#joint!reader

[soldiersgirl]

MEET JOINT! READER . . . ୨ৎ @h8aaz & @soldiersgirl

j o i .ᐟ (short for joint, pronounced joy) . . .

soldier boy always has that damn joint trapped between his lips. smokey fog releasing through the open gap he parted on the side of his mouth. he always found the joints he rolled to be perfect, so good he'd probably fuck them if they were real. and occasionally, while under the blissful headspace of cannabis, he'd catch himself daydreaming about the perfect woman—his joint, always. what'd you think this was? that he'd actually pick an existing woman? fuck no.

⭑ grind the cannabis . . . joi functions, basically full-time, as ben's guiding and soothing hand. much like the real deal, her role in the boys is seen as mellowing ben out; keeping his hunger for sudden violence and unexpected outbursts at bay. she whispers the few right words to him and he, for the most part, unclenches his jaw, softens his gaze, and lets go of his addiction for anarchy... for now. annie is convinced that this is joi's supe-power.

⭑ prepare the filter . . . much like her name, joi is the embodiment of, well, joy! unlike her partner in crime, as ben calls her, joi is sweet, curious, calm, and most importantly, patient. she enjoys long yap sessions, scrounging around the boys hq for the best snacks, and binge-watching her favourite shows (seeing as she finally isn't forced to watch bens anymore).

⭑ fill the rolling paper . . . she might be seen as slow or dopey at times, but joi is calculated, within both physical and spoken combat. put her up against anyone with a knife in her hand and she is walking away unscathed. pit her and ben against each other in an argument and he's walking away pissed, knowing she's won but never admitting it.

⭑ shape, tuck & roll . . . her nimble hands and affection for shiny things has landed in her in hot water, more often than not. stray lighter laying around? whoops, it's in her pocket. someone on the street has a pretty bracelet? swiped it just to "admire it". she's craving her favourite snack? it's hidden under her typical oversized jacket. butcher is considering teaching her how to lockpick seeing as "if she's gonna steal shit, it might as well be fuckin' useful to us, eh?"

⭑ spark up & enjoy . . . unlike how ben treats everything else, with carelessness and heavy-handedly, he tries his best to be careful with her. afraid that she will unravel and fall apart in his hands at any minute. despite joi's fascination with ben, he tries to keep her at an arm's length but much like her true form, he knows he'll become addicted to her if he isn't careful.

check out joi's stash to learn more about her . . .

⭑ smoke break! (joi's origin story)

a/n: AAAAHHH!!! i hope u guys love joi as much as gabriela and i do! joi is originally @h8aaz brainchild but i was so lucky to be able to write about joi with gabbie, so thank u angel <3 owe it to u!! shout out to @daylighted for starting this wonderful idea, i could kiss ur brain <3 and shout out to @titsout4jackles for layout and formatting inspo <3 -`♡´- tag list: @bluemerakis @legalmente-loca @faiszt @vmiina @emeraldcrs @briiverse @figthoughts @sl33pylilbunny @jasvtsc @silverwoodlynx @kayleighwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @yooyieu @nperoconelcositoarriba @lanasgirlfr @velvetdandeli0n @iluvdeanwinchester @cowboysandcigarettes @daylighted @valjy @dulcescorderitas @mostlymarvelgirl @syrma-sensei @rositaslabyrinth @blossomingorchids @deansbbyx @mads-ackles (comment or inbox me to be added)

[yuuchama]

"Prefect, you don't look too well," Deuce noticed.

You hobbled into class with bleary vision, wanting nothing more than to go right back to Ramshackle and fall asleep.

"Dang, look at those dark circles!" Ace whistled in admiration. "What kept you up all night?"

"Drums," you said plainly. You tried to throw your bookbag onto the lecture hall table. It slid across the surface and fell to the ground on the other side of the table. You didn't care.

Ace was kind enough to grab it for you despite his overflowing curiosity. "Drums? What's that mean?"

You took a deep breath. You needed oxygen in your brain. "It means someone gave Grim a miniature drum set and he played it all night."

"Ooooh." The two Heartslabyul students gawked in unison.

"That does sound awful," Deuce remarked. "Any idea who?"

"No." You grunted through gritted teeth and clenched your fist. "But when I find them..."

Several classrooms over, Kalim sneezed over his cauldron. He managed to turn at the last second and avoided contaminating the potion within.

"Ah! Is someone badmouthing me?" he mused. "I heard you sneeze when people talk behind your back."

"Don't be ridiculous." Jamil was ready with a fresh pocket tissue that he thrust towards Kalim. "I told you to put the gold dust in more carefully. Half of it wound up in the air, and you probably inhaled it."

"Haha!" Kalim felt reassured that he had done no wrong. "What a relief."

[0nonjudgement0]

I have creaky joints so….

I can just imagine Simon being so sickly sweet with you if you have any joint pain ever—specifically if you get some aches in your hips.

Not very flexible? It hurts to keep your legs open wide? Even just being on your knees? He’s in missionary, your knees catered in the crook of his elbows as he holds them in a nice, comfortable position, kissing your forehead whenever he has go pull them apart a little more.

On your knees? You never really are. Even when your riding him he’s doing all the work—arms wrapped tight around your waist, holding you close as he thrusts up.

Bending you over the back of the couch? He’s grabbing a throw pillow and putting it in front of your hips, gentle thrusts to not slam you into it. Thumbs gently rubbing the flesh on your hip-dips, asking if your okay.

Your cumming and your muscles lock up, causing a bit of pain? He’s pinching your nipples instead, tucking your clit between his pointer and middle to distract you.

[grimeshound]

BERLIN NSFW HCS…

masterlist

cw: 18+, degrading, oral (m receiving), brat taming, clit slapping, dumbification, gun play, dom/sub dynamics, exhibitionism, possessiveness, general filth.

a/n: my content warnings get crazier and crazier each post i feel… anyways i will always have such a soft spot for berlin. i need more park haesoo berlin content on tumblr, ao3, anything T_T

—-

• he’s a bully. nothings off the table when it comes to finding creative ways to humiliate you. he’ll put his cigarette butt on you, rub the tip of his boot on your clothed cunt while you’re on your knees, the list goes on.

• ass guy. if you decide to wear short shorts, he won’t even try to hide when he checks you out. don’t ask him the color of ANYTHING.

• brat tamer. piss him off and he’ll either have you bent over his knee or your legs spread wide, not stopping until you’ve learned your lesson. his hand slaps your sensitive clit over and over as you beg, gripping his sleeve for mercy, only for him to shove your hands away with a cold glare.

“shut the fuck up. you wanna keep being a little bitch? then I’ll treat you like one.”

• loves using you as his personal little deskpet. when he tells you to get on your knees, you’re already sliding to the floor beneath his mahogany desk, ready to take him all the way down until you’re choking, tears streaming as his tip brushes the back of your throat.

