#to avoid having a color of the sky post

[day-azevir]

The sandwich is a very important plot point

[dannyriccsystem]

ok on the topic of lando and tate songs… 2 hands x lando 🫣 i would totally love to see you write it AAAHHHHH

NEED A LITTLE LESS TALK, AND A LOT MORE TOUCH!

FORMULA ONE DRIVER X READER

SUMMARY: Lando fic inspired by Tate McRae’s 2 Hands!

WARNINGS: Suggestive, touch starved reader, slightly angsty w happy ending, Y/N usage, not proofread

FEATURING: Lando Norris x Ex!Reader

NOTE: I’ve never actually listened to Tate before the other request I got 😭 Her music is actually really good! But anyway this is request #32!

lando

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lando Work lately 🤩

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username1 - LAANNDOO 😍😍

username2 - God he’s so fine and he knows it 😩

username3 - Hello handsome

username4 - On everyone’s soul, Norris is winning the 2025 WDC

username5 - WHEWWWW

mclaren - Sleeping on the job?! Fired!

♥︎ by author

lando - Oh no!!!

username6 - please 😂 get this crybaby off your team

> username7 - Shut the fuck up you miserable idiot

> username8 - clocked

username9 - Out here posting thirst traps while everyone else is working hard 😬

username10 - “thirst traps” and they���re regular pictures 💔 jobs bro, jobs.

> username11 - Afraid to admit Lando is objectively attractive

username12 - Y/N doesn’t know what she’s lost 💔

username13 - She knows babes. She just doesn’t care

You hated parties, which is why you didn’t know exactly why you were here now. The house had been packed with dancing, sweaty bodies that cheered and shouted out lyrics to raunchy songs, and spilt their drinks stored in red solo cups all over the hard wood flooring. The lights were so bright, the voices were so loud, and the music was shaking you.

You could still hear it seeping out as you stood on the back deck, leaning against the railing. Fairy lights twinkled against the black blanket of the night sky, scattered with diamond-like stars, shimmering so softly. Laughter and rap songs echoed within the thin walls of whoever’s house it was— You couldn’t even remember— making it hard to focus.

For a moment, it got louder as you heard the sliding glass door swiftly open, and then a soft suction sound as it was shut once more. You froze up, blinking in surprise. You weren’t expecting company. Not when there was fun to be had elsewhere.

“You still do this,” That voice sent a shiver down your spine. You unconsciously squeezed your drink that had remained untouched throughout the night. The ice had fully melted by now, turning the red liquid into a soft pink color.

Lando settled in beside you, leaving a comfortable distance that you yearned to shut. He looked so good— So comfortable, like he was free from the shackles of your relationship. You looked away, out towards the view of the moon reflected on shifting waters backdropped with rolling hills. “Do what?” You could barely hear yourself.

“You leave parties to sulk outside by yourself, like the world’s too loud for you.” He looked directly at you, paralleling the way you avoided his entrancing eyes. A soft laugh left your lips as you looked down, your lips twitching into a half assed smile.

“Sometimes it is,” You replied, fidgeting with the ring on your right hand. “You’re still paying attention to me,” You pointed out as a rebuttal.

“It’s hard not to.” You didn’t know what to say to that, because his words felt uncomfortably intimate, just like they did when you were dating. It should have been fine, but he could never match such sweet words with his actions.

A silence washed over you two. He stared at you for what felt like hours before eventually looking away, and what used to be comfortable started to feel… Awkward. It was jagged, a silence coated in spikes that grew with every second.

“I didn’t think you’d show up.” He finally filled the quiet air, helping to drown out all the background noise. You were surprised nobody came to look for him yet; Lando was always the life of the party. You were told you usually killed it off.

“I wasn’t planning on it, originally.” You looked over to him, your eyes locked onto his. When he matched your gaze, he seemed to let his eyes wander, giving you a once over that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You found yourself swooning internally, and that made you feel ill simultaneously.

“You look nice.” You hummed as a reply. It seemed like silence was on the brink of taking over once more, but Lando was insistent on taking the wheel. “You always show up when I’m just starting to forget about you, and then I have to start over.”

“Well, sorry.” You said rather dramatically. You stood up, pushing yourself off the railing with a sigh. His gaze followed you, his body still hunched over to rest against it. “I should go.”

“Why?” He wasted no time in replying, brows just slightly furrowed. If you looked for too long, you could see his bottom lip jutted out in the softest of pouts— So you looked away.

“Because you’re hard to resist, but I know you can’t give me the love I want.” When you turned around, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back, his fingers drifting away when your attention was redirected. You turned your head fast, shooting him a glare.

He met you with a determined expression, hands retracting back into his jacket’s pockets. “And what would that be?”

It was frustrating how he suddenly pretended to care, especially now that it didn’t matter. You reeled your hands back away from him, shaking it off as if you were shaking his touch away. You crossed your arms over your chest. “I told you I needed more. I told you I needed to feel wanted-”

“I did want you.” He cut you off with a firm expression, his lips drawn into a tight line. “I do want you.” Fuck, that stung a lot.

“Then why did it feel like I had to earn your touch?” His fists clenched in his pockets. You were so close, about a foot away, but you felt galaxies apart from him. It was like trying to push two positive ends of a magnet together— You kept slowly drifting away from him.

He watched the goosebumps appear along your arms, your hairs standing on end. Without a second thought, he began to shed his jacket. You recognized it, of course. It was the one you always stole. “I’m not wired the same as you, Y/N. I didn’t know that was something you needed.”

Your expression softened as he slowly reached around you, carefully draping his jacket over your shoulders. His hands lingered for a moment, enjoying the warmth of your skin against his. Your eyes drifted down, heart pounding in your chest. You hated this. You hated how bad you loved him.

“I did want to touch you.” He breathed out, his eyes drifting down to take you in like you were the most beautiful piece of art. “I just didn’t know you needed it to believe I loved you.” He appreciated the sight of you in his clothes. It was a familiar feeling.

Your throat burned, and your eyes filled with tears. Your shaky voice replied with a question, “And now?” He looked back up— He really looked at you, his expression matching the look of a man in love.

“I’d touch you every minute of our lives if it meant you’d give me a second chance.” He spoke sincerely, taking a small step forward.

You nearly melted, leaning forward to press your forehead against his. It was a moment of vulnerability, finally letting yourself give in. You should be allowed to be happy, and you should be allowed to have what you want.

You wanted him.

“You’re late,” You whispered as you shut your eyes, enjoying the warmth that radiated from him.

“Yeah,” He murmured. “But I’m here.” Finally, he cupped your face with two hands.

your.username

🎵 Tate McRae • 2 Hands

liked by lando and others

your.username Respectfully I have something crazy to say

tagged lando

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username14 - Oh she knew what she was doing

username15 - New LandHand pics unlocked

username16 - Speak your truth Y/N

♥︎ by author

mclaren - let’s not

♥︎ by author

> your.username - What happened to Free Speech

username17 - WOAHHH THE DADDY BRACELET?

username18 - Mmmmmm 🤤

The soft pitter patter of rain against your apartment roof began around halfway through the movie. Lando had insisted the two of you watch it, but you couldn’t tell what was going on. If someone asked you any questions about the plot, you’d have no clue how to respond.

Your head was resting on Lando’s lap, his shorts riding up just slightly to let you press your cheek against his thigh, the skin warm. His fingers were tangled in your hair, gently brushing through the strands in a way that nearly lulled you to sleep.

You rolled onto your back, looking up at him, only to find your boyfriend staring down at you already. That would explain why your skin felt so tingly— Someone had been peeping at you. With a teasing smile, you mused, “You’re not even watching.”

“Neither are you,” He pointed out.

“I’m not the one who was begging to watch this movie.” You closed your eyes, enjoying his fingers massaging your scalp. “Besides, I was trying to watch, but it’s hard with someone playing with my hair. You tryna hypnotize me or something?”

“Maybe I am,” He grinned. “Is it working?”

You opened your eyes, playfully rolling them before giving him a stern look. “Depends. What are you trying to make me do?”

“Stay right where you are,” He murmured, eyes looking down at you as if you hung the stars and the moon. You felt your heart flutter as he leaned down to gently kiss your jawline, leaving a trail of kisses there.

“Hmm,” You hummed, reaching up to cup his cheek with one hand, your thumb brushing over his jawline. “You’re getting better at this.”

He nosed at her hand, nudging her palm with a soft kiss that left her giggling. “I’ve had the best teacher,” He grabbed her palm gently, turning it over to kiss along her knuckles. “Could use some work with not snogging her students, though.”

You scoffed, “You’re lucky you’re cute, Norris.”

He feigned faux offense, pulling back to give you an awed expression. “Cute? Too bad. I was looking for devastatingly handsome. Or devilishly sexy.”

You pulled yourself up, situated in a spot on his lap with your thighs straddling his. It wasn’t inherently sexual, and neither of you made it out to be. “You are handsome, but when you look at me like that…” You brushed a curl away from his face, and his gaze softened so sweetly. “It’s cute.”

He leaned in, eyes slowly drifting shut as your lips met for a kiss. Slow, teasing, and yet so beautiful. You smirked against his lips, sinking against him while his hands found your thighs, his grip digging into you.

“You’re getting good at this,” You murmured between soft kisses. When you pulled away, he chased you for another before his eyes opened, staring at you in a way nobody ever had before.

He suddenly grinned. “I’ve had practice in my own imagination.”

You lightly smacked his chest. “Idiot.”

[geopsych]

Treasure hunt, finding things around you

Here's an assignment, only for anyone who feels like doing it. In the month ahead, by the start of February, find as many of these things as you can or choose to. Photos or not photos as you prefer. These aren't to be submitted to me but are just a kind of treasure hunt for you to write down or keep in a notes app. 1. Moss, as many kinds as you can find. 2. Lichen, 3 colors. This is fun because it can be on buildings and things like curbs, grave stones or monuments. 3. 3 or more kinds of birds, extra points for different types like songbirds vs. ducks and geese vs herons or other stalking birds. Yes, pigeons count. 4. 3 kinds of trees you can tell apart, evergreens or ones that are leafless now.

5. One beautiful sunrise or sunset. 6. If you're in a place that gets cold, 2 kinds of ice, like icicles and puddle ice would be 2 kinds for example. If you're not in a cold place then interesting water things like a puddle with oil colors in it or drops of dew on grass or a flower. 7. 3 kinds of weather. This one's easy. Maybe pictures of a sunny or partly cloudy sky and a dark cloudy sky and maybe a picture of trees or flags being blown by wind.

8. Any animals. They're things like Pokemon but in the real world. lol Yes squirrels count. Rats do too. 9. Stand in 3 kinds of places, for example by a stream or river, high on a hill—that can be in a city or in the country. Pittsburgh for example has some great hills. San Francisco too. If you're at Oberlin maybe you can find a pile of dirt haha—and third, maybe a public space like a plaza or a town circle or if you're in the country then just an especially nice spot along a road or trail. 10. Finally, look for any especially nice or beautiful scene around you, whether it's frost on a plant in the sunlight, a beautiful window you pass in the evening (taking pictures of people without permission especially through a window is rude so try to avoid that), ice on a car window or any scene or tiny thing that just catches your eye in a pleasing way. A beautiful tree, a beautiful sky, a cute cat, whatever.

And of course if you find cool or interesting stuff not mentioned here, that's extra credit. :-) If you see something really good you can tell me about it and if you feel like letting me know how it went at the end I would be interested to hear from you. I know some of you already look for this stuff. Take this as a little extra encouragement. Maybe when you post things from this list, use the tag #noticing stuff. Or does someone have a better tag for it?

[yukkiji]

how they remember the little things about you

headcanon ft. isagi, bachira, reo, nagi, chigiri, sae, and rin

author's note: a part 2 will also be posted and possibly a part 3 with the other characters

ISAGI YOICHI

he remembers the things that makes you, you.

he’s the type to remember what snacks you avoid and quietly brings your favorites instead. if you once mentioned in passing that you like watching sunsets, he’ll point them out when you're walking together.

“didn’t you say you liked that mint-choco drink from that one café? i passed by today, so i got it for you.”

keeps mental notes of things you like or dislike—even your preferred pen grip. thoughtful in that lowkey boyfriend way, where he makes you feel seen without being showy.

he notices when your mood shifts—how you go quiet when something's bothering you or how you pick at your nails when you're anxious. without calling you out, he’ll just gently nudge your hand away or lace his fingers through yours to ground you. you never have to explain twice with isagi; he listens once, and it stays with him.

if you’ve had a long day, he’ll already have your favorite playlist queued up in the car and your go-to comfort meal ready at home. he isn’t extravagant about it; he just wants to take care of you in the way you need—not the way he thinks you need. that’s how tuned in he is.

sometimes you catch him looking at you with this soft, awestruck expression—like he’s memorizing everything about you for later. and honestly, he is. the way you furrow your brow when you’re focused, the exact tone of your sleepy voice, how you always sigh before laughing—he stores them all like precious, quiet secrets.

BACHIRA MEGURU

he remembers through feelings, expressions, and colors.

will randomly go, “this song? it’s so you,” and you’re like ??? but it fits perfectly. he remembers the way your eyes light up at weird art or your odd habit of mixing fries with ice cream.

draws doodles that represent things you’ve said or done. he has a sketch of you sleeping with your hand curled like a shrimp.

“you always laugh like that when you’re nervous—kinda like a hiccupy giggle. it's cute, y’know?”

he remembers the way you describe things, like how you once called the sky “blueberry milk-colored” during sunset. now whenever the sky looks even slightly like that, he’ll text you a picture with a 💙 emoji and a smiley face. your words stick to him like glitter—he collects them without even trying.

sometimes he’ll do the most random things and say, “this reminded me of you,” like handing you a rock shaped like a heart or a flower crown he made while waiting for practice. you don’t get it at first, but then you remember that you once told him you loved finding little treasures in boring places—and suddenly, it makes sense.

even in his chaotic, unpredictable energy, there’s this strange attentiveness. he knows when you're overwhelmed, when your smiles feel too tight, and when you're quietly sad. he’ll pull you away from a crowd, sit you down, and doodle something silly just to hear you laugh. it's never grand gestures with bachira—it’s the tender, strange, vibrant kind of remembering that colors your whole world.

MIKAGE REO

he remembers everything. it’s his love language.

your ring size, your shoe size, that one offhand comment about wanting to visit kyoto in the fall? he’s booked it already. he listens to you very seriously—even when you don’t think he is.

remembers the exact date of your first ramen date down to what toppings you picked. keeps track of anniversaries you didn’t even know were anniversaries.

“you said you liked lavender-scented laundry, so i switched all the detergent at my place. hope that’s not weird?”

he keeps a running list in his head of your favorite things—like which side of the bed you prefer, how you like your eggs cooked, and that one specific café order you only get when you’re sad. it’s not about being perfect—it’s about making sure you feel prioritized, cherished. he never wants you to think you're asking for too much.

reo is the kind of boyfriend who will remember the name of your childhood pet, the story behind your favorite necklace, and that one movie scene that always makes you cry. he’ll randomly quote it back to you during a quiet night, just to see you smile.

and if you ever think you're hard to love or too much to deal with, he’s already ten steps ahead—remembering every version of you and loving each one fully. “i pay attention because you matter to me,” he says, like it's the easiest thing in the world. and to him, it is.

NAGI SEISHIRO

he remembers weirdly specific details without even trying.

like, the name of your favorite background npc from that one game you love. or how you like your pillow slightly cold.

“didn’t you say you hate soggy cereal? i let yours sit for exactly 14 seconds.”

he acts lazy, but his attention to you is razor-sharp. he won’t say much about it—but he’ll do something about it when it counts.

he remembers the way your voice drops when you're tired, or how you always twist your hair when you're thinking hard. and when you’re upset? he doesn’t ask questions—he just pulls you into his arms and plays your comfort show in the background like it's second nature.

sometimes he’ll pause a game just to ask, “didn’t you say this character reminds you of your brother?” and you’ll blink, surprised he even caught that from a months-old convo. but that’s nagi—quietly filing your words away and pulling them out when you least expect it.

he doesn’t do big romantic gestures. instead, he does stuff like fixing your blanket in the middle of the night or handing you the exact snack you were craving without a word. “i don’t forget stuff about you,” he shrugs, like it’s no big deal. but you know better—it is.

ITOSHI RIN

he remembers quietly, and it lingers.

he won’t say it out loud, but he remembers how you take your coffee, what books make you cry, and how you fidget when you're lying.

will text you “good luck” exactly when you need it, even if you never told him you had something going on that day. he just knows.

