#big love all around stay happy stay healthy

[angelplummie]

here for revenge.

being lily's best friend - you grow up with her - you're in the donaldsons orbit for all your formative years. you develop a crush on art that turns into love as you grow older. your home life isn't so glamorous. you spend lots of weekends at the donaldsons. art has tucked you in. brought you snacks when you stayed up late for movie nights, making you and lily promise not to tell tashi. you were there when art and tashi got divored, held lilys hand and pretended not to be happy inside at the thought of getting closer to art.

lily gets into college - a big smart one because she has tashi's ambition and leaves you behind, you're still stuck at home because your dreams have always been smaller.

maybe its not appropriate, to still spend time with art. but he's lonely. tashi left, and now his daughter has and you're the only one left in his life that actually wants to be around him, that has always looked at him with stars in your eyes. its probably not healthy. there should be a boundary there. your lilies, not his.

but you like being around him and he likes having someone to take care of. you come over and he makes you eat something healthy and you needle him about spending all his time at home and how he should get out more, and he rolls his eyes, tells you he should be saying the same to you, you're young and beautiful and you should be dating around.

but how can you date around when art donaldson is your dream man? when you're happiest at his side, eating what he makes you. you want more though. you want to share his bed, warm it for him, you want to make him not so lonely, you want him to stop seeing you as a little girl and as the adult you've grown up to be - so you start wearing less and less around him. start acting more and more like a housewife.

art accepts it without even realizing. now you just need to find the right opportunity to pounce.

WHEW. this one is long so buckle up

“art?”

“mr donaldson.”

you roll your eyes.

“mr donaldson, how come you never started dating again?”

he chopped the lemon with a deft clunk, eyes never leaving the knife.

“never felt the urge.”

“what does that mean?”

“what i just said. never felt the need to.”

“hm.”

you sat on the island, next to the chopping board. your legs swung haphazardly, and you watched art as he chopped.

why was he playing this game? he could’ve told you to leave, to stop coming back and bothering him, that this was inappropriate. and yet. he didn’t even tell you to get your sorry butt off the counter, or some such dad-ism. the low glow of the many warm lamps that adorned such a luxurious house illuminated art so softly, he looked as young as the day lily was born. he was as fit as back then, if not meatier. he didn’t have the pouch your dad had, but the years had given him a thickness. instead of wasting away like most lean men did, he struggled to the other side. he got broader. layer upon layer of muscle encased in a thin finishing of fat. he was skinnier when you were a kid, but he had no reason to be lean now. under his chin a tiny hammock of pudge rested as his head tilted down, kissed by light stubble. his blonde hair was streaked in silver, but that somehow made him younger looking. made him glow. he had grown it out, by your suggestion. he was everything in the world a man should be.

“what about you?”

“i hate boys. they’re all stupid.”

“you got that right. you’re too good for all of them, never settle.”

“maybe it’s just boys my own age. theyre so immature.”

arts wide chest heaves. his eyes flick to you then flick back down. you see it all, and cross one leg over the other.

“maybe.”

“what were you like when you were my age?”

he laughs at the memory.

“stupid, immature, evil. if i was anything to go by you should swear off men entirely until menopause.”

air left your chest cavity.

“i don’t wanna wait. i want a fully formed one.”

you watched the muscles in arts forearms flex as he squeezed the lemon onto salad. the main course was cooking, was singing loudly on the stove. art had gotten into cooking after the divorce. it took all his attention and put it in one place, something complex and delicate and time consuming. it helped to clear his head. it wasn’t helping right this second.

“i shouldn’t say that,” he said curtly,”boys your age aren’t so bad. give them a go and quit hanging out with an old man.”

“but i like you, old man.”

art was so harsh on himself. he really wasn’t that old. and you really weren’t that young.

he pressed his lips together and kept squeezing. his pink lips, that gave his face the everlasting youth it held. he shrugged his shoulders in that way he did when he was confronted with the truth of your arrangement. there was something going on. something very, very, very wrong. you were the same age as his daughter. 3 months younger. he was the worst man in the world. the worst person to ever breathe. what could he do though? tell you to go? tell you to leave his house and never come back? what would become of you then? without him, what pillar of paternity would you rely upon? what new low would you reach? what men would you come across, and what would you do to please them? while he gingerly entertained you, you dangled something in front of his face that others would not have the restraint or morality to resist. if you had to move to another target, your next victim might not care so deeply for your wellbeing. were you not altogether safer, sitting in his kitchen, eating his caesar salad, rather than inhaling second hand cigarettes from old wrinkled fucks who might murder you, or worse-

“art?”

“mr donaldson.”

“you got a bunch of lemon pips in the salad.”

“oh.”

he set down the lemon.

“are you ok? you seem tense.”

“i’m good. are you cold? i can turn on the heating if you like.”

“no. it’s actually quite warm in here.”

he hears the zip of your hoodie and starts away from the island, under the pretence of getting a paper towel to deposit the lemon seeds on. your jumper clatters to the counter, and you watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. low cut top. he knows that’s what you’re wearing. because that’s all it’s been for the past 2 months. your mini skirt flowers around you as you sit, but when you stand each swish and sway of the fabric is a death sentence. god forbid you take the stairs for some ungodly reason.

“hey, you know what you said about never having the urge?”

oh, fuck off, he thought. fuck off. leave him be. leave him alone. release him.

“yes.”

“you can’t really mean that can you?”

“sure i can.”

“i mean, you can. but i don’t think you do.”

you twirled a strand of hair in between your fingers. your stomach grumbled, loud enough that he could hear. you were so hungry you could die, but if you ate what art was frying your breath would smell like fish all night.

“let me check the salmon.”

“i’m not that hungry. you can’t mean that you never had the urge to. everyone has urges.”

“well sure. but after tashi, i needed a breather. a grace period, if you will. you can’t go from marriage with a woman like her right into dating.”

“but it’s been 3 years. you must be over it by now?”

he ignored the hope in your voice. ignore, ignore, ignore.

“i am over it. but. women scare me.”

he walked languidly over the salmon. it was ready.

“i don’t scare you, i’m a woman.”

a woman. he turned off the stove, and turned to fix you with a stare for the first time tonight. a woman. that was not the word he would use to describe you. your eyes were the size of saucers, and you bat your lashes languidly, like you knew how much you were making him suffer. you sat up pin straight, and twisted your spine to make eye contact with him. your body. he tried not to look. tried not to look in front of you and see the twisted grin come across your lips. but he was a weak man. the weakest of men, and his eyes dragged over where a fatherly view should never cross. your perky new tits, the press and curve of your ass against the counter, the plush of your thighs. it seemed you had grown up overnight, and didn’t know you were still a baby. you’re a baby. you knew what you were doing to him. you knew. he blushed involuntarily.

“you scare me most of all.”

his voice trembled. he hadn’t meant to say that. hadn’t meant to dignify you will any response at all. it had crossed his mind and then it crossed his lips.

your eyes lit up with extreme delight. he liked to make you happy, but his stomach churned with the thought of why.

“why?”

he turned back around, and plated up your salmon, adding potatos and asparagus from the same pan, drizzling it all in the residual oil.

“why art?”

“mr donaldson.”

a twinge of irritation tickles your stomach. what was he fighting this for? you’re all grown up now. you both knew what was going to happen. he was resisting fate, the inevitable.

all your life you had known he was the man you were meant to be with. from that first time he kissed your forehead as you dozed off on the couch, thinking you were asleep. when his strong arms would carry both you and his daughter, flinging you around, threatening to dunk you in their backyard pool. when he would catch your eye in the rear view mirror as he drove you around and winked. he was so nice. so nice and brave and kind and warm, and if you had to be with any man it should be him because you’ve loved him since you were 8, and now you’re old enough to claim it. you’re not just a dumb kid with a crush. you love him. you understand it being one sided back then. but it isn’t anymore, and you wouldn’t let him deny it. with gliding footsteps you approached him, drawing closer every second he didn’t turn around. a hand rests on his shoulder blade.

“just stop,” you breathed after a pause.

his spatula clattered to the pan with a metallic thunk. you pull your hand away like he burnt you. he gripped the counter with a sigh and hung his head.

“you stop. stop it now,” his voice was stern. you felt yourself shrink. art was never stern.

“i know what you’re thinking, and it’s not going to happen. this has gone on far too long and it stops right now.”

a mere few paces from his wide curved back, you blink. the urge to touch him is overwhelming. you want to press your hand to his back, feel him under your palm and tell him you know he wants this. you know he wants this just as bad as you do.

but you don’t, because he’s angry at you, and he’s never been angry at you before.

“i’ve let you come here and cooked you food and watched movies with you because you’re a good kid. because i knew you as a kid and i know your problems with your father and i wanted to be there for you when lily is away. but you have taken this too far. you’re my daughters best friend. i have cleaned up your vomit twice, i baked you a cake for your 13th birthday- it’s not right. i’ve tried to be understanding, i’ve tried to ignore it, but you never drop it. never. your lack of self respect is staggering. you have to drop it right now or, im sorry but you can’t come back here anymore.”

every muscle fibre was clenched. if the counter top wasn’t marble it would’ve crunch and fell away under his grip. he couldn’t take it anymore. he didn’t know how much longer he could be good. didn’t know how much longer he could take resisting you.

maybe he was harsh. but it was the right thing to do. the only thing to do. he rested his elbow on the counter, and between his forefinger and his thumb held the bridge of his nose. he exhaled loudly. he hadn’t meant for it to come out that way, hadn’t planned it. but now it was out. he had stared the elephant in the room dead in its eyes. he felt lighter, somewhat liberated.

until he turned around after a few too many seconds of silence to see you turned away from him, slightly hunched over. he stepped closer, and saw your hands covering your mouth. you body jolted, and you drew in quick, grasping breaths. you were crying. he said your name, and you didn’t turn to look at him.

“i’m sorry. i’m sorry mr donaldson.”

all the relief he felt was replaced by swift, acute, crushing guilt. your hair fell over your face, shielding you from him. he said your name once more. you sniffed.

“hey, hey hey hey.”

against his better judgement, and because of the aching of his heart, he took you gently by the shoulders, and turned you to face him.

“i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”

tears spill from your eyes and you wipe them away with a heavy hand, refusing to meet his eyes. his neck craned down to your eye level, his thumbs began tracing circle in your shoulders. a thoughtless gesture but one that made you cry even harder.

“i’m sorry. i don’t know what i was thinking. im just so sorry.”

“hey, it’s ok. it’s alright.”

“it’s not alright. i’ve ruined everything. i’ve made it- so- weird. i just thought that you- you wanted me. i’m so stupid.”

your mascara runs, painting your face with your turmoil.

how could you be so dense? you had been making him uncomfortable. he didn’t want you. the only reason he even let you hang around was obligation. because of what you meant to lily. you didn’t mean anything to him. you were just some kid. did he even think you’re pretty? you bet he didn’t.

worse than that, you had disappointed him. him. he was supposed to be everything your dad wasn’t. and now he was disappointed. you had failed. you had ruined everything. what even were you? were you even human?

“don’t. you’re not stupid. don’t say that.”

“i’m sorry. i just- i wanted to make you happy. that’s all i ever wanted. i wanted you to be happy with me. you were so- so- so crushed after the divorce, i-i just-“

he guides you over to the bar stool, and you let him. you sit across from each other. his hand touches your cheek, the other holds you shoulder still. the touch of his hand quietens your babbling, your eyes round and wet and open.

“you do make me happy.”

your lips parted, plump with crying.

“i do?”

he cringes at the hope in your voice, at the feeling in his chest that it stirs. the feeling in his whole body at touching, after so many years, your soft skin. the last time he held your face you were 8, crying over a bumped knee. he had very different feelings now than he did then. sympathy and concern had ebbed, making way for much darker, much more corrosive emotions. he felt guilt and want broil in the chambers of his stomach, and the evilness inside him told him how easy to would be to get what he wanted. how close he was.

“yes. you’re my favourite buddy, we have a great time together,” he ruffled your shoulder like you pat a dog, speaking quick to placate you.

the hope in your eyes dwindled.

“so,” you sniffled, “you don’t feel anything for me? you don’t-don’t want me at all?”

with your convulsive sobbing your chest rose and fell, and with each jolt you spilled further out of your thread bare top. he closed his eyes, and swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing. inhaling deeply, his fingers released your shoulder.

“it doesn’t matter what i want.”

“yes it does, it matters the most,” you answer immediately, tears gone from your eyes, now sliding down from your water line and down your cheek, “what do you want?”

what does art want? when was the last time he asked himself that question? years. at least. he drew away from you. you felt sick.

he turned on the stool, ducking his head and cradling his face in his hands

“i want…”

what the fuck was he saying? he couldn’t say this to you. he couldn’t. but he was.

“i… you’re a very gorgeous girl. you’re sweet. you’re smart. you’re funny. i like you very much.”

he said it like he was confessing to murder. elbow resting on his knee, his hand covered his eyes with splayed fingers. god, he was going to hell for this. even saying the words felt like the deepest sin imaginable, and he was sanitising his truth extensively. what he thought about at night, when you went home and his house became cold again, when he got into the shower and mechanically relieved himself into the drain, that was truly deplorable. when he touched himself, it was you he thought of. invariably. everything a man could possibly do to a girl, everything a girl could possibly do to a man, he had laid up in his bed and touched himself to with you in mind. ropes and ropes and ropes of cum in your honour, so gently splattered on shower walls and bedsheets he needed to wash anyway. sometimes he came on his torso, just to feel young and frivolous, like you were. and when he did his brain would turn back on, and he would feel so guilty that he would lay there to soak up his guilt, a punishment for himself from himself. so yes. he wanted you. he wanted you very, very badly. with every fibre of his being, he craved you. and with every fibre of his soul, he hated himself for it. but apparently he was still talking. what his morality urged him his mouth couldn’t hear, or wouldn’t obey.

“so don’t think you’re delusional. you had every reason to think i might reciprocate.”

you watched him, glossy eyes wide as ever. he peeked from beneath his fingers, immediately covering his eyes again when he saw you watch him. he shouldn’t have said that. he shouldn’t have. that was bad, it’s only giving you hope, and there is no hope. he can’t, he can’t. he want to so badly but he can’t. god, no he can’t. it would be so easy but easy isn’t right and how could he ever look his daughter in the eyes again if he did? how could he look at tashi?

“mr donaldson?”

“mm,” he replied miserably.

“kiss me.”

slowly, exhausted, he lifted up his head. mistake. now he was thinking about it as he looked at your face, puffy and damp and shining like a star.

why did he look so disgusted? what was so wrong with you? you couldn’t stop yourself from barreling ahead, feeling his premature rejection like a rock in your stomach.

“just once. then i’ll leave and i’ll never bother you and you won’t see me anymore and i’ll go to church and ill get a therapist, but just once.”

he looks so tired. so tired and so fucking good. his eyes smouldered with deep thought, the thought only a mature man can have. he was so mature. he was so much larger than you. he could hurt you if he wanted to. he could make you do anything but all he did was look at you so tired it made you squirm inside. as your sobs died in your throat, regret and embarrassment become indistinguishable from desire.

he blinked slowly, and opened his mouth. the white of his teeth glittered. his tongue pawed the inside of his cheek. he was thinking about it.

how could he be thinking about it? he was the worst person in the world. and yet. and yet. one kiss. he could control it with one kiss. one kiss wouldn’t hurt. one kiss. he had kissed your head before. your cheek. what was so different about this?

wordlessly, he moved off the stool. heart in your mouth you waited. a tremulous breath shuddered from your chest as he took one step. two steps. three steps. until he was stood above you. his face was unreadable. not cold. not warm. just looking, appraising from above his brown lower lashes, down his strong kissable nose.

“one kiss?”

his hand rose slowly, palm facing upwards. his finger tips grazed your jaw, your chin, tilting your head up. fireworks burst in your stomach, and you resisted the urge to moan.