• gun kink. whether it’s pressing the cold barrel of his pistol against your bare skin while you ride him, or making you lick his gun on your knees while maintaining eye contact, the sight of you getting off on the dangerous weapon is burned into his mind.

• berlin’s thick, unmistakable north korean accent is something he barely acknowledges, but it’s impossible for you to ignore. the way his deep, gravelly voice wraps around his words becomes your undoing. especially when he leans in so close, his breath hot against your ear growling filthy praises and insults while he pounds into you.

“filthy whore. look at you, messy cunt drippin’ all over my slacks.”

• loves it when he’s fully dressed while you’re completely naked. he barely tugs his pants down, just enough to free himself. reveling in the power imbalance and the way your cheeks flush with embarrassment, feeling impossibly more bare under his gaze.

• it drives him crazy just how much smaller you are in comparison to him, how easily he can manhandle you into whatever position he wants—doggy, full nelson, even folding you completely into a mating press.

• berlin thrives on the idea of completely owning you—mind, body, and soul. he loves reducing you to a babbling, cock-drunk mess, so hooked on him that you can’t think of anything else. he’ll claim you in every way imaginable, marking you with his teeth, buying you necklaces engraved with his name, ensuring you’re his in every sense. the thought of you becoming his obedient little doll, existing only to please him, drives him feral.

“good girl… my dumb little dolly, huh? all mine. always mine,” he’d chuckle darkly, his voice thick with satisfaction as he watches you come undone for him.

• quickie enthusiast. with his spontaneous nature, it’s to be expected. berlin has a knack for stealing moments in the middle of his busy schedule, he’ll pull you into a quiet corner and have his way with you before anyone even notices.

• berlin’s biggest fantasy? exhibitionism. the idea of fucking you in front of someone else gets him so damn hard. it doesn’t even have to be a big audience—just the thought of one shitty ex of yours watching you go completely cockdrunk under him while knowing they could never touch you again sends him over the edge. after all, berlin isn’t one for sharing his toys.

[arimoonlight1]

𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐄𝐦 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐤~ 𝐁𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐰 ˣ 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐏𝐨𝐜!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐜:𝟏𝐤

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐨’𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟!, 𝐀 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐭𝐬, 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐑𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐦.

𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬!

The bell above the door let out a tired jingle when you stepped inside, the late-summer heat clingin’ to your dress like sweat-soaked cotton. The air was thick with the scent of flour, kerosene, and peaches just on the edge of turnin’. It was quiet in the store, ‘cept for the lazy buzz of a fan spinnin’ slow in the back.

Bo glanced up from the counter, sleeves rolled to his elbows, sweat dark at his collar. When he saw you, that crooked smile of his bloomed—soft and familiar, the kind that still made your chest ache in a good way, even after all these years.

“Well now,” he said, voice smooth as creek water, “look what the sun dragged in.”

You held up the lunch pail. “You forgot your food. Again. Thought I’d bring it by before you shriveled up from pride.”

He came ‘round the counter and kissed your cheek, lingerin’ a breath longer than polite. “I’m a lucky man,” he said.

“You always say that when you forget somethin’.”

He popped the lid and peered inside. “Catfish and cornbread? You tryin’ to make me marry you twice?”

You smirked. “Ain’t nobody else would put up with you.”

The two of you laughed, like you always did. Like the world outside them yellow-painted walls couldn’t touch what y’all had built. And maybe it couldn’t—least not at first.

It had started ten years ago, when Bo Chow walked into your cousins’ juke joint with a stack of flyers for a little grocery he was settin’ up. You were on stage singin’ “Ain’t Misbehavin’,” and from the moment his eyes found yours, he never looked away. Came back three nights straight before he finally got the nerve to speak, offerin’ you lemon soda and red bean cake like it was a treasure.

Folks talked. Lord, did they. Some just whispered. Others spat their thoughts out loud. It wasn’t proper, not in 1932 Mississippi—a Chinese man and a Black woman buildin’ somethin’ sweet outta the cracked earth.

But Bo, he didn’t flinch. When he asked you to marry him, he did it loud, right there in front of the whole congregation after church one Sunday. Held your hand like it was his lifeline, dared anyone to tell him he was wrong.

He painted the shelves sunflower yellow for you. Let you spin Billie Holiday records while you stocked goods. Framed your picture behind the register, the one where you were smilin’ real big with lipstick the color of ripe cherries.

But time changes things.

First came the looks. The kind that stick to your back, crawl up your neck. When you and Bo walked through town hand-in-hand, or when folks spotted you behind the counter like you belonged there. Some white folks stopped comin’ in altogether. Others came more often, just to see, to whisper.

Then came the silences—sharper than any word. Bo’s family never said nothin’ unkind, but they didn’t say much at all. His mama served you dinner with eyes glued to her plate. And when conversation got serious, the room slipped into Cantonese like you was never meant to understand.

You never blamed Bo. Not once. But some nights, when the store was locked and the lights were low, a question would settle on your chest: Was love enough to hold up against a world built to break it down?

You started shrinkin’. Bit by bit. Skipped the town meetings. Wore plain browns instead of the reds he said lit up your skin. Kept your curls pinned back tight. Stopped singin’ when strangers were near.

Then one night, Bo found you sittin’ out back on the stoop, apron still tied at your waist, fingers twistin’ together like they were tryin’ to pray.

“Y/N,” he said, soft.

You didn’t turn. Just stared at the road, dusty and endless.

He sat beside you without a word, hands restin’ on his knees, the air thick with things unsaid.

“Ever wonder if life’d be simpler if you’d picked someone else?” you asked, barely louder than the wind.

Bo turned to you slow. “Where’s that comin’ from?”

You shrugged. “Somebody who don’t make folks stare. Someone your mama could talk to. Someone who don’t weigh on you every time you walk into a room.”

He didn’t say nothin’ at first. Let the silence sit a while.

“I know you love me,” you whispered. “But I been feelin’ like lovin’ me costs you too much.”

He reached for your hand, held it like glass. “You remember that night at the juke joint? You had a yellow scarf in your hair and a song that made the room hush. I ain’t never believed in fate till that moment.”

You let out a little laugh. “I was just tryna finish my set.”

“And you finished me,” he said, serious now. “Right then and there.”

He turned, took both your hands. “Y/N, I didn’t choose you for ease. I chose you ‘cause you made life real. You made it ours. You think I care what people say? Let ‘em talk. Let ‘em choke on it. I’d walk through this world a hundred times over, long as you walkin’ beside me.”

Your eyes stung. He saw it. Brushed your cheek with his thumb.

“I don’t want quiet. I don’t want small. I want you. Loud and wild and stubborn and singin’ like the trees are listenin’. You’re not a burden, baby. You’re the reason I breathe.”