“your playlist had that one song with the violins… i downloaded it. it reminded me of you.”

he pretends not to notice the little things, but he does—like how your lips twitch when you're about to laugh or the exact expression you make when you're holding back tears. he stores those moments like secrets, holding them close like they’re too precious to speak aloud.

you once mentioned your favorite season is early autumn because it feels like a soft goodbye. now, every time the air turns crisp, rin gets quieter, more tender, like he’s trying to wrap that feeling around you. he won’t say “i remember”—he’ll just walk beside you and let the silence speak for him.

he's not the type to gush or make a show of affection, but when he holds you, it's careful. deliberate. like he's memorizing how you fit against him. “i don’t need to say it all the time,” he murmurs once, voice low, “you know i do, right?” and somehow, you do.

CHIGIRI HYOMA

he remembers the things you don’t want to admit.

like how you pretend to be fine but blink faster when you’re about to cry. or that you act brave when you're scared of thunder.

keeps spare hair ties because yours always break. notices how you hum when you're happy, and makes it a point to hear it often.

“you always stretch your arms like that when you’re tired. want me to massage your shoulders?”

he’s observant in a gentle way, never pushing, never prying—just quietly collecting pieces of you like petals. he remembers how you always look away when you're overwhelmed and how you cling a little tighter when you’re scared, even if you don’t say it out loud.

you once told him you hated being seen as weak, so he never calls you out when you're struggling—but he’ll show up at your door with your favorite tea, or wrap a blanket around you without saying a word. his way of caring is soft and unobtrusive, but deeply rooted.

and when you're feeling like too much or not enough, chigiri’s the one who reminds you—through every small, thoughtful act—that you're more than enough just by being you. “you don’t have to say anything,” he’ll whisper, brushing your hair back gently. “i see you.” and he always does.

ITOSHI SAE

he remembers selectively—but the things he does remember? burned in.

you think he doesn’t listen, but he does. the memory just resurfaces in actions instead of words.

like ordering your comfort food after a rough day or buying you that keychain you liked months ago in a vending machine.

“you wore that perfume the first time we met. thought i forgot, huh?”

he’s not the type to react when you talk about random things—he’ll just nod or grunt, eyes still glued to his phone. but later, somehow, he’s referencing that one thing you mentioned once at 2 a.m., like it permanently etched itself into his brain. and it did.

sae remembers the things that mean something to you, even if he doesn’t understand them. if a song made you cry once, he adds it to his playlist. if you get quiet on rainy days, he’ll make sure you have a warm hoodie and nowhere to be. he won’t ask why—but he’ll always make space for you to feel.

and when he does speak, it’s always low and intentional. “i remember because you matter,” he says, tone flat but eyes soft. it’s not about grand gestures or sweet words with sae—it’s the way he holds onto your pieces like they’re made of glass. careful. permanent. yours.

[bittertasteofhoney]

Good Day Sunshine | Ch. 8

Hello, Sunshine?

Summary: You try and fail to turn off the town’s commentary but Joel catches on as he grows worried about your distant state.

|| smut,  jackson!joel,  jackson!joel x f!reader, unprotected sex (please do not do this), p in v, oral sex (female receives), public sex (sort of), creampie, couch sex, riding, makeout session, age gap (but legal!), reader is afab ||

Notes: And the plot continues, with a touch of smut, of course. Joel finally gives us a little concert moment because I could not avoid writing this after Sunday’s episode.

18+. Read at your own risk. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Minors DO NOT ENGAGE.

The characters, names and characterizations belong to HBO Max and The Last of Us franchise. This work is my creative property and aside from re-blogs and shares, I do not give permission to share or copy my work without permission or consent.

Previous Chapter.

After your shift, you usually took the right to go down the path leading to your faded yellow door and Joel’s arms. Instead, you went left and went down the dirt path that led to one of the outer borders of Jackson until the physical wooden barrier stopped you. 

This one featured long gaps between posts fortified by metal chain links, offering a glimpse into the wild Wyoming landscape. You gingerly gripped one of the posts and leaned your forehead against it, staring blankly at the harsh wilderness. 

Was it true what they were saying? Was Joel just playing parlor tricks on your mind?

You wanted to brush off the thoughts, but the reality of how you and Joel grew close kept plaguing your mind. You weren’t sure if he truly disliked you when you first met him, but months later, you definitively knew that a lot of that dislike was misdirected and originated as attraction. But did that encompass the brunt of it?

An hour passed before a group of patrols cut you away from your thoughts. You squinted at the sky to see that it was a dusty rose color and closer to dusk than day. You took a deep breath before spinning on your heel and down the path towards home.

When you stepped onto your beaten stone path, Joel was already sitting on your stoop with his head resting on his chin. When he heard your footfalls, his head perked up and he caught your eye with a confused look.

He called out your name and stood slowly. You tried to offer him a small smile, but it ultimately fell flat, and the space between his eyebrows shrank even more. 

“Everythin’ okay?” You stood there debating whether to let on about the truth of your day and ultimately decided a head shake would suffice. He closed the distance between the two of you instantly and cradled your head against his shoulder as he held you.

“Whatever it is, just talk to me and we can sort it out.” You pushed against his embrace slightly to look into his eyes. All you saw was raw concern. Maybe they were wrong. 

You swallowed and smiled, something that looked more akin to a wince and took his hand. “C’mon, I’m hungry. It’s been a long day.” 

He nodded, clearly wanting to say more, but followed you inside to the comforting promise of a tasty meal and heaven between your legs. 

You were quiet through dinner, pushing your vegetable soup around your bowl rather than eating it, and Joel took slow bites, trying to determine what was on your mind. As far as he knew, your day was a normal one—filled with picking and deliveries, but that was an everyday schedule for you. He had no idea your world was a little off its axis.

It was killing him not knowing what diluted the smile on your face. Did Tommy say something stupid? He knew he shouldn’t have rhapsodized about ya’ll’s relationship, but when he couldn’t keep the grin from his face, his younger brother demanded to know why he was suddenly at ease in Jackson—and smiling, of all things.

Turns out, all Joel needed was a little Sunshine. 

After another ten minutes of distracted silence from your end, Joel stood and held out a hand for you. Confused, you placed your palm delicately within his and stood slowly. He walked you to the back porch and sat you down, motioning with one finger that he would be right back.

A few minutes later, he returned with a piping cup of tea and honey, a cup of coffee for himself, and, after a second trip inside, his guitar. You sat up straighter as he handed you the tea and looked at the guitar questioningly, “Where did that come from?”

“Had it leanin’ on the porch when you got here. Figured I’d finally play you something. If that’s okay.”

Your face softened. “Of course it is.” You curled up in your chair with your tea as he propped the guitar on his knee. 

He gave you a long look before his fingers started moving across the strings. You leaned a head on your hand, closing your eyes as he began to sing.

Well, mostly talked than sang, but his timbre and tone were enough to lull you into the song. It was earnest more than musical and soothed a part of your soul. Perhaps the specific part that was doubting the two of you in whatever this relationship was blossoming into. His stripped-down version of the tune was so different from the original that it took you an entire verse and chorus to pick out that it was Hello Sunshine by Aretha Franklin.

When the realization hit you, you opened your eyes and beamed at him, only to find him softly smiling at you through the words. You closed your eyes again and sank into the memory of your mom pulling out her old suitcase record player from the eighties and playing this exact LP. This was long before anyone ever called you Sunshine, but the memory was tinged in a golden light. The two of you spinning around, and your father singing along off-key.

When he finished, you cracked open your eyes again and stared at him through a loaded silence. You decided to keep the memory to yourself and let it continue to soothe you as his fingers began to twist across the strings once again, playing scales and ditties. 

You took a long sip of tea before setting your sights on him again. “Play me another?” He just smirked to himself and nodded as he leaned into another tune. This time it was Time in a Bottle by Jim Croce. His voice wouldn’t have won any awards, but it was one of the most beautiful things you’d ever heard. 

After that song ended, he paused and looked at you again. You smiled. “Now, I want you to keep playing for a bit. We’ll finish our tea and coffee, and then we’ll go inside because after hearing you play, I have no intention of sleeping tonight Joel Miller.”

You made the man blush. 

You spent the next hour listening to him as you sipped your tea and he his coffee, which was brewed from a bag you now kept tucked in your kitchen cabinet just for his visits. The outrageous trade requirement was worth it to see him comfortable. As he twiddled his fingers through what sounded like the beginning of While My Guitar Gently Weeps by George Harrison, he placed his guitar on the ground mid-song and walked over to you, crouching down. 

“Everything okay?” He locked eyes with you and nodded, before placing your tea on the deck next to you, leaning in and kissing you breathless. You gasped but cradled his face as your tongues tangled together.

As if it were a simple, everyday gesture, he slid his hands up your legs under the maxi skirt you wore to work, not stopping until his fingers were beneath the flimsy material of your panties, prying your legs apart. 

“Joel! Anyone could see-” He shushed you, smirking like a bastard.

“Not if you keep quiet for me, darlin’.” You blushed and watched as he slid your panties down and lifted the skirt over his head. You barely had time to attempt another chastization before his tongue licked a long, hot stripe across your center.

You almost screamed out, but clamped a hand over your mouth. The man was insatiable.

He alternated between circling your clit with his tongue and moving down to tongue fuck you, letting his prominent nose step in to drive you crazy, nudging your clit as he moved. He growled as you shook beneath him, and the vibrations almost gave you away because you could barely hold it together.

You kept peeking over your fence line to see if anyone was walking by, but luckily, the dusky hour had most people inside enjoying a good meal rather than taking a nightly walk to check to see if two grown adults could barely keep their hands off each other.

You removed your hand from over your mouth, shuddering as you pleaded with him, “Joel, please.” You could almost feel him grin between your legs as he nipped your clit with his teeth and soothed the jerking sensation with his tongue. He again move down to insert his tongue in you but picked up the pace, truly fucking you senseless with just his mouth. 

His hands were now gripping your thighs tightly, unaware of just how wound up he was as you approached your orgasm. It was crazy. Anyone could walk by, and you couldn’t decide if that drove you crazy because it was reckless or made you burn like a furnace, seeing how seemingly mad he was about you.

After you cried out and came on his tongue, he wasted no time helping you up on shaky legs and bridal carrying you into the house. He brought you to the couch and stripped as he nonchalantly stated, “Now, you’re going to ride me darlin’ until neither of us can take anymore.”

How could you refuse a direction like that?

When six in the morning rolled around, you peeled yourself off his sleeping form on the couch and padded to the kitchen to make a cup of tea that you would hopefully finish this time. You placed the water on the stove, grabbed the bag of tea, and absentmindedly stared out the window as you waited for it to boil.

You hadn’t realized Joel woke up until he was standing next to you, shooting you a worried look. “You okay?” 

You jumped and threw a hand over your chest. “Oh my god, you scared me! Yes, yes I’m fine.” He didn’t look too convinced.

He gently pushed you to the side and took over making your tea as you sat down at the kitchen table. You were quiet again, and it didn’t sit right with him.

He said your name softly, causing you to look at him in question. “Please just tell me what’s on your mind. I can tell somethin’s eatin’ you up.” You immediately tried to shake your head, but he raised his hand. “Don’t bullshit me.”

You sighed heavily and simply shook your head. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He waited for you to continue, so you crossed your legs anxiously as he stared at you with those penetrating brown eyes. “It’s nothing really. I’m just having an off-week. Don’t worry about me.” 

You still hadn’t convinced him. He was worried, but if you weren’t going to tell him, he would ask around. 

He held onto his suspicions as the week went on, growing more and more concerned. The only time your mind seemed to be in the room with him was when he was kissing or fucking you. He even snuck into the gardens between patrols to pull you behind the greenhouse for an impromptu makeout session while you rode his leg to see a spark in your eyes, but he knew it couldn’t continue like this. 

By the end of the week, he cornered Tommy after a supply run in the stables. At first, he didn’t know how to approach the subject, but after Tommy eyed him a few times during the awkward silence, he just spit it out. 

“You heard any talk around town? About me and-” Tommy cut him with a dark look, stopping his sentence short. His eyebrows shot up, and he took a step forward. “What is it? She hasn’t been herself for days, and I’m runnin’ in circles trying to figure it out.” 

Tommy let out a loaded sigh and threw his hands up. “No easy way to say this but, people are sayin’ she’s lookin’ like a fool for being with you. Sayin’ you were nothing but ugly to her and she’s takin’ it lying down because you’re sleeping together.”

Joel saw red, and Tommy put his hands out in defense, worried his brother would start swinging. “That ain’t comin’ from me! And trust me, I shut that shit down when I heard it, but it isn’t keepin’ people from whispering.”

Joel could barely speak; he was so angry. “I’m guessin’ she heard it? That’s why she’s been in her head so much?” 

Tommy nodded, and Joel leaned against one of the paddocks to take a deep breath. 

He wanted to punch any person who made your smile disappear, but really, the one he had to blame was himself. He was the reason at the core of it. 

And fuck, if that didn’t kill him.

Next Chapter.

Tag List :) @silksepia @hello-nah817 @longlivetheloneliness @keseqna @millers-girl @treacherqus @lemonboi @spnfic85 @secretlettersfromyourlove @nosebeers

[novy2sirius]

SPIRITUAL NOTES BY NOV ༉‧₊˚.༄

As I’ve talked about before, colors have vibrational energy. Certain colors are better for certain energies. For example, 1 life paths should avoid wearing red. 1’s are the biggest targets for corruption and lust so wearing red will only enhance that even more. Too much lust can be damaging to your root chakra

Wearing orange projects confidence (can make you come off more confident which is attractive to most people). Orange can also be a good color for home decor (orange lighting, lamps, etc)

Purple is a good color for protection (especially spiritual protection). You could simply visualize a purple aura/energy around you for protection if you feel you need it. Visualizing this color can also help you solve problems if you’re currently facing any

Eating pomegranates cleans your pineal gland and can help purify it. Thus, helping you become more spiritually connected and giving you more vivid dreams. Sleeping in complete darkness and Vitamin D are also a good way to wake up your pineal gland

5-9 minutes before your enemy hour in vietnamese astrology you have extreme luck. If you don’t know what your enemy hours in viet astro are then you can look at my post about them here

In my personal opinion focusing on numerology is way more powerful than moon phases will ever be. Both are important and powerful tools though

Blue is the matrix’s favorite color and intertwined with the matrix. Blue often puts people at ease and comfort which is why it’s often everyone’s favorite color. If you’re about to go into an intense environment where you’re not sure if others are that trusting of you, wear blue. “Feeling blue” actually isn’t a negative thing. It represents your return to nature spiritually (especially the ocean, rivers, lakes, etc). Staring up at a clear blue sky can make you feel better

In numerology things are pillar to pillar when it comes to compatibility. To check if you’re compatible with someone you go life path number to life path number, day number to day number, month number to month number, year number to year number, attitude number to attitude number, etc. In other words life path is not the only thing that can show enemy energy or friend energy, but is most important when it comes to compatibility

11 has a lot of good attributes, but a negative trait of the numerical energy is terror. Scary things can happen under 11 energy. I don’t recommend going on roller coasters, flying, going on a cruise, etc under this energy

Red is not the color of love like people make it seem. It’s actually the color of lust. Hence the root chakra being red and the heart chakra being green. The people higher up just want us at a lower vibration, so they can have power over us and when someone is overly lustful they will be

Wearing red a lot has its ups and downs. It can make you come off sexually attractive to people and make them lust over you and it can make people addicted to you, but wearing it too often can actually attract conflict or aggressive energy to your life. We often see red used negatively in society like in hospital logos, police sirens, etc but often when you see red a lot it’s more so a sign from the matrix to pause and analyze the situation around you carefully. Note: Even when people are attracted to you when you wear red it isn’t a long lasting effect (just like lust in general is temporary, the opposite of love)

Master numbers are usually smart and very spiritually connected, but the one’s that aren’t can be dangerous to be around. They may drain your energy

Our energy can be drained in this matrix. We are like the batteries for the simulation. You have to be careful who you surround yourself with because of this

DO NOT READ IF YOU’RE UNDER 18 - A lot of the traps to take our energy in the matrix are sex related since sex is a gateway to earth (through women). You must be careful. P*rn is one of them. When men finish through masturbation to p*rn their energy can be taken by negative entities. When women finish to p*rn they can absorb the negative energy of negative entities during that time. Women absorb energy and men push out sexual energy. These negative energy vampires only come around during this time (they’re obviously not visible to the human eye). P*rn is really bad for you spiritually because of this. Masturbation is not though and is healthy for you spiritually if it is something you do about 5 times a month. Doing it too much can be bad though. Semen retention doesn’t actually do anything spirituality that’s the placebo affect doing its work. Shows how powerful our minds and thoughts are. Anyway, if you’re not someone who’s spiritual there’s also many studies done that talk about p*rn being horrible for your mind

Green is the most important color to earth. Snakes have green eyes which is why they can see a lot of things others can’t (people with the viet sign). This applies to people with green eyes in general as well

[chaosherald]

A Word with Friends

Avarice (Excessive or inordinate desire of gain; greed for wealth)

Hosted by @hedwigoprah

Thank you @woundedsoul12 for the tag! Friendly no pressure tags for @seaglassmelody @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @davrinsleftpectoral @jukkaricity @dags-over-caravans @kabsey @serstolas (and anyone else <3)

This was inspired by a post from @madamemortem, reblogged by and commented on by @void-bitten-ghost about the gooseberry pie conversation with Lucanis when he is romancing Neve and what the flip side of that might have looked like if he is romancing Rook. Thank you for the inspiration!