“one. that’s all.”

one. that would be all. one kiss and he would put this silly fascination away for good. a kiss is deniable. a kiss is nothing.

he stoops down, can feel the nerves vibrating from your skin. his head tilts slightly, and your eyes lock as he descends to your level. his hand moves into your hair, a combing hold. and you kiss. no tongue. your lips connect, mush and expand over the others. his nose touched your cheek. your arms remained stiff by your side as they gripped the stool. you felt the pinkness of his lips, felt the edge of his cupids bow. and then he pulled away.

there. one kiss. he had done what he had to to get you to drop it. had fulfilled your criteria, and now you could move on. now he could move on.

but if that was true, why was he leaning in again? why did almost tasting your saliva, a substance he had thought about in great detail, make him hungrier for it? why was almost having it worse than never coming close? why did he pull gently on your hair, making your head tip back, opening you mouth so he could kiss the part of you he craved; the inside part? why was he hard if it was over?

his tongue flicked gently inside, asking permission. your mouths closed together, making the kiss noise you hate hearing but love making. they open quickly and in sequence. your hands rise up to gently hover over his chest, barely grazing his shirt. you didn’t want to touch him too hard in case he dissipated into a cloud of smoke, an illusion.

but he was very real, and under your timid girlish touch he was undone. a soft exhalation like a groan into your mouth, and his tongue protruded. it touched yours and you tasted the salt on it, shivering. his other hand fell back to your shoulder, gripping so hard it was like had no idea what he was doing. feeling your mouth against his was all that there was. there wasn’t right, there wasn’t wrong, there was only sensation.

all the want he had saved for solitary and depressing masturbation now burst through his veins, into his actions and he kissed you with all the passion in him. with everything he’s never said, with all the times he held back with you, with tashi. he kissed you like if he didn’t he would die, breathing and groaning and grunting involuntarily. he mashed his face to yours, crushing your lips, taking your bottom lip between his teeth before recapturing your mouth in a sloppy open mouthed kiss. it felt like steam evaporated from where your met, so hot and wet.

you didn’t know what was your and what was art, where you finished and art began. you meshed like the broken pieces of a vase slotted against each other. his tongue became so wild it clipped the side of your mouth in its frantic exploration, and you sighed.

ultimately it was you who had to pull away. you pulled your hands into your own chest, gasping for breath. he didn’t move an inch. he gripped your shoulder still, cradled your face the same. he opened his eyes, chest rising and falling graciously.

he surveyed you, still too high from your touch to feel guilt, with lazy eyes. he was so fucked. your eyes sparkled like glitter. your lips shined pearly with his spit. his.

“art?”

“yes?”

“it’s not just one kiss is it?”

despite himself, despite everything, he smiled.

“no. i don’t think it is.”

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - dub/con, afab!reader, cockwarming, medical malpractice, nonconsensual drug use, manipulation, unbalanced power dynamics, and obsessive behavior.

[commissioned piece. donate to palestinians in gaza here.]

“It really is a shame to lose such a lovely patient.

His hand drifted from your thigh to your hip, rocking you back as you tried to squirm away from him. He was too deep, too big, and you’d been sitting on his cock for too long. Whenever you tried to shift your weight, though, the arm wrapped around your waist would tighten its hold and drag you back into place, leaving your ass slotted against his hips and your cunt struggling to clench around his base. You didn’t know how long he’d kept you like this, but it must’ve been longer than an hour, if not two, three, four. Despite your foggy senses, you could feel slick dripping down your thighs, an empty void in the pit of your stomach where pleasure should’ve been. You could remember hearing that Harper was a good doctor, but that couldn’t be right. Doctors weren’t supposed to make you feel so bad.

“I mean, I know it should be a doctor’s goal to see their patients off as happy and as healthy as can be, but—” He paused, sighed, and you could picture him rolling his eyes, feigning wistfulness as he let out an airy chuckle. “Good, obedient patients can be so rare, especially in a town like this. I’m allowed to mourn the loss of my best charge yet, aren’t I?”

You felt him twitch inside of you, and in search of a distraction, your gaze fell to the collection of papers fanned out over the desk in front of you. You knew you were supposed to be reading them, but the text seemed so impossibly small, and your last round of medication was still clouding your senses, making it hard to focus on much of anything beyond the throbbing in your core, the feeling of his cock stretching you open despite your body’s best attempts to force him out. You could recognize the phrases, signal out words like ‘unfit’ and ‘dependent’ mixed in with the rest of the benign text, but when you tried to put it all together, none of it made sense. It was all you could do to check the boxes Harper pointed to, sign your name on any dotted lines that hadn’t already been filled by his. You could only hope that, when you finished, he’d let you stand up, get off of him, go back to your cozy room with its nice, soft padded walls. You couldn’t imagine having to sleep in his office, again.

“And you’ve been so cooperative, too,” he went on, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. You felt his lips against the shell of your ear, then your cheek. “Always taking your medication, always following your treatment plans, always coming to our little sessions with an open-mind – the pinnacle of an ideal patient. Honestly, sometimes I think I could tell you to stick your hand in a vat of boiling water, and you’d do it with a smile on your face. All for the sake of your recovery, of course.”

It was him moving, this time – shifting forward until your stomach was pressed against the blunt edge of his desk and he was all-but draped over you, his body pressed flush against yours. You let out a pitchy whine by way of protest, but Harper didn’t seem to notice, only humming as his hand found yours. “Almost done, little mouse. Just one more page.” He was practically cooing as he took you by the wrist, guiding your hand to the bottom of the final page. Two thick, cutting lines occupied most of the available space, his neat signature taking up the first. He brought you to the second, almost daunting in its vacancy, his index finger tapping against the back of your hand. “You remember your name, right? Can you write it for me?”

It was so hard to think, to stay awake, to try and remember a time where he hadn’t been planted so deeply inside of you. “If…” you started, only to trail off. You blinked once, then twice, and did your best to force your tongue to move. “If I do, can I go home?”

Usually, Harper hated it when you talked about the orphanage, about school, about home. You hadn’t meant to, you just wanted to go back to your room, and you moved to correct yourself, to promise that you didn’t want to be anywhere but this hospital, his hospital before he frowned and prescribed you another electrotherapy session, another dose of the small, white pills that left your thoughts blurred and your body hot. But, anything you might’ve been able to spit out died with a breathy laugh, a peck to the corner of your jaw. “Of course,” he purred, rocking his hips gently against yours. “Sign, and I’ll take you home tonight.”

For the first time in weeks, you felt yourself start to smile. Hastily, smudging the ink more than once, you scrawled your name across the brutal line, dropping the pen and going slack against Harper as soon as you were finished. There was another open-mouthed kiss to your throat, then the dip of your shoulder, and he dragged you back onto his lap with a playful squeeze to your thigh, a grin pressed into the crook of your neck. You squirmed unabashedly, now, your hands  graspingly weakly at the arms of his chair in hopes of pulling yourself to your feet, but Harper held you tight. “Where do you think you’re going, little mouse?”

“I need to— You said I could go—”

“Just give me another minute, darling.”

His cock pulsed against the walls of your cunt, and you felt something break open inside of you.

“I want to appreciate this moment before we get you to proper, brand-new home.”

[notjustjavierpena]

(Mid)summer Loving

Main Masterpost

A/N: Yes, based on that new picture. I’ll call this my first contribution to getting railed in a sundress season. 

Summary: The last two years of being with Joel has transformed the both of you. Mostly him. For the better. 

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader/You (No y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, joel’s kink is being loved and appreciated, long haired joel!!!, healthy joel, established relationship, piv sex, size kink (it's big), rough, loud and desperate sex, dirty talk, praise kink, creampie, railed in a sundress season contribution, they are so soft for each other, bit of aftercare. 

Word count: 3.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55988128

(Mid)summer Loving

It happens when you hear him through the crowd of people in the community center. Your head whips in his direction, your eyes settling on the crinkles around his eyes as he laughs at something Tommy has said to him. He swirls the whiskey in his glass and downs it with slight difficulty because he is still smiling. 

You are only a table away, sitting with some of the women from your patrol group who gossip about potential suitors in the room, especially amongst the newcomers. However, you don’t really pay attention to what is being said because the love of your life sits across from you. It makes you able to admire him, struck by his transformation since he first came to Jackson and barged into your life. Your heart is so soft for him. 

The most obvious change is the hair. It’s gotten longer, the ends curling slightly in a way that softens his otherwise rugged appearance of big leather boots and tripled layered clothing. He used to have it shorter, and while you loved its fluffy bounce on top of his head whenever it was caught in the wind, it doesn’t compare to how it now frames his face by just brushing his collar in the back. It may be a subtle shift to others but to you, it means that Joel is more at ease with who and where he is, and that he has allowed change to find him.

His beard, too, has filled out. It is now thick and even, not at all the patchy scruff that you noticed the first time he talked to you by the rag pile in the trading center. He’d searched for fabric that could be used for shining the creations that he makes when seeking respite in wood carving. You had noticed the patch that resembled a heart first, your own heart skipping a beat as you forced yourself not to point it out to him immediately. That patch is gone but you’ll spend no time mourning it when the result is Joel looking healthier than ever, almost as if his body has responded to happiness with you by filling in all the gaps that heartbreak had left. 

Then there’s his face. It glows, despite his age, with a newfound youth, the signs of weariness and stress of years lived too hard it once bore completely wiped away. When you first met him, your heart had ached for his tired eyes, bags underneath them revealing all the sleepless nights and the burdens that he carried. The way they shine when they look into yours has your heart at ease and you can only hope he feels the same. 

Around you, the women keep chatting, talking animatedly and giggling while you sip your drink and stay silent until they are nothing but a low hum in the background. 

You only snap out of it when your name is said out loud. You furrow your brow, “Sorry?”

“I said that you don’t have to worry about things like this,” one of them chirps happily, “You already got your man.”

“Guess not, guess you’re right,” you chuckle softly and start to feel shy. You have never been one to be glaringly obvious in your happiness to the point where you display it at every opportunity but then Joel came along. He may worry about the gap of years between the two of you, often feeling undeserving of your love and attention but you only wish that he could see himself from your point of view. To you, he is everything. He doesn’t see how his presence calms and grounds you, how he makes you feel safe even in a world beyond repair. In his embrace, you feel even the biggest of anxieties and the worst of your challenges shrink into nothing. All he has to do is put his gentle, calloused hands on you and talk to you in that familiar southern drawl, and then your mind quiets down instantaneously.

However, if not his hands or his voice, his loving gaze also seems to do the trick. He suddenly turns his head in your direction, catching your eyes, and the sound of the lively conversations from each table mutes to nothing. He smiles at you and mouths a ‘you okay?’ at you. 

‘Save me’ you decide to mouth back at him, making a face to see him smile with amusement. He slaps his brother’s back before putting both hands on the table to push himself to stand. You didn’t think he would take it seriously but just the sight of seeing him approach you makes you want to go home with him. 

“Ready to go, honey?” He asks when he reaches your table, placing a hand on your shoulder and gently squeezing. 

“Hi Joel,” your friend group says in unison.

“Ladies,” he nods and they giggle like schoolgirls, “Gotta get this one home.”

You shake your head with a little smile at their reaction. Then you swing your legs over the side of the chair. Joel helps you up and a moment after having said your goodnights, you leave together like you’ve done for a few years now. 

Outside, people are scattered across the town square where a huge bonfire has been erected in the spot where the Christmas tree usually stands. Today is the annual midsummer celebration. Jackson is decorated with bundles of flowers that have replaced the painted eggs that tell people it is Easter. You smile at the memory of Ellie having been forced to join in on getting people in the spirit of Easter which had resulted in you trying to guess which of the eggs hanging from the sky had been crafted by the angry teen. You had decided that it might’ve been the one painted completely black.

Now, bright colors from nature hover above your head instead as you make your way down the main road. Joel holds your hand all the way home. He strokes the back of it with his thumb, feeling no pressure to fill up the silence between you as it has reached a point where it is comfortable. 

When you reach your shared house, Joel stops you by the front door instead of opening it for you in the gentlemanly way he always does. He stands in front of you, the porch light softening his features as he gazes at you.

“You seemed a bit distracted with your friends tonight,” he notes, “Is everythin’ alright?” 

“Just thinking about how lucky I am,” you answer with a smile, your voice sincere, “To have you.”

“I’m the lucky one, baby,” Joel huffs out a little laugh of disbelief, trying to brush off how flattered he always feels each time you say things like this. He gathers your hand in both of his, lifting it to kiss the back of it a few times, “Best fuckin’ thing that ever happened after the world ended.” 

“Don’t let Ellie hear that,” you tease gently. In your chest, your heart hammers against your ribs from being loved by him. 

“I’d never dream of it,” he steps closer with his eyes burning to get closer to you. You see them darken slightly as desire fills them and your heart jumps into your throat at the realization of what he wants. 

You. 

He wants you. 

That’s the one thing that has also changed since you met him; he has become much more untameable when he has you around. Who knew that his stamina was so impressive? Who knew that Joel Miller getting a confession of love - whether it consisted of the actual words or simply was said in your actions - would have him dragging you to somewhere private as soon as possible? 

“I love you, Joel Miller,” you say dreamily, pulling the trigger, “To the day that I die.”

And then suddenly Joel rips the door open so roughly that you’re afraid it might come off its hinges, pulls you inside along with him and slams it shut behind the both of you afterward. He locks it without hesitation, not about to be interrupted by any of your neighbors even if it’s most likely that everyone is out and about the town to be social. 

You are pressed up against the door next, his broad hands resting on your hips as he holds you against it. He bunches up the skirt of your sundress, groping your sides on top of the fabric, and you sling an arm around his back. Your other arm reaches up so you can cup the back of his head, your fingers sliding into the hair there. He has the perfect length for pulling these days - you should know - but you’ll wait for the right moment. 

His lips nearly bruise yours with how hard he kisses you, beard scratching your skin as he practically eats at your mouth to the point where your head swims and your belly swirls with hours of suppressed desire. You need him now, already soaked through your underwear and ready for him to be inside of you.

“Fuck me,” you whine against his lips, heart beating rapidly in your chest. So much that your breathing is already uneven, “Please, Joel, please.”

“S’alright, baby, I know whatcha need,” he rasps as his lips messily start descending on your chin, all the way across your jaw until his mouth attaches to your throat. You let your head bump against the door with a breathy moan, giving him access to bruise your neck too. He creates a purple mark that you will try to hide tomorrow during patrol to avoid interrogation on how Joel Miller is in bed. Only you can know. 

Your skirt falls down the slight amount it has been pulled up when Joel goes to unbuckle his leather belt. The noise of the metal sends a shiver through you, anticipation rising to your cheeks by heating them up underneath no touch. You look down to see the belt hanging open, him shoving the denim down around his thighs afterward and following up with his briefs too. 

The sight of his cock makes your mouth water. He is fully hard already, standing into the air at full attention and threatening to smear your pretty dress with his precome by poking into your belly if he dares get closer. You moan pathetically and he shushes you gently. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he soothes you like he would a child that has scraped their knee. He curls his fingers in the fabric of your dress once more before hiking it up along your thighs until he can stuff the bottom of the skirt into the top of your dress, effectively holding it up so it doesn’t fall down over your soaked panties again. 

You grab at the sides of your underwear to shimmy out of them but Joel doesn’t exercise enough patience to wait for you to step out of them, so he hooks his fingers into the front. He finds your eyes when he feels how wet the cotton fabric is, doesn’t directly say anything about it but just shows you how full-blown his pupils are at the realization. Without warning, he yanks your panties to the side. 

Satisfied with his work, he makes you gasp as he bends his knees to reach down and splay his strong hands on the back of your thighs. He lifts you off the ground and wraps you around him, pressing his knee into the door to hold you up while guiding his throbbing cock into you. You moan desperately at the initial sting, brows furrowing with slight pain as he sheaths himself inside of you to the hilt. 

“Oh my God,” you whimper, letting his name fall from your lips in a helpless chant as he pulses from how your walls choke him as you strain to take him like you always do in the beginning. He might just split you open right here in the hallway when he starts fucking you. 

“Shh, you can take it,” he whispers with the most brutally gentle peck on your zipped lips, “It’s okay. She knows it’s big, baby, but she can take it. I always fuck ya real good, don’t I?” 

You nod helplessly, and fuck you, he does. It’s fast and hard and dirty. The poor wooden door rattles alongside the jingle of his belt buckle with each slam of his hips, the doorknob painfully gnawing into your lower back, and you fear the fabric of your underwear will snap from the strain that is put on it as it sits to the side. Sometimes you think you might even cut a hole in some of your pairs with how often Joel, still two years later, rushes to get his cock into you. There’s something oddly satisfying and offensive about just being able to bend over and let him see that all he has to do is push in. 