You leaned into him, and he pulled you close like he meant to shield you from the whole world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Bo cleaned the store window and taped up a new photograph—one of the two of you on your last anniversary, arms wrapped around each other, grinnin’ like you had no idea what the world thought.

People stared, sure as sunrise. Some smiled. Some turned away.

Didn’t matter.

A white man came in later that week, looked at the photo, then at Bo. “That your wife?”

Bo didn’t even blink. “Damn right she is. Best part of my life.”

And behind the counter, where no one else could see, you touched your heart—steady, strong—holdin’ that truth close like it was a promise that couldn’t be broken.

[potatoplace]

Oh no

[theogonize]

late nights and extra hours are annoying for most people. people who have to get home to their family members, partners, even pets. so naturally, increased enthusiasm to stay overtime was a sign of loneliness.

 there were two lonely people in the oncology department who hardly had anyone to come home to. you, that was more or less explainable by circumstance, you were new here and focusing on doing well at your high-end doctor job. but doctor wilson? you were sure he had a wife. this inference you had drawn from the wedding band on his slender fingers. this little article of jewelry was a cause of silent strife for you, stupidly so. you’re gorgeous boss was taken, of course he was; he was a respectable oncologist, diabetically sweet man who looked almost painstakingly beautiful in a lab coat. how does one look that good in a lab coat? 

but apart from musing about your boss, you often were in the clinic early and left late, running tests and working the scans. and he was there too, doing some paperwork in the office. he was always diligent with his paperwork, almost a bit too much, almost as if it was an escape and he was relieved when it piled up. another night to spend locked in his office and not in his bedroom, with his wife, as if she wasn’t even there. 

but you knew she was, you felt her presence even though you’d never met her and she never presented herself as a physical barrier. you felt her (or was it your conscience?) separating the two of you, like two like ends of a magnet repelled invisibly. you kid yourself into thinking if she wasn't there, if he took off the wedding band, if he was single – you’d make a move. sure you would. 

you usually refrained from bothering dr. wilson when he’s cooped up in his office, not wanting to disturb his peace, something he clearly craves when he’s here. but today you felt a little braver, for some strange reason, you felt a little valorous. so you let out a shaky exhale – none of those in front of dr. wilson – gathering up the courage like a middle school boy about to ask his crush out. you push the door to his office.

he looked up, slightly perplexed seeing you there, at this hour or maybe at all. he sat in his office chair, slightly angled, the joint paper and weed laying carelessly spread over his paperwork. his cuffs are folded up to his elbows, brazenly showing his muscular forearms. the light in his office seems to bounce off him. there’s a halo around him, there always is. you immediately regret your decision. stupid, stupid, stupid. to think you could do this, feel normal when he… when he literally looks like that. angelic. otherworldly. your voice is caught in your throat. it’s pathetic how much you want him. his face screws up in embarrassment as he begins to recognise you from the shadows; how could he not, you were his favourite.

unbeknownst to you, or anyone apart from house, really, you were his favourite. why wouldn’t you be? you were kind, pretty, intelligent. obviously, you don’t really like your employee for things like that, so he just said that you were a hard worker, you were perceptive around patients, you were always polite and punctual. an indispensable asset to his team. he was always wishing you would linger a little longer around him, so he could work his signature charm; the pathetic attempt he would make at befriending a desolate woman in the hopes of sleeping with her, as house would put it.

but maybe he didn’t have to try too hard with you, because he knew, everyone knew, that you liked him. maybe more than just your employer. maybe. and that was one of the only things that kept him happy. the possibility of you reciprocating if he ever made a move. 

after stuttering for a few seconds and almost falling over you hand him the test results, accompanied by the ct scan. 

your nervousness is rubbing off on him. it’s too late to hide it now, especially when he’s made such a mess on his desk. not like it matters, you know he does this for patients sometimes. he doesn’t need to be nervous. why is he nervous?

now that you had made it this far, you weren’t going away without some small talk. and come on, the topic was right there, partially rolled in his hand. 

“is this for the osteosarcoma patient?” 

that was your most recent one. room on the second floor, two months of radiation and the nausea had started kicking in pretty bad. wilson almost felt guilty for it not being for the patient, despite prescribing dramamine just a few hours ago. this odd moment of personal space invaded by you, and yet he sat here, welcoming it. because you were his favourite.

“uh no. it’s for me.” 

he wasn’t just welcoming it. he was inviting you over. he was being honest with you, encouraging questions. encouraging to fill the void, fill the space. the one you hadn’t created but certainly widened with everything you did. your desperation for his approval like his desperation for yours, a symphony made from the two most anxious, people-pleasing oncologists. 

you needn’t respond. your face said it all; wide eyed, mouth slightly ajar. you’d lost all train of thought, and maybe some respect for him, wilson figured.

“do you… want to join?"

how much more forward does he need to be? a man like him rarely has to make a move like this. women jump at the opportunity to be with him simply because he is him. the sweetest man. the perfect man. he, who sat here late at night, avoiding his wife, and hoping that his much younger employee would join him for a smoke. perhaps, in due time, a little more. 

“i- i don’t… i haven’t… i’ve never smoked.” 

but dear lord. it doesn't get any better than this, does it? you would have to be completely braindead to turn down an opportunity like this. does it scare you? smoking in your boss’ office? in the hospital you both work at? especially when he looks like that, talks like that and just is like that?

“i could teach you.” 

“if that’s okay with you… no pressure.” he adds as an afterthought. 

you nod, anxious. he gestures towards the couch, you comply. he grabs a lighter and joins you. your heart pounds in your chest. you pray to god he can't hear it.

you shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. his eyes were so intense when they wanted to be, so expressive, conveying a thousand things and you, blinded as you were by his sheer presence, were unable to comprehend any of them. there was something about his face, his features, their softness. those pleading eyes, goddammit. they made you yearn for him uncontrollably.

his movements were slow and deliberate. the lighter flicked in his hand a couple times before it engulfed the tip of the joint. wilson watched you react to the flame, your eyes steady on the burning paper. he found it amusing how immersed you were, how new everything was to you, how exciting. he found himself wishing he could see the world from your eyes as he dragged the joint, turning his head away from you and blowing smoke in the other direction.

“your turn.” he said, offering it to you. 

your hands awkwardly try to hold the joints from different angles. ultimately, you surrender. wilson takes another hit as he watches you give up.

“i don’t think i can do this.” you bite your lip. fuck. you feel like a failure. failure at doing something reckless and stupid with your boss. failure at fun. “sorry.”

“don’t be.” wilson reassures you. he always does. you forget he deals with impossible cases like you all the time. “i’ll hold it and you suck in the smoke, for now, okay?”

you nod fervently. okay, this is okay. you can do it. you can have fun. 

his fingers caging the joint now reach towards your lips. you look at the burning paper and the green stuff inside it, then look at him for some sort of go-ahead. he doesn’t break eye contact. neither do you. you slowly put the end in your mouth, sucking in the smoke, like he told you to do. your eyes keep searching for his approval while his… they just take in the sight in front of him. 

you blow it out. the earthy, bitter aftertaste in your mouth. wilson stares at you, agape. 

he mutters a quiet good god before bringing the joint back to his own lips. you stare at them shamelessly.