(In this house, we went the Rookanis route but we love and respect Neve Gallus and what she means to both Lucanis and Rook. 💕)

Market trips with Lucanis were generally an efficient affair. The man shopped with a purpose, a neatly annotated list, and an intimate knowledge of the Treviso market. Neve had agreed to go with him assuming today's endeavor would be brisk. A nice little break from her pile of notes. A chance to clear her head and stretch her legs and exchange sardonic observations with her friend.

Instead, she was stuck waiting while a master assassin agonized over his selection of produce, watching the sun climb higher in the sky and feeling every bit of the time that passed coming directly out of the work she needed to get done that afternoon.

Sideling up to Lucanis, Neve looped her arm through his. “Alright. You have been vacillating between different fruits for far too long. I know I'm not an authority on what meets your standards, but you're clearly in need of a second opinion. What are you stuck on?”

Lucanis grumbled, glancing at Neve before looking back at the paper in his hand. Following his gaze, Neve saw it wasn't one of his fastidiously planned lists, but a recipe. “Oh, trying something new are we?” she asked.

“Perhaps. I am second guessing myself.” Lucanis spoke quickly, like he needed to get the words out of his mouth before they ran off. “Does Rook like lemon?”

Neve blinked slowly. “Lemon?”

“In a sweet preparation. Like a pastry. I know this will go well with the tea she has been favoring, but I'm not sure…”

And now Lucanis was intentionally not meeting her eye. Evasive, tenser than usual. And Neve was pretty sure it wasn't the angle of the sun adding some color to his face. She grinned, shifting the arm still looped through his to elbow his side. “Oooh. You're planning something special for Rook. Well, isn't that a twist on the case we've all seen coming.”

Lucanis looked upward, seeking divine intervention or still avoiding her eyes. Probably both. “It's a foolish idea, I shouldn’t…”

“You should.” Neve interjected. 

Lucanis ignored her, folding up the recipe. “I shouldn't. It complicates things. It's…”

Neve plucked the recipe out of his hand, opening it and looking it over. “Clearly, it is the very soul of avarice, to want something nice, something a little selfish, for once in your life. Something Rook clearly wants too.”

Now he looked at her, eyes a little wider than normal. “Please tell me we haven't been that obvious.”

“Oh, you have, if one knows what they're looking for.” Neve patted him on the shoulder. “Moot point though. Taash and Harding got Rook talking last time they took her drinking at the Hilt. Half the Lords of Fortune know where she stands.”

“Mierda.”

“And lets see. Bellara told me keeping her mouth shut when she's around you two is causing her physical pain.” Neve started looking over lemons, placing some in their basket. “Davrin has assumed brotherly duties and teases Rook about the two of you whenever you aren't around. I also caught the tail end of Emmrich and Rook discussing the ethics of consent when two entities are sharing a body just the other day.”

Lucanis looked slightly mortified. He also replaced several of the lemons Neve had picked up with ones that met his ridiculous standards. “In this one thing, Spite is not part of the problem.”

“Fair. He has been pretty keen on Rook from the get go. I shouldn't be encouraging you though. We have a bet going. If you wait another month, I'll cut you in on my take.”

Lucanis looked at her, his expression slipping into the dangerously intense stare he used to intimidate targets and to make really sure he wasn't revealing actual feelings to anyone.

“Joking. Mostly.” Neve handed him back the recipe. “There's a baker in Docktown who makes Orlesian style pastries. Rook got one of the lemon ones last time we were there and said it was the kind of thing she used to buy in Nevarra when she had the chance. The tart’s a good choice.”

Lucanis looked at her a moment more then nodded, turning away to pay the vendor for the fruit. He gathered up their purchases and they both started walking back through the market.  When Lucanis spoke again he sounded almost calm, with just the tiniest hitch giving away his nerves. “Do you really think she'll like it?”

“Rook is a giant sap with a sweet tooth. She'll love it. Just make sure you actually talk to her after bringing out the baked goods. I'll discreetly clear the room for you two after dinner.”

“Thank you, Neve.”

“Sure. Least I can do. Just try not to get overly sentimental with each other in public once you figure things out. I like seeing my friends happy, but I have my limits on sap.”

Lucanis smiled slightly. “I don't think I have ever been accused of being overly sentimental.”

Neve rolled her eyes, but knew she wasn't entirely hiding her smile. “Only because most people don't pay attention.”

[pleucas]

i got a few asks about my process :0 so yea i took some screenshots mid-process of my recent cliff-skk thing just for that

m gonna preface everything by saying that i did have a ref for the environment!! i avoid color dropping from the image and tracing cuz i do want to hone some digital skills. also saying i'm doing an "environment study" when i'm really just drawing skk makes me feel better abt myself

when i don't have a reference, i tend to do some thumbnail sketches in my sketchbook. here's some random stuff of past work, where i rawdogged everything:

but whatever, back to the cliff-skk. i'll also post a timelapse of it for easy ref, but detailed stuff is under the cut :)

first i did some rough sketches on an orangeish background (underpainting etiquette, i find it helps things feel brighter and keep a stable tone when choosing colors to lay on top), and I quickly lined skk :)

then I laid down some flats for the background, again really eyeballing the reference for hues. afterwards i thought it was a bit bright, and i wanted a more sepia/nostalgia feel to it, so i hue adjusted everything to something more uniform

then i lay down flats for skk + the ocean, which i both had to color adjust a lot (you might see that in the timelapse), and then i jump straight into rendering the background. when i render, i always prefer to do it over something lineless, so i turn the sketch layer off. i rarely do lineart for backgrounds.

i also used to render the characters first, but i've found that it's just not a great approach—especially for art where characters and background are interacting, knowing the hues and shades of the environment is crucial to effective rendering on the character that doesn't make them look out of place.

when i'm rendering, i really try to keep in mind tenants of contrast, perspective, form, and light/shadow. ex, stuff "closer" to us has more detail; the hill in the back is minimalist (in comparison); the shadows lean cool-green while the light leans gray-yellow. rake brushes really carried me here idk... my fav brushstyle forever

eventually i reach a point where i'm satisfied (or bored) with the background. for the last stages i usually have the subjects hidden so i can really perfect the details—but then for super duper final details, like the little leaf specks and grass strands, i unhid skk so the poppy details could work around skk. then i get to rendering the characters :)

i forgot to take ss of all the stages when i rendered skk, but here's something from... about the middle of the process? i tend to render characters with the lineart hidden as well, sometimes bringing it back just to clarify things, but ultimately i prefer to define things by form than by line. that's just me tho idk, idt it makes or breaks anything, just a preference

again rlly just thinking about cool/warm, reflective tones (the greenish shadow on chuuya's left inner leg, sky-gray blue on dazai's vest), really just slotting the subject into the environment. after i finish rendering the characters, i usually return to the background and add some stuff—in this one i defined the waves a bit and put some grass around skk

and yeah then we're done idk LOL. sometimes i run the file through camera raw (photoshop) to do some color adjustments—i find that my iPad displays colors super differently, usually making things a lot lighter than they are (u can see how dark the timelapse is...), so i find myself lightening my work a lot. i also sharpen and add noise as needed :)

i think my process has changed a lotttt even in this past year. it's kinda crazy!! it's always fun to do these and just reflect a bit on how i work. mostly just mindless insanity until it kinda works.

thanks for sending in an ask. and if u read all that, thanks to u too lolol

[sabsturned]

M. Sturniolo - Three Doors Down

SEE PINNED POST FOR NAVIGATION

comment on this post to be added to my taglist :-)

pairing: matt x fem!reader

contains: angst, mentions of a drinking and smoking parent, crying

summary: you and matt used to be best friends. you were closer to him than anyone else you know, and you’ve always secretly had a crush on him. the day you told him, you guys stopped talking. tonight was prom night, and you had no guys or even friends to go with. all you could do was sit in the corner and watch him dance with his girlfriend, sofia.

a/n: first fic!!! i’m rlly excited about this one. it’s based off of the song ‘three doors down’ by joy. this was my shit in 2022 and i don’t get why it wasn’t talked about more. ALSO I HAVE A QUESTION: what are anons??? also please leave requests for fics!! i’m literally out of ideas. THATS IT!! enjoy the fic :))

key: matt y/n sofia

and i’m in the corner

dying of boredom

catching light from the shine

of his girlfriend’s tiara

me and matt were best friends. me and the boy three doors down. i mean, the best word to describe us was inseparable. we hung out all the time—at school, at home, over the weekends, at parties—everywhere i went, he went, and everywhere he went, i went.

it started when we were both eight years old. i was trying to avoid my mom at all costs because when she drank, she got mean. i went outside, picking all the small white flowers out of the ground. maybe if i gave my mom flowers, she would cheer up, and she wouldn’t hurt me. at least that’s what i thought.

i picked a yellow dandelion, adding it to my bouquet of flowers when i saw a boy around my age riding on a skateboard. he was riding it on circles in his driveway. suddenly the only thing my eyes were looking at was his curly brunette hair. his eyes were a beautiful color of blue. not as deep as an ocean, but not as light as the sky. all i knew was that they were perfect and they consumed me. his cheeks were a shade of red, probably because of the humidity. i’ll never forget the way he looked at me for the first time; the way his eyes lit up, the way his smile widened, showing off the dimple on his left cheek, the way the world around us faded.

his hand slowly moved up, waving at me. my smile grew. i waved back.

whenever my mom started drinking, i just went outside, where he was every afternoon on his skateboard. he tried teaching me to ride it, but i wasn’t very good. we played in his backyard with his brothers and their dog, trevor. sometimes they brought out their sprinkler on a really hot day, and we all just played like kids. i would give anything to be a kid with them again.

when we were in the same homeroom for third grade, we were both ecstatic. we were always partners in group work, always played together at recess, always ate together at lunch. everybody always made fun of us, and assumed we were dating or something. but we didn’t care.

everything was perfect. up until eighth grade. ever since me and matt met, i’ve always kind of liked him. i never really had the courage to tell him, up until the day before our eighth grade dance.

i confessed my feelings for him. i didn’t say much really. i just told him i liked him and asked if he wanted to go on a date. but i don’t think he felt the same.

he said he was busy.

all contact was cut after that. no more late night calls, no more weekend sleepovers, no more study sessions after school.

and it’s all my fault. i ruined everything. if i wouldn’t have said all of that, we wouldn’t have been here. we would have still been friends. we would have gone to prom together. we would have been falling asleep on call together. we would have still been as inseparable as we were when we were kids.

all of this was my fault.

now i’m at prom. the speakers blasted a pop song i don’t know the name of. all of the kids in the room were dancing, jumping around, making out in the bathroom, but i was sitting in the corner.

i would have gone home, but i was trying to avoid being near my mom at all costs. so i was just there, dying of boredom.

i caught a glimpse of her tiara. the plastic gems glistened in the dim light of the room. how was sofia able to wear cheap plastic on her head and still manage to look absolutely beautiful.

i’m so jealous of sofia. she’s a cheerleader. she’s skinny, she’s pretty, she won prom queen, and worst of all, she was matt’s girlfriend. we have had some interactions before, and i hate talking about her negatively because she is so incredibly sweet. like i’ve never met a popular girl so nice. it made it harder to hate her the way i wanted to.

her silky straight hair ran down her back, and her wide smile could light up a whole room. her dress was fabulous too. it was a really pretty shade of lavender, and it was sparkly. it complimented her figure so well. i mean, she looked like an absolute goddess.

her hands were wrapped around matt’s neck as they danced to the slow music playing. it hurt so bad. i should be over matt by now, i mean, it’s been four years. but i wasn’t over him. i wasn’t over his curly brunette hair, his beautiful blue eyes, the dimple that appeared on his left cheek whenever he would smile. i wasn’t over our late night phone calls, our weekend sleepovers, our study sessions after school. i wasn’t over him. and i never would be.

watching them dance together made me sick. the eye contact, how touchy they were. i decided to go get some punch to distract myself. i wanted to go home so bad, but a broken heart was less noticeable than the burn mark of a cigarette.

the loud music drowned out the sound of the punch splashing into the red cup. i turned around to go back to the corner i was sitting in, when a tall figure bumped into me. thankfully, i didn’t spill any punch on my dress.

“oh, sorry. i should have been watching where i was-“ my breathing stopped when i realized who i had just bumped into. his curly brunette hair, his beautiful blue eyes. matt.

“that’s alright-“ he stopped talking when he saw me. “oh, um, hey.” he said, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“hi.” i responded.

“you look.. amazing.” he complimented.

“oh, thanks. you too.”

“are you having fun?” no. not when she’s the one you’re dancing with. not when i’m still thinking about you even after all these years.

“yeah, just hanging out with my friends. a night to remember.” i lied.

“yeah.” he laughed.

there was a moment of silence where we just looked at each other. the first time i’ve looked in his beautiful blue eyes in years. the first time we’ve had an interaction in years.

“hey baby, they’re playing my favorite, c’mon!” sofia ran over, grabbing chris by the arm, giving me a small wave before dragging him back to the dance floor.

“nice seeing you y/n.” he voiced, before him and sofia continued dancing together.

i tried to say something back, but nothing came out. i forgot how to speak, i forgot how to breathe. before i knew it, the tears were already falling out of my eyes.

i needed to leave. thankfully, i only live a few blocks from the school, so i could just walk home. the only thing i could think about was how i just needed to be anywhere else but this school.

i shoved open the doors, walking out into the cold rain. it was pouring outside. normally, i really liked rain. me and matt used to lay in the rain together. it’s where we had our most meaningful conversations, and shared our deepest thoughts. but i wasn’t enjoying it right now. every drop felt like cupid pulling an arrow out of me. i rushed home as quick as i possibly could, the rain soaking my hair, and the tears rushing down my face. i actually couldn’t even tell if i was crying anymore. the rain made it hard to tell.

i was able to sneak past my mom so she wouldn’t see i went out. i ran up the stairs and into my room, quietly shutting the door behind me. i let out loud sobs into my hands, my rain soaked body dripping rain into a puddle beneath me. i looked up and saw the picture we made in fourth grade art class together, my sobs growing louder. i looked next to it. a signed baseball from a game we went to together sat on the shelf, along with a scrapbook of our seventh grade summer. suddenly, my room was filled with memories of us. i need to destroy it all.

i took the canvas off of the wall, grabbing my scissors and stabbing it until you couldn’t see the picture anymore. i took the scrapbook off of the shelf, ripping out the pages, cutting them into small pieces. i grabbed the baseball, opened my window, and threw it. i didn’t see where it landed. i was just glad it was out of my sight. i ripped the cards and gifts he made me for my birthdays, and christmas, and valentine’s day, ripping and cutting them up. then the stuffed bear he got me. my favorite animal. i cut that open, ripping out the stuffing. until nothing else was left. i sighed, my sobs growing louder.

i looked down and noticed my heels, stained with punch. the rain should have washed it off. the punch reminded me of him. i must have missed when it fell out of my cup and onto my shoes. i kicked them off, throwing them under my bed.

i looked down at my dress, noticing the color of it. it was the same shade of blue as his eyes. his beautiful blue eyes. i groaned out loud, ripping my dress off and throwing it in my closet. everything reminded me of him. the clothes i wore when we hung out, the sheets we laid in, the desk he sat at while we talked for hours, the rug we sat on when we played board games, the floor, the walls, the ceiling, the window, everything. it was like he was a memory that i couldn’t get rid of.

but maybe this is how it’s supposed to be. maybe we aren’t meant to have late night phone calls. maybe we aren’t meant to have weekend sleepovers. maybe we aren’t meant to have study sessions after school. maybe we just aren’t meant to be. maybe he belongs with sofia. maybe we aren’t supposed to be together, me and the boy three doors down.

angst is one of my favorite things to write. it’s so therapeutic to me. so i hope you enjoyed this and please give me your feedback in the comments! :D

- thanks for reading!! with love, sabrina 🤍🎀

taglist:: @muchloveforhacker @saartjuhh @anonymousmfs @mylove4lana @chrissfavhoe @sturniolo101 @h3arts4harry @hereforthwtripletsfr @pepsixchris @ch3rrywine-reposts @amaliarosewood @gwennybenny @memea32221 @urfavstromboli

[nexreturnsfromthedead]

Something Stupid

Summary: when Sevika finds herself unable to sleep, she can count on you to ease her mind; What starts off as a relaxing massage for an exhausted woman turns into something gentle and loving, forcing her to acknowledge the growing feelings she's desperately been trying to avoid.