“That’s it, look at me, baby, such a good girl f’me,” he praises to get you back to him, not here to lose your attention to the way his cock feels inside of your tight heat. Your eyes settle on him again, your mouth hanging open to elicit pathetic gasps each time he knocks the wind out of you by driving his hips up into you and effectively pounding your g-spot. His face is so close to you; you can feel his breath and share it with him, can study every little imperfection in the form of tiny scars and dark lines that you hadn’t been able to see earlier from your seat a few tables over. 

“Joel,” you pant, digging your heels into the small of his back, clinging on desperately and angling your hips as he has his way with you. The slight adjustment has him going deeper, touching something inside of you that ignites the first sparks of an orgasm. Your nails claw, dig and scratch at his back in ways that would have been enough to draw blood if he wasn’t wearing a shirt, “Fuck, baby! Don’t— ngh, don’t stop.”

“You feel so good,” he replies with a groan, most likely powering through the exhaustion and strain on his body to make you feel even better. He is everywhere on you, his hands on your thighs, gripping and squeezing. He is everywhere in you too, his cock twitching inside of you each time you cry his name.

“I’m—“ you sob.

“Let go, baby, I can feel ya,” he growls when you dance around the edge of your orgasm because your fingers on both hands tangle into his beautifully chocolate hair, yanking harshly as impending pleasure knocks the breath out of your lungs. Your skin burns, your whole system halts and goes into overdrive at the same time until all you can do is shout silently at the ceiling. Your walls clench in mind-altering ecstasy then and your quietness is over, replaced by a relieved whine as you come on his dick. It is intense from how fast you’ve gotten there since he entered you, your body writhing as it is held against the wall. He fucks you through it, has you wailing as he chases his own high. 

You cradle his head during his last few thrusts, feeling his damp breath against your shoulder as he buries himself inside of your spent cunt and comes hard. It feels so good when he groans as he fills you up, the sound vibrating through his entire body. You whimper at the ceiling with the way he pulses deliciously with each breathy moan until he has no more to give you. 

He leans all his weight into you as he comes down again, holding you in place with his chest against yours to make sure that you won’t fall down and drag him with you. He gives you a moment and places a string of lazy kisses on your lips until he slips out of you with a soft sound. 

Carefully, he places you back down on the floor and eyes you as he does it to be certain you won’t collapse. He moves off of you when it feels safe to do so. 

“I say it back?” He asks as he leans against the door with you. Automatically, you tilt your head towards him. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, turning his head a second later to fully look at your disheveled state. You have a hand on your chest to calm your breathing but it still matches your fluttering heartbeat. He still aches between your legs.

You look back at him, awaiting his words with short breaths, “Say what?”

He makes a gesture to the both of you, “Before what we just did happened. I tell ya that I love you too?” 

“No?” Your reply is almost a question. 

“Shame on me,” he smiles and turns his whole body so that he faces you completely, shoulder against the door. His eyes soften as he reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. The warmth of his touch is nice when the sweat has started to cool you down, and you lean into his palm, feeling the roughness of his calloused skin against you. 

“Shame on me, indeed,” he murmurs, eyes on your slightly open mouth, “Because I do love ya. More than I can understand sometimes.”

“You don’t have to say it back every time, Joel. I know,” you try to brush off how much your body and mind buzz at the same time. 

He shakes his head slightly, his eyes never leaving your mouth, “No, I do needa say it. You deserve to hear it. I love you.”

You nod and reach to hold his wrist when he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your open mouth. Just a few minutes ago, the now-careful hands had been rough on your skin and his words had dripped with sin.

“Now, how ‘bout I take you to bed?” He asks and pulls your dress’ skirt out of the top, watching it tumble down and fall back into place around your knees. 

While you wait for him to get dressed again, fatigue seems to finally have caught up with you because you feel like you might collapse in your hallway at that suggestion. When it’s safe to do so, you let yourself fall into his arms and he catches you without hesitation. 

He scoops you up, goes upstairs with you in his arms, undresses you, washes you down with a warm flannel, and gets you into bed. You curl up on your side and after a while, after hearing his boots come off and the shuffling of clothes, the bed dips from his weight. 

The warmth of his body against your back lulls you to sleep. Oh, how simply he loves you. Forever doesn’t seem like a lot to ask for.

.

.

.

FOLLOW @notjustjavierpena-fics AND TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS 💖❤️💖❤️

[lex-the-flex]

Rally On

Art Donaldson x reader

Summary: Feeling confident as a wild card, Art feels that he can accomplish anything with you by his side. That is, his spirit nearly breaks once an old friend enters the sauna.

Word Count: 992

Warning(s): MEGA FLUFF, (a healthy relationship) body appreciation, brief makeout session, slight mind manipulation and lying, cursing, a little nudity, mention of body health, and possessive and protective Art.

A/N: We’re so back bitches! I love Challengers to death and this movie lives rent free in my head. Feedback is appreciated and enjoy!

Lying inside the dark hotel room, the rustling winds outside settles, allowing the piercing sound of a phone alarm to echo in the calm bedroom. Bursting awake with a displeased groan, Art Donaldson checks the time, numb to the feeling. Sinking back into the duvet bedding, the faint light of the early morning peers through the thin curtains. 

Shifting beneath the comfortable bedding, Art’s quiet movements stir you awake. Sighing into the plush pillows, you begin to sit up, ready to conquer the day. But Art pulls you back into the bed, surrounding you in his arms. 

“You’re not going anywhere.” He teases. 

Fighting off the early morning grogginess, Art shifts his body onto yours, and covers you with a series of soft pepper kisses on your collarbones and neck. 

“Art, honey.” You whisper. 

“Hmm?” He replies. 

“We have to get up. You have a big game today.” You say, running your fingers through your husband's hair. 

“Fuck the game. I’d rather stay here and fuck you instead.” Art jokes, burying his head in your neck. 

Nestling between your legs, Art captures your lips in a passionate kiss, and presses his fingers against your underwear. Moaning at the feeling, the sound makes his ears tingle. Wrapping your legs around his waist, Art holds your arms above your head, holding you beneath him. 

“You know, if it were up to me, I’d keep you here. Forever, all mine.” He whispers into your skin before capturing your gaze. 

“You fiend. We have a game to win, you know.” You answer with a smirk. 

“As long as you’re there with me today, I know I can find you anywhere in the crowd.” Art announces. 

Touching your noses together, you nod at Art’s declaration. 

“I’ll always be with you, Art. We can accomplish anything through thick and thin, just as long as we’re together.” You reply. 

“Then that’s all I need.” He smiles, leaning down to kiss you. 

****

The hot steam from the sauna soothes every single lingering pressure and discomfort in Art’s body. From the uncomfortable itch on his left heel, to the surgery scars on his right shoulder, he truly felt at peace in the sauna. Placing a heated towel on his head, Art feels like he can finally relax. 

That is, until the door opens. 

“I could’ve sworn no one else booked the sauna today. Oh well, we’re all here for the same reason.” Art thinks to himself. 

Lowering the towel, the sight of Patrick nearly shakes Art to his core. 

“Patrick? What are you doing here?” Art asks, tossing the towel aside. 

Closing the door behind him, Patrick appears in the steam, smiling towards Art. 

“I’m here to play tennis. What else?” Patrick replies. 

Leaning in Art’s personal space, Patrick does his best to get a rose out of his friend, but it doesn’t happen. Much to his dismay, Art has no interest in giving Patrick what he wants: staring at and commenting on his dick out in the open. 

Sitting down across from Art, Patrick covers himself. 

“You know, it’s disturbing. What you’re doing. I know what you’re trying to do right now —“ Art starts, but is cut off. 

“Honestly, I thought you’d be happy to see me, and that I was in the draw. It’s the week before the Open, as in, the perfect confidence booster.” Patrick explains, proud of himself. 

Leaning back against the wall, Art folds his hands in his lap, unimpressed by his friends' motives. 

“Right. How could I forget? You don’t give a shit.” Art replies, done with this conversation. 

“I didn’t say that.” Patrick replies. 

“Whatever game you’re playing here, Patrick, it’s not going to work. Not this time. Y/N and I aren’t here to watch you fail. We’re here for me and nothing more.” Art explains, closing his eyes. 

“Oh really? Is that why Tashi said that? That the two of you are basically invincible without each other?” Patrick mocks. 

Art stares at Patrick for a moment, confused by his words, and only gets a cocky wink for an answer. 

“The fuck does that that mean?” Art asks. 

“Oh come on, Art! You know Y/N will never be as good as Tashi! Y/N’s just living vicariously through you and you know it! You just won’t admit it!” Patrick nearly shouts. 

Shaking his head, Art smiles at his friend’s bullshit, that he’s done. 

“You really want to know what I think, Patrick? I think it’s quite embarrassing that you’re here. Trying to challenge us, to continue fighting the ongoing war between the three of us. Honestly, I have no idea where it came from, but Y/N and I just want it to stop. The two of us have been the happiest in the longest time. So, your little mind games won’t work this time, not when Y/N has finally gotten back on her feet again.” Art clarifies. 

Glancing at Patrick, he has no idea what Art is talking about. 

“Don’t play dumb, Patrick. Since you haven’t been in our lives, Y/N and I are finally pregnant after two years of trying and a few miscarriages. And guess who was there to help and support her? Tashi. Tashi was there when you weren’t. She filled your spot at Y/N’s darkest and believe me, we’ve seen her at her darkest. She knows she won’t live up to Tashi’s reputation, but it doesn’t bother us. What matters is that Y/N is there for me, no matter what. And you want to know why? It’s what married people do. We don’t let the bullshit bother us, because it doesn’t.” Art continues, standing from his spot. 

Finally feeling superior to Patrick, Art takes the doorknob in his hand. 

“But for what it’s worth, we do miss playing with you, Y/N and I. Just without the competition.” Art states before leaving the sauna like a new man who’s found his calling.

tagging anyone who's interested ~

@dreamliners

@xplore-the-unknwn

@princessismx

@martiansodas-blog

@iholdwhatican

@veryberryjelly

[upsidedownmvnson]

eddie's little somethings

aka some of the ways eddie shows you he loves you

he is your personal driver: even when you don't ask, he shows up after your shift to drive you home whenever he can, brings you to and from school, and never wants to let you drive. he just loves how you look in the passenger seat, window open, hair flying everywhere. he can put his hand on your thigh. his perfect little passenger princess <3

he wants you around 24/7, just sitting beside him, even if you're doing your own thing. especially when he's dm'img at hellfire, sometimes you'd just read a book beside him, if you weren't involved in that particular campaign

he's actually a big fan of pda, he loves causing a scene, and he loves showing everyone that you're all his. so what better way than making out with you against a locker, or keeping his arm around you for the entire lunch period. if you share a class, he'll sit beside you and have his hand on your thigh the whole time. more comforting than sexual.

one of the rare occurrences that eddie cancelled hellfire was because you had a terrible day, and you just wanted to go home instead of hangout with the party, so he cancelled it and took you home, even when you insisted he could just come over after.

eddie kisses every inch of you like he's looking for a secret. he makes sure you know he thinks every inch of you is perfect. from love bites on your thigh, to kisses behind your ear, up and down arms and legs, all over your back while he gives you a massage omfg (i'm writing smut based off of this, stay tuned)

one time he asked you if you would be comfortable with him looking at porn "not because i want to right now, but like, don't wanna cause an issue later, yaknow babe?" and you thought that was very mature

when he's meant to give you gift (birthdays/holidays etc) he prefers to make something. one time he recorded two cassettes of himself playing all your favourite songs, one slow, instrumental & acoustic for studying, and one how they were meant to be sang for jamming. he's also made a popsicle stick diorama of your childhood tree fort that was torn down, and a DnD campaign on your birthday based on your favourite fantasy movie (wrote a follow up to this point: here)

he likes to bring you a little treat. when hes on his way over he'll often stop to grab a cookie, or a smoothie. just something nice for him to give you. he likes to do anything to make you smile

he makes a huge effort to partake in your interests and hobbies, and makes sure not to accidentally dominate your shared time with his band, and his club. he wanted to make sure the attention was split between you, a healthy balance for a healthy relationship <3

he dedicates a song to you at every single gig, as if it's not the same crowd every time. but he doesn't care, he's just happy you're still excited to see his shows

eddie always asks for your opinion on everything, and while it's not always what he wants, he always takes yours into account, and if it's something you two have to decide together, he wouldn't stop trying to figure out a perfect compromise.

he loves to feel skin on skin contact. when you guys are just hanging out, he always finds some way to get his hand on your skin, whether it's your thigh, or rubbing your back, or just holding your hand. he likes the comfort of you nearby. but in bed, he likes to press his chest into yours during missionary, wrapping up your legs together and coddling your head in his arms, laying as flushed against you as he possibly could

eddie also just straight up says "i love you" like a million times a day

i am going to write 1000000 more eddie headcanons so feel free to request

[seeingivy]

birthmark 

satoru gojo x f!reader 

satoru’s suddenly more appreciative of scars 

content warning: MANGA SPOILERS, canon divergence bc im not gege and they all deserve to be happy, reader described as pregnant, giving birth/c-section, hospitals, pain (kinda), big brother megumi + tsumiki, lil corny family, 

an: happy fathers day to our fav dad :DDD reader is described as having dark hair in comparison to satoru but tbh every hair color is dark compared to white unless you have white hair them im sorry

- 

“Hi baby.” 

“What do you want, Satoru?” 

“I wasn’t talking to you.” 

You take your eyes off from the screen to find Satoru lying across the couch, his head very close to your stomach. His blindfold is hanging around his neck, his shiny, blue eyes staring right at the bump. 

“He doesn’t have ears yet.” 

“You don’t know that. We have father-daughter telepathy. She can hear me.” 

“If anyone was going to have telepathy with him, because he is most definitely a boy, it’s going to be me.” 

He rolls his eyes, lying his head against your stomach as he continues staring down - his eyes focused. You reach down, pressing your hand in his hair as you start carding through his white locks. 

“What were you like as a baby, Toru?” 

“Horrible. Came out super late, cried all the time, total sweet tooth.” 

“I asked about you as a baby. Not now.” 

He rolls his eyes, sitting up to ruffle your hair. You shrug him off before leaning your head against his shoulder, his hand placed directly on your stomach, which he does almost every time he’s near you. You can hear his stupid voice in your head. She has to know I’m here too, not just you mama. 

“Shut up. Stop bad mouthing me in front of our child. That’s not a healthy parenting model.” 

“You screamed my head off for throwing out your precious kikufuku in front of Megumi last week. Healthy parenting model, my ass.” 

“Well some things are just unforgivable, sweetheart. And he’s a big boy now.” 

He leans over and presses a kiss to the top of your head, before pressing his cheek against your hair. “What was my baby like as a baby?” 

“I came out super early. I think they had to stay in the hospital for a few days because I was too weak. But after that, I think it was okay.” 

He leans over, pressing himself harder into your frame as he squeezes. You place your hands in his hair again, running through as you wait for him to talk. He’s thinking - too hard. 

You understood that a baby, a real one - not grown up and super self sufficient like Tsumiki and Megumi were - was anxiety inducing. But ever since you had told him, Satoru was stressed out, more than usual. Shoulders always tensed up, freaking out over painting the room or assembling a crib, or picking a godfather. 

“Love?” 

“Yes, Satoru?” 

“Do you think…the baby will be scared of me?” 

“Because you’re the strongest? Of course, not. Megumi and Tsumiki always thought it was so cool when they were little, smacking their tiny little hands against it while laughing.” 

“No, no. Not because of that.” 

You push your palms against his cheeks, pulling his face out of the crook of your neck. He looks into your eyes, the look shy. His eyes waver down to his arms, littered in scars, before looking back up. And now you get it. He’s talking about his scars. 

They’ve faded over the years, from back when Megumi was still possessed by Sukuna. You remember when they were angry, red and fresh, when he came home, and nearly made your heart drop out of your chest. 

And when it was well and over, you had kissed them hundreds and hundreds of times over until Satoru knew, with full confidence, that you love him. And Megumi had apologized, millions of times before he understood that none of it was his fault. You love Satoru. Scars and all. And you love Megumi. Possession and all. 