“okay this time, suck in some air with your teeth and push it deeper… if that makes any sense.” he demonstrates as you watch him, committing every move to memory in order to emulate it perfectly. 

he brings the blunt to your lips, more careful this time, more focused. you revise the instructions in your brain and follow. the weed starts to hit the back of your throat, choking it. 

you cough out the smoke. wilson, being the doctor that he is, rushs beside you. his strong arms wrap around your body, he rubs your shoulder in soothing circles. 

“there, there. just breathe. exhale.” 

you nod amidst more coughs, making sure he knows you're listening. obeying. always. his hands begin sliding lower down your back, reaching the middle before they flex. his conscience slipping in, stopping him from moving further. you take a big breath. your head spins, falling back on wilson’s chest unknowingly. 

and he doesn't mind, as long as you don't. he smokes again, presses it against your lips again. slower this time, he whispers. you do, boring into his eyes. this time you're able to do it. this time the weed permeates within you. your shoulders relax a bit.

the to and fro continues. with each passing second, the tension grows thicker and thicker. every second you glance away from wilson's big, brown eyes is accounted for, remembered. all the moments you've taken away from him, all the moments the two of you could spend doing this, everything. 

he teaches you, he guides you. his eyes stay fixed on you, your swollen lips and how they kiss the end of the blunt. each passing second your body melts further into his, just the way he likes it. he hasn't moved his hand, he hasn't stopped embracing you. one hand on your waist, the other dragging the blunt from his lips to yours. 

“you're a natural.” he remarks.

“i am?” 

“almost as if you've done this before.”

you let out a soft chuckle. 

“i really haven't, doctor wilson.” 

you had to… you had to break the immersion didn't you? you had to ruin this perfect moment by reminding him of what you both were. wrong. unethical. wilson looks away, his expression unreadable. he feels you looking at him, thinking, adoring. 

his lips vibrate, his body aches. despite the smoke and haze, never had things been so clear, so simple. all laid out in front of him. never had it been so confusing, the line between love and lust blurring indefinitely, turning into the smoke coming from the burning joint, enveloping the two of you, bringing you so close. he felt the heat radiate off your skin. hot. it burned. everything burned.

for you, the lines were always blurred. they were unclear from the moment you accepted this job, from the moment you started this silly crush on your married boss. it was always deeper, always soul crushing. it always burned.

wilson brought the blunt close to his lips as you watched him move for the first time in a few minutes. nothing in the world seemed to be as important as his lips at this very moment. so pink, so perfect, so painful to witness without kissing. 

mouthful of smoke, wilson comes impossibly close. your eyes close involuntarily, afraid that if you see this sight you may never be able to live without it. he takes that as an invitation. his lips touch yours with utmost sensitivity. you tilt your head, giving him access, permission. and he takes it. 

your mouth fills with smoke, it pushes on your throat. but you swallow. you can't pull away now, so you swallow like a good girl. your lips move on their own. you can barely process wilson's weight on you, his hands on you, his tongue entering your mouth with feverish intensity. your hands move everywhere, anywhere. you have to feel it all, soak it all in, because this might be a dream, this may never happen again. but its happening right now, and it is impossibly better than you could have imagined. 

successfully out of breath and rock hard, wilson pulls away. the sight of you catching your breath, your chest heaving up and down, your lips swollen, wet. if he could freeze time, this would be it. he runs his hands through his hair. unbelievable. 

he puts out the blunt before he dives back in. he can't physically pull away. it's too much. like a moth to a flame, like metal to a magnet; the pull, the attraction, it's maddening. at this moment, nothing hurts. nothing's real.

[idcbabyialreadylostmymind]

What do we think?

[sensationallysangwoo]

𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝙰𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚁𝚒𝚍𝚎: 𝙱𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗/𝚂𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚐-𝙷𝚘 𝚡 𝙶𝙽!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙵𝙻𝚄𝙵𝙵𝚈 𝚂𝙼𝚄𝚃 ♡

♡ 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍, 𝚂𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚐-𝙷𝚘. 𝙷𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 “𝙱𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗.” 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢. 𝙱𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎, 𝚟𝚞𝚕𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎. 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞?

♡ 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚂𝙼𝚄𝚃, 𝙰𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙾𝚁𝚂 𝙳𝙾 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃, 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚙𝚎𝚝 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝙾𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚎𝚡 (𝙱𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐), 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚐𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝙿𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚖!𝙱𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗 (𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚝), 𝙰𝚐𝚎 𝙶𝚊𝚙 (𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁 𝙸𝚂 𝙰 𝙻𝙴𝙶𝙰𝙻 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝙳𝚄𝙻𝚃)

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

“I want you to be honest with me.”

Your gentle voice cuts through the silence in the room.

Your thumb caresses his soft cheek. His usual arrogant, confident demeanor has shrunk down into something somber. Something soft.

His dark eyes meet yours as his breath hitches. If he loves you, he needs to open up to you. And he does.

With a deep exhale through his nose, he begins telling his story.

“I’m from the North. When I was a child, my mother and I tried to escape by swimming across the river. She was killed, and I was thrown into a prison camp. Served 25 years. 25 years of hell that I’ll never get back. We were beaten, starving, and you know I’m sick. No treatment, obviously.”

You gulp. Berlin always, always kept his past hidden from you. You two haven’t been romantically involved for too long, but if you wanted to get serious about this relationship, you had to know his story.

You continue comforting him. Still cupping his face, you study his expression. He’s got a certain sadness in his eyes. You can see right through him. You see a broken, traumatized, vulnerable man.

He continues.

“I was in solitary confinement. I did some…rather violent things….” He trails off.

Deep down, he’s absolutely terrified of your judgement. He’s terrified of losing you, someone who’s brought so much joy and happiness into his life. He can only hide the real him from you for so long.

“There was a riot and a guard was killed. We escaped, and now I’m here. I’ve met some people who I…work with. You could call it a gang.”

Your expression remains soft. You love him so much. Nothing he is saying is changing your mind, but he thinks the exact opposite.

“Crime is all I know now. You wanted to know so badly, so what do ya think? Do ya still love me now, or what?” His eyes find the floor. You have never, ever seen him like this. The boisterous, theatrical Berlin you initially met is just a broken man.

The smallest, slightest smile tugs at your lips. “Of course I still love you. Nothing will never change that, Jung-Ho.” You gently reassure him.

He nuzzles his face into your touch. The faintest smile graces his lips. You read his energy. He feels safe with you. You are his security.