Warnings: oral (Sevika receiving), strap-on (reader wearing), attachment issues (the porn part is short, I'm sorry :') ), generally really soft

Notes: this is the first fic I have ever finished and actually published, lol. I fear it's too repetitive at some points and kind of rushed..? Pls pls pls, tell me what you think (as long as you're being kind). If there are any more warnings I should be aware of (probably not), feel free to tell me :) I hate writing dialogs. The painting on the right was done by Tony Belobrajdic :]

Word Count: 6.9k

@venomvalley specifically posted this for you, any criticism is appreciated :D (I lowkey stole your way of... presenting (?) the story, with the colors, pictures and dividers and such, I thought it was really pretty <:3)

Anyways, I hope you enjoy :D

It was well into the night, maybe shortly past midnight, when she made her way onto the small balcony of her rundown apartment, eyes tired and heavy, yet not willing to stay closed. Immediately, she was met by the cold air, a stinging slap to her face. It nips at her skin, looking to break through and seep into her muscles, veins and lastly, her very bones. She didn't mind the harshness prickling against her nerves. She needed the distraction tonight.

A heavy sigh rips from the depths of her lungs, fingers reaching out to fumble for a cigarillo lying on the small, creaking metal table shoved against the railing. It was only there for that exact purpose: holding the packages of her cigars and cigarettes, an ashtray, and perhaps even a drink or two if she's feeling fancy. There was no reason for her to be on the balcony other than to have a calming smoke; no beautiful view waiting for her, no fresh air to catch either, not in the deepness of Zaun.

Flipping open the tin box, metal clattering against the table's surface, her fingers scoop in to lift one of her stress relievers out of its containment. Bringing it up to her lips, her hand reaches for a lighter, needing several tries to ignite a spark and correspondingly, her thin cigar. That simple action carries her mind back to you. You, who usually stumbled over their own feet to light it for her. 'Pretty women don't light their own cigarettes', you always said when she raised a questioning brow, that stupid, stupid grin adorning your lips whenever you did. You, who is currently warming her bed while she's out here, forcing stinging puffs of burning tobacco inside her lungs, only to gently blow them out with long exhales.

The smoke wafts past her lips, its tendrils twirling and swirling high into the sky, wanting to never be seen again as it becomes one with the fissures' polluted air. She felt the nightly tranquility weigh heavy on her shoulders, running thoughts nagging in the back of her mind. She should appreciate the quiet calm instead of bothering herself with these infuriating thoughts, yet her mind grants her no peace. The grip of her prosthetic grows tighter against the railing as she huffs, her lip scrunching up in frustration, quickly taking another drag of her cigar.

She stalls, holding the smoke deeply in her chest when she feels warm arms wrap around her waist, a face nestling between the hard planes of her shoulder blades.

Ba-dump.

Once she gets over the initial shock of your unexpected touch, she blows the smoke out slowly, watching as its wifts get carried through the winds.

"You should be in bed", she hums, feeling the nicotine take its course through her system. Her response was only to mask her own feelings, hoping to distract you from your initial mission. Always trying to divert the focus from herself.

"So should you...", you retort, your voice carrying the groggy roughness of leftover sleep, ".. You okay..?"

She huffs, puffing on her cigar.

"Never better", she mumbles sarcastically. It had always been easy for you to peek through her defenses, finding the smallest of cracks and managing to scratch them open with the very tips of your fingers; even if they did bleed in the end. Yet, every time you were close to reaching treasure, she seals the crumbling gaps with thicker concrete. She didn't understand why you kept on trying, kept on bothering to put up with her.

"A penny for your thoughts?", you murmur, nuzzling your nose against the crevice of her spine; a silent reassurance, urging her to open up.

"I'm fine", she sighs, flicking off the built up ashes. Her eyes trail down their path, seeing them disappear against the dirty cobblestone beneath her feet, beneath the balcony; they weren't worth a second glance. Couldn't even tell they had been there in the first place.

"You sure? Taking a lonely smoke in the middle of night doesn't exactly scream 'fine', you know..?", there's an empathetic smile on your face, trying to lighten the mood. She can hear it in the way you talk.

"Too much on your mind?"

"You could say that", she trails off thoughtfully, "It's not worth your time, no need to worry about it", there's a tiredness in her voice, a hint of self deprecation one could only catch if they really listened. Which you always did. Unfortunately for her.

"I worry about you"

Ba-dump

Protest laces your tone as you speak, ".. And if something's bothering you, then it must be important... Atleast to some degree.."

"It's not. Trust me, doll. I can handle a few stupid thoughts", you hear the way her voice changes subtly, forcing herself to sound less vulnerable, trying to once again build the wall higher around her heart; a prison for the lonely.

"But I do.. Because you're important to me.. And I care..", you reassure, trailing off. The unspoken; words she feared ever coming from your lips were left unsaid, but she knew they were there. Sitting on the tip of your tongue, itching to slip past the seal and bury deep inside her heart like barbed wire.

Your sigh is warm against her back when you realize she won't budge; she can feel it through the fabric of her shirt. She desperately fights off the crawling shiver threatening to run down her spine.

"You don't have to tell me.. But please just.. Remember that I'm here for you.. And whenever you need me, I'll happily lend an ear", your arms tighten around her waist, pulling her closer in comfort; wether it was for her's or your own, she's not quite sure. Regardless, she melts into your embrace, her muscles relaxing the tiniest bit. She's silent, no doubt contemplating your words. Cigarillo back at her lips, she closes her eyes, a heavy, smoky breath escaping her nostrils.

"I'm just.. Worrying over nothing, is all. Nothing severe", she murmurs, her metallic hand clanking against the railing when she let's go, instead bringing it to hold the cigar. The other one, her own, moves to rest over yours. She always prefered feeling you, your soft skin beneath hers. When in reality, she shouldn't. Shouldn't let you hold her so tenderly. Shouldn't reciprocate. It'll only be harder in the end. Companionship and romance aren't things that lasted in the dark pit that is the Underground. They wither, get stomped out and burned until the only thing that's left is the dismembered corpse of what could have been. That's how life was in this hell she called her home. She accepted it. Had to learn how to from an early age. Yet despite that, she couldn't help but hold her hand into the flame.

".. How about a massage?", she barely catches the sound of your voice, yet it still cuts through her racing mind.

"What?", she turns her head, looking down at you over her shoulder. You can't help but admire her from this angle, the faint, neon lights from the distance reflecting across her profile, her blue scars glowing. Greens, reds and purples catch against her skin, colors that all looked magnificient, in perfect contrast with the essence of her very being.

"I can massage you... Help you relax.. Get your mind off of things", you repeat, your hands travelling towards her hips, gently squeezing.

A small snort echoes through the night.

"Oh yeah? Pampering me now, are you?", she hums, taking one last drag of her cigar before stumping it out in the ashtray. She made it a habit ever since she noticed you picking up her thrown butts scattered across the floor one too many times. The same way she made it a habit of smoking on the balcony once she realized you couldn't breathe properly when she did it inside.

".. But I won't say no to that if you're offering".

She watches as that small smile forms on your face, standing on your toes to press a soft kiss against her cheek. You didn't have to, but knew it boosted her ego just a bit.

Ba-dump.

"Go make yourself comfortable in bed, I'll start heating up the oil", you pat her shoulders before the both of you part ways, her going back to bed while you grab the massaging oil from the bathroom. Filling a pot with water, you bring it to a soft boil before putting the container in to warm up.

Once you re-enter the bedroom, you find Sevika comfortably lying on her back, boxers the only thing adorning her scarred skin. Her right arm is tucked underneath her head, her prosthetic lying on the bedside table for easy access should she need it. Due to her lying position, her thighs appear even bigger than usual, excess flesh squished to the sides. They're spread the tiniest bit, enough to make your mind spiral as it immediately conjures the lewdest images of your head between them, squished to death as you lap at her cunt.

If you could paint realistically, you would capture the beauty of this moment in it's entirety; the way she lies before you making for the perfect muse. The way the low light of the bedside lamp casts breathtaking shadows across her muscles, contouring her in the best of ways. You have to actively stop yourself from drooling.

"Are you done oggling me?", there it is, that shit eating smirk you've grown to love so much, no matter how infuriating it can be at times. Your eyes roll on instinct, a grin of your own forming on your face.

"Oh hush. I can't be blamed when you're looking like that", a smile graces your lips, one entirely too intimate for her but her heart skips a beat anyways. You crawl onto the bed, one finger wedging between her thigh and the leg of her boxers. Pulling softly, you let the fabric snap back against her skin. Her eyebrow raises in response, challenging you to go further, watching as you position yourself over her.

She can see the mirth twinkling in your irises, no doubt conjuring plans on how to make her suffer.

Ba-dump

It only makes her heart beat quicker, rapidly hammering against the cage of her chest, wanting to be set free like a bird gazing at the ever growing horizon. She doesn't stop you when your head dips down to plant your first kiss against her collarbone. Breathing grows harder when your lips trail gently up her neck. She could feel their softness, the carefulness in your touch as if she was something fragile, something made to be broken. She wasn't. She was anything but that. Yet she enjoys it when your lips stream higher and higher, following along the reddened rivulet hidden underneath her skin until you reach the shell of her ear, lips threatening to fall off the cliff that is her jaw and she hopes you'll cling onto it.

She holds her breath when your lips wander along, tiptoeing against the line, never once losing your balance. But she fears. Fears you'll fall. Fears you'll drag her with you into the deep end, with no point of return. Once your lips finally meet hers, she realizes it is already far too late. She's drowning, air ripped from her lungs as her very being succumbes to your deadly touch; drowning in a sea that is entirely made of you. Your touch. Your smell. Your voice. Your taste. It's all you. And she fears it. Fears getting close to you. Fears that this will change. Fears this won't last.

She's afraid.

And she doesn't know how to swim back up to the surface as you drag her deeper and deeper into the dark abyss. But she's not complaining, quite the contrary. She's feeding into it, letting her body grow heavy as she let's you pull her under. She reaches out for you, pulling you closer as she craves more, addicted to the feeling of utter breathlessness and freedom, despite knowing she'll lock herself away the moment the touch of your lips passes. So she clings on, forcing you against her as your lips join and overlap like clashing waves.

She chases you once you pull away, like you're her only source of oxygen but when she grasps your lips are gone, she breathes in deeply. Eyes fluttering open, she finds your own already staring back at her, that stupid, stupid smile back on your face, taunting her with feelings she'd rather keep buried underneath harsh words and a tough exterior.

Ba-dump

She knew that there was something lingering between you two for quite some time now, something she didn't want to acknowledge, too afraid to do so. After all, she did invite you over to her apartment for the better quarter of a year now, to the point that you've basically movied in with her; your clothes strewn across chairs and the run down sofa she's been wanting to replace for a while now; replacing half of her wardrobe's contents with you; a second toothbrush occupying the small little cup on her bathroom's sink; her fridge filled with various kinds of fresh vegetables, fruits and self-made jams -the same way her stomach is filled to the brim with home cooked meals rather than random take-out.

She snaps out of her thoughts when your fingers tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, gently, warmly and she curses herself for leaning into the touch.

One last, chaste kiss against her lips and you pull away. She almost panics, but your hand gently pushes over her heart, keeping her still. If it weren't for your reassuring smile and devoted eyes staring down at her, she'd feel embarrassed with how rapidly her heart drums against your palm, wanting to nestle into the warmth of your skin.

"How about you turn around, hm? So I can start the massage", she blinks once, twice before your words finally register in her muddled brain and with a single nod of her head, she flips herself onto her stomach, needing a few tries until her chest lies comfortably against the mattress. Her eyes stare blankly onto the prosthetic to her left, lying abandoned on the bedside table as her cheek rests on her arm, impatiently waiting to finally feel your hands upon her skin.

Instead, she senses the way your eyes burn into it, mapping out each and every crevice of her body. She doesn't know wether to feel shy, small, cocky or ashamed. Maybe an unhealthy mix of all four.

"Thought you were gonna massage me, not drool all over", her voice is quiet, barely audible as she murmurs her words in a flimsy attempt of keeping her pride, dignity and a semblance of her usual bravado. Though it's only a mask; she feels anything but. Your giggle makes her want to bury her face in the pillow and pull you in for another kiss, simply to drown out the addictive sound.

"I'm sorry, honey, but you're absolutely stunning"

Ba-dump

She scoffs, frowning into space with.. Is that a pout?

It deepens when you seemingly laugh at her misery, but before she can react, you hook a leg over her hips to straddle her, your buttocks against hers. An involuntary sigh flows out of her nostrils. Having you close was always so calming, but so, so nerve-wracking all at once.

You open the container for the oil, the glass warm against your palms like a hot cup of coffee. Inside Sevika's head, the sound of the lid opening echoes as anticipation builds higher and higher. Dipping the tips of your fingers inside, you spread the slickness in the palms of your hands.

"Ready?", an affirmative hum is your only cue before you place your hands down on her.

As soon as they make contact with her back, her whole body melts into the mattress, her eyelids fluttering shut as she let's her trepidations and stress wash away. They glide firmly over her muscles, rubbing the oil deeply into her skin. You watch as her shoulders rise with every even breath, falling in slow exhales, and you can't help but note how etheral she looks like this. So at peace, in absolute bliss. It was a rare sight and you understood why, her life was in no way an easy one, but you wished you'd be able to see it more often. You promise yourself you'll make it better.

With wandering hands and eyes, you heed the details of her body before you, carving each and every one into the mental statue molded inside the depths of your mind. From the occasional moles scattered across her olive skin, up to her blueish-purple scars that reach all the way from her shoulder to her cheek. They glisten under the warm, dull light of the bedside lamp, twinkling like a night sky full of stars; an entire galaxy mapped out on her body.

Taking the opportunity, your eyes trace over her features: her beautiful grey eyes that always tell you exactly what she's thinking, giving you a window to look through her soul no matter how many curtains she uses to hide. They're closed, but the way her eyelashes are curled against her cheeks is equally breathtaking. Her dark lips, so perfectly kissable, adorned with those tiny splits of healed cuts from prior fights. Those lovely lips that hide the most adorable smile you've ever seen, with the cutest tooth gap enhancing her charm. Without realizing, your hands slow their movements before coming to a full stop against her shoulder blades.

Pure and utter adoration lies down to rest on your face, softening your features as you lean forward, pressing a tender peck against the apple of her cheek.

Ba-dump

Heat rises, travelling from her face down her neck. Her eyes peek open, flicking over her shoulder to look at you and she hates the sight before her.

Hates the way you gaze down at her in the most tender way she's ever experienced. Hates the way your smile makes her heart race to the point she's overwhelmed by breathless dizziness. Hates the way your hands feel against her skin, forcing these gooey, weak emotions inside her to rouse from their century long slumber. Hates the way she craves more despite knowing better.

Of course she's aware that your hands are slowing, coming to a stop as you're stuck in mesmerization; how could she not when their movement felt so heavenly against her sore spots and deep knots? Though she's unsure wether she should vocalise her discontent; after all, you have done so much for her already and in no way does she want to come across as ungrateful. But you did promise her a soothing massage. And this was in no way enough.

So without uttering any comands, she simply pushes her muscles back against your hands, urging you to keep going. With snorted laughter and a teasing quip her way, your hands continue their trip to bringing her pleasure.

"Anything for my sweet woman~", your voice sings, your words deepening that soft redness on her cheeks.

Ba-dump

She wasn't necessarily the possessive type, but sentences like these had a way of playing her heart strings like they hadn't been in years. She hated it. She absolutely despised it. It made her weak. It made you a liability. Yet she couldn't help but crave more, her greed knowing no bounds even in this.