“Satoru. You know that we all-” 

He shrugs you off, the look exasperated. 

“I know you guys love me. But I’m talking about the baby. There’s just so many of them and they’ve faded a good amount but-” 

You lean over and press your lips to his, kissing him softly before you let go. You can feel him deflate at the sensation, giving you the smallest of smiles when you pull apart. 

“You guys have father-daughter telepathy. She could never be scared of you.” 

You see the smile spread across his face as he rolls his eyes at you, shaking you at the shoulders. 

“So you agree? She’s a girl.” 

“No. He is most definitely a boy. But I’ll let you have it for tonight.” 

“You’re so generous.” 

“I know Satoru, it’s one of the best things about me.” 

You feel him cup his hands around your face as he presses a light kiss to your nose. 

“Yes. It is.” 

“I was being sarcastic.” 

“I know that, love. But I wasn’t.” 

- 

Unlike Satoru and much more like you, your baby is born early. What you thought was a routine ultrasound turned into an emergency c-section and your little baby coming a little earlier than you had planned. 

That was hours ago. Satoru has been watching you, your chest heaving up and down as you sleep, since they moved to this room. Your daughter, because Satoru was right, was down the hall in the NICU, in a tiny little plastic incubator. With Megumi and Tsumiki. 

This day had already been too hard for Satoru. And it wasn’t even over yet. Watching you get pushed onto a table, your baby coming out and not crying, finding out it was a girl but you weren’t even conscious enough for him to stick it to you, having to pick who to spend his time with. 

He picked you. Because Megumi promised that he’d watch her there, make sure she wasn’t alone. He knows how much it meant to the two of you to get to meet her together so he’ll wait. I mean, that is his little sister and all, he doesn’t mind watching her. After Satoru agreed, he couldn’t help but smile at Megumi, literally sprinting down the hall to meet her where Tsumiki was waiting. 

He watches you shuffle in your sleep, your eyes fluttering open. He nearly knocks the table as he stands up, placing his hands on your arms as you wake up. 

“Satoru.”

“Love, oh my god, I was waiting for you. To wake up, I mean. Are-are you okay? Does anything hurt? Do you want me to get anything?” 

He watches your eyes pinch shut as you raise your hand, clamping it right across his mouth. Your little raspy voice breaks out and he can feel the tears streaming down his eyes at the sound of it. 

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” 

He can’t help but laugh, the tears still streaming down. God, he loves you. Bedridden and still giving him fucking attitude. You’re okay and sassing him around and he loves you. 

He watches the smile spread across your face as you keep your hand there, now wiping his tears off. You look around the room, the crib still neatly made. 

“Wait, where’s-” 

“Down the hall. Megumi’s there with her.” 

“Her? It’s a girl?” 

You can feel the pride bustling in your chest, the tears now filling in your eyes. She’s a girl. Your tiny little baby that you were carrying for the past months was a girl. You can buy her little dresses and teach Satoru how to braid her hair and-

“Told you so.” 

“Shut the fuck up. I know you’re not sticking it to me while I’m literally in a hospital bed. Need I remind you, that you did this to me.” 

“How did I do this to you?” 

“You knocked me up!” 

You both laugh as Satoru helps you up into the wheelchair, pushing you both down the hallway to where she was. 

“You see her yet? Is she cute?”

“No, it’s only been a few hours. I wanted to see her together.” 

He swings the door open, pushing you to the front into the room. You can see Megumi seated right next to the little box, his hand inside with Tsumiki watching from the other side, her eyes focused on the crib. 

But you don’t take notice of your baby first. What you notice first is the shirts Megumi and Tsumiki are wearing, matching pink that say “big brother” and “big sister.” 

“Satoru. Don’t tell me you guilt tripped them into wearing the shirts.” 

They both run over at the sound of your voice, pressing you into a hug. You reach forward, resting both of your hands in their hair as they help you up, holding you steady in the air and running their eyes over you to make sure you’re okay. 

Satoru had bought the five of you matching shirts to wear when the baby was going to be discharged. And they were corny as fuck. With dad, mom, big sister, big brother, and baby written on them. Megumi said he was going to burn his in a fire. You and Tsumiki hid yours somewhere in the basement, pretending you lost them. Satoru found them in five minutes. But here they are, wearing them. 

“You don’t have to wear those. I’m sure he pulled the whole, my wife is dying, my baby is sick but-” 

“I didn’t ask them to wear those. At least not today.” 

You look over to find Satoru smirking, worst than he ever as before, at Megumi especially, as he starts ruffling his hair, cooing over how cute he was. 

“Just, shut up about it. I thought it would make your depressed ass laugh.” 

“Toru, quit bugging him.” 

You press a kiss to Megumi’s cheek before Satoru crushes him in a hug. He’s always been your sweet boy. 

You and Satoru slowly shuffle over to the little box, sticking your hands in to hold hers. Her eyes are pinched shut, a tuft of dark hair at the top of her head. You can feel the tears rising in your eyes, quickly glancing over to see Satoru crying too. Megumi and Tsumiki are on the other side, directly across, sweet smiles pressed on their faces.   

“Dark hair, Toru.” 

“Just like her mom.” 

You both can’t help but stare at her, rustling around in the little crib. But what catches your eye is the dark patch of red on her left eye, instinctively reaching over to touch it. 

“Megumi. What happened?” 

“We think it might be a scar or something. The doctors said she’s okay though, it doesn’t hurt her or anything.” 

You immediately crane her head over to Satoru, whose switched spots with you and is now softly pressing his fingers over the skin. You lean over, whispering in his ear as you both watch her. 

“Think she looks scary with her scar, Satoru?” 

“What the hell are you talking about? She’s perfect.” 

“You guys match. A scar for her and a scar for you.” 

He looks over and you watch the realization spread across his face as he understands what you’re getting at. He gives you a sweet look before pressing one the softest kisses to the top of your hair. He’s crying even harder now, his entire frame shaking. Fucking sap. 

She curls her hands into Satoru’s, squeezing his pinkie finger. 

“What the hell, Toru? She didn’t do that for me.” 

“It’s father-daughter telepathy, love. You wouldn’t get it.” 

[babyleostuff]

let me go | choi seungcheol

author’s note | tbh i had such a hard time writing for him BECAUSE I MISS MY DARLING CHEOL and i can’t stand the thought of him being in painnnn. i want him to be happy and healthy and i want him to be back with the boys, i hate it hereeee

“Stop moving so much,” Seungcheol whined, his words coming out slurred due to his cheek being pressed against your stomach. 

“But I really need to go to the bathroom, Cheol,” you sighed, looking down at the blond mess that was crushing your tummy. 

Ever since your boyfriend got the surgery done, he was even clingier than he used to be. Not that you could blame him, he spent most of his days alone in bed, so naturally his clingy side would shine through and he’d do everything he could to keep you in bed longer. 

You saw how a couple of times he scrolled through the group chat and looked at the pictures the members sent with envy. He’d do anything to be able to get up from that damn bed and join them in the practice room. 

“Darling, you really need to let me go,” you said. 

His fluffy hair bounced as he shook his head and wrapped his second arm around your waist, to make sure that you wouldn’t slip away. Not like that was possible, he could tackle you with ease, even with a torn ACL. 

You sighed, not knowing what to do. If you could, you’d gladly spend the whole day with him, but the both of you knew you had your own responsibilities and you couldn't just abandon everything for the next months just to stay with him (no matter how much you wanted to do that). 

“Choi Seungcheol, let me go,” you said, trying to wriggle out of his grip. 

“Don’t call me that,” he whined once again, nuzzling his head further into your stomach. 

“Then let me go.” 

“No. You'll just leave then,” he said, but loosened his grip on you. He lifted his head to look at you and he couldn’t have looked more adorable. 

A well- known pout adorned his face, while his hair was a big mess and cheeks were rosy from sleep. Even though he looked like that everytime he woke up, an unusual hint of sadness was prominent in his eyes. 

You put your palm against his cheek, leaning in to place a kiss on his exposed forehead. 

That’s how he wanted to stay for the whole day - in your arms, enveloped by love and comfort, the only thing that made him forget about his knee and the pain he was experiencing. 

“I have to go, Cheol,” you said, pecking his forehead once again. “But I’ll come back in a couple of hours. I always do, you know that,” you put a finger under his chin to lift his head up to your level. 

“I know, darling,” he sighed, and lifted himself up to sit with a grunt. 

You could hear your own heart breaking at the sight of him being so helpless. A week ago he was playing football with Mingyu and Jeonghan and now he couldn’t even sit up on his own. 

Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends. 

“Stop,” you said softly, placing your hand on top of his. “I know this is hard for you, I can’t even begin to imagine how you’re feeling right now,” you gently ran your finger through his messy hair, soothing the previous tugging of his. 

“But remember that you’re not alone in this and even though you can’t be with the boys right now, they're not angry with you. You didn’t let anyone down Seungcheol. Stop blaming yourself, it was an accident.” 

His shoulders hung low, not convinced by your words. And it would take him some time to believe that, you knew that. 

“I just miss the guys,” he said. 

“I know. But they miss you a lot too, baby.” 

As you sat in silence, a simple idea popped into your head. 

What if you planned an extra monthly meeting? They could all gather at Seungcheol’s place and he would have a surprise, he’d certainly be happy with. If that didn’t make him feel better, nothing would. 

“You can go now, you know,” he said quietly, avoiding your eyes. 

“You know what? I’ll take a day off today.”

[xxxdreamscapexxx]

Only for you

Emo!Wanda Maximoff x FemReader

Word count: 4.2k

Summary: Just the above, but I also added some reader backstory

Warning: Reader backstory including: physical pain, arguing, bullying, mental instability, manipulation, R being held against her will Present time storyline: mutual pining, Unestablished lesbian relationship, slight teasing by the team, jealousy, posessiveness, love confessions, fluff, Happy!Ending <3

Joining the Avengers was a challenge. It wasn’t the constant work outs and strict diet to keep you healthy and strong, it wasn’t even the danger or the threats to your life, even the annoying attempts of the media to follow you and snap pictures of you didn’t bother you that much. They all got buried by the government before they saw the light of day anyway. It was the people. Not that you weren’t grateful to them. They had saved your life after all. Gave you a purpose in life. But… The Avengers were a tough group to get to know and even tougher to live with sometimes. Of course, some preferred having their own homes, like Clint and his family, or the notorious Captain Marvel, that didn’t even live on Earth, and just as expected, those that did live in the tower had their own floors, rooms, offices, so you didn’t even meet them that much, but that just made it even harder to really connect. That’s why Steve insisted on team building activities, training together, even attending Tony’s stupid parties, all in the name of bonding. The man meant well and he really had a big heart, but he just couldn’t see that some of the Avengers had very little in common.

The thing is… You were born a witch. Not from a powerful clan, or with deeply rooted ancestry, and you probably would have stayed that way, had you not made a terrible mistake. Truly, you were just angry at the time. Barely a teenager, who thought she had all the answers. You were arguing with your mother about something, not that you could even remember what for. It was probably so stupid. But you both lost your temper, screaming at each other, until she had sent you to your room. She thought she was de-escalating the situation, giving you both time to calm down. What she didn’t know is that you had been through her collection of spell books and brought them all to your room. So when you slammed the door behind you, stupidly, unthinkingly, you grabbed the books. You weren’t sure what kind of spell you were hoping to find. Just something to make all the emotions inside you stop raging. But you found an absorption spell instead. In your head, you thought that if you just learned this spell and then performed it, you’ll search through the books much faster and then you’d able to do… What? God, you had no idea. Thinking back now, that was such a ridiculous thing to do. But you learned the spell, grabbed the candles you had in your drawer, surrounded yourself with all the books you had taken and just started the chant, hands touching the pages of the books and starting to feel their content seeping into your skin. It stung! That’s what you remember most. The feeling of that black ink seeping into your skin, as if splitting it open to make its way inside, clawing its way in your veins. It hurt so bad, but it wouldn’t stop. You had said the words, and now the spell was doing its work, emptying the pages of the books around you. You tried to pull your hands away, struggled to get it to stop, but it wouldn’t. Every painful second felt like hours. The panic inside you was rising, watching the inky blotches making their way up your arms, crawling like black maggots under your skin, up your shoulders and neck… You were so scared, heart pumping wildly in your chest as you watched it happen, begging for it to finally stop.

But with the end of the spell, you found yourself facing a greater torment. You had taken too much, too fast for your brain to fully comprehend. All the words swirled in your head like a hurricane, making it impossible to distinguish your own thoughts. You tried to calm down, tried to put those racing thoughts in order, trying to meditate, just like your mother had thought you, but it was useless. It wouldn’t stop. In the end, it was your screams that attracted your mother to your room, panicked and scared, just as you were, trying to get you to tell her what you had done, but you couldn’t even put a sentence in order. Your brain was so scrambled, growing more incoherent by the second. Maybe that’s when you passed out? You couldn’t tell. You had very little recollections from that time. The next days were a blur. You don’t remember much. Just your room. Your mother told you that you were consumed by madness. Spewing lines from spells, incoherent and jumbled together. But sometimes you would get one right. She’d had to confine you to your room and bind you with runes, so you wouldn’t start casting without even knowing it. She told you it took you two weeks, before you started to come back to yourself. It was a miracle you even managed it. Some witches never recovered from such a thing. By the time you came back to your school, there were so many rumours about you, people whispering behind your back. You were changed. Thinner, more withdrawn, trying to keep to yourself. But kids were cruel and curious. They teased you, tried to get you to admit why you were missing from school all this time, attacking you, when you tried to ignore them. You should have known it was inevitable that you snapped and did something you’d regret.

It was just before summer break, you thought you had gotten through the worst of it, that you had your emotions under control, practicing every day, just so you could keep all the magic from spilling out. Many people didn’t know, but grimoires weren’t just books full of spells. Each spell, written within the pages was also a tiny bit of magic, leaving its imprint and taking root. You hadn’t just absorbed the knowledge, but the magic too. It was more than you’d ever felt, more than you knew how to control, so you practiced relentlessly. But when pushed, it bubbled to the surface. Fucking Madeleine Dupont, daughter of the Patric Dupont – owner of the biggest, most profitable manufacturing business in town, was obnoxious, spoiled, annoying and with a mean streak wider than her daddy’s newly acquired 23 acres of land for their grand mansion. The girl loved to pick on everyone, but recently, she had set her sights on you and in that fateful day, she and her friends cornered you into an empty classroom, taking drugs out of their pockets and trying to get you to take them. When “gentle” persuasion failed, one of them grabbed you, holding you by the hair and trying to force your face onto a desk, where they had spilled some powder. You didn’t even know what it is. But they started to overpower you, and the tears spilling down your cheeks as you tried to tell them that you didn’t want this, that you needed them to stop, only added to their exhilaration.

They eventually pinned you down, laughing menacingly as they tried to get you to breathe it in and you lost control, pushing them back with your magic, a wave of energy blasting through the whole room, making desks and chairs fly to the ground, just like the girls had done. You tried to reign yourself in, to stop the emotions from taking over, but you were mumbling spells already. You remember just a blast. You remember waking up in a cell, body strapped to a small hospital bed, being pumped full of something. And the woman. She was your “handler” and on most days, the only person you saw or spoke with. She told you what happened. You’d killed those girls. Part of the building collapsed because of what you had done and the rubble crushed them. You must have protected yourself on instinct. Survived it somehow. They were giving you medication, making sure you heal properly. And then your training could begin. They were HYDRA. And they had a special interest in people like you. They made it clear that they weren’t just your supposed saviours, but also your captors. They weren’t going to just let you leave their facility. Instead, they aimed to train you. You were one of the lucky ones. You learned that after you were rescued from that HYDRA base. They never tortured you physically. Instead, they decided that they could break your mind, already weakened by what you’d done to yourself. They aimed to convert you. Half your training was spells and magic, endurance, strength… The other part… That was indoctrination. And they used everything they knew about you just to do it. When you refused to say the right things, they withheld food, when you refused to train, they withheld water… When that didn’t work, they would use threats. Your mother. They weren’t above hurting her to make you behave. They weren’t above killing her, if you didn’t do what you’re told.