You lean in, your face inches away from his. Your lips are about a centimeter away from his. “You’re stuck with me Jung-Ho…” You gently graze your lips against his. He melts into the kiss, moving his mouth perfectly in sync with yours.

The kiss is soft, tender and passionate. His arms wrap tightly around you, holding you as if you’d be gone the second he let go.

“I know the way I am. I just want you to love me.” His words break you. You can’t even imagine what he had to endure, and yet, knowing the way he acts and behaves all adds up now.

“Wanna see how much I love you?” You whisper against his lips. He nods, and before you know it you’ve scooted yourself onto his lap, on his office chair.

Your tongue is deep in his mouth. Heavy breathing and panting fill the room. His hands grab your ass harshly, possessively. He looks up at you with glassy eyes. He almost looks drunk off of you.

“Mmmm sweetheart, you drive me fucking crazy, y’know that?” He purrs.

His lips burn kisses into the soft skin of your throat. You close your eyes and a moan escapes yours lips.

His hands find their way under your shirt. His fingertips are cold, causing your to shiver at the sensation. His bulge presses into your core and the pressure alone causes you gasp and crave more.

“Need you so fuckin’ bad, little love. Fuuuuck—“ he groans as your fingers tug at his hair.

“You think you can handle it, Jung-Ho?” You ask as you grind down on his bulge.

He smiles at you devilishly. “You don’t know who you’re talkin’ to sweetheart. Come on, fuck me.”

You didn’t need to hear that twice. You practically rip his vest off and his button down shirt, revealing his perfectly tanned body underneath. Your hands explore every inch of his skin. You feel possessive, too. You’re both that territorial over each other.

You tug his pants down, followed by his boxers, freeing his dick. You drop to your knees and instantly take him in your mouth. He watches you intensely. His eyes are not leaving you as you sink your mouth down on his length.

He throws his head back and moans at the first contact of your warm mouth on his sensitive tip. His face scrunches up in pleasure. You take him as far down as you can until you feel yourself gag. You press on, though. You want to give Berlin everything you can.

He begins to thrust slightly, fucking your mouth gently. His hands are locked tightly in your hair. “Nggghh…don’t move, sweetheart. Just let me use you for a sec, okay?” You moan around his cock to show your obedience. The vibration causes him to shiver.

You gag obscenely as his whole entire cock is inside your mouth, prodding the back of your throat and cutting off all of your air intake. He holds you down all the way, his hands are so strong you can’t even move your head even if you tried. You look up. His chest heaves with a laugh as the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“Ohhh you’re so fucking cute with my dick in your throat, baby.”

Hot wet tears stream down your face as he roughly pulls his dick out of your mouth. You whimper at the newfound soreness.

“Get on top of me again and fuck me like you love me.” He commands.

You climb on top of him and sink yourself down on his dick slowly. You feel yourself being stretched and you hesitate, afraid of the pain.

“Come on, my angel. I thought you loved me? Sit on it. Come on.” He coaxes you. Even though he’s technically “On the bottom” he’s still calling the shots.

You sink yourself further onto his hard cock, wincing at the full feeling inside of yourself.

“My sweet sweet angel baby. Oh so, so good. Fuck, ride it.” He groans.

You begin to slowly bounce on it, trying so hard to adjust to his huge length inside you. You are absolutely stuffed full of him. Slowly, the pain turns into pleasure as your walls accommodate him.

He slaps your ass sharply as you ride him. Your own moans and groans fill the room as he hits your sweet spot. His large hands guide your waist up and down. He’s basically fucking you like a fleshlight.

“Lean back a little.” He demands, and you do. With one arm wrapped around you so you don’t fall, he presses his other hand down on your abdomen.

“Feel that?” He smirks.

The pressure increases and you feel your orgasm crashing through your body.

You shudder and dig your nails into his shoulders, red pricks of blood dotting his tan complexion.

He comes undone too, moaning your name over and over and over again as he rides out his orgasm.

He spills inside of you. His seed overflows and drips everywhere, but neither of you care at all. You’re both wrapped up in the moment so intensely. Your eyes locked on each others. Your lips meeting once more in a hungry kiss.

You’re both panting, sweaty messes. Feeling satisfied and exhausted, you slink off of him. As you’re putting your clothes back on, Berlin reaches his hand out to you.

You grab it and hold it, feeling the rough callouses on your soft palm.

“So you still wanna be with me?” He asks you, seeking reassurance.

“Of course I do, Jung-Ho.” You smile, lean down, and kiss his lips once more.

You don’t even know what you’re in for just yet, but Berlin is yours, and that’s all that matters.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

AHHHH MY FIRST BERLIN FIC POSTED TO TUMBLR IM FREAKING OUT. I HOPE YOU GUYS LOVED IT OMG. I TRIED I REALLY DID BUT IM STILL TRYING TO GET A FEEL FOR HIS CHARACTER. GONNA START WORKING ON DEM REQUESTS AGAIN!!! This one was just kinda self indulgent hehehehe. Have a great day everyone!!! Love, G!!! 🤍

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @yxluana , @swtt4hk , @massivecheesecakesmuttss , @miss-conjayniality , @ladiesman21777 , @dilfismz , @vkeyy , @kudiikis , @daeholuvs , @insidekatmind , @sealcowboy , @torasgfreal , @melfresita-ruri , @ellfucksup , @hrh007, @m4nbl00d ,

[iamhereinthebg]

I can now die in peace

[soldiersgirl]

SMOKE BREAK .ᐟ

summary ⭑ ben had been struggling, but finally he and the boys got somewhat of a win. that meant celebrating and finally letting a little joy into his life. cw ⭑ joint!reader x soldier boy. mentions of fighting, blood, death. mentions of sex and herogasm. mentions of the boys (butcher, hughie, annie, m.m) & homelander & oc supe (genii). mentions of ben's trauma and daddy issues. mentions of drugs (weed). swearing. yelling. word count ⭑ 1,974 words

a punch. a grunt. the sound of a man falling to his knees. soldier boy was ruthless, as always. working his way through the violent crowd with ease, like a boxer gliding and weaving through the oncoming onslaught of jabs and hooks. butcher and annie were handing out their punches like candy on halloween to keep the pissed-off supes at bay whilst hughie and m.m tried their best to subdue with halothane bombs. ben's eyes flickered between them all and felt a minuscule shiver go down his spine as the scene in front of him unfolded. herogasm turned out to be more bloody than soldier boy remembered it.

and it only grew bloodier by the minute as more and more casualties fell in the heat of the battle. it wasn't as simple as good versus bad, it never had been. it was about bad versus worse and ben was ready to end it once and for all. to finally lay down homelander and take his righteous place as america's hero. the way it was supposed to be and always should have been.