Only that she couldn't win this fight; the fight she put up against her own heart whenever it starts skipping two beats around you. The fight she puts up whenever she catches her own breath hitching at the sight of you cooking behind her stove, waiting for her to come home as you cook a filling meal for her after a grueling day of work. The fight she puts up whenever she realizes she was growing softer, more vulnerable around you. She knew that. Knew she couldn't win. So for now, she figures indulging in it was for the best. Only that her heart is pounding so horribly against her ribcage, it was hard to ignore. So was the low burn starting to ignite in her abdomen when she let her thoughts drift. It was only a matter of time until they did, with how well you tend to her every need, every single time, every hour of the day, no matter how often she pushes you away.

The longer your fingers glide across her skin, the more loose her lips become; small sighs and hums and things that sound suspiciously like whimpers vibrating through her throat. Of course, you notice. Just as you notice the way her body grows restless beneath you; back arching against your touch, ass, with you on top, lifting up and back down with each movement of her thighs, no doubt rubbing them together, arm tensing against her pillow and pulling it closer to her flushed face.

The control you have over her, despite her refusal to admit to anything of the matter, leaves you grinning giddily, light-hearted perversion running through every vein of your body at the knowledge of having her fully wrapped around your pinky finger, desperate for the simplest of touches. She'd do anything for you without so much of a blink, just like you would do anything for her. You'd burn the whole world down if she asked you to.

Though these touches might not be as innocent as they had started off anymore.

So without much of a thought, you slip off your position on top of her, moving between her thighs, sitting on your haunches.

You focus on her lower back, thumbs pressing into those two, cute little dimples of venus. Fitting name, she looked like a sculpted god.

Occasionally, those exact thumbs catch underneath the waistband of her underwear, on accident, of course, and you revel in the way her breath stops momentarily before picking back up slightly more labored each time.

"stop teasing", her voice would sound warning if it weren't for the shudder accompanied by it, or the hoarse rasp coating each word.

"whatever do you mean?"

Despite your words, you never really seem to be able to tease her for long, caving at each little command like you were born to follow obediently. Maybe it was the constant stress you've been put under about being 'the perfect little kid' that had molded you into exactly that; someone with the constant need for instructions, searching for the simplest forms of validation. But you don't mind; you have long accepted the fact that you wanted to be obedient, just for her.

The tips of your fingers dip below her waistband, agonizingly slow when tugging the offending fabric down, down and down until they're thrown off to the side; out of sight, out of mind.

You bite your lip at the sight before you, fingers splaying out across the fat of her ass, squeezing and prodding and digging and squeezing until her shoulders were tense, thighs squeezed tightly and her face hidden in the pillow.

She was cute like this, all flustered. It was a sight you've got to see more and more often these past few weeks the longer you stayed close by her side. And you loved it, loved whenever she averted her gaze or burrowed her face in your neck in a futile attempt of hiding her bashfulness.

"stop", she scoffs, loving hating the way butterflies swirled in her stomach like she's some teenage girl. But you knew she didn't mean it; she was pressing her flesh against your hands. She was pressing her hips higher in hopes you'll catch the hint, burying your face where she needs it the most.

You did, of course, catch the hint, but played dumb for just a little while longer.

"what do you need, honey? I'm not a mind reader, you know...", she can hear the condescending lilt in your voice, feel the barely perceptible brush of your thumb over her humiliatingly wet folds and she almost gives herself whiplash with how quickly her head twists over her shoulder to shoot you a glare.

Her mouth opens to curse you out, tell you to 'fucking touch her' before she takes matters into her own hands, but her words quickly die on her tongue, replaced by the loudest moan she's ever let slip as your tongue dives forward, running from her thrumming clit up to her leaking hole.

Her face burns, quickly pushed back against her pillow, entirely too embarrassed at the almost pornographic noise escaping her lips.

Really, it wasn't that loud. It was moderate, but usually, she was more on the quieter side, the most she'd let slip were groans and grunts, maybe the occasional, quiet whimper. So a full blown moan was something new, something that exposed her in ways she didn't want to be.

So she hid her face against the sheets, each kiss and lick and suck of your lips across her cunt luring more noises to slip past her own, only partially muted by her self-made gag. Surely, you'd love to hear them to their full extent, but you also knew she needed this, needed something to ground herself with, to keep herself from getting too overwhelmed, so you accepted it.

Your movements were languid, tongue dragging and basking in the salty taste of her arousal, nose pressed against her until every other sense was drowned out. You could stay like this, between her thighs, all day, all night, 24/7; feeling her gush on your tongue, arousal dripping as it flowed freely from her hole. The exact place you're shoving your tongue into, wanting to taste more, and she whimpers at your desperation.

Her voice is a tad bit higher than usual, raspy with need as the noises stream past her lips like a river across its bank.

Wet muscle slithering back up through her folds, her hips move on their own accord, jumping when your lips wrapped around that sweet, sweet bundle of nerves, sucking harshly and shaking your head from side to side.

It doesn't take long until she's gasping, hand shooting out behind her to press your face further into her cunt, hips grinding, chasing a high so close she could taste it on her lips. Your neck and cheeks were growing clammy, arousal and spit smeared across your chin and nose. You couldn't move even if you wanted to, and it got you hooked almost immediately.

Your own abdomen throbbed with heat as she just used you, dragging herself against your face until her own desire was sated, thighs riddled with small tremors as her body convulsed, clenching around nothing as her orgasm crashed over her in shocking waves.

You gently lick up the added slick, sucking her clean until you finally depart yourself with a wet 'pop'.

She catches her breath, eyes closed and body relaxed. You tug on her shoulder, forcing her to turn onto her back.

Your kisses are sweet when you pepper them across her face, trying to get her back to earth. When her breathing has somewhat gone back to acceptable standards, you spoke up.

"can I wear the strap tonight?", your voice is gentle, tender, like you're speaking to a wounded animal, knowing she'll need a second before registering your words. But already, she knows she hates your tone of voice. Despises how much her heart desires it.

There's a short pause as she contemplates what to respond. Did she even want to let you take complete control tonight? Give herself to you in such an open, vulnerable way? Let you take the lead as she, what, laid back and did nothing? Janna, yes she did.

A huff.

"Do whatever you want..", a grumble, a begrudging attunement without having to distinctly voice it, without the added exposure of telling you exactly what she wants.

Your hands squeeze firmly just underneath the cheeks of her sculpted bottom, your nose wandering along her jaw.

"You know I won't take that as an answer, honey. You want me to or you don't. Either is fine, but you gotta let me know, otherwise I'm not doin' nothin'!", your grin against her cheek is burning, leaving a trail of reddened marks to travel over the bridge of her nose and down the side of her neck.

"You're insufferable..", she whispers, refusing to meet your gaze like her life depended on it, "... Put it on.."

There's that same mirth flashing through your eyes, teeth flashing mischievously through tautly pulled lips and for a second, she thinks she might regret her decision. That is until you actually fasten the harness around your hips, not without undressing yourself first. Her eyes are laser focused on the way the straps dig into your skin, your flesh bulging over them.

At this moment, she realizes she's never appreciated anything more than you, exactly like this, before. The way you look above her, honey-skinned in the golden glow of the bedside lamp, naked as the day you were born. The way her strap fits so snugly around your hips, the dildo resting neatly over her pubic mound -and she might think you look even better than her wearing it. The way you've been taking care of her all evening; from the dinner you made for her when she got home, to your fingers carding through her hair as you washed it thoroughly, because you knew she was too exhausted to lift her arm, and finally, your ever soft hands against her skin, in more ways than one.

And you'll continue taking care of her going onward from this moment.

All she has to do is sit back.. Let go.. And simply pass the reigns to you.

The day has left her drained already, the leaching work and onslaught of haunting thoughts enough to bring her guard down, enough to lean back and simply bask in the moment.

She'll manage. It should be easy. And if she gets overwhelmed, she can always just roll you over- not that she'll get overwhelmed, that's idiotic, she can handle it. She's Silco's right hand woman, dammit, she handles fights and meetings and bribes and errands with ease, so she can handle a bit of vulnerability, she will.

Her expression portrays her confliction, corner of her lip twitching upward in what seems to be disgust, though her eyes show the insecurity lying beneath.

She snaps out of her mental prison when your voice calls her name, smile compassionate, sweet, lov- don't you dare finish that thought.

"we don't have to. I can just.. Take it off and we'll call it a day", she wants this. She wants this. 'So open your damned mouth and say it-'

"Don't..", her voice is a meek murmur, lips formed in an almost huffy pout. Her expression is one you would expect a dishonored person to wear, someone who's got their whole pride and dignity stripped from them, eyes not hitting their target.

"tell me to continue and I will. Tell me to stop and I won't hesitate. This is all about you, honey. Just look at me and talk, yeah?", she fights against the grip of your hand against her jaw, but decides to give up and look at you none the less.

Why do you have to be so damn convincing?

"Just get on with it, will you? Unless you're getting cold feet?", her tone is mocking, challenging, desperately trying to keep up the confident, unbothered front.

With a roll of your eyes and a knowing grin, you grind -in this very moment your- strap against her folds, coating it's underside in her arousal. Her breath hitches. She's almost embarrassed at how wet she is. She blames it on the lingering of your spit. Yet she can't disguise the stumbling of her breath.

"You like that, huh?"

With no response, you simply thrust your hips once more, tip of the silicone catching against her clit in just the right ways. In response, her eyes flutter shut for just a moment before immediately locking with yours.

She's almost mesmerized by the sight of you, so beautifully woven into her life, and Janna, she shouldn't be so excited to let you fuck her.

But she is, so she watches with bated breath as you spit against your dick, smearing it across with your hand firmly wrapped around, the exact way you've done when she was the one wearing it.

You're infuriatingly careful when ligning yourself up, almost like you're scared of hurting her. How.. Pathetic..

Ba-dump

She watches carefully as your elbows place next to her head, your face breathtakingly close to hers as you push in. Her eyes flutter closed instinctively, head relaxing further into the pillows as she clenches tightly around the intrusion, and you swear you can feel it.

It's all a blur, really. Pleasure so good it has her arching into your touch until her chest is squished against yours. Your hand finds hers, fingers interlacing, squeezing her hand with a kind of possession that makes her heart soar. Her throat is dry, you can hear it in the way she swallows, your nose nudging along her cheek, her scars. Eyes closed, she gives herself fully to you, lips parted with ragged breaths as she meets every one of your thrusts with a grind of her own.

So really, it's no wonder that the words slip past your lips, barely audible if they hadn't been whispered right beside her ear.

Immediately, her body freezes, eyes shooting open as she stares off beside your head. She looks positively terrified, and it tucks at your heartstrings, hips stopping as soon as you feel her stiffening, trying to lock herself back up.

Her head turns to the side, eyes filling with unwanted tears, burning as she stops them from cascading down her cheeks. Your hands reach out for them instead.

"hey, hey... It's okay.. I shouldn't have dropped that on you..", you refuse to say you're sorry. After all, it was true and you didn't want her to think otherwise. You were sorry for dropping the l-bomb so suddenly, so intimately, without any trenches near for her to hide in, to save herself from the inevitable first blow. But you weren't at all sorry for loving her. Why would you be? Ever since she has taken you in, invited you to invade her private life, you have been so much happier than you have ever been before. She could be kind if she wanted to, showing that she cared in the simplest of ways without having to voice it. You couldn't help but dig deeper into that hole you've called affection, infatuation growing the longer you've decided to hold onto her, everything she was willing to give you, you ate it up like someone starved.

She's almost choking on her own tears and the sight breaks your heart.

"breathe, honey... I'm right here... And I'll stay here for as long as you want me to...", your voice carries that same careful and tender tone it always does, wiping the tears from the corner of her eyes before they can fall and she doesn't know wether to feel thankful or burst out sobbing, "We can stop, yeah? Wait, I'll.."

Before you can pull out of her, her ankle hooks around your waist, keeping you close.

With a warring mind and heavy heart, she held you there, needed you by her side, to soothe her pain the way you did to her wounds after careless fights. Yet she refused to look at you, still figuring out her own reaction.

Her heart soared at the admission all the while squeezing with an unimaginable pain, knowing all her efforts to prevent this have grown to be futile. But maybe, just maybe if she let you keep going, you'll stay. Like you said you would.. So she indulged in it, maybe one last time, and quietly, she whispers.

"Don't stop"

And you don't, hips slowly starting to move again, more carefully than before, eyes searching her expression for any sign of discomfort, any sign of her changing her mind. But she doesn't, refuses to if this might be her last chance of being intimate with you.

She was afraid. Afraid you wouldn't like what she's hidden beneath despite your reassurances trying to ease her over and over again. It was drilled into her very being ever since she was born. Weakness is a curse, took the people you cared about and sent them off to fight their own war, slaughtered by the cold hands of life. Vulnerability was weakness. Better not show it if you want to live. Best not feel it if you want to survive. Yet with every little bit of vulnerability she showed, you've never strayed; never berated her for feeling, never used it to make her pliable in your hands, never used it as a weapon against herself. You've encouraged it, kissed her messy thoughts better. So why was she still so afraid?

Her confliction was etched onto her face, carved into her complexion like an eternal inscription. So you speak up.

"Want me to tell you just what I love about you?", her breath catches, hitching in her throat at the sound of your panting, your hips picking up their pace, starting to move against hers a bit more desperately.

"I love your pretty nose, your for some reason always perfect-looking hair, your jaw, your tummy, your happy trail, your thighs..", you pause shortly as you notice the precarious expression gracing her features.

".. I love your crystal-grey eyes, because no matter how hard you try to hide behind that tough persona of yours, they always show me just what you're thinking, what you're feeling.. It really is true when people say eyes are the mirror into one's soul.. And yours are the prime example..

I love your full lips; they're so damn kissable.. The way they feel against me, in any way, makes me feel like they were made for that purpose only. No matter if it's my lips, my cheek, my forehead or somewhere else entirely, you make sure that I feel breathless wherever they trail"

Her doubt is settling on her chest, locking it closed and crushing her lungs as it slings its vines around her neck like a noose, tighter and tighter until her breath is cut short. The pressure weighs heavy, repressed tears flooding her eyes with each word muttered, spilling from your lips as a healing balm for her aching heart.

"I love your scars.. Every single one a testimony of the challenges you face everyday; the proof of your ambition, your willpower to fight and keep fighting for Zaun, your people -us. They glimmer like the stars hung above the sky. They're something to be proud of, something that makes you who you are. And I wouldn't have you any other way..

I love your faith in this city. How you give everything you have to do what's right. How you stay rooted to your beliefs.. And won't let anyone put you down. You're fighting for this.. Better and harder than anyone. 

I love how much you care, the way you show you care.. I love how despite everything life throws your way, you always find a way to keep going, you never give up..

I promise, you can be so proud of yourself, Sevika. I am so proud of you. Proud of calling you mine. It's an honor. And I love you"

With shaky breaths and a trembling hand, she grabs you by the back of your head, pulling you down to connect your lips in a soft kiss, filled with aversion and craving, reluctant surrender and reassurance, need and desperation; and for the very first time, she allows herself to admit it's love.

It's love when her legs hook around your waist, pulling you closer, flush against her so she's able to feel every press and rub and thrust to its fullest, indulging in what she's fought against for so long.

It's love when you focus solely on her, wiping the lonesome tears that slip from her eyes, replacing them with the residue of once-saliva-slicked lips.

It's love when you muffle her humiliatingly loud noises with breathtaking pecks, swallowing her sounds and saving them in the depths of your mind.

It's love when your hips speed up per request, when your thumb pushes against her clit because you know she's edging closer and closer.

It's love when she lets herself fall once more, body shuddering as she's blinded by her pleasure, though it might as well be the tears in her eyes.

It's love when you kiss her through it. When you praise her and tell her once more just how much she means to you.

It's love when you clean her up, letting her cuddle close when her mind has finally quieted down enough for her eyes to grow heavy.

And at the very end, she knows it's love when you whisper she'll be your wife one day.

[idiotgojo]

Megumi in Heart Diffraction Glasses ♡♡♡

warning; nothing just tooth-rotting fluff and grumpy megumi, school au

Megumi had been in a foul mood all day, snapping at classmates and avoiding eye contact with anyone who tried to talk to him. It wasn't just a bad day; it was terrible as if he woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

Not even seeing you when he got to school could lighten up his mood. You noticed his sour attitude and wanted to cheer him up, but every time he saw you walk toward him, he'd turn around and walk in the opposite direction ignoring you too.

It was finally after school hours that you found him sitting alone, shoulders slumped at the bottom of the staircase nobody uses near the ground. The sun was setting, and orange hues were cast across the field of boys playing football.