You often held out hope that she was looking for you. That she’d find you and save you. But she didn’t have half as much power as you did. And you couldn’t escape them. What luck would she have? Eventually, your only hope of escape was to save yourself and after a few failed attempts, you formed a plan. You did as you were told, said what they needed to hear and you trained. You trained every waking moment, making sure your body and mind would be strong enough to take on all the magic you invited into yourself. That absorption spell? You used it more often, although, you limited the amount of information this time. It always hurt, the headaches after each use were monstrous. But it was all worth it. You were going to get yourself out of there one day. Even if you had to take down the whole base to do it. But it was the Avengers who took it down and helped you out of there. They reunited you with your mother, your family, and after some time, they also offered you a job. A calling. To help people. Those who weren’t as fortunate as you. Those in need. And you said yes. That’s how you ended up in the Avengers tower. Despite the people, it was a lonely place. Few understood what you had been though, fewer still cared for what it had done to you. But you couldn’t blame them. They all had their own lives, their own problems to deal with, their own personal pain to wallow in. Natasha understood. She knew what being a prisoner was like, what it felt like to be forced to do things just to survive. Steve empathised. His big heart and his puppy dog eyes were unbelievably charming and he won you over easily. Clint brought normalcy to everyone’s lives. But most of the others were hard to relate to. Tony meant well, but he had a big mouth and he loved putting his foot in it. Bruce was always in his lab. Vision was kind, but he was also marked by the characteristics of his origin and hard to make a connection with. Thor… Where do you even start with Thor? But there was also Wanda.

She had joined before you, her story similar to yours, yet so different, marked by loss and heartache. She was a kindred spirit and easily a friend. She was a little older than you, her eyeliner thick, her black nail polish often chipped, her hair in a tight ponytail as she walked around the compound and she always smiled when she saw you. As the months passed, the two of you were inseparable, spending every waking moment together. You were one of the two people who wasn’t scared that she’d read your mind, who trusted her good intentions and good heart completely. The other was Vision. They had a bond, an understanding that you didn’t know how to share in. But you were happy that she had him in her corner, because the other Avengers always looked at her suspiciously, or avoided her and you never knew why. Wanda was a sweetheart. Her favorite way to watch sitcoms was with her cuddled up into your side, your fingers playing with her silky hair, that she always let down, when it was just the two of you in the room. And sure, she was a little emo, but you found that adorable. Her smile would only widen, when you’d use one of your many pet names for her and she would blush, when you complimented her cooking. And you used those all the time, because, the thing is, you were in love with her. You were desperately in love with Wanda Maximoff and you were ready to do just about anything to have her smile at you or shower you with her affection. Something she did practically all the time anyway. If the woman wasn’t also fiercely protective and an extremely powerful witch, you’d say she’s a puppy. But none of the others ever agreed, when you said so. They would cower, when she stepped into the room, avoid her eyes, when they needed to speak to her, they would step out of training rooms, when she walked in. You found it baffling. And somehow the treatment extended to you as well. The closer you got to her, the more they kept their distance.

Gone were the days when they would tease you playfully, when they would give you pointers on your techniques, when they would approach you for small gatherings that didn’t involve the whole team and you never knew why. Until today. You walked in the common room, only to find most of the team already there and you greeted them, before you made your way to the adjacent kitchen, listening to their banter as you made breakfast for yourself and Wanda. It was the dynamic you were used to and you were ready to join them, holding the bowls of food in your hands, when you noticed that the noise suddenly died down, replaced by tense silence. “Wanda.” Natasha greeted with a nod. “Natasha.” The younger woman acknowledged, stepping further into the room and scanning it for something. Not that she ever told them what she needs. She looked pissed. Her aura was dark and almost menacing, her shoulders squared, like she was ready for a fight, making everyone on edge and you couldn’t figure out why. “Hi, sweetheart!” You decide to finally greet her, showing yourself from behind the wall you had been standing, while you observed all this. “Sweetheart?” Tony lifted an eyebrow, an amused smile creeping up his lips. Wanda only threw him a glare, but she accepted your hug happily, taking you into her arms and when you pulled away, she only let you turn into her hold, facing the group, while her hands stayed firmly around you. “Let’s go have breakfast in my room.” She suggested in your ear, ready to practically drag you out of there. “Why not join all of us for breakfast?” Steve raised his voice, gesturing to the big table he was already sitting at. “That’d be nice.” You nodded, before Wanda had any chance to refuse. “Come on, Wands, I already fixed you a bowl.” You told her. “Yes, Wands, we haven’t seen you in ages.” Tony agrees, emphasising the nickname you had used.

Feeling like she didn’t have much of a choice, Wanda agreed, sitting next to you and pulling your chair practically into her side, so she’d have you as close to her as she could, while she ate quietly. But the team felt like they had stumbled onto something. They had felt the shift in mood within her, as soon as she saw you and they weren’t going to let it go so easily. At first they tried their playful banter on her, asking her about her day, about her interests, about her training, just anything to see a reaction, but none actually came. It was only when you spoke that she would light up. She would smile, when she listened to you, when she forgot that it wasn’t just the two of you in the room. But it was the little blush that showed on her cheeks, when you called her “darling” that first sparked an idea within them. “Hey, Y/N, I hear you tried your hand against Cap here.” Bucky stared off, attracting your attention. “Tried being the key word. Hand to hand I don’t stand a chance, but with a little magic…” You trailed off, shrugging. “Who knows…” “Yeah?” His smile widens. “Well, if you’re looking for a challenge, join me for a spar this afternoon.” He invited. “She’s training with me this afternoon.” Wanda practically growled, looking up from her bowl for just a second, to stare down Bucky. Her glare was murderous. “That’s too bad, I was hoping for a little magic.” The man said, obviously bating Wanda. “Then perhaps you should train with me. I have magic.” Wanda snarled, summoning a ball of energy between her fingers for a moment, just to get her point across and luckily, the man was smart enough to back off. “Well, if you’re busy training, perhaps I can finally take dear Y/N to get a proper costume. The two of you can’t keep borrowing my leather jackets and pretend that it’s a real suit.” Natasha interjected. “What do you say dear?” She asked, her voice dropping an octave. “I already have some ideas in mind. You can try them on for me.” She suggested, noting the way Wanda’s knuckles turned white around her spoon. “And I’m sure Tony can make some improvements.” “Oh yeah.” The man chimed in, happy to take his own turn teasing Wanda. “I’ll have to get your measurements of course. To make sure it fits perfectly.” He says casually, but the idea of it makes Wanda’s blood boil. “She’s busy today.” Wanda retorts, before you even get a chance to open your mouth and you find yourself surprised to see her so tense. “Tomorrow perhaps.” Tony shrugs, taking on Wanda’s glare. “I’ll make time for her.” He adds. “She’s mine.” Wanda snaps, raising from her seat and balling her fists. “What was that?” Tony pretends not to hear her, smirking at the pissed off witch. “I said, she’s mine.” Wanda grits out, turning to you, ready to drag you out of the room.

It’s then that she realizes what she had said. That you were right there next to her, looking at her with a mixture of disbelief and hopefulness. The thing is, Wanda was desperately in love with you too. She was also, as the team quickly started to realize, extremely possessive, and she wasn’t going to watch every man and woman in the room flirt with you. The only problem was that she hadn’t told you all that. Scared to ruin your friendship and loose you for good, she opted for hiding her feelings, which only intensified her jealousy. She hadn’t staked her claim on you and it made her scared that someone else might. So every time you weren’t with her, she’d be on edge, lurking in corners, sending people glares whenever they spoke to you, hoping to keep them away until she could finally tell you how she felt. Such behaviour had earned her a reputation in the Tower as grumpy, and since everyone knew how dangerous she could be, they tried to stay away. Now, however, cornered and taken by surprise, she had let it slip. And you were right next to her, so it was impossible that you didn’t hear her earlier words. “Y/N…” She stutters, taken aback. “I didn’t mean… I…” She stumbled over her words. And the audience didn’t help in the slightest. She felt crowded. Tony’s smug smirk seemed to taunt her, Bucky and Steave sharing a knowing giggle between them, Natasha, who somehow looked unphased and simply amused at the whole scene, it was all overwhelming. And then, there was you. Shocked at what you’d heard and looking at her in disbelief. God, she needed to get out of there… Before she had a chance to say much else, before she could think it all through, she stormed out. She didn’t even know how she ended up in the hallway, her legs carrying her on their own, when she heard your voice. “Wanda!” You were calling out her name, jogging slightly to catch up to her. “Wanda, please wait!” You called out again, seemingly not for the first time. “Please, we should talk about this.” You said, watching her stop, so she could wait for you. “I’m so sorry, Y/N…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I had to get out of there.” She tried to say, her voice shaking a little with all the emotions that were raging inside her. “It’s ok. I understand.” You nodded, taking her hand, so you could help her feel more grounded.

The small touch between you, just the feeling of your hand in hers felt electrifying and she easily took the other one as well, pulling you close, until she could have you in her arms, securing you in a tight embrace and making you look up at her. “You don’t understand.” She said, hands shaking. “I’m so in love with you. I have been for months now. And I was so scared to tell you, so scared of loosing you, that I just…” She paused, struggling to find the right words. “And the way they were talking to you, the way they all looked at you… I can’t stand the thought of anyone else having you. I want you to be mine. I want you all to myself. I want to fall asleep next to you and wake up with you in my arms, I want to spend every day showing you that I love you. I want… You!” She confessed, her arms tightening around you, as if you’d escape her grasp somehow. “Oh, Wanda…” You whispered, a gentle smile farming on your lips as you watched her eyes sparkle. “I’ve been in love with you too. And I didn’t know how to tell you…” You said, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. The moment felt heavy, thick with emotions as you both stood frozen in time, eyes glued to the other, when suddenly a voice, startled you both. “Maximoff, kiss the girl already!” Tony said smugly, followed by cheers from the people around him. Were they watching you on the hallway cameras this whole time? Not that you had time to think about that, when Wanda was leaning closer, her eyes flashing red, before she shortened the distance between you both, until she was only a breath away. Her features were so different now, she was smiling as she held you, biting her lips, eyes full of adoration and longing.

When she finally placed her lips on yours, a gentle caress at first, it felt like you were in heaven. You had wished for this moment for so long, imagined it every night, before you fell asleep, dreamt of it and longed for it and it was finally happening and you just couldn’t get enough. When she felt your eager lips on hers, Wanda didn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss, tongue darting out, asking for permission to taste you further and mingling with yours, once you allowed her access. It was only when she pushed you against the nearest wall, trapping your body with hers, that you finally paused. “We’re giving everyone a show.” You reminded her, head pointing to the camera in the corner. “Never.” Wanda smirked, her magic flashing once more, to show you that she had disabled the feed, before you even kissed. “Only I’m allowed to see you like this. I would never share you with anyone else.” She said with a note of possessiveness that you were growing to love, the more you saw it. She kissed you again. And then again, greedy hands squeezing your hips. She could never get enough of you. She felt drunk on you and only reluctantly pulled away when you both needed to breathe. “We should get back.” You said reluctantly. “Let’s go to my room instead. We’ll take it slow. We don’t have to do anything. I just want you all to myself.” She suggested. “I don’t want to share you.” “Wait… Is that why everyone thinks you’re so grumpy?” You suddenly realized, remembering countless times, when Wanda has wanted your undivided attention, skipping events and avoiding people. She didn’t say anything, but at this point you didn’t need her to. “We should show them how wrong they are. You’re amazing and warm and loving and sweet and I want everyone to know that.” You told her honestly. “But we’ll go to my room after?” She held you firmly, refusing to let you go just yet. “Yes, we’ll go to your room after.” You nodded happily. “I’ll even let you pick what we’re watching.” You added teasingly. Wanda smiled, pulling away just enough to let you straighten yourself and she held your hand, letting you guide her back to the common room, watching your hips sway seductively. It was sweet, she thought, that you believed she’d be wasting her time with sitcoms, when she could finally have you the way she’s wanted you for so long… _______________________________________________________ Hi, dear anon. I hope that you are happy with the story you got for your request! <3

[palajae]

switch up!

PAIRING... fan!sunghoon x idol!reader | GENRE... idol! au, fluff, meet cute, flirting? lol, sunghoon legendary rizz | WC... 0.5k | “that’s the first time anyone’s ever told me that.” 

you wave as your fan leaves, grinning widely as you prepare for the next person. you adjust the tiara on your head, fidgeting with it due to its trivial size—probably because it was originally a decorative toy intended for a five year old. 

“hello!” you charmingly greet the next fan. he introduces himself as sunghoon, and you begin signing his album. 

to: sunghoon-! <3

your smile grows as he stumbles over his words, obviously nervous to be in such close proximity to you. 

you keep your eyes and attention focused on him as you keep writing. it wasn’t hard when you had done it hundreds of times (not to mention that he was strikingly handsome.)

sunghoon looks down bashfully, “i’ve been a really big fan of yours since your debut,” he pauses, and you nod encouragingly at him to continue. 

he swears your eyes sparkle with all the stars in the galaxy. 

sunghoon takes a deep breath. he recited this too many times—imagined your breathtaking face in front of him too many times to mess up now. 

while listening and writing diligently, you feel the tiara on your head begin to slip. you really wanted to finish getting the next words down on the page, but you feel it slowly slide. 

“i just wanted to say that i will always support you. i hope you stay happy and healthy-“

however, before you can, you feel a warm hand shoot out to steady the tiara. your hand touches his immediately after, also in an attempt to adjust the crown.  

sunghoon’s concerned eyes bore into you as he mutters something. 

“s-sorry?”

sunghoon doesn’t say anything. instead, he whispers a soft, forgive me but- 

and a hand of his softly brushes the stray hairs out of your face. he gently fixes your hair that got slightly tousled when the tiara fell. 

it almost felt like he was caressing you, with his warm gaze so focused on you and only you. 

your heart skips a beat. you blink once, twice. 

“i’m really sorry, that was bothering me. i just like tidying and organizing things, you know, i appreciate clean and pure things- like you.”

he immediately stops. 

eyes widening, your can’t stop the flush that comes to your face. 

“w-wait, no, that came out-“

“that’s… the first time anyone’s ever told me that.” 

you giggle, and sunghoon melts at the sound. 

as his time with you comes to an end by the signal of your manager, he can’t help but feel fulfilled. he made you smile. he was the one that made you laugh so blissfully. 

later he’ll go home and scream silently about it, jump and prance around his room, probably. then he’ll go look back at the pictures he took of you and pray someone caught the moment on video. 

as sunghoon walks off, he catches a glimpse of the message you wrote into his album. he can’t help but let the fanboy in him out a little, a squeak escaping his mouth. 

i also like clean things. they refresh me, like you &lt;;3 

i’ll hope to see you next time? 

xoxo, y/n

a/n ▸ idc i love fan!sunghoon

MAIN TAGLIST ▸ @precioussoulofmine @kynrki @heesterical @jungwonize @rerequire @nvertheless @duolingofanaccount @hoeshii @love-4-keum @luvhyun3 @dimplewonie @yjjungwon @who-tf-soddhi @microwvdstrawb3rri3s @asteria-wood @noajakah236482 @enhacatalog @june-pop @ohsjy @ashtxrie

@lvyvsrk1

@kflixnet

send an ask/message to be added to the main tl!

[zsupika]

Love and Deepspace x Reader

> general relationship headcanons

A/N: I've been in the lnd fandom for a few weeks now and I'm so obsessed of this game. Keep in mind these are just some random things that I have in mind when I think of them in a relationship.

>> My requests are open if you have any ideas!

Characters: Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel

Xavier

I imagine him as a very caring boyfriend

He'd listen to what you have to say and whenever you have something that troubles you, try and find a solution

His favorite sleeping position has got to be spooning you with him being the big spoon

He just loves to embrace you and know that you're safe in his arms

While laying like that he loves to breath in your scent

And while you're asleep, he plays with your hair and softly glides his fingers along your skin

It calms him down, especially after aonh day of fighting wanderers

He also likes to go on missions together with he

He won't admit it but whenever you get assigned with a different partner than him, he gets so jealous

He just loves to spend time with you

He's more a listener than a talker

Through the entire year he takes notes on the things that you mentioned you wanted to have

When your birthday comes up he buys all those things for you!!