like the good and loyal soldier ben is, he punched, pushed and stabbed anyone who dared stand in his way to homelander. he was ready for this to end, here and now. the way homelander made a mockery of supes made ben sick to his stomach. every time he stole a glance at the blonde false god, his blood boiled and his indispensable rage took over. it's all going according to butcher's plan. yells of frustration and unfiltered rage sliced overtook the previous moans and groans of pleasure that had filled the tnt twins sex-infested apartment.

as ben let his soldier instincts take over, the swing of his shield and slash of his trusted knife is second-nature to him. despite the gore and guts, he almost feels at home amongst the chaos. now only one thing stood between ben and john, one last supe to take down before ben could taste victory. they circled and stalked each other like ravenous predators, each twitch and flinch analysed, waiting for the right moment to strike. genii's power was almost as unpredictable as ben; his ability to gain wishes at random had become infamous. one touch and any wish you had could be granted, but you never knew which or when it would happen. it either ended in success or catastrophe whenever genii was around and ben was adamant to ensure that he didn't get his hands on anyone. until he did.

in the heat of the moment, homelander had lifted and thrown butcher into soldier boy making him stumble and lose his step. his trusted tin case, carrying his long-time lucky joint, fell out from in between his chest and enforced chest plate making ben scramble after it. he was saving it as a celebration and he wasn't gonna let it go now after all this time. genii charged ahead and seized the rare opportunity of ben's loss of control and grabbed soldier boy roughly by the jaw, while ben grasped his tin case like his life depended on it.

"get fuckin' off me, you dick!" ben growled as they scuffled and threw fists, but it was too late for ben. genii's eyes rolled into the back of his head and stood completely frozen as ben started to convulse and fell into an unconscious state. his case slipping from his fingers as darkness took over and the last he heard was the desperate yelling from the boys.

the boys had carried ben's heavy, unconscious body into butcher's trusty cadillac as he slowly came back to reality. he immediately started swinging, his body still in fight or flight mode.

"easy, lad!" butcher yelled as he pinned ben's arms back whilst he thrashed and yelled.

"let me at him! i'm gonna fucking kill him!" ben breathed harshly through his nose, his chest heaving as his eyes glided over the boys in front of him, their expressions unreadable. he slowly started to surrender and laid back against the leather seats, closing his eyes and silently beating himself up. the others sat themselves in the car as butcher explained how "technically" it was a success as they managed to make homelander bleed; a rare occurrence. ben only scoffed and sighed in the backseat at each of butcher's words. until annie, mostly begrudgingly, slides something into ben's unsuspecting hands; his tin case. his eyes shot up but they never meet hers as she glances out the window and acts like nothing happened. ben feels a smile flicker across his lips as he looks down and caresses his precious case that had been with him through thick and thin, more than anyone else.

his thumb followed along the curves and indents that decorated the battered tin case – an old altoids mint case that his father had given him as a child. his father hadn't given him much, but he knew ben's weakness for mints and would occasionally gift him one or two, when he was in the mood. he silently admired the scratches that ran along its sides, a sign of the love and use that ben had gotten out of it. this case was the last gift he had gotten from his father before he turned his back on him. it's all he had left of what he once called a family. a sickening, unfamiliar feeling washed over ben and he was sure it was going to swallow him whole.

trashing his apartment didn't ease the pain like ben had hoped for. he knew butcher was right, it has been the closest they had come to winning. to taking down homelander. but they weren't close enough. ben sat amongst his self-made chaos and gazed at his beloved case once again, opening and closing the lid. finding comfort in the whine of the hinges and the nostalgic aroma of his favourite weed blend rolled into his lucky joint.

he sprawled out onto the bed with a loud sigh going over his faults, his mistakes, trying to figure out how he could get better and finally take down the blonde menace. he took out the joint and held it in his hand, feeling the weight and admiring the curve of it. the only thing that could bring him comfort, that could silence his father's loud criticisms that constantly haunts him. he laid the lucky joint on his rolling tray that had it's permanent spot next to ben's pillow, planning on smoking it in the morning to finally bring him the luck he needed. he laid there, staring aimlessly at the ceiling, wishing he could rely on someone rather than something. maybe this would all be easier if he did, but that's something he guesses he will never know as he finally rolls over and falls into a deep hibernation.

until an arm slings itself around his waist. his eyes snap open. his breathing stops. the usual silence in his cluttered space was disturbed by a second slow, rhythmic breathing. ben dives forward and grabs the knife hidden under his bedside table and shoots up out of the bed, knife at the ready to defend himself.

"what the fuck?! how the fuck did you get in here..? what.. the fuck is going on?!" ben yells, bombarding you with questions as his eyes glide over your slumbering form as you slowly start to sit up and rub your eyes; any lack of surprise on your end. you sleepily gaze up at him, realisation sets in and you lock up. every muscle and nerve stiff, a moment of peace, before reality sets in.

"oh my god... oh my god, oh fuck... no, what?" you mumble to yourself as you slowly roll and test out all your limbs and appendages, touching your face and body in disbelief, the duvet covering your exposed body. you wiggle your hands and toes and can't stop a soft giggle from escaping as you gaze around in amazement, despite the current state of ben's apartment. you stretched, traced the soft features of your face and grabbed at your own cheeks.

"hey!" ben's commanding voice slices through the tranquility of the moment. your eyes finally rest on his shivering form, the adrenaline pumping through him like a raging river after a storm.

"it's so nice to see something other than the inside of that tin case you've been keeping me in." you softly state.

"what? what?" ben yells, brandishing the knife. "you crazy bitch, i.." his limbs go limp for a second as his usual stoic mask falters. "what the fuck did you say?"

"you kept me prisoner in that thing for ages. i was wondering when you were finally going to let me out. see the world." you give him a soft smile as you point around his room. ben was sure he had been drugged, even poisoned. this could not be fucking happening. "the way i got thrown around yesterday inside during that fight you guys get in, i have such a headache." you groan. the knife clatters across ben's floor as he drops it and studies you closely.

"have you been fuckin' following me?" he seethes. "how fuckin' long, huh? were you at fuckin' herogasm and decided to stalk me here?" ben starts on a tirade but you quickly shut up him with comforting hushes and shaking of the head.

"i would never hurt you and you know that. i was made to help you. you made me to help you." you say with the warmth he would usually feel with his mouth wrapped around you and inhaling deeply into his trained lungs.

it all clicked.

genii. his wish. his stupid, fuckin' pussy-ass wish to not be alone. and there you are.

ben's disbelief morphed into a state of utter rage. he leapt forward, grabbed you harshly by the shoulders and shook you, but all you could do was laugh.

"this ain't no fucking comedy club! did butcher put you up to this?"

"ben!" you manage to yell through your laughter. "it's me. i only know you! i mean, i've heard the others' voices but you're the only one i could ever recognise." you tentatively reach out and caress his face before he flinches and grimaces.

"alright, alright. if you really fuckin' are who i think you are and not some psycho stalker, then you gotta tell me somethin'. prove it." he hisses into your face.