"Hi gloomy," you said approaching him, he was surprised to see you but at least wasn't making a run for it this time. He didn't say anything, just went back to whatever he was doing on his phone. You sat beside him on the stairs looking at the beautiful sky that was turning pink and purple.

"I really don't want to talk right now," he said after a long silence. "Not even if I offer you your favorites?" you opened a wrapper of these ginger-flavoured sweet treats, offering the whole thing to him.

You watched him pick a few out, trying not to grin as his expression softened slightly. Before you knew it, he was crumpling the empty packet. "I've just been having a terrible day. A series of unfortunate events," he grumbled incoherently, not wanting to delve into details.

You scooted closer, resting your head on his shoulder. "I get it. Sometimes everything seems to go wrong. But you know what? You don't have to go through it alone. I'm here."

He didn't respond immediately, but his posture gradually relaxed as you continued offering comforting words and small jokes to lighten the mood. You rummaged through your bag, searching for something, while Megumi waited patiently.

"Look what I've got!" you said, presenting ridiculous red colored heart-shaped glasses.

Megumi raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "What are those?"

"They're those new heart diffraction glasses!" you explained, slipping them onto his face. "They turn every light into tiny hearts. Perfect for brightening up a bad day."

He looked around, blinking as the world transformed into a field of glowing hearts. His initial skepticism gave way to a surprised chuckle, his eyes softening in awe.

"Alright, alright," Megumi said with a small, affectionate smile. "I'll admit, this is kind of amazing," His gaze lingered from the scene ahead of him to you, your smile accompanied by a million little hearts in the background. He couldn't help but be charmed by how you seemed to light up his world. "And so are you" he added.

As the two of you sat there, surrounded by the playful glow of heart-shaped lights, Megumi realized that sometimes, the smallest gestures could make the biggest difference.

note; requested by @blue-musingss , I'm sorry but when I posted the original asks Tumblr's tags weren't working so I had to take that one down and repost. Hope you like this one!

© idiotgojo 2024 do not steal or translate. if you wish to use the idea and create a better fic please tag me :)

[slattlicker]

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * F O R G I V E   M E   N O T ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ a jschlatt x reader exes-to-lovers fic · chapter T W O ✦ if it makes you smile ✦ ↳ 3.4k words · slow build · college/uni au ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

✦ written with a female!reader in mind ✦ (but everyone’s welcome to suffer—i mean enjoy ♡)

you didn’t ask for this. but you didn’t stop it, either. now he’s giving you gifts like it’s a normal thing. and yeah. he brought two forks.

✧ ⊹ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ⊹ ✧

╭˚₊‧͙⁺˚₊‧͙✧　❛ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓   𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ❜　✧‧͙˚₊⁺‧͙˚₊╮ ✧ mentions of past emotional neglect ✧ anxiety around reconnection ✧ implied depressive behavior ✧ college setting / casual profanity ✧ unresolved relationship dynamics ╰˚₊‧͙⁺˚₊‧͙✧　❛ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃   𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇   𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄 ❜　✧‧͙˚₊⁺‧͙˚₊╯

✧ ⊹ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ⊹ ✧

✦ Y/N’S POV ✦

you wake up feeling weird.

not tired, not rested—just… off. like your brain’s still buffering from the night before.

you reach for your phone out of habit.

and there it is.

SCHLATT: morning. don’t forget to eat something. you got class at 10, right?

you just stare at it for a second. blank screen, black text. no “good girl.” no “sweetheart.” no voice memo at 2 a.m. slurring his regrets. just a quiet little check-in.

you didn’t block him. thought about it, a few times. even hovered over the button once.

but you didn’t.

you don’t text back.

not because you're mad. just because you don't know what to do with a text from your ex after months of not hearing anything from him.

✧

the sky is gray by the time you head out. that wet, chilly kind of morning where your hoodie sleeves feel damp no matter what. the quad’s half-empty. you take the path behind the music building to avoid the frat guys setting up some kind of table out front.

your first class is in a big lecture hall—intro to psych. easy credit, annoying professor, always freezing cold. you sit on the left side, third row from the front, second seat in. you always sit there.

which is why you freeze when you spot something already sitting on your desk.

a drink.

your drink.

exact flavors and toppings. still cold, no condensation yet. it was just dropped off.

your name is scrawled on the lid in sharpie in familiar handwriitng—but not just that. tucked underneath the drink, just barely peeking out, is a crumpled post-it note.

you glance around, like maybe you’re being watched. then slide into your seat and peel it out. it says:

figured this was better than showing up to give it to you. - j

your stomach turns a little. not in a bad way. just… a way. you’re still staring at the note when maya slides in beside you.

she takes one look at the drink, the post-it, your face—and gasps.

“oh my god. that’s from your ex, isn’t it.”

you don’t answer. but the color on your face certainly does. she grabs the cup and spins it in her hands like it might have a secret message written on the bottom.

“okay. no, actually, what the hell is this? when did you guys even start talking again? did he venmo you? is this, like, some kind of ‘drink truce’?”

you sigh, snatch the cup back, and take a sip.

it’s perfect. you hate that it’s perfect. you hate that he remembered.

you sort of wish your taste had changed, just so that you could have thrown or given this cup away. but it's been a miserable morning, and this class isn't going to make it any better...so you bring the cup to your lips again, and try not to think too much about where it came from.

✦ SCHLATT’S POV ✦

she didn’t text back.

which—fine. he wasn’t expecting her to, not really.

but that doesn’t stop him from checking his phone every five minutes like an idiot on a leash.

he even rereads the text once, just to make sure it didn’t sound too eager.

morning. don’t forget to eat something. you got class at 10, right?

yeah. no hearts. no weird overcompensating jokes. just enough. hopefully.

he adjusts the strap of his backpack and crosses the quad, head down. it’s cold, but not unbearable. cloudy. the kind of morning where campus smells like mud and energy drinks.

the drink in his hand is starting to sweat, so he wipes it on his sleeve. writes her name on the lid with the sharpie he borrowed from charlie. then he grabs a post-it from his notebook—crumpled from being in his pocket all morning—and writes:

figured this was better than showing up. - j

he doesn’t linger. just drops it off on the desk he knows she always sits in and ghosts out before anyone sees him.

by the time he gets to his own class, he’s wound tight.

he keeps his phone face-down. doesn’t want to see the nothing that’s still waiting there.

✦ Y/N’S POV ✦

by the time you get to the dining hall, your group already has the usual table: long bench, chipped edges, always kind of sticky. you see maya before anyone else—waving you over like she’s on a game show.

you’re halfway there when you notice something different. there’s a tupperware container sitting on your tray spot. not one of the sad, sweat-covered plastic trays from the line. a real, packed meal.

you pause.

maya grins like she’s about to explode.

“ohhhhhh,” she says, “you’re gonna love this.”

you sit slowly. look down at the container. it’s packed tight: rice, perfectly sliced chicken, sauce you actually like, and a cookie that looks bakery-grade.

everything’s still hot. nothing’s touching. wow.

you look at her. “what is this?”

she’s already pulling out her phone. “your boy dropped it off like five minutes ago. walked right up to us like he wasn’t about to commit an act of emotional terrorism.”

jordan leans in. “he said, and i quote, ‘figured she wouldn’t want to eat whatever crap they're serving today.’ and then disappeared. like. he didn’t even break stride. whoosh, whoosh...a true man on a mission.”

“he sprinted, ” courtney says. “his giant ass shoes squeaking. poor guy was so fucking nervous that we were gonna attack him or some shit.”

you blink at the tupperware like it might explode. you haven’t even opened it yet and you’re already spiraling.

and then you do. and yeah—it’s real. and it smells amazing.

“okay,” maya says, nudging your elbow. “say what you want, but if he ever wants to drop me a lunch like this, i’m available.”

you roll your eyes, but your face is warm and red again.

you take a bite.

it’s perfect. first a perfect drink, then...a perfectly hot, dorm-cooked meal?

you can't help but smile at the taste of the hot rice and fluster at the thought of: what could be next?

✦ SCHLATT’S POV ✦

the classroom is dim. one of the ceiling lights is flickering. the projector screen is stuck on a slide about supply chain logistics—week 4, apparently—and the professor sounds like he’s trying to set a world record for how many times someone can say “optimization” in a sentence.

schlatt is not listening.

he’s sitting near the back, hood up, thumb hovering over his phone. there’s a notebook open in front of him, but he hasn’t written anything down in the last twenty minutes except a small, increasingly dark patch of scribbles in the corner.

he told himself he wouldn’t check again until the class ended.

he’s checked four times in the last six minutes. still nothing.

maybe she hated it. maybe maya made a joke and she got embarrassed and dumped the whole thing in the trash. maybe the cookie got soggy. did he pack it weird? should he have separated the sauce?

the container felt warm when he handed it off. that was a good sign, right?

god, he should’ve left a note. no—wait. no more notes. that's probably why she didn't respond after the drink delivery this morning. he's probably acting too clingy. right?

he’s spiraling. he knows he’s spiraling. but the damage is already done.

he flips his phone over again, just to check the time—

and her name lights up the screen.

Y/N ♥︎ you can’t bribe me into being your girlfriend again.

he reads it once. then again. and a third time, just to make sure it’s not a hallucination brought on by cafeteria fumes and emotional instability.

his lips twitch—almost a smile, but not quite. he sits up straighter, like that’ll stop his heart from doing the thing it’s doing.

he types back immediately.

✦ Y/N’S POV ✦

you’re halfway through lunch when your phone buzzes.

SCHLATT: i know wasn’t trying to just wanted to start off your week strong and maybe make you smile then, immediately after: schlatt: not like make you just like if it happened that’d be cool not saying you owe me a smile

a beat later:

SCHLATT: god i’m making this worse huh

you stare at the texts, thumb hovering, brain blank.

across the table, maya sees the look on your face and goes, “oh no. what did he say now.”

you ignore her. she'll make a huge deal about you even entertaining him after all that word vomit. you type slowly.

Y/N: you’re definitely overthinking this

SCHLATT: yeah i do that sometimes this is me being normal btw this is my normal mode

Y/N: terrifying

there’s a pause. then:

SCHLATT: you smiled tho right

you bite your lip. don’t answer right away.

Y/N: yeah whatever …thanks j

✦ SCHLATT’S POV ✦

class ends with zero fanfare. the lights flicker once, the professor mumbles something about next week’s reading, and people start packing up like rats off a sinking ship.

schlatt barely heard any of it.

he’s been on autopilot since her text.

yeah whatever…thanks j

four words. that’s it. and yet somehow it’s enough to knock him on his ass. he can hear her voice, her little chuckle as she said it...

she could’ve left him on read. could’ve said nothing. but she didn’t. she responded. she joked. she used his initial.

he’s been replaying it all afternoon like a dumbass with a crush.

which—okay, yeah. that’s exactly what he is.

a crush on his ex-girlfriend that he's trying his damnedest to win back.

but still.

the second he’s out of class, he heads to the library. he actually wants to get shit done. maybe burn off some of the jittery energy in his chest. maybe just feel like a person with a functioning attention span again.

he takes the stairs up to the third floor, where it’s quiet and nobody breathes too loud. picks a table by the windows. pulls out his laptop and opens his notes.

he’s halfway through rewatching a lecture when he feels someone’s eyes on him.

looks up.

and there she is.

✦ Y/N’S POV ✦

he looks up before you’re ready.

not in a startled way. just… like he knew you’d be there. like part of him was waiting for you here...even if he knows that you almost never come up to the third floor.

but when he sees you, he smiles. it’s not a big smile. barely noticeable, really. but it’s real. no teasing behind it. no smugness. just soft.

safe.

you freeze for half a second. consider walking right past him, pretending you didn’t see.

but you don’t.

your feet move before your brain can stop them, and the next thing you know, you’re standing at the edge of his table. you don’t say anything. he doesn’t either.

you hesitate.

not because you don’t know where to sit—there’s a chair directly across from him. and it’s a big table. too big, honestly.

you hesitate because he looks up and smiles and now your brain is suddenly way too loud with old memories full of mutual laughter.

you clear your throat, shift your weight, point at the chair across from him in the universal student body language of: “is this seat taken?”

he tilts his head, a little confused.

and then your hand kind of flutters. awkward. dumb. you gesture again, smaller this time, like you know what, never mind.

why are you even asking? this is the guy who disappeared on you for months. the guy who left when things got serious. who took your feelings, shoved them in a drawer, and slammed it shut because he didn’t know how to deal.

and now you’re asking for permission to sit with him? seriously?

you almost pivot away—almost leave it there.

but then he shifts in his seat, leans back a little, legs spread wide, and gestures toward the chair with a quiet:

“yeah. of course.”

no hesitation. no edge.

like it never even crossed his mind that he’d say no.

your stomach twists as you sit down.

✦ SCHLATT’S POV ✦

you sit across from him, and for the first time in weeks, he actually gets through a full page of notes.

not because you’re talking to him. you’re not.

you’re doing the opposite—quiet, efficient, head down, just the gentle sound of typing and paper rustling from your side of the table. and somehow, that helps.

your focus is contagious. he picks up on the rhythm of it—syncs to the pace of your writing, the way you pause to re-read something, the exact second you reach for your water bottle.

it’s grounding. but also?

it’s killing him.

because he keeps catching himself watching you.

not for long—just little flickers. a glance at your hands. the corner of your mouth when you frown at your screen. the way you still bounce your foot when you’re stuck on something.

things he didn’t even know he remembered.

it’s like his brain is taking inventory, stockpiling little reminders of what it was like to have you in his orbit.

and it’s messing him up.

he gets halfway through typing a sentence—then backspaces the whole thing.

focus. he’s supposed to be focusing.

but every few minutes, that thought slips in: she’s here. she’s here. she’s actually here. she asked to sit with me.

and god, he’s trying not to mess it up.

so after a solid block of quiet, after he’s made it through two pages of notes and only spaced out once or twice—he pushes his laptop closed.

just softly. intentionally.

then he tilts his head toward the hallway. raises a brow.

“break?” no words.

just the offer.

and when you nod—he thinks maybe this is the first time all day he’s let himself exhale.

✦ Y/N’S POV ✦

the walk to the café is short. it always is. but somehow, with schlatt next to you—not touching, not even close enough to brush shoulders—it feels longer. or slower. or maybe that’s just your brain buffering. the two of you step inside. it’s quieter than usual. the late afternoon lull.

he holds the door. you say nothing.

you both drift to the bakery case. you stare at the drink menu. he tilts his head, studying the pastries like they’ve personally wronged him.

“get whatever,” he says, eyes still on the glass. “it’s on me.”

you roll your eyes. “didn’t you already pay a bit of your debt with that five-star michelin lunch?”

he smirks. “that was just an appetizer.”

you almost smile. you order something caffeinated. he orders something that sounds 100% artificially flavored. and then he points at one of the desserts behind the glass and says, “that too.”

the girl at the counter raises a brow. “want a fork?”

he doesn’t hesitate. “make it two.”

you blink. say nothing.

you end up at a small table near the window. sunlight spills across the surface in those weird golden strips that make everything feel older than it is.

he sets everything down. drinks. napkins. the sad little dessert. and quietly, without looking at you, he places one fork in front of your side. that’s it. no grand gesture. no comment.

like it’s just… assumed.

and somehow, that’s worse.

you sit. pick up the fork.

he digs in. keeps his eyes on the window. “it’s mid,” he says around a bite. “we chose wrong.”

you roll your eyes and stab a corner.

“we? you ordered it,” you say after a bite, dry. “don’t act like it betrayed you.”

schlatt snorts. “looked better in the glass. that’s not my fault.”

“you pointed at it with conviction. then forced me to be in on it too.”

he shrugs. “i have a history of bad decisions.”

you arch an eyebrow.

he catches it. sighs. “yeah, yeah. walked into that one.”

the silence that follows isn’t stiff. it’s tired, but not tense. comfortable, somehow.

✦ SCHLATT’S POV ✦

you keep eating.

he watches the people passing by the café window. pretends not to check your expression when you’re looking down. tells himself not to read into the little things—how you haven’t moved your seat farther away, how you haven’t called this a mistake.

then you speak.

quiet. barely over the hum of the coffee machines.

“thanks. for today.”

he glances over.

you don’t meet his eyes, but your fork pauses halfway to your mouth. like you're not sure if you should’ve said it. like maybe he’ll make it weird.