Although he loves to spoil you on valentines day with flowers, chocolate and lots of kisses, he doesn't really see a point in the day specifically

He buys you flowers every once in a while and doesn't understand why there would have to be a whole day dedicated for it

But if you see it as important, he definitely puts up an effort to make you happy and see a smile on your face

He always blushes when you get him something in return!

He prefers to give, more that receive

He also makes sure that you're nicely relaxed after a mission

While you sit on your chair he might come up from behind and give you a soft shoulder massage and some neck kisses to ease your mind and body

I imagine him to smell like lavender and fresh laundry

His favorite drink has to be iced coffee and water

In winter he'll also drink a hit chocolate with you

He loves to add cute toppings and make it delicious

Zayne

As we all know he's a doctor and always very busy

You see him a lot less than you would the other two boys

He appreciates it when you come to the hospital and visit him on his breaks

You'd remind him to relax and take it easy every once in a while

It makes him smile to know that you care for him so much

Him not being able to see you as much makes him sad, so he tries to make the few dates that you go on extra special

He always consideres your wishes and does whatever you desire

You want to stay home with him and watch a movie? Sure, he'd love to. You want to go out to a fancy restaurant? Yeah, he's down.

He has a hard time expressing his emotions with his words, so he's definitely more of a "actions over words" kinda guy

His love language would equal to "acts of service" and "quality time"

His hugs and kisses feel very intimate, because it's his way of expressing his emotions to you

He adores the fact that you understand him so well and that you respect his boundaries

He's a morning person for sure

He likes black coffee

For you he always makes sure that you're healthy

Whenever you get a little sick, he's always worried about you and tries to prevent it with all that he can

It makes you chuckle how much he can get worked up over a little cold

Once you get better he makes sure that you stay healthy and happy

Rafayel

Starting of with a very basic headcanon but I think he'd paint you

But not in the way in which you might think

He wouldn't only paint full on portraits of you but he'd incorporate you into his art in a very different way

He'd draw the landscape of your favorite places

He would use your eye color as the background color of a beautiful still-life

You being around him would inspire him to draw freely without any restrictions

Your laugh would make him move his brush in the same rhythm

Sometimes he'd let you help him with a painting

He also loves to go and search for different ways to create paint with you and look for ingredients

I think even though he's very sassy and bold most of the time, when it comes to intimate moments he'd be rather shy

He blushes a lot!

And definitely has a hard time keeping eye contact with you in those moments

His kisses are more soft and caring than you might think at first

In my eyes he'd be the furthest thing from rough in any intimate situations

He holds you as if you were a fragile piece of glass that could break at any second

He feels like you're the only one who he can let his emotions out on, without feeling judged

Loves sleeping on top of you like a weighted blanket

Slightly snores but not very loud

It's more of a heavier breathing

As we know he's very ticklish

When you two are playfighting you can definitely take advantage of that

He'll be a whining and whimpering mess

Do with that what you want

[winkwonkwankwenk]

Please do an Toji Headcannons Sfw+Nsfw if your not already working on it!✨️ Read your Gojo one and loved it hehehe TYSM ✨️❤️

Toji Head-Cannons!! (SFW & NSFW)

SFW

Not a morning person, wakes up grumpy and will sulk around until about lunchtime. Food makes him slightly better, so when you cheerfully set down the meal you made for him he can't stop the corners of his mouth from twitching up.

He's not exactly irresponsible, he just prioritizes...differently. Food first, money second, you third. When he notices he's spending too much time away he'll casually call you and act like he hasn't disappeared for week(s)! "I was busy, I'll be home soon." He says, knowing damn well he isn't coming home for another day or two.

His eyes give away his mood, so you can tell when he's happy even though he rarely smiles. They scrunch, and when you giggle at him they narrow. "What's so funny, Doll?" He'll ask, leaning in so your breath hitches.

He likes picking you up, he finds how small you are endearing. He purposely puts things you use on high shelves just to hear you call for him. He'll lean over you, chest pressed to your back and grin when you grumble. "What? I'm helpin'."

Heavy meat eater. Beef and pork are his daily diet, taking up most of his plate. When you whined to him about healthy habits he just grunted and rolled his eyes.

Definitely has a garden behind the house. It started as your hobby and then one day you came home to him shirtless in the sun, tilling the land and planting while humming to himself. From then on, you've let him handle all the crops. It keeps him fit and you...entertained.

He likes to kiss your shoulders when the two of you cuddle. He finds comfort having you close, although he'll rarely admit it. He always has an excuse on why he has to cling to you instead of just saying how he really feels. "It's jus' cold, don't make a big deal out of nothin' "

Bulks constantly, eating three courses every meal time. He gets hangry quickly, so if you don't cook trust the kitchen will be raided. You've come home to see him feasting on breadrolls, sometimes the entire loaf will be gone before you even use a slice for toast. He eats like a teenage boy going through puberty and sometimes you worry he'll eat your money too. The thought has crossed his mind once.

He's not broke, just extremely frugal. He doesn't even want to buy medkits. He'll boil water and pour it on a cut. You walked in on this once and he was confused as to why you were so panicked. When you explained how batshit crazy his methods were, he let you open the jar he had tucked away. There was at least five-hundred dollars in coins stored and when you asked him about it, he told you it was Megumi's college fund. Yeah right.

He wants a big family- but only with you. You're a good mother to Megumi, and he knows you'll be even better with a couple more kids.

NSFW

Taunts and teases you during sex, from degrading praises to purposely slowing his thrusts. He likes making you beg, especially when he edges you and your left pleading with him for pleasure.

He's got a monster and he never give you time to adjust. Once he's in, he's not pulling out. He'll start gentle for your sake but the moment he hears that first moan from your sweet lips he's done playing nice. "Come on...this much is nothin', take it like a big girl."

Wakes up hard, goes to bed hard, he's constantly horny. No matter how many times the two of you fuck in a day he wants to ram back in. He's insatiable, but you're to blame really. It's not his fault he's addicted to the way you squeeze his shaft with those slippery wet walls. How is he supposed to go more than ten minutes without you coiled around him?

The two of you got into a heated argument once, he bent you over and fucked you from behind until you caved. Who needs communication when you can have hot rough make-up sex? By the time he's done with you, you don't have the energy to stay mad at him. "Ready to admit I'm right?" and if you say no, the two of you go for another round.

Loves french-kissing you and making out in general. He does tricks with his tongue in your mouth but loses control when you suck on the scar on his lips.

He loves having you in his lap, especially when you're wearing a skirt. All he has to do is push your panties aside and push in- perfect. Being bigger than you has its perks, especially when it comes to holding you down as he thrusts up into your womb, fucking you hard and fast until you're a sobbing soaking mess.

He told your dad that you also call him daddy. He's no longer invited to family events.

He won't fuck you with his fingers because he knows how dirty they get from yardwork, so he uses his tongue and damn is he good at it. He loudly slurps up every juice spilling from your cunt, groaning and grumbling about your taste and scent. "Fucking hell, Woman..." is all he can manage to mumble, too pussy-drunk to say much else as he buries his nose between your folds.

His favorite petnames for you are Doll and Slut.

Will not wear a condom. Don't even ask. He gives you the meanest side eye when you even mention it. He wants to knock you up again, and there's enough space in the house for another kid. He'll consider condoms when you have five kids- maybe. "I'm givin' you all of this good cum and you want it wasted in a plastic bag? Ha."

He didn't see the point of aftercare but it grew on him, mainly because of how pretty you looked laid against him as he massaged your shoulders. You're his woman, and if cuddling after fucking makes you feel good, fine, he'll do it.

Like my writing? Check out my Ao3!! Reblogs appreciated!!

Join my discord!!

Lastly, fill my requests up!! Don't be shy 😋

[randomshyperson]

Five Times Carol Danvers Kisses You

Summary: The five times Carol Danvers kisses you until you two finally get together. 

Warnings: Mentions but nothing explicit, a lot of fluff, mutual pining (and typical angst of trope), best friends to lovers, pre-canon-compliant (takes place before Carol is taken), kissing, happy(ish) ending. | Words: 4.836k

A/N-> As mentioned on this blog before, I absolutely love the dynamics of "Five Times Something" and after watching The Marvels I became obsessed with Carol Danvers, and here I am with something about my beloved blondie. It's short and sweet, and I didn't want to write anything too angsty but you can get hints of what's to come from the canon (Dr.Lawson being a Kree in disguise and what will happen to Carol). But the fic doesn't address this directly and ends up with a happy scene. Let's all live in denial.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

One.

“This is not a place to raise a child” was the justification your father used when he left. Funny enough, he didn't take the child, you, away from all the high-tech military weapons that he described as inadequate for a child to grow up around. 

His lost, it what your mother said, an easy smile on her lips while she offered you a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. She still had some grease on her jacket and a lot of dust on her hair but she looked beautiful. That was just how things were for Wendy Lawson.

And because she was the best mom anyone could ask for, or at least that was what you would perceive it with your limited references of healthy families. She was the best because she would let you sit around while she worked for the Shield, casually teaching you advanced engineering like it was the same homework you had from secondary school.

That was the only life you knew: Afternoons of trying to stay out of the way of Shield Agents and their big weapons until you were old enough to have a gun yourself.

But before that time came, some of them worried you weren't having a decent childhood. Away from guns at least.

You don't know which of the Agents suggested to Doctor Lawson the kart track, but you wish you could thank them. Your mother, as the busy cientist she always has been, was not available to be around all of the evenings you wished to spend there but she trusted your independence to use the bus after school. Besides, you had the impression that there were always Shield Agents keeping an eye on you no matter where you went.

Só for three whole years, that old place was your favorite. You would run out from the classroom with the first ring of the bell to get to the kart track as fast as you could, and for all those three years, you were also the best runner there.

Of course, it cost you some bloody noose and bruised hands. Especially with sore losers little boys who were very unpleased to be second placed by some random girl. There were also the parents, who would whisper not very lowly on how absurd it was to let an unsupervised little girl in such a violent activity.

As luck would have it, someday you were no longer the only little girl around.

The Danvers were local, and you always thought there were only three of them. The grumpy father and the loud and popular sons. But one day, the one with the warmest smile, the youngest son brought someone with him.

His little sister's name was Carol. She had her blonde hair tied down and she looked ready to punch anyone who gave her a hard time. All the Danvers kind looked the same to be fair. Blonde, strong and angry.

Unlike her brother and their free pass to do as they please, Carol was constantly reprimanded by her father. Even there, in front of the whole crowd and runners, he would scream and pinch her ear, adding to the fury that shone behind Carol's little blue eyes.

The other children would whisper just like their parents but growing up with spies and secret agents gave you this second nature to sneak in and out of places without being noticed. You weren't supposed to hear some of the adults whispering how Mr.Danvers drank more than he should or how his older son was leaving next summer for the army with a purple eye he didn't get in the training. You weren't supposed to but you did.

So the next time Carol crashed a car with one of the other runners, you messed up your perfect record to help her.

Her dad screamed again, as usual. But he left, muttering she could find her way home since she was so clever and Carol had those thick tears in her eyes that made them bluer, so you were helping her before you could give a second thought to it.

She didn't mind that you took her hand and brought her to the administration lobby. She's more interested in knowing how the hell you knew how to get there in the first place.

When you told her you grew up with spies she laughed thinking you were joking. You decided to tell her more stories in the hope it would distract her from the pain of the cuts she got in her legs from the crash.

It worked.

Carol had colorful patches on both her knees when you two sneaked out of there to the bus stop. You could take her home if she wished because you knew a lot about public transport but Carol smiled and said she could do it alone; Her dad was often not around and with soldiers brothers, she knew a lot about doing things by herself.

Yet, she appreciates the gesture and the thought. Her bus should be here in 25 minutes so you sit next to her and let your healthy knee brush her bruised one.

“My name is Carol Danvers by the way.” 

You have to chuckle at her line.

“I know who you are, Danvers.” You retort with an easy smile. She looks up with curiosity. You chuckle again. “You know your name is on the scoreboard, right?”

She laughs, almost shyly. You don't know that yet but Carol is not the best at making friends. Especially girlfriends because apparently, every girl hated how not 60s girly behavior she acted on as much as any boy.

You didn't mind. If anything, it kinda made you like her more.

“You didn't have to do that back there you know?” She starts over, fingers tugging at the bandaid you put above her knee. “Lose the race to check on me.”

You shrug, eyes on the road. “No worries. There'll be other races. Besides, you're the only real competition I get there. If you're not participating, what's the fun in winning?”

Carol's cheeks grow a little hotter, but you're both too young to know it has nothing to do with the sun above your heads. You offer her a smile and she gets up to signal to the bus.

But before she leaves, she turns to you again.

It's quicker than her crash that morning, the thank you little peck on your right cheek but is as meaningful as losing a three-year Invictus status on a track race for someone.

Carol nearly flees the scene once she catches the first glimpse of surprise in your expression. You were caught off guard, that's all. But all you can do is laugh to yourself as you watch her run to her bus.

Tomorrow, when you are back here, you'll find Carol so you can share your lunch with her. Today, you would walk home with no clue why the spot she kissed was tingling.

-&-

Two.

Shield Academy is not the army. 

It is, as the name suggests, an academic program for the gifted-minded. It's a place where a child who grew up surrounded by the brightest minds on the planet can get it easily.

Well, of course, there's a lot of studying and tiring exams that you wouldn't describe as easy but when taking everything into consideration, the only place a brainy - or huge nerd as Carol would call it - could end up was there.

So while you had big dark blue sweaters with the Shield logo on them, Carol had worn out public school uniforms. 

But she was doing okay. In fact, if anyone asked you, even though you were the nerd one in that friendship, for you, Carol was quite brilliant. She had a quick mind and such a strong, well, everything. She was as clever as she was kind. She was passionate about anything she cared for and she was easily your favorite person.

The kart track gave space for the public library and the green plains behind Shield Academia as you two grew up. Carol would take her bike from across town and spend the whole day after school in those green yards with you. Often, she had a football with her while you had a book.

And while you tried to escape your Shield colleagues, Carol would find her spot at your side. She would watch those training agents and wish to be like them, while both of you knew she would follow her brothers to the military when the time came.

But for now, you're sixteen. And Carol has been your best friend for almost 6 years now. You're not sure if friends have anniversaries or if it's something reserved for dating, and since you're not gonna ask any of the agents around, especially not Doctor Lawson, you just assume is okay to get Carol a gift.

She had been wishing for a walkman for so long - she had three already, all broke down during some of her naughty antics, from jumping into the reservation without remembering to take them off her backpack to get into a fight with older kids who thrown her stuff just for the fun of it. So yes, she had those before and she loved music but somehow she always ended up breaking them so you thought maybe because you were the one gifting it, she would be more careful.

You were right of course, but that's hardly the point.

Carol started to act strange after the gift. Even days later, during movie night at her house, she got quiet, which is definitely not a Carol Danvers kind of attitude, so you started to wonder if the present was a good idea at all.

That of course, until Carol clarified the whole thing.

“I got you something too. For, hum, the anniversary thing.” 

You pinched her ribs, the nearly shy behavior was such an odd thing to testify that was actually terrifying you. Carol has been your best friend for way too long for that or anything to be awkward between you two.

But then again, adolescence makes everything weird.

You don't open the gift very graciously. Because you were in the middle of movie night, of course, hands full of popcorn butter and Carol was being weird and suspect that you just wanted to put an end to it.

You chuckle at her worn-out team jacket there.

“So your gift to me is your jacket?” You asked with a confused frown, watching your friend struggle with her words the next moments.

“No, I mean yes. But not, just that.” She starts and it's quite the scene. Carol Danvers not being able to talk when that's all she does. “It's my favorite jacket. I… really like it.”

“Do you want it back then?” You suggest with a confused laugh but Carol shakes her head immediately, her cheeks rosy.

“God, no, that’s not…” she takes a deep breath. “I like the jacket, a lot, but not as much as I like you. So I thought, maybe if I can give you something that I really like, it will mean…”

“Oh, I get it.” You say with a smile, holding the jacket against your chest as Carol switches the weight in her foot. “Thank you, blondie. But you don't have to give me your favorite stuff to show me you like me. You don't have to give me anything at all really. Perhaps, all you have to do is say it and I'll believe you.”

