you sigh as you set the book down on the table. 

You need a simpler task. Something that will occupy your brain enough that you don’t have to think of anything else but doesn’t require too much critical thinking. You turn to face Mando directly for the first time since your… break up? Is that what it’s called when you weren’t necessarily romantically involved but were friends who were physically involved but also you might have romantic feelings for him? 

Now you’re just confusing yourself. 

It doesn’t matter because you’re looking at him and you immediately recognize that his posture is different. The two of you have spent a lot of time staring at each other, you know how he stands. Tall and proud, always. 

But not now, now he looks like a scolded child, staring out a window to avoid meeting your gaze lest you reprimand him further. 

You really want to hate him. You want to hate him so badly right now but it’s like trying to hate a wounded puppy. 

How is he so damn expressive behind a layer of steel? 

You need to speak to him. 

If he’s going to insist on being your bodyguard you’re going to have to learn to live with each other in this new dynamic he’s created. 

So you need to speak to him. 

Rip off the bandaid, why wait any longer? It's going to happen eventually. It should be something thoughtful and well articulated. 

“Could you get Leo for me?” Your voice is hoarse from sitting in silence for two days and the words tumble from your lips before you can stop them and he’s quick to nod and rush out. 

Bodyguard, rival, friend, protector, confidant, lover, guy who you’ve had mind blowing sex with that you’re suddenly nervous to ask simple things from. 

Maker, you’re a mess. 

Alarmingly fast he’s back with Leodall hot on his heels.

“My lady, how may I be of service.” Always straight to the point with him.

“Could you bring me a book from my quarters, the one on ships, and some parchment and pens please?”

“Right away ma’am.” And as quickly as he arrived he’s gone. 

This is the part where Mando usually asks what you’re up to. Except he doesn’t. 

So he’ll touch you and help you when you're frozen in time staring at the scene of one of your sexual adventures on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but he won’t ask what you plan on doing with his book. 

This new situation is going to be way harder to navigate. 

You look to see what the Mandalorian seems so fascinated by outside the window but it’s just sky and clouds. 

Maybe your new situation is avoiding conversation. 

That’s probably why he had ushered you away from the nook. Not because he cared but because he didn’t want to talk about it. 

Okay, you can do that. Avoid confrontation at all costs. 

It’s probably for the best anyway. 

When Leo comes back with your requested items you thank him as he leaves and you open to a random page and start trying to copy the exact images of the ship. 

Busy work.

It’s boring in the beginning. Mindless scribbling to keep your brain occupied as you try to sketch every detail you can. Eventually it’s almost fun, seeing how closely you can get them to look to the original image, you draw dozens of ships, occupying most of your day as you proudly spread them out on the table.

Every so often you’ll catch a glint of silver and you know he’s watching you, you never turn to meet his gaze.

You can pretend he isn’t. That’s what’s easiest. Because he doesn’t care, he made that clear. He doesn’t care. (Even though he won’t stop looking at you.)

Don’t focus on him, don’t focus on anything but your drawings. 

You pick out your favorites, the Naboo royal cruiser, the YT-1300 light freighter, the ST-70 class Razor Crest M-111, and a T-47 air speeder. You can’t help but feel a genuine pride as you stare at the drawings. They’re messy and on most of them you’ve smeared the ink but they’re recognizable and it’s nice to actually feel like you’ve accomplished something. It’s easy for the days to blend together when you do the same thing over and over and over again but this is real. You can touch and see the drawings you did, physical evidence that you did something other than finish another book. 

It’s hard to really appreciate what you’ve done when you’re also pretending that you don’t see him staring right at you. 

He pretends that he doesn’t care about what you’re doing. (Rather poorly.)

And you pretend you don’t notice him gawking at you. 

You need to stop thinking about him and his staring problem so you find another book, something bulky with pictures.

The Illustrated History of Blasters : From Pistols to Rifles

And you start from the beginning, just scribbling sketches of every gun there’s a picture for. You don’t really care much for blasters but the illustrations are so complicated you can’t help but try and match the attention to detail.

It’s late when you finish the first section of the book. You haven’t even gotten past pistols as you stifle a yawn. 

He seemingly hasn’t moved an inch, aside from the glances in your direction that you brushed off. 

Even with the circumstances you can’t help but wish he would just say something, literally anything. He could tell you that your drawings are shit and honestly you’d just be happy to hear his voice. But of course he doesn’t. Because you aren’t anything to him.

Maybe he’s pretending too.

You have no reason to believe he is, he’s shown no interest in you or reconciliation since he ended things, other than his persistent presence. You can’t think of a reason why he would end things and not mean what he said. 

But you like to think that he’s pretending. 

It makes this easier in your mind if it’s not that he doesn’t want to be with you, it’s that he can’t. 

It’s harmless. 

Imagining such a thing, as long as you don’t let yourself get caught up in another fantasy. This isn’t real, it’s just something to help you stomach the harsh reality of being undesirable to him.

So you pretend that his glances are those of want, that maybe deep down he might actually care for you.

You pretend that he regrets his decision, that he misses you even though he’s spent all day right next to you.

You pretend that he secretly wishes he was walking beside you instead of behind you as you return to your chambers. And you pretend that he wants you to invite him in but some secret invisible reason that you don’t know about is holding him back. 

But it’s all just pretend. 

You need to remind yourself of that. 

You can do this. You can have more days like this. 

Drawing to keep your mind from wandering and when it does you can pretend. It isn’t an ideal way of living but for now you have to manage until you figure out where to go from here. 

You slip out of your gown after fighting to unlace it yourself for a few minutes and decide to just sleep in your undergarments as you make your way to the closet. 

You pretend you don’t hear that soft clunk of Beskar against your door.

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