“yeah,” he says. “anytime.”

he means it.

he didn’t know how today was going to go. hell, he didn’t even know if you’d respond to the first text. he thought he knew you better than anyone, before things blew up. but when it ended, when he left, it was like someone flipped a switch and made him a stranger in his own memories.

that’s what scared him the most. and now?

you’re here. sitting across from him. splitting a dumb little pastry and still catching him off guard with the tiniest thank you.

it’s not everything. but it’s something.

and for once, he’s not spiraling about what this means next. not planning the whole rest of your relationship in his head. not worrying (too much) about your parents hating him or whether he makes enough money or if he’s the guy who can actually give you what you deserve.

he’ll still worry about all that. later. but right now?

one day at a time feels pretty damn good.

✧

they leave the café without saying much.

it’s not awkward.

just… full.

like the air between them is carrying everything they haven’t figured out how to say yet.

he keeps pace with her down the sidewalk, hands stuffed into his hoodie pocket, shoulder just a little too close to hers.

every so often, their arms bump. then, when their hands brush, she doesn’t pull away.

and when he shifts his fingers—just barely—she threads hers through his like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

he doesn’t breathe for a second. just holds on.

the walk is slow. campus fades into a blur of yellow lamps and sleepy foot traffic. everything’s quieter now. softer. the kind of evening that makes you think maybe life doesn’t have to be so loud all the time.

he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t want to break whatever this is. whatever they’ve found today.

you squeeze his hand once.

and for a moment, it’s everything.

✦ Y/N’S POV ✦

his hand is warm in yours.

you let him hold it.

because you don’t know the next time you’ll get to.

because today was… good.

and that’s what hurts the most.

it started with a text—simple, easy, like he hadn’t left months of silence between the two of you. then the drink, waiting at your desk like it was never a question. the packed lunch. the smiley texts. and then there was the library. him focused. steady. glancing up at you like he couldn’t believe you were really there. like he didn’t deserve it. like he wanted to deserve it.

and when he tilted his head—silent invite to take a break with him? you went.

the café. the dessert. the two forks.

the way he didn’t push, didn’t demand anything, just… showed up. of course, you can't be won over by materialistic things, but...there was a thoughtfulness behind today that you couldn't shake.

and now here you are, walking back to your dorm, hand in his, in the same rhythm you used to move in before everything went sideways.

it feels like deja vu.

it feels like something you wished for months ago.

it feels like too little, too late.

he used to freeze up at the thought of doing anything like this. used to shut down when you asked for more. and now? now he’s doing it without being asked.

you’d spent months wishing for this version of him.

and now that he’s here…you want to believe this could work. you do.

but you also remember what it felt like to sit in silence, waiting for him to care again. you remember trying to hold things together by yourself, telling your friends everything was fine while checking your phone more times than you’ll admit. you remember how easy it was for him to disappear.

and now?

now he’s here. fully. or at least, showing that he can be.

but you can’t unlive the part where he wasn’t.

so you hold his hand.

a little tighter.

one last time.

and you try to memorize what it feels like.

✧ ⊹ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ⊹ ✧

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * E N D   O F   C H A P T E R   T W O ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ remember how he disappeared for months? yeah. well. hahahahaha ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

📌 taglist - @f4sh10n-m4v3n

[lotusflqwer]

Heat of the Moment

a/n: I kept forgetting to post this on here BUT FINALLY i remembered. DPax SMUT so 18+ yall know the drill. This was inspired by a nsfw fanart I saw on Twitter by chessepapitas and the idea wouldn’t leave my head.

Summary: D-16 doesn't know why Orion Pax is ignoring him until he finds out the hard way.

CW/tags: NSFW!!!, aphrodisiacs, sticky sexual interfacing, dubious consent (I think?? Lmk), bottom Orion Pax, Top D-16, semi-public sex, spike oral, valve fingering, masturbation

Word count: 2.1k

Orion had been acting…skittish.

He seemed to be acting off the whole day.

Orion didn’t talk much in the mines, he was actually well behaved, and, most strangely of all, he kept avoiding D-16. Anytime their optics met, Orion would quickly turn his helm the other way. It was frustrating D-16. Why was his best friend ignoring him?

D-16 walked through the streets of Iacon. He figured a walk would help him feel better…a lonely walk. D-16 sighed at the thought. He didn’t like being alone and with Orion avoiding him, he felt like he had no one.

Dusk slowly fell over the city. Various types of shops lined the street. The buzz of bots getting out of work was beginning to die down. Everyone was either running errands or going home. D-16 was kicking a round rock along the sidewalk as he roamed about.

D-16 looked up and spotted a familiar red and blue paint job. Orion was running down the sidewalk, frantically checking each of the stores’ windows. He must be looking for something important.

D-16 thought this was the perfect time to confront him. Maybe once they talked, he could help Orion look for whatever he’s looking for. D-16 steeled himself and marched towards Orion.

Orion hadn’t noticed D-16 was behind him. He was carefully looking through the store’s supplies through the window. D-16 cleared his intake, making Orion jump.

“Hey, Pax…uh…I was—“

Orion quickly fled the scene. He didn’t make it far before D-16 grabbed his wrist.

“Pax?! Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you avoiding me?” D-16 questioned. Orion’s metal plating was hot under his servo. Too hot. D-16 tried not to let go. He was determined to get to the bottom of this and fix whatever he had done to make Orion ignore him.

“Dee— just-just let me go, alright?” Orion tried to pull himself away from D-16’s grip, but it was too strong.

“At least tell me what I did so I can fix it!” D-16 said firmly.

“You didn’t do anything,” Orion swallowed, “I need-I need you to let me go!”

D-16 didn’t want to let go, but Orion’s plating was burning the sensors of his servo. He released his grip, cradling his servo as he saw Orion dash into an alleyway. D-16 quickly made his way over.

The sky was beginning to darken. Colorful hologram signs were beginning to turn on, their lights illuminating the street. D-16 peeked into the alleyway. It was dark, but he saw the blue shine of Orion’s optics. He was sitting down further into the alley, his chassis heaving as he gasped.

D-16 slowly walked to Orion. He choked when he saw Orion’s valve panel was removed and his digits were plunging deep inside himself. The sound of his cooling fans on full blast filled D-16’s audials.

“Pax what are you doing?! Here?!” D-16 stumbled back. He needed to look away, he must look away, but his optics were glued to Orion’s pretty valve.

“Oh Dee…I ate something I shouldn’t have. An appo-um…aphro-uhh…oh whatever! And now…now your touch amplified this feeling I’ve had all day,” Orion whined, his digits not stopping. He rested his helm back against the wall with his back arched. Drool trailed down his chin and coolant gathered in the corner of his optics.

D-16 was frozen. Not only by the lewd sight, but also from Orion’s words. Of course he ate an aphrodisiac! It’s not surprising Orion made another stupid decision.

“Is this why you’ve been ignoring me all day?” D-16 asked slowly. He could feel his spike panel getting tight. Orion nodded.

“Just looking at you made the heat worse and…I didn’t want to do something I’d regret,” Orion gasped, his digits hit his interior node.

“Something you’d…regret?” D-16 was drawn to the wet squelches from Orion’s valve.

“I value our friendship and I didnt—ngh—I’m afraid I’ll force you to help me! I don’t want that!” Orion was panting with his optic ridges knit in concentration. His digits started to slow down.

“Y-You could’ve told me! We could’ve figured something out earlier!” D-16 reasoned with his servos gesturing wildly.

Suddenly, Orion leaned forward and started to slowly crawl towards D-16. D-16 backed up until his back hit the wall behind him. Orion’s servos latched onto his pedes as if they were magnetized.

“Leave! before I—mmng,” Orion couldn’t finish his sentence and started licking long stripes along the side of D-16’s leg, just below his knee. D-16 could feel the heat radiating from Orion’s frame.

This must be a dream. Another filthy dream D-16’s processor cooked up because this was too good to be true. D-16 had always wondered, daydreamed really, how Orion would look like this: desperate and needy. No way this was real.

Orion’s glossa trailed up to D-16’s inner thigh, his servos pawing at D-16’s interface panels. Okay…maybe this wasn’t a dream.

“Deeee,” Orion pleaded, “Dee, I need youuuu…please help me.” Orion rubbed his helm on D-16’s thigh. The coolness of his best friend’s frame was the only relief Orion had felt since the day started. Short hot pants escaped from his mouth and fogged D-16’s silver metal plates.

D-16 let out a shaky exvent and tore his gaze away. He started to weigh his options like a reasonable mech would. He could help Orion and make the effects of the aphrodisiac go away right here right now or…they could wait it out. Although, waiting it out posed some great risks to Orion. The aphrodisiac has already lasted the whole day; it might be one that only goes away with an assisted overload. If that’s the case and they wait too long, Orion’s internals could melt!

D-16 reached to his codpiece and popped off his spike panel, finalizing his decision. His spike immediately pressurized and bobbed in air. Orion moaned at the sight of the black colored spike with orange bio lights. He excitedly thought of the girth stretching him soon. He quickly wrapped a servo around it, unable to close his fist from the width, and wasted no time in sliding it into his mouth.

D-16 shivered at how warm Orion’s mouth was. His servo hovered over Orion’s helm, his frame still too hot to the touch. Orion quickly began moving up and down D-16’s length. D-16 bit his servo to stifle his moans while Orion didn’t care if anyone heard him.

Orion could feel every ridge of the spike slide smoothly into his mouth. The head of D-16’s spike reached well past his intake. Orion gagged but he didn’t want to remove himself.

D-16 stiffened and slammed a fist against the wall behind him. His optics were screwed shut. His charge was climbing too fast.

“P-Pax…mnph…Pax!!” D-16 yelled and managed to grab Orion’s helm and push him all the way down. His spike twitched with every shot of transfluid into the other’s mouth. Orion keened at the feeling of the warm oily fluid going down his intake.

Orion kept sucking D-16’s spike, not even pausing for a breather. D-16 began to feel a burning sensation from the overstimulation. He reached down and pulled Orion’s helm off his spike. He didn’t release his hold on the blue helm and instead angled it up to make contact with Orion’s dimmed optics.

“Th-That’s enough! I’m supposed to make you overload!” D-16 managed to get out between fits of static. Orion’s mouth was open and his glossa was sticking out as he gasped for air. He had a dazed expression on his face. D-16 doubt Orion heard him.

“Here…stand against the wall,” D-16 said as he picked Orion up. He gently laid him against the wall. Thankfully, Orion could still stand on his own. D-16 looked down and saw pink smears all over Orion’s thighs. The mesh of his valve was swollen and his bright blue node was blinking irregularly.

D-16 caged Orion with one arm and raised one of his legs with the other. He grabbed his spike and rubbed it on the grey folds, making more of a mess with Orion’s lubricants. The contact made Orion tremble.

“I-In…Inside!” Orion stuttered, his hips bucking against D-16’s. D-16 held Orion’s impatient hips with his strong servos.

D-16 sucked in a vent and held it, bracing himself. He positioned his spike and easily slipped faster than he intended into Orion’s hot valve. Their arrays were pressed firmly together when D-16 bottomed out.

Both mechs groaned loudly. Orion from finally being filled up and D-16 from the tight heat of the valve. The feeling of his calipers struggling to circle around the girth of the spike made Orion whimper.

Orion clutched onto D-16’s shoulders. His servos were still searing hot, but that was the last thing on D-16’s mind.

D-16 muttered a small prayer of gratitude to Primus under his breath. He began to slowly move his hips back. Orion was so wet, there was almost no friction. It took everything in D-16 not to start slamming back into Orion’s sopping valve.

Lubricant dripped onto the ground as D-16 carefully slid back in. He bit back a moan when he bumped Orion’s gestation seal.

“D-Dee…” Orion’s soft voice snapped D-16’s attention towards him. “If you don’t start pounding me into this wall right now, I’m afraid I’ll melt and die,” Orion whispered, his hold on D-16’s shoulders getting tighter. He felt so much pleasure from D-16 thrusting slowly that he couldn’t keep his optics on the silver mech, but he needed more.

“R-Right…yeah…” D-16 nodded as he pulled out slowly until only the head of his spike was inside. He took a couple deep vents and, without warning, shoved himself inside in one quick motion. Orion gasped and his optics widened. D-16 set a brutal pace, which was exactly what Orion was craving.

All of Orion’s internal nodes fired through his sensor net at once, making him arch off the wall. He moaned and whined and kicked. Tears streamed down his cheeks from the intense pleasure of D-16’s roughness.

Orion left scratches on D-16’s plating, making him groan. The sound of their hips colliding bounced off the walls of the alleyway. Orion quickly shoved his lubricant filled digits into D-16’s mouth. D-16 moaned at the sweet taste and sucked the best he could while keeping his rhythm.

Warnings flashed in Orion’s HUD about the temperature in his frame rising to a fatal degree. Light steam started to expel from the gaps in between his metal plates. The energon in his fuel lines was starting to evaporate.

Orion tried to tell D-16, but the only sounds that came from his voicebox were static-filled moans. He tried to focus on his pleasure, trying to make his charge climb faster.

The way Orion stiffened suddenly and squeezed his optics shut alerted D-16 that something was wrong. His hips started to slow down. Orion frantically shook his head

“Mm-!” Orion tried to speak, “d…!” He wanted to say ‘more!’ or ‘don’t stop!’ but neither came out. Luckily, D-16 got the message. He grabbed Orion’s waist and pulled him harshly in time with his thrusts.

D-16 inched his servo closer to Orion’s flickering node. He pressed on the little nub and moved it in a circle. Orion’s noises got louder. He took his servo from D-16’s mouth and clamped it onto his own. Which didn’t do much; Orion was practically sobbing.

Two more bruising thrusts and Orion’s callipers squeezed around D-16’s spike in a fierce overload. White sparks danced across his vision. His firm grip left dents on D-16. A long groan left D-16 as he overloaded inside Orion. The rhythmic flutters of the calipers milked his spike for every drop.

They both stood there, panting and covered in condensation. Orion’s HUD notified him that his frame’s temperature was going back to normal. He felt utterly exhausted and sore. He limply fell onto D-16’s chest.

“Woah, you okay?” D-16 asked in a worried tone, steadily holding Orion up. Orion could only nod in acknowledgment, his voicebox fried. His legs felt wobbly and his helm felt heavy. D-16 slowly sat him down on the ground. He placed his servo on his forehelm.

“You’re not burning up anymore…the aphrodisiac must be out of your system now,” D-16 said with a relieved sigh. Then he clicked his glossa. He wanted to scold Orion for being so much of an idiot that he consumed an aphrodisiac in the first place. Primus below, he could’ve died! But seeing the tiredness in Orion’s face made his anger subside.

“Come on…let’s go back to the barracks. You need to rest,” D-16 whispered. Orion deliriously smiled at him. D-16 swung one of Orion’s arms over his shoulder, grabbed his waist, and hauled him up to his pedes. Orion chuckled to himself at how he couldn’t stand on his own.

Orion snuggled up against D-16’s frame. D-16 rolled his optics with a soft smile in response.

He could get mad at him later.

[mikimakiboo]

Mermay day 1 - Daydream

The Mermay bingo belongs to @skumhuu !

It will surely be veeeeeery small drabbles but I'm trying to avoid burn out okay ? I will try to make it daily updates knowing I still need to work on Time Travelers so wish me luck !!! :')

I will do my best but don't be surprised if I black out for a few days

Also some chapters will be about Megalodontale so to avoid confusion I'll write which AU it is before each chapter ~

This story will be cross-posted on AO3 !

- Leviathantale -

Cross is in his tank in the lab, he gets lost in his thoughts, the only thing he can do anyway...

Next

The water was cold, it always got colder at night when the big machines turned off, they said it was to save energy, as they didn't have a big enough generator to have everything constantly on. Cross sighed, swimming, or rather crawling as the tank he was in wasn't deep or large enough to properly swim, to the other side, the one from which he could see a window. It was a rather small window but he could see the sky and the tops of a few trees and mountains in the distance. He knew there was water too, he saw it one day and when it was too hot inside the scientists would open the windows and Cross would hear the waves crashing on the shore.

He sometimes wondered how this water would feel against his bones ? Would it be colder or warmer than the one in the tanks ? Would the temperature vary throught the day ?  Would it stay the same all year long like he was used to or would it vary over the months too ? What would it taste like ? Would it have a smell ? The water here was tasteless, plaine, and only smelled like the products they used to clean the glass of his tank. It was changed twice a month anyway so it didn't have time to smell like anything.