Carol nods, shallowing dryly, and without missing a beat, she repeats her words from before: “I really like you.” It's nearly a whisper, and the way she struggles to hold your gaze tells you everything you need to know.

You smile, aware of the warmth spreading in your cheeks and ears.

“I really like you too, Carol.” You tell her and with no hush, you put her jacket on. The blonde in front of you takes a shaky breath once the jacket is properly around your body. You're distracted with the new outfit to take notice of the new dark shine her eyes hold. “Gotta admit it, Danvers, I could totally worm the athletic style. I mean, I look super cool don't I?”

But your question goes unanswered. Carol moves forward, her hands grab the collar of the gifted jacket and just like the first time, she kisses you quicker than you can manage to process.

Her lips are dry against yours because she's nervous. Trembling and terrified. You pull away, and Carol has her eyes closed tightly, breathing unevenly.

You take a deep breath and lick your lips to moisten them a little and the second kiss is much better. 

There's this soft noise she makes when you move your mouth but the second you feel her tongue on your lower lip, there's noise around you two.

As if getting electrocuted, Carol jumps away just in time for her evidently drunk father to stumble inside the garage.

Carol is not eight anymore, but she's the only one left in that house. Her older brother taught her five different ways to break someone's noose, but Carol still shakes like the leaves if her father is around with his harsh words and angry looks.

This time, however, he takes a long glance at you both. The guilty looks, accelerated breathing, and he just laughs.

The only thing he says is a slur that makes Carol flinch. Then he turns his back and climbs the stairs to his bedroom, passing out in the hallway before he can make it through.

“Carol, I-” You try but she forces a smile and nods at the door.

“Please go.” She asks. “I have to take him to bed and you don't have to stay.”

“But-”

“Please.”

You leave. And Carol doesn't bring up that night for the next two years.

-&-

Three.

Graduation means Army. More specifically, the Air Force because of course Carol Danvers wants to fly away from everything and everyone.

“Not everyone.” She frowns when you tell her that. Then she smiles, legs brushing yours at the back of her truck. “I would love to have you up there with me.”

You chuckle, giving her shoulder a little bump with your own.

“Sorry Blondie, you know I hate planes.” You joke but the shine in her eyes is deeper now.

“What about spaceships?” She insists it.

You sigh into the night, pensive for a second.

“Well, Mom would probably love it if I ever suggest anything that involves flying.” You say, breaking into a chuckle as your hand moves to the leg you have bent in that position, which allows you to trace your fingers toward your ankle. “Of course, anything other than my secret little Pegasus.”

Carol gives a compliance smile at the mention of the secret tattoo you got on her seventeenth birthday but continues to watch you in silence.

The stars are shining bright above you two, and the parked truck gives as much privacy as one could get in that neighborhood. If you and Carol weren't girls, people would make conclusions.

Perhaps they’ll do it anyway.

“What would I even do up there, Danvers?” You ask her because Carol is so passionate about flying that you're starting to wonder if she is able to see a whole different world up there that you can't.

This time, her hand finds you before her lips. She brings her fingers to yours resting on the truck and locks them. She gets closer and closer and gives you all the time in the world to push her back.

But she's Carol, and she's beautiful and she's your best friend. Why wouldn't you want to kiss her?

There's tongue this time. Hesitant at first then curious, until finally hungry. Of course, Carol Danvers is a good kisser, this asshole.

You break apart, to complain with a husky tone that is unfair but Carol only chuckles before kissing you again. And again. Until somehow you end with your back against her truck, painting into her mouth.

And Carol is seventeen years old and she's a huge virgin like you who really wants this to change tonight. Not just that, of course, but she's still a teen and that's exactly what she chooses to say in order to make this less life-changing than it is.

Because sleeping together as a way of ending high school without the V Card has a completely different meaning than sleeping together because you really want to ruin a friendship.

You swallow at her suggestion, aware that the heat in your veins doesn't cover for the way your heart just broke inside your chest.

But you smile and tell Carol you love her, making sure it sounds platonic. Just to hurt her just as much.

It works, but she kisses you anyway.

-&-

Four.

Maria Rambeau is the most incredible person you have ever met. She's clever and fun and kindhearted. It's so easy to love her and it comes so naturally, that you can't really blame Carol.

You also have no right to be jealous, you tell yourself.

After all, Carol asked more than once for you to at least consider following her to the Air Force. You both had military families, so it made sense for her that you both ended up following the same path.

You were not entirely excluded from that, of course. But unlike Carol with her soldier training, you had medical classes. And while she and Maria learned to shoot people, you learned to heal them.

That of course until the third year, when Carol's training moved to space crafting and yours moved to biological charts. The Pegasus was not the only military project available for you, and being home was good but every time you caught a glimpse of the empty fields near the station, you remember afternoons with Carol and the lack of her ache a hell lot inside your chest.

But visiting her at the base and then at a local bar was a bittersweet occasion.

Because time went by and Carol made a new friend. A lovely and brilliant and apparently less confused woman new best friend. Maria who made her laugh and blush and was such a great company that you couldn't hate her no matter how much the jealousy burned inside your veins.

Somehow, no matter how many dove eyes Carol threw at Maria, she didn't catch them. Immune to her charm entirely. You kinda wished she would teach you that.

The last free week you had was spent visiting Carol and ending up in a bar. But Maria's night was continuing with a good-looking soldier somewheres else, so yours and Carol's would continue with cheap drinks.

It was probably common sense, not to mix alcohol with feelings but you and Carol clearly skipped that class.

You ended up pressed behind the bar's wall in a messy attempt of drunken make-out with your former best friend.

Carol tasted like beer and the army's year changed her. Even drunk, she knew her way around a woman's body now and you had to force your stupid brain to stop wondering about who she had been practicing with. Perhaps Maria was not immune to her charm as you thought she was.

Just as things were getting out of hand, that is, it was probably against some army rules to have sex behind one bar in the military area, Carol pulled away.

She looked so good like that, with messy hair and flushing cheeks, her lips swollen due to the whole thing.

But her eyes were so sad. And you couldn't push the alcohol and the lust away to have clear thoughts on that.

“We can't do this again.” She declares with a seriousness that makes you swallow hard. “I can't.”

She stumbles away and you nearly slip down the hall on your shaky legs. Carol is looking for her car keys but she will definitely fall asleep on the seat.

To be fair, you kinda wished that night would end in her car seat, just in very different scenarios.

“Why not, Danvers?” You manage to question once the anger pushes a little of the alcohol away. Carol sighs tiredly. “Why?” You almost scream and she stops in her tracks, turning to give you a hurt look.

“I can't do this again, okay?” She retorts and she's drunk but she's so hurt. You can see it in her eyes and it kills you to think it is something you have done it. “I don't have the strength in me to get over you again”.

Your world freezes for a whole second. Your mouth is bitter suddenly.

“O-over me?” You repeat her words, confusion mixing with the pain you feel growing in your chest. “When… When were you under me?”

The question is the best of what your drunk brain can come up with but it's enough for Carol to understand.

She lets out a sad chuckle. “C'mon, Lawson. How could you not know? Everyone did. Even my dad, especially my dad.” She corrects herself then, bitterly before taking a deep breath. “It's past. It doesn't matter anymore. We are no longer kids, messing around with things we don't understand. I know what am I. And I know we shouldn’t. I won't jeopardize our friendship again for someone I cannot have.”

There are tears in your eyes, and Carol has the fucking worst timing in the world because your brain simply can't catch up with the meaning of this conversation with all the booze in the way.

“Carol, what are you even saying?”

She just smiles, giving a nod to the bar.

“Let's get inside, I'll get you a cab back to your hotel.”

She doesn't let you question further and the next morning, when the hangover barely allows you to open your eyes, Carol says the worst thing you did last night was try dancing with a Statue.

-&-

Five.

Doctor Lawson has been acting strange lately. She says it's work stress when she returns your calls and ignores your advice about her retiring.

You use your mother's stress as an excuse to come home, and it seems ridiculous that you have to invent reasons to see Carol, but she gives you no choice. Things have been very strange between you in recent months.

The house is a mess, and it's the first time you've worried about the possibility of dementia.

Strange phrases, disconnected words. You think about calling the head of Shield when you put Dr. Lawson to bed after making her some hot tea, but you end up calling Carol.

Your former best friend brings her old truck into your garage.

"Hey, blondie." She hugs you first at the greeting, and you sigh with satisfaction at the contact. You almost forget the stress of the whole meeting with your mother. "It's good to see you."

"I missed you." Carol says with a smile, squeezing you tighter before letting go. "What happened? You sounded worried on the phone."

You sigh before telling her everything you saw, standing there leaning on Carol's truck in the dim light of the garage. It's her turn to sigh when you finish.

"Good thing I brought beer." She comments, getting a laugh out of you. 

You don't even notice the time passing that night, but it's like being back in senior year, sitting side by side in the back of Carol's truck, forgetting the world around you for a moment.

When the case of beers is about to run out, you've said almost everything you have to say. Carol thinks she needs to add something more.

"I know the circumstances aren't the best but... I can't say I'm sad." She begins, looking straight ahead, a half-full can of beer in her hands. "With the possibility of you coming to live here again, I mean. I've kind of hated Washington since you left. And Shield too, for taking you away."

You giggle shyly at this and don't know what to say to Carol, so you just decide to hug her. But you're a bit dizzy after the third beer and miscalculate your approach. You end up too close to her face and can see almost in slow motion how the blue darkens or how Carol chokes on her breath.

"I'm sorry, I-" you begin in a hoarse voice, but she doesn't let you finish. The beer can slips out of her hand as she uses both to pull your face towards her.

It's an intense, messy, and passionate kiss. Carol swallows all the sighs that escape your lips as she presses her mouth to yours. Her tongue doesn't ask for passage. You melt against her and try your best to match her energy, suddenly feeling very dizzy, unrelated to the beer.

Her hands move from your face to your neck and down to your waist. Carol mentions pulling you onto her lap, but the balcony lights flicker on and she grunts as she pulls away.

You're still blinking spellbound at the whole thing, trying to catch your breath as she stands up, adjusting her hair.

"Fuck, I shouldn't have done that." She mutters more to herself than to you, hoarse and upset. You swallow dry. "I'm so stupid."

"Carol."

"You're so fucking stupid, Carol Danvers, I swear to God." She ignores your call, continuing to curse quietly to herself. You frown, but end up looking at the porch; your mother has woken up and looks just as lost as before and you really need to check on her.

When you get out of the truck, you touch Carol on the shoulder, and she turns around almost in despair.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that, I'm leaving-"

"Carol, shut up." You cut her off and don't let her say another word.

She shuts up immediately. "I really have to get back inside, and make sure my mom doesn't turn on any water or store the cat in the fridge again." You chuckle apologetically, stroking her cheek. "But I need you to understand that this isn't a mistake, an accident or a thoughtless act after a few beers. At least it isn't and it never was for me. We need to start talking to each other."

Carol nods quickly, swallowing as she looks down at your swollen lips. "Yeah, talking is good."

You smile, and hear the sound of the cat in the house and think you'd better start running. "Later, okay?"

"Later."

But your mother doesn't have dementia. She's not even allowed in a regular hospital. Shield is strangely private about everything, but you're practically coerced into signing confidentiality papers about the current state of Dr. Lawson, who seems to miraculously improve after spending an hour in a room with other agents.

Carol is the only person you can talk to about things, and she has news of her own.

"Maria is pregnant." She tells you, with a twinkle in her eye, without waiting for you to finish absorbing the news. "And she wants me to be the godmother!"

You're happy for Maria, especially perhaps because she's seeing that handsome soldier and she and Carol have nothing going on. Also, you need to tell Carol that you can go back to Washinton now that your mother is better.

"Oh, I thought..." The blonde hesitates as she hears the news, trying not to look upset by forcing a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "I thought you'd decided to stay."

You're having breakfast in the living room of your house, Dr. Lawson is working upstairs. You swallow the bitter feeling of hurting Carol again.

"I would, for Mom. But why would I stay in Louisiana?" It's a rhetorical question because you both know very well what would make you stay. Carol laughs sadly, looking down. You get tired of pretending. " I would stay for you. I would stay for... us."

She looks at you in silence, a conflict of emotions on her face. "Don't be ridiculous, you can't just give up your career for a friendship-"

"Carol." You cut her off seriously, and she choked on her sentence, her eyes as tearful as yours. You give her a small smile, trying to ignore the way your heart is pounding in your chest. "You know that's not what I'm saying."

She swallows dryly, and despite reaching out to take your hand, she insists; "I'm gonna need you to say it."

"God, you're such an asshole." You gasp with emotion, laughing as tears of happiness escape yours and her eyes. Carol also laughs but waits. "Okay, Danvers. You've got me. I'm completely, irrevocably in love with you. I have been for a long time, maybe since the first time I saw you. And I'm sorry it took me so long to tell you."

Carol almost knocks over the coffee table when she moves in to kiss you but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[lookingformoondrop]

Hi!! I love your writing and hope you’re doing great. May I request a break up scenario with yandere!Andrew?

Yandere!Andrew Graves x Reader

TW: Dark material, mentions of a unalived person, manipulation, andrew calls reader a dumb bunny, very toxic relationship, Andrew drags reader around by the hair (weeee), captivity/kidnapping if you squint? Angst, very very depressing, it's been a while, so this is probably OOC ;-;

♡ Notes: GUESS WHOSE BACK! yes, I admit I was gone for quite a while, but with the progress reports of chapter 3 coming around, I figure now is my time to rise again. After I wrote all of this, I realized I might have made this a little too dark... My next work will likely be a fluff. Sorry Anon! Thank you so much for supporting, and I hope I can continue writing pieces for y'all~ ♡

Tik

Tok

Tik

Tok

Tik

Tok

The clock on your wall ticked closer to 7 o'clock. Every sound in the room was silenced by the deafening sound of it.

At the time, buying that clock seemed like a cute idea.

It was an old thing, two big clocks held together with beautiful dark wood. And a small circle shaped glass built underneath the two clocks meant for displaying a picture.

It was placed on your fireplace mantel, accompanied by other little trinkets.

You tried not to look at the mantel or the pictures that displayed happy memories, instead opting to glare at the hands ticking closer to your doom.

You didn't deserve to glance at these memories with what you were determined to do.

The room around was in shambles. Blankets and pillows were thrown around, cups and plates stuck to the tables around the couch after hours of neglect, and every picture frame in reach with the smiling face of Andrew Graves was put down.

At any moment, Andrew was going to come through that door and open his arms for you.

You bit your lip, already cringing at the bloody spots forming. You had to leave. There was no other choice.

After what you've seen, there's no possible way you could keep hugging and kissing him...

When you first moved in with Andrew, you found yourself to be the happiest ever.

Every day, you'd roll over to face an already awake and smiling Andy, who would kiss your nose and promise you coffee.

Every evening, you'd have a delicious dinner prepared by Andrew, who would make the atmosphere romantic with candles and rose petals, all leading to a delightful night of fornication...

Yes, at times, there were small cracks in the fantasy you two had made.

You still had to go to work, and you still had projects and deadlines that needed to be met. Not only this, but you still had co-workers you needed to work with.

You had made peace with this and was more than happy to fulfill your office work, but Andrew was not.

Now that you thought about it, many times a day, he would demand for your attention. He would go as far as calling your office and asking to see you. Lunch breaks would extend to lunch hours, and your sick and vacation days were used up in a matter of weeks (back to back).

And then you get home... if you had spent a work day completely ignoring Andrew, going as far as muting him, there'd be no telling what he'd do.

It began with silence, then one word answers, but if you even started getting angry at him for his horrible communication skills, he'd finally lash out.

" Just help me understand. Do you hate me? You're ignoring me all the time so that I can run back to you and beg you to pay attention to me. Why do you even stay with me, then? "

At first, you thought maybe he was just stressed out.

You had such a beautiful relationship, and Andrew was never big on talking about stupid things.

These things could all be avoided if you communicated with him more. If you were just healthy, then nothing would be toxic. You were the shitty one in this relationship, not him.

When you took the blame for all those things, his anger disappeared.

So your life would become peaceful again.

You never considered Andrew to be possessive. He was... overprotective. That's all. He was caring for you. It's not his fault that you're so sensitive,

And now you were giving all that up, and for what? Because every now and then he'll complain about the people in your life?...

because once he'll complain about them, they disappear from your life?