"i know you better than you know yourself, ben. i know and i've felt your deep sadness. i hear your mumblings, when you think no one else is listening." you tried to tread carefully, knowing his explosive temper all too well. "you always keep me right above your heart, between you and your chest armour. i hear your scattered heartbeat whenever you start to think about your dad."

"enough." his voice barely above a whisper.

"i know you lose yourself in whatever you can find. i've felt your sobs and strained breathing when you're finally alone, as you sit and stare at my confinement. wondering why you were never enough. if you'll ever be enough."

"shut the fuck up!" he shook you one final time before throwing his head back in sheer agitation. "don't... fuckin' say another word." he mumbles.

"i've always listened. and i always will. i want to help you, that's why you made me, didn't you?" your voice light like a feather, a contrast against the simmering tension in the room.

"are you tryin' to tell me.. fuck, that you're my lucky joint?" he sits back onto the balls of his feet, all the rage dispersing at the honesty in your voice.

"i think i prefer joi." you confirm with a toothy smile, leaving ben dumbfounded. how the fuck was he going to explain this mess to the boys?

a/n: meet mine and gabriela's (@h8aaz) child!!!! we are so in love with her and hope u guys are too <3 this was so much fun to write and i actually love this concept more than i could've anticipated! joi's masterlist , millie's masterlist , gabriela's masterlist -`♡´- tag list: @bluemerakis @legalmente-loca @faiszt @vmiina @emeraldcrs @briiverse @figthoughts @sl33pylilbunny @jasvtsc @silverwoodlynx @kayleighwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @yooyieu @nperoconelcositoarriba @lanasgirlfr @velvetdandeli0n @iluvdeanwinchester @cowboysandcigarettes @daylighted @valjy @dulcescorderitas @mostlymarvelgirl @syrma-sensei @rositaslabyrinth @blossomingorchids @deansbbyx @mads-ackles @lunaleah (comment or inbox me to be added)

[snailsnaps]

this came to me in a vision DJMM stretching like a cat

[uhhhj13iguess]

high stiles headcanon:

stiles x reader thoughts

just want to smoke a joint with this pretty boy

masterlist and taglist!

you would introduce weed to him one day in high school, saying you got it from danny or whoever and suggesting it as a way to calm down and take a break from everything going on around them

he would cough like a bitch at the first hit and definitely be one to pull a "I don't think I feel anything" and then sit in silence for a few minutes just to start giggling to himself

"what?" "oh, did I not say my joke out loud?" "no" "oh. i don't remember it"

it would become a secret little ritual for the two of you when you needed a break from reality, stiles looking forward to the alone time with you

stiles would be so quick to get paranoid at literally any noise or shadow he encountered

"what was that" "stiles, that was me sitting on the couch next to you" "oh"

which is funny, because he would also love to put on horror movies and curl up with you on the couch, jumping so hard at times that the popcorn would go flying

you two would get really into your adventures, wandering the woods and looking for clues to whatever was currently going on in the town

of course, that would be until he heard a branch snap (of his own doing, obviously) and called it quits

you would go on walks for hours, passing a joint between the two of you and pointing out different constellations and him telling you the different stories

firm believer he would get really into pranking scott when you were out of these walks, thinking it was the funniest thing in the world to ding dong ditch scotts house and run away cackling

"stiles, I'm going to call your dad!" "shit, go go go!"

he would get insane munchies, trashing the kitchen while making the wildest new concoctions and having you blindfold taste test them

he would also then lay on the couch and groan, complaining about how full he was

"I don't think I can ever eat again" "ditto" "... do we still have any oreos"

he would get so horny

I think the rush and feeling of getting high would get him so hard, and he'd have to will himself not to stare at you and drool

getting high would scramble his adhd riddled mind even more, causing him to jump from one thought to another at a more intense rate than normal

it would be his downfall

one night, both on his door steps and a joint in hand, he'd start rambling about something and get distracted by how you looked in the moonlight, shifting his rant to how much he liked you. he would get lost, absolutely going on about everything about you that was amazing to him

you'd stare back at him, just in awe as he spoke, and one thing would lead to another and you'd kiss him, thankful for the haze of the weed leaving you feeling bolder

after that, you guys would smoke and make out for hours, absolutely focused on how your lips felt against each other, and the buzz that radiated throughout your whole body

stiles had never been so happy to do drugs

[leighsartworks216]

You Hate Me

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Sooooo I wrote this one morning when even just laying down had my knees hurting and I was like,, well what if Tav had that too? Also inspired by the fact I get to campus an hour early and still try to rush to the (empty) classroom instead of, ya know, taking advantage of the huge time buffer I give myself

Warnings: swearing, descriptions of joint pain, insecurity, crying, possibly OOC, clown mention

Word Count: 1,545

Masterlist

AO3

Just a bit further. A little further and then you could rest. If you make it to that tree - make it to that tree and you can sit down. Just a bit left to go.

It started almost a week ago. Unable to cope with all the traveling, your right knee started bothering you. With every step you could feel your kneecap shifting back and forth with a dull click. Then, it started to hurt. Nothing serious. If you walked slow enough, you could avoid it. But now every step sent shocks of pain up your entire leg. Your left knee joined the party this morning, removing any sense of relief you had while walking. Even sitting down didn't remove the pain, but you couldn't afford a day off.

Your companions noticed the changes, despite your best effort not to show any outward discomfort. You moved slower, the occasional grimace slipped through, they weren't traveling quite as far. You consider asking Shadowheart for anything that could ease the pain, but you already knew there was little she could do to help. So you grit your teeth and kept going.

Your foot stepped on uneven ground and you nearly dropped from the agony that shot through your whole body. Karlach worried you might actually just collapse. But you kept going.

Astarion couldn't bear it. None of them could - they hated seeing their intrepid leader fight their own body just to go a few more feet - but your struggle settled like a boulder in his stomach. Every time your face scrunched up, every hiss of your sharp inhales, felt like someone had stabbed a knife in his chest and was twisting it ever deeper. He hated the feeling.

With only a few long strides, he slipped from the back of the group to the front, walking alongside you. He had to change his normal gait just so he didn't surpass you. "Darling," he hummed quietly, just loud enough to keep the conversation between you two, "you should rest."

You shook your head. You didn't even spare him a glance. Your eyes didn't shift from the tree. "We're almost there," you dismiss. It's slightly breathless. Despite needing to walk slow to avoid the pain, you were pushing to go faster.

He tsked. "And how far do we still have left to go?" He tilted his head as he looked at you, already knowing whatever distance you said would be too far.

You nodded to a tree dead ahead. "Once we reach that birch, we can rest."

"That birch?" He pointed. "The birch tree that's nearly half a mile away?"

He could feel you bristle with his incredulous tone, but you didn't say anything.