He closed his eyes, curling as much as he could on himself and bringing his tail in front of his face, trying to hide from the light of the few machines still on. He tried to imagine himself swimming in the ocean, free of these glass walls, of these collars and captors stuck on his body. He was born in the lab, but sometimes there would be other mers who came from the ocean, some were nice enough to tell him how it was out there. Cross knew it was big, so big you could swim for days and days before reaching a shore, so big you wouldn't even see said shore from the surface, and the fish were alive. He had never seen alive fish, they were always dead when entering his tank for dinner time. Would he know how to hunt them ? How fast did fish swim ? Did they swim alone or in a group ?

He would probably have to be discrete, to swim slowly and sneak from behind, did fish even have good hearing ? If they were deaf then he could probably just come from behind fast enough so they wouldn't have time to flee if they saw him. Could he kill them with his claws ? Their flesh was soft and tender, he could dig his claws and fangs easily through it, and the fish would probably die rapidly. What was the sensation of something dying in his hands like ? Would he physically feel the life leaving the body or would it just go limp after a while like it fell asleep ? Did fish sleep ? What would a sleeping fish look like ? Did they just stay still or did they lay on the gorund to pass the night like he did in his tank ? Would he ever see a sleeping fish ?

Cross stretched, looking through the window again, would he ever see something outside of the lab ? Would he ever see other mers outside of the tanks ? He would love to go outside, have a taste of freedom, discover the reefs, see the corals that everyone always described as so colorful, he would love to hunt, swim until his tail was sore and sleep in the sand... He would love to see something else, to go explore, would he try to find a home ? Or would he live day to day, always moving and discovering new places ? He would like to have friends too, maybe sharkmers like him, if they existed, if he wasn't the only sharkmer, but he would be happy with any other mer, as long as they were nice and willing to explore with him. He wouldn't be difficult anyway, just having someone with him would be enough. Were mers even sociable creatures ? Was he sociable only because he lived all his life surrounded by doctors or was it a spieces trait ? He didn't even know how his own spieces worked, how could he make friends with other mers like that ?

Another sigh escaped his mouth. It didn't matter anyway, he would probably never get out of this lab, so why worry about how fish sleep at night or how mers interacted with one another ? He would never see it, he could daydream all he wanted, he would never have friends. The doctors weren't his friends, they hurt him, treated him like an object and got mad when their tests didn't give them the results they wanted. He didn't know what having friends felt like, and he would probably never. And what even guaranteed him that having friends would be good ? What if everyone was like the doctors and that was just how the world was ? Maybe he didn't want to know after all...

He should just sleep, there would be other tests in the morning, he couldn't be tired... Maybe if he was a good subject they would allow him to spend some time in the big pool again, and then he could pretend again to be in the ocean, to be far from this place...

Maybe one day his wish of freedom would become reality, if he was really the best subject, and for that he had to rest at night to have good results on the tests... yes, maybe one day he would know what the ocean felt like...

[starhvney]

Hey hey! May I ask for Garroth (Mys) post-S6, a coffee with cinnamon and cinnamon rolls ❤️! Thank you:].

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟎: 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫!!

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: established relationship, hurt/comfort, snowy storm

𝐚/𝐧: "here it is!" i say, hands shaking as i hold out your now very much cold cinnamon roll with tears in my eyes.

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ☆ 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

“What are you thinking about?”

The subtle sound of snow pelting against the window and the fireplace crackling is the only thing that fills the silence between your question and his answer. Garroth bites the inside of his cheek before slowly shifting his head to look at you, smiling softly as he adjusts the blanket wrapped around you to cover your shoulders better. His fingers linger against your jaw before he pulls you into his embrace again, shaking his head dismissively.

“Nothing, just enjoying the moment,” he murmurs, the flickering flames reflecting against his distant eyes.

It was so rare for Garroth to have nothing to say, especially when you two were alone. More times than not, he’d be more than comfortable spilling every thought that passed through his brain whether it was something put together or the stupidest thing you’ve ever been subjected to hearing. Even if it made him look dumb, he relishes in your giggles, basking in the fact that he was blessed with the privilege of talking to you.

Lately, though, you’d noticed that on occasion his optimistic front would slip. His eyes would shift to something distant, glazing over as if tears were just on the precipice of spilling over the edge; like he could burst into tears if he focused too hard on whatever was clearly taking over his thoughts. And, like now, he’d fake that perfect smile of his, the tense set of his jaw far too brooding to convince you that he was being genuine.

You understand.

The loss that he, you, and everyone else experienced left a stinging pain—an indescribable wound in everyone’s mind and hearts that wouldn’t be healing over the same for the rest of your lives. You were all scarred from that damning island one way or another, and the lovely man next to you now was no exception. Not only did he have to watch in horror as his possessed body betrayed his protective nature, nearly killing the very people most precious to him, but he also had to undergo the painful biological change of becoming a werewolf. A process that should’ve killed him, that felt like it was killing him. He experienced physical and emotional torture, and for once, the outgoing and strong Ro’Meave was rendered at a loss for words.

You understand why he chooses not to speak. You’ve had your fair share of keeping the pain of it all to yourself. But you can’t stand letting him brew in whatever negativity that was clearly swirling around behind those pretty blue eyes. So this time, instead of cautiously avoiding breaking this rare moment of peace, you gently push just a little further.

“You know I know you better than to believe that, right?”

He winces at your callout, lips pressing together as he looks back to you.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, I’m not- I’m not trying to lie to you-”

You very quickly shush him with a press of your index finger against his soft lips, shaking your head. “Having trouble putting it into words?”

He nods, tilting his head to lean into your hand. Without complaint you concede to his silent request, cupping his cheek and brushing your thumb under his eyes that seemed to melt as he beheld you. At the center of his deep blue was a splash of an almost yellow color radiating from the center, currently threatening to be swallowed by his widened pupils as he stares at you.

You thought the color was always befitting, representing him as a person. Like a sun in the center of the cold sky. A star in the center of the ocean. A fire in the middle of a winter storm… Something warm and inviting to cling to in the dark. It seems that your sun needed a little rekindling now, and you couldn’t be even slightly opposed to returning all of the support and love he’s poured onto you over the years.

“I just… don’t feel like myself anymore. I don’t look like myself anymore. It’s hard to describe, and it almost makes me sound vain. I just-” He swallows, shaking his head. “I’m different now.”

You quietly sigh in return, pinching his cheek before leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. His eyes flutter shut and a bit of tension leaves his shoulders.

It was true. He had literally been changed genetically. His DNA had been torn apart and remodified into something he wasn’t used to. His build, which had already been impressively strong before, now was so broad and muscular he felt almost awkward in the things he did, like a bull knocking around in a china cabinet. His once lithe hands were thicker, and while they used to be strong they almost held too much power now. It was scary for him. To hold you, something so precious to him, with a nagging voice in the back of his head that told him he’d hurt you. He feared even the idea of it, and sometimes he’d even find himself paralyzed in horror when he squeezed you to him just a little too tight.

There was a constant scruff on his chin that he couldn’t seem to tame, and while it was amusing to see him frustratingly shave every few days while complaining how hard it was to keep up the boyish and clean shaven look he sported for so long, you also felt a sense of pity… watching his shoulders sag defeatedly and eyebrows furrow in frustration as he stared in the mirror, trying to recognize the man—no, the werewolf staring back at him.

“Yeah, things are a little different,” you admit, avoiding any sort of discredit to his raw feelings. “But you’re still you. You’re still my sweet and handsome Garroth that I’ve always known. These won’t change that.”

Your free hand reaches up to brush against one of his fluffy ears as you talk, earning a twitch of them against his messy blonde hair. He opens his misty eyes again, eyebrows pulled up into a pained furrow. He leans in for another kiss, departing only to nudge his nose against your cheek and settle against your neck, his meaty shoulders and back becoming the only thing in your sight besides the fireplace.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his voice a low and quiet tremble.

“And I love you.”

There’s nothing that either of you can do to reverse what’s happened to him. You know that. He knows that. But between the syllables of the three worded phrase was an indescribable thankfulness that you knew he meant to say—even if he couldn’t get it out in this moment. He’s grateful you’re still here, and that you undeniably would still be here as he adjusts to this new form. And you know he would and will do the same for you.

©starhvney 2024. do not plagiarize, feed to any AI, or repost my works to any sites.

taglist: @wasting-away-on-the-internet @angelhyperfixates @valentique @arienic @dazedbydeath @theaquaticplant @starsbrightly @kalegrinch @izzybella1807 @marst4rz @vyladsgirl @allieyaaa

[marsbutterfly]

A Field Of Sunflowers

a/n: yeah this is based on this post i saw a couple of years ago. anyway hehe enjoy

warnings: NSFW, canon setting, fem! reader, nb! Hanji Zoe, oral sex(f! receiving), fingering, semi-public sex, mentions of alcohol, not beta read (we die like men teehee)

The warm sun feels amazing on your skin. The bruised marks of your as a result of your ODM gear finally fade from your body the longer the areas are allowed to breathe freely.

Finally being able to take a day off and relax away from the prying eyes from the survey corps, you find yourself laying on a blanket atop the grass, a small flower placed behind your ear as you rest your head on your hands.

The sky above you is a shade of blue you have never seen. The clouds dance with each other, forming images and figures that bring giggles out of you. The silly idea that you could easily dip a brush into the color and paint an entire ocean out of you comes to your mind. Maybe the day is just so beautiful that you can't seem to stop smiling.

Or maybe it's the sheer amount of wine that travels through your veins, causing your cheeks to heat up and your breathing to get shaky. A couple of empty bottles sit beside you inside the picnic basket, a third one loosely in your hand as you gasp quietly.

The sunflowers in the field match your yellow dress, the fabric tickling your skin as it's pushed up by an eager hand. A pair of pillowy soft lips leave marks along the skin of your thighs as desperate fingers hook themselves on the edges of your underwear, pulling it down and tossing it on the grass.

The second Hanji's tongue comes in contact with your aching cunt, you can't help but allow a loud moan to escape your throat. The way the tip flickers against your clit, licking the area from top to bottom before slowly entering you causes your head to spin.

Your moans grow in volume, getting higher and louder with each hum that passes through Hanji's mouth. Though you try your best to avoid it, you can feel their gaze focused on your expression, fully taking in not only your juices but the just as delicious expressions you make.

"H-Hanji…" You whimper, crying out their name. The flowers brush against the bare skin on your left arm while the right arm comes down to the area in between your legs, your fingers digging at their head. You can feel the smile that forms on their face, you can tell how proud they are for making you whine and cry out like this.

Hanji wraps both of their arms around your thighs, carefully digging their digits into your skin while holding you perfectly in place. The placement of your hips perfectly aligned with their lips as they continue to feast on you, their cheeks a bright shade of red as the alcohol takes its toll on them.

The suckling sound they make while paying close attention to your folds is enough to draw a warm sensation to your face, your cheeks burning up in embarrassment like you have a fever while you try your best to decide what to do with your hands.

"Will you stay still for me?" They ask, mumbling against your clit. You pout in response to their abrupt interruption but quickly begin to nod, unable to form words as your brain turns to mush. They chuckle in response, knowing how you are getting increasingly desperate, "Good girl."

Without giving you much time to react, they readjust themselves, their nose brushing against your clit while their tongue begins working on your entrance once more. They let go of your left thigh and quickly bring their hand up, pulling down the upper part of your dress and ripping apart the straps that held it over your shoulders, exposing your breasts to the chilly breeze.

You can't contain the yelp that leaves your lips, especially when the palm of their hand perfectly encapsulates your nipple, tightly gripping the sensitive area for dear life. You don't have time to even process what is happening before they make their next move.

You try to keep your promise to remain still, but with their left hand, Hanji carefully inserts a finger inside of you. Your pelvis immediately rises, searching for more contact with their lips and you can feel a small giggle leaving their body.

"So tight, my love," they whisper. Their tongue begins to work on you once more, leaving no part of your pussy unattended: the tip of their nose brushing against your hardening clit, their tongue eagerly working its magic on the inner lips while their finger continuously pumps in and out of you.

Your throat begins to dry as you realize you can't keep your mouth closed for more than a millisecond, let alone swallow anything. Your hand rests on their head, nails fidgeting with the locks as you twist them into knots. With their left index and middle finger, they begin twirling your nipple around while still having the remaining digits squeeze your breast. You close your eyes tightly, the wave of pleasure that continues to wash over you becoming more and more overwhelming with each lap of their tongue.

"You wanna try two fingers?" They ask, a slightly smug tone to their voice. You look down at them, only to see the sun reflecting on those whiskey-brown eyes, your heart almost missing a beat at how angelic they look. A pathetic whimper exits your throat and you nod, feeling Hanji's middle finger tease your entrance, "I need you to ask for it, baby."

You groan and wiggle your hips forward, silently begging for more and hoping it would be enough but, deep down, you know it has never been that easy with Hanji. So you look deep inside yourself to gather any amount of strength you can muster to allow the words to leave your throat, "P-Please… Put two fingers… I-Inside of me."

They don't waste any time before complying with your request, your voice sounding like a beautiful symphony, filled with desire and need. A sound they could spend every second of the day listening to for the rest of their life and never get tired of.

With two fingers now inside, you cry out loudly. The idea that someone might hear you is making its way into your brain so you have to remind yourself of how far away from the city you are. But thinking about anything that isn't Hanji proves itself to be increasingly more difficult.

Hanji continuously swirls their tongue on your folds, their nose paying close attention to your clit and their two fingers continue to stretch you from the inside out, occasionally spreading themselves apart in a scissoring manner and it earns a jerk of your body. You can't help it anymore, the need to move your hips, to search for more contact is overwhelming.

When your walls begin to tighten around their fingers, Hanji realizes you are getting close. Though a part of them wants to tease you for it, to stop their movements and make you beg, their mind suddenly drops the facade once their eyes land on your face once more.

A couple of tears of pleasure stream down your cheeks, your grasp on the bottle of wine finally loosening as you cling to the grass close to your head, you chant their name like a prayer, a sacred word that could heal every wounded soldier in the world.

"Fuck… H-Hanji, I can't…" You cry out, your hips bucking against their face desperately, wanting nothing more than to be close to them. Their breath gets caught in their throat, their tongue beginning to pick up speed, working its magic against your pussy in the hopes of tipping you over the edge.

Their fingers pump in and out of you, down to the third knuckle as they fold inside of you, the tips perfectly brushing against your g-spot and making you see bright stars in the sunny sky. You cry out once more which causes their tongue to swirl around your cunt, taking in every last drop of your essence.

"Come for me, baby," They whisper against your cunt. Those four words are all your body needs to allow itself to fall over the edge. Your hips rise and buck against their face in a rhythm you aren't able to control, and the cry that leaves your chest is so loud, that you are sure anyone within all three walls was able to hear you.

"HANJI!!!!!" You scream, one hand desperately gripping their hair and guiding their face towards the area where it feels best while the other rests above theirs on your breast. You can feel the small chuckle they let out, gently using the tip of their tongue to help you ride out your orgasm for as long as they can.

"Oh, that's my good girl," they whisper, planting gentle kisses on your folds, on your clit and your thighs. They use the edges of your dress to wipe their mouth, a smile plastered on their face and you can tell just how proud they are. Slowly, they make their way up your body, planting kisses over any small piece of exposed skin they can find, their fingers finally making their way out of you.

In a drunken and pleasure-filled haze, you grab their wrist and bring it towards your lips, placing their digits in your mouth. Hanji gasps quietly, a moan escaping their chest as they feel your tongue swirling around their digits, licking away the essence you left behind.

Once you are done and your lips are free, they plant their face against yours, lips meeting in a hunger-filled kiss. The world melting around the both of you and you can swear the sunflowers are facing you, watching carefully over your act of true love.

"Your legs are shaking," Hanji whispers against your lips, their arm wrapping around your waist as they hold you close. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, not in annoyance, but as an aftershock due to the amount of pleasure your body has just experienced.

"I wonder whose fault that is," you manage to whisper and it earns a small giggle out of them. In a quiet voice, you say, "I wish we had more days off.."

"I do too," they whisper back, your arm wrapped around their shoulder as you nuzzle your cheek against the top of their head. After a long pause and a heavy sigh, they continue, "This spot always reminds me of you."

"Oh? And why's that?" You whisper, closing your eyes and enjoying the warmth of their skin against you. A smile forms on their face.

"You are always calling me your sunshine," they whisper, lifting their head to take off their glasses, placing the pair on the grass beside them, "It would only make sense that you are my Sunflower."

You chuckle, "I thought I was your Moonlight."

"I dunno, then I just think you are pretty like a sunflower," they mumble, "Ask me again when I'm sober."

You laugh quietly, hugging them a little tighter. You throw one leg on top of theirs and completely tangle your bodies together, your hearts beating as one and, for the first time in forever, you allow yourself to relax in the arms of the one you love most.