He scoffed. "My dear, I can be stubborn at the best of times, but this is ridiculous! You're barely staying upright as it is."

"I'm fine-"

"No, you're not," he sharply cuts you off. He grabs your arm and pulls you to a stop, holding you there with enough force that you wouldn't slip out and keep going. You refuse to look at him even now. "You're wincing, your hands have been clenched for the last mile, and you keep stumbling. The tree will still be there if you just sit down for a minute."

The rest of the party watches from a distance. Far enough away they can just make out what Astarion's saying, especially as his voice rises in pitch the more frustrated he gets.

Standing still hurts. It's hard to say if it hurts more or less than walking; it just hurts. Your face is pinched as sharp jolts run up through your joints, like someone is poking you with a sewing needle. Walking, you decide, must be better than this.

"It's not that far," you insist, voice low. "And when we get there, we can-"

"Gods above, you're impossible! Fine. Fine! You want to get to that tree, fine." He lets go of your arm.

Before you can even take a step, he's sweeping you into his arms, supporting you with one arm under your back and the other hooked under your knees. The pressure hurts for a moment, but it quickly fades away. The lingering aches are from pushing yourself too hard. He begins marching once more toward your end goal.

You want to shout, to demand he put you down. But when you look up at his face, his eyes are sharper than usual, lips pulled into a tight frown and crease forming between his eyebrows. He's angry.

He's angry with you.

The words die in your throat. You hate being so dependent. You were the leader - you needed to be strong and fearless and without weakness. To receive help feels like someone plunging their hand between your ribs and stealing away a chunk of your worth. But seeing Astarion upset, upset with you, that stings far worse.

You avoid looking over his shoulder. You could just imagine their faces. How Lae'zel would scowl at you for being weak. How Gale's face would turn somber when he realizes you're not as capable as he thought. You couldn't bear it. So you press your forehead to Astarion's neck and stare at your lap.

There's an unwelcome burn at the back of your eyes. Shame floods your chest and crawls up your throat until it chokes you. Water pools along your lower lids and blurs your vision. You can't walk and now you're going to cry. Just how fucking pathetic can you be?

Astarion's head shifts and you can tell he's trying to look down at you. He's trying to see your face. Because he can feel you shaking in his arms. He can hear your lungs quivering as your breaths become uneven and choppy. You press your closed eyes against his throat and he can feel the hot tears against his skin.

His frown softens, though you can't see it. He slows down to a stop and tells the others to go on ahead, to the birch tree just there, and start working on setting up camp, but all you can hear is your heart pounding in your ears. Their faces become fraught with worry; Karlach is the last to go. She still looks back once or twice. Astarion finds a suitable rock and he sits.

"Shh, sweet thing," he cooes, voice no louder than a whisper. His arm around your back pulls you into his shoulder, hand tangling in your hair as he cradles you. His other hand rubs soothing circles along your thigh. You gasp around a sob, body curling further into itself, into him, as you release your emotions. "It's alright."

You strangle out an apology. It's wet and croaky and painful.

"Whatever for?" he asks.

"You're mad at me," you whimper.

He huffs. The frustration from before rises in him again just thinking about it. "Yes, I am."

He feels your breath catch in your throat, and the heaving breath you take after. "You hate me."

Astarion laughs, short and sharp. "Why would I hate you, dear? Because you're too stubborn for your own good?" You don't have a response for him. He kisses your head, wherever he can reach. "I'm mad because you put yourself out trying to solve all of our issues, but the moment you have one of your own, you refuse any help. You're going to tear yourself apart."

He sighs and rests his cheek atop your head. His fingers rub the nape of your neck, gently tugging at the hair there. You carry so much tension, it's a wonder your muscles haven't locked up from the stress.

Time passes slowly in his arms. It seems to take forever before you start to calm down, and even longer before your eyes have dried. He does nothing to speed the process aside from gently hush you when you try to choke out apologies.

You sniffle quietly. Your eyes are raw, and you're all too aware of the stain of water you've left on the vampire's neck. When you speak, it's a painful creak in your vocal chords. "You don't hate me?"

He presses another kiss to your head. "No, love, I don't hate you. Not unless you've done something truly horrific, like invite a clown to show up at camp in the middle of the night." You chuckle weakly. It's such sweet music. "Gods forbid you start donating to charity." You laugh this time, and Astarion's chuckle vibrates against your ear.

His fingers detangle themselves from your hair with one last gentle tug, and his arm wraps around your back once more. As though you weigh no more than one of his pillows, he stands once more with you in his safe grasp, and begins heading for camp. He can see Karlach up ahead light up when she sees you're finally on your way.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I just feel so... useless, like this."

"Please, stop apologizing," he begs, dramatically. "Just say 'thank you' and we can move on."

You peel your face from his skin, dried tears sticking you together. You wince at how disgusting this must be for him. You lean up and kiss his cheek. He smiles at the affection. "Thank you."

Softer, he says, "Of course, my love."

[ellstronaut]

not to be that person but fuck

n don’t get me wrong I love smut as much as the next person but I cannot stand meaningless smut. With no substance just mindless sex with no passion or any ounce of affection attached to it. No buildup, no pining, no tension so thick it’s palpable no “fuck why are these jeans glued on” no “clumsiness or characters being awkward because sex is awkward sometimes and intimidating” no characterisation, character development or poking fun in a lighthearted way because

“dino boxers really?”

the way they’d be so unapologetic about it too maybe not even vocal but the look that fucking look that screams “yeah? n what you’re gonna do about it?” or maybe they’re flustered but that’s hot either way because it’s them, it’s their quirk

It’s the little details

The vulnerability? The insecurities—trying something new but being afraid to cross or plunge into unknown territories

but it’s their touch—guidance—that unspoken “you’re safe with me”

Subtle hotness/intimacy man

But yeah sex sells. Let’s be real. It’s a cheap way to get views especially when not mindful of how characters would react in such situations

[papathe5th]

“Would you like some?”

Papa V Perpetua startled you when he spoke around the cigarette he rolled before your very hungry, very thirsty eyes. The black lips he locked around it had stamped the white paper and revealed themselves a pink underneath. And, in the shade of the lilac bush, his left eye burned brighter than the end of the cigarette.  

“Sorella?” 

He brought you back to earth, back in the Ministry gardens where you stumbled upon him in his clerical robes buttoned up and his leather gloves off. He had invited you to sit with him and you watched his long pale fingers work.

“Y-yes,” you cleared your voice, your throat already parched. “Please.”

Papa inhaled, pitched the cigarette with two fingers and pulled it out of his mouth. But he didn’t exhale, extending his free fingers to catch you by your chin and dragged down your bottom lip. He didn’t need to tell you to open your mouth, it fell open as his own descended onto you.  

And you inhaled his second hand smoke when he blew it between your parted lips. “Thank you, Papa.”