...because you found one of those people in the basement freezer?

The same freezer he made you promise to never go into?

Your eyes blink up at the ceiling, the tears that were dancing on your water line finally spilling over the edge.

Suddenly, the sound of the door cracking open made you quickly wipe at your tears.

"Bunny? I'm here, where are you?" Andrew called out from the hallway.

"...In here, Andrew." You answered, holding your hands in your lap.

"Andrew? What happened to Andy? What, did I do something wrong?" Andrew walked in, having already ditched his shoes and coat.

"Y/N? Hey... What's wrong?" Andrew power walked to you, avoiding the many pillows scattered across the floor.

He leaned down in front of your knees, grabbing your hands.

You gulped, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Andrew, we need to talk about something."

"Yeah...?"

"You... you have to promise not to get mad at me."

Andrew's face darkened, "...sure."

You bit your lip and finally looked up.

But Andrew was no longer looking at you, instead staring at all the picture frames that faced the ground.

You breathed in once. You had put this off for as long as possible.

"Andrew, i didn't call anyone yet, but you need to let me leave. I dont- no- I can't stay here anymore and I -"

"No."

You sputtered but couldn't get a good look at Andrew's expression as he stood up.

"You always get me worried over nothing," Andrew scratched the back of his neck, absently playing with his sweater tag.

You stood up,

"Andrew, this is important! I- I don't feel safe anymore, I don't feel safe with you! You've been keeping so much from me -"

Andrew scoffed at you, cutting your words short.

"You're acting wacky. Are you sure you didn't take anything before I came home?" Andrew finally looked at you with cautious eyes, "Look, Y/N, you're probably tired and need a break from your phone. Give it to me, and I can put this whole thing behind us."

Andrew lent his hand out, half expecting your hand and your phone.

But you shook your head.

"I know, Andrew. I know what you did."

Andrew raised a brow, "What I did...?" His hand was still outstretched.

"Last night I wanted to surprise you with some chicken soup, but I couldn't find the meat in our freezer, so... I went downstairs to the basement instead - "

Your eyes glanced at the clock again, it's happy picture becoming distorted the more you spoke outloud,

Andrew's eyes widened, and his hand dropped, "Y/N, you promised me you wouldn't go down there."

Your breathing became shaky, and your hand grabbed at the hem of your shirt,

"Andrew, you told me that all you had down there was some hunting meat. Y- You lied, not only lied, but you... You fucking killed someone! Oh god, Andrew, why did I find my boss and his DETACHED head in our basement freezer?!"

Andrew avoided your eyes, instead opting to run a hand down his face, sighing deeply into his palm.

When he didn't defend himself, your thoughts ran wilder, and the anger that you had locked away began bubbling to the surface.

This went far beyond control and possessiveness, Andrew murdered someone. Your Andrew, the same man you slept next to for years, murdered someone.

"How many years did I spend with a goddamn murderer? I had thought that- that maybe it was this crazy elaborate plot twist, that maybe you had a good reason to keep A PERSON in a freezer, but maybe I was living with a killer who I should have left a long time ago!-"

"Enough."

You had barely any time to process what he said before he grabbed your hair and began dragging you to the bedroom.

You tried twisting from his grip, dry sobs racking your body.

"Andrew, please stop! I'm - ow!- I'm sorry!"

"No, you're not. Everything I ever did was to protect you. Clearly, you've been thinking about this for awhile."

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest, "and to think, I would've let you run around a little longer in the big world."

You continued sobbing, trying to grab at his hand. "Andrew, please!"

His hand pushed the door open, but right as he was about to enter, he stopped.

"Bunny", he crotched down to your level, his hand still grabbing your scalp, "do you love me?"

Your body shook involuntarily, your crying turning to hard hiccups. In your mind, all you wanted was to escape. To leave, to be embraced by someone who could protect you from this.

"P- Please Andrew, " you tried shaking your head despite the pressure, "s- stop, you're h-urting me."

Your chest heaved, your heart beating painfully against your chest.

Time moved slowly as Andrew searched your face, but slowly all the light he had in his eyes faded, and was replaced by a darkness that chilled your body.

"You didn't say yes." He clicked his tongue, "but that's okay, its only a matter of time."

Suddenly, he stood up and turned. Dragging you through the living room again, walking towards the basement door.

You screamed as you recognized the direction he was heading. You hit his hand, beating the grip he had on you.

Your eyes were wide and wild, trying to find some sort of escape, and your eyes landed on the clock.

Although you could no longer see the photo, you remembered the day Andrew brought it to you. He has promised to never leave you, and you promised to never leave him.

He asked you if you would love him if he was a monster.

You said, no.

All this time, you thought that Andrew would let you go. You would tell him you knew, he would turn himself in, and he'd let you go. Making all these years a bad nightmare. But the truth was, Andrew had long since known you would've found the body. The thought had crossed his mind, and he planned for the outcome even if he hoped youd be smart enough to never come to that.

When Andrew opened the basement door, he crotched down again and let go of your hair, instead moving you to his arms and holding you.

"Hey, I love you. You know that, right? I will never hurt you. Dont worry, you're going to be staying with me for a long time."

Andrew kissed your forehead, and began heading down the stairs.

Your eyes watched the door and the light that came from it as Andrew lead you further down the stairs.

Further away from the light, further away from freedom.

You cried into Andrew's shoulder, who patted your hair, until you could no longer see the light.

"You're never leaving me, my dumb little bunny."

Thank you for the ask! <3

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Huge, broody and terribly lonely older farmer König who pervs on the cute, new, young farmhand girl he hired :((

He kinda expected a cocky young man or a middle aged cranky woman but did expect this sweet little thing to chirp up at him and smile like she's the sun :(( would definitely jerk off to the fantasy of making her his housewife, the farmowner's lady and breeding her good with his babies like the perfect stud he is♡

OhGOD

CW: 18+ ONLY Lonely, pervy farmer!König masturbating at the sight of his young farmhand miss strolling on the farm on her day off :) {implied sexism}

Imagine him expecting a cocky young man he needs to yell at for being on his phone instead of feeding the pigs or whatever, or expecting some muscled, cranky, older lady who knows how to do their job but who would nag at him about stupid things such as not keeping the house clean enough.

Instead, he’s met with a cute, classy young woman at the gate, a meek little thing who stares at him, eyes wide just from the sight of how big he is, lips parting just from taking in his shoulders and the furious furrow of his brow. Her lashes flutter as she extends her hand to greet him, explaining that she may look like a city girl but she can assure that she is a hard-working woman who grew up on a small farm and has recently begun to miss the country way of life.

She has soft hands, soft lips, soft everything, and he knows he’s fucked. She’s everything he has ever hoped for, everything he ever wanted but could never have.

He tries to appear more gentle and less menacing because he doesn’t want to scare her away. Any other spineless, soft young thing he would've thrown out before even letting them stay for the trial period of two weeks – but this little beauty? She can stay, if just for a while.

She’s probably not used to hard work, no matter what she claims; her hands look far too smooth and dainty for the hauling and carrying and raking and cleaning that's required here. He almost feels bad when sending her to do her chores, but she manages the place surprisingly well, and when it’s her day off she wanders around the farm in a cute summer dress, chewing on the hay that dangles from her mouth, leaning on the wooden fence and enjoying the view. There's a wide brim straw hat on her head, and she has to hold it with one hand because it’s so big and floppy that it threatens to cover her eyes. The dress hugs her form just right and has a large, puffy hem that reveals a lovely pair of bare legs, legs that would feel heavenly when wrapped around his hard middle, legs he would make soft and quivering and weak with multiple, tear-inducing orgasms.

She’s a sight for sore eyes, and his dick is hard in a second; there’s really nothing he can do about it.

Usually, he jerks himself off quickly in the morning before rising from the bed, sullen and already grumpy because the only thing that ever sees his love is the cold, cum-stained sheets. The only warm thing ever wrapped around his cock is his own hand, beating the needy flesh in anger and despair because he missed the odd chance of ever seducing a woman to live on this lonely, remote farm with him.

Now he at least has something nice to look at while taking the heavy cock out of his work pants. He’s looking through the window like some perverted stalker; looking at the cutest, most condescending and naive woman on earth, walking on his property like the pretty little decoration she is.

She has all the traits of a perfect housewife: she could cook and bake for him while he does the hard work, she could do the laundry and look nice inside his big old house, finally bringing some much-needed joy and softness into his life. He would make her happy every night: it might take a while to bully his cock into her, but she would eventually like the ugly act; he would make sure of that.

He could eat her stupid little cookings, no doubt healthy and wholesome and lovingly homemade – and he could eat her out come evening. She must taste like the sweetest dessert down there. He would pay for her services in full, he would make it worth her while to be the perfect little wife, he would take care of her and buy her a thousand dresses like the one she wears, if she only warmed his bed at night...

He knows he’s a pervert and a freak, not only a freak of nature with his outrageous height and broad shoulders, but a freak of mind as well. He knows she would wince in disgust if she were to turn around and look at what’s happening behind the window: she would raise that delicate hand on her lips and gasp in shock if she were to see him fapping his drooling cock while watching her in that lush dress, so sweet and innocent and pure.

He can't see it now, but he knows there are beads of sweat gathering between those fragile little collarbones of hers. It's the hottest summer since the year he was born, and he knows the sweat is currently travelling down between those perfect breasts, held plush and perky by that dress he wants to rip to shreds. He would lick that sweat from between her tits and make her moan and tug his head from doing so if she would only let him. His balls pull taut, they almost jump at the thought, and the precum makes the end of the wank a slicky, noisy business.

He’s a bastard and a dog for not even bothering to reach for a piece of paper or a towel, deciding he can just shoot his cum on the window and make her clean it afterwards.

He wonders if the cute little miss will faint when she realizes what he has done... He wonders if the innocent young lady even knows it's loads of cum she's wiping away.

[lustfulslxt]

1949 ⭑ Matt Sturniolo

Prologue

summary : you move back home with your brother and click with his friends, though the tension is high with matt and it turns into something more

warnings : brothers best friend trope, slow burn, tension, sneaky relationship, swearing, eventual smut, slight traumatic past relationship with reader’s mother, and probably some other stuff

a/n : hiii! so, this is my first actual series.. idk how long it will be, it really just depends on how you guys like it. i appreciate feedback always xx

1.1k words

—

The world around you seems to fade away, a dull buzzing echoing in your ears. Your eyes burn with seemingly invisible tears as you stare off into the distance, a somber expression overtaking your features. You fail to process the chatter and movement occurring around you, too preoccupied by the overwhelming change you’re currently forced to endure.

You swallow the lump in your throat and close your eyes, trying to gather yourself and your spiraling thoughts. You have never been good with change, and only once before have you been put in an all too similar predicament.

Taking a deep breath, you turn your head to gaze out of the window. White, fluffy clouds hang just beneath you, showcasing a dark city sparkling with various lights. Taking in the new area, you’re immediately brought back to how this all started.

Life has been anything but fulfilling. Ever since you were younger, you had been craving the love you get with family. However, your mother had deprived you of it.

You used to be happy, back when you were just a little girl. Your parents, you, and your brother, Nate, all lived together as one big happy family. At least once a week, the four of you would go out and do something fun with each other — whether it be the zoo, an amusement park, shopping, a picnic — it was always something to ensure you spent time together and encourage a healthy development.

You didn’t have a worry in the world, until it all came crashing down. Next thing you knew, you were on a flight to Nevada.

You were ripped from your dad and brother at such a young age, for reasons still unknown to this day. A big part of you despised your mother for taking you from your family, especially when she was incapable of giving you the love you needed as a child.

You cried and begged her to tell you what was going on, but she was adamant about you staying in a child’s place, and that this was better for the two of you. Any time you kept up with the questions and concerns, it was as if she turned into a whole other person. She’d become very aggressive, and so, to avoid her wrath, you just stopped altogether.

You were forced to start a new school, make new friends, and completely forget about your family back in Boston. Of course, that was easier said than done.

You’d cry yourself to sleep every single night, wanting nothing more than to get back on the plane and go home, even if it meant going without your mother.

She changed. She became something you didn’t recognize. The soft, caring, and loving mom you once had was overtaken by a cold, mean, and almost lifeless exterior. The relationship between both of you dwindled into nothing but resentment and bitterness.

Growing up without your father was hard. He was always so good to you, being everything you ever needed as a dad. He was a good man to your family, neighbors, and anyone he ever came across. You’re unsure of what happened between him and your mom, but you couldn’t see him as anything other than what he’s been.

Losing Nate was by far the hardest. He was your best friend, your other half. The two of you were as thick as thieves, always at each other’s hips. You shared everything with each other, there wasn’t a single secret between you. You turned to him for everything, and he was always so supportive and understanding, even at your young age. You were never as happy and full of life as you were when you were with him. Being without him was unbearable. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, as if there was an invisible lifeline keeping you connected, and being ripped away to Nevada severed it.

You often wondered if he still thinks about you. Was it as hard for him as it was for you? Did he move on with ease? Did he find new friends to replace you? Does he have a new sibling?

You’ve wanted so bad to reach out to them, to tell them you miss them and you’re sorry, but your mother always made it impossible. She did any and everything she could to prevent you from contacting them.

However, with the sudden turn of events, you’re now all alone on a plane, flying back to a place that holds sentimental memories, and you’re unsure of what it’s going to bring you.

“Ladies and gentlemen, US Air welcomes you to Boston, Massachusetts. The local time is 6:47 PM—” Is spoken over the intercom, causing a dreaded feeling to brew in your stomach.

You’re beyond nervous, and your mind is racing with overwhelming thoughts. Do they hate you? Do they blame you for mom leaving? Do they even want you to come back? Should you have stayed in Nevada on your own? Do they even know why you’re coming back?

You seem to be moving on autopilot, because the next thing you know, you’re at bag pick up to receive your luggage, and the atmosphere is filled with a loud environment. Your heart is thumping quickly in your chest, your body ridded with anxiety. You’re unsure of what to even do with yourself at this point.

“Y/N?”

You freeze in place, eyes wide as goosebumps line your skin. You can practically feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The uneasy feeling in your stomach worsens, and you’re actually terrified to turn around.

But you do.

“It’s you.” The same voice repeats.

You’re met with two people, and though it’s been quite some time, you recognize them instantly. Your breath catches in your throat, and tears well up in your eyes as you take them in.

“Oh my god.” Your dad cries as Nate rushes to you.

Your body is hit with a strong force as Nate yanks you into a hug. You suddenly snap out of it and reciprocate the hug, squeezing for dear life. Your dad is instantly joining, the three of you rocking back and forth as you cry.

It doesn’t feel real. This moment is what you’ve dreamed of almost every night since you’ve been gone. You’ve longed for this. Your heart has been so heavy for years on end, and this is exactly what you needed for that weight to lift.

“Oh my god, it’s really you.” Nate whispers, cradling you into his arms. “You’re really here.”

“It’s me.” You choke out through tears, “I’m here.”

—

taglist : @luv4kozume @worldlxvlys @flowerxbunnie @sturniolowhore @creamoncreamoncream2 @lvrsparadise @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @tillies33ssss @chrissfavwh3re @its-jennarose @sophssturn @defnotayonna @ksskianshd @d0wnbad4chris @braindead4l @avasturn @luverboychris @remussbitch @stunza @rootbeerworshiper @dracoflaco @strnlsblog @domaniquessidehoe @mattslolita @junnniiieee07 @pepsienthusiasts @gamermattsgf @cupidsword @iloveneilperry @matt444nixi @sturniololol @evieolo @dlyansworld @luv2matt @nmegamett20 @angelic-sturniolos111

[pallastrology]

🍄 astro notes 🍄

venus biquintile pluto is a really interesting aspect. the biquintile is usually associated with creativity and the development of artistic ability, and with venus being involved, there is even more potential and a genuine love for art. the native will find happiness and connection through their creative pursuits. with pluto on the other end of the aspect, something interesting happens. there can be a tendency towards obsession; they are more dedicated and more patient, with a strong work ethic and a desire to find meaning through their art, and it can bring them real catharsis. they may discover and nurture repressed parts of themselves through their art, and overall, there is a bit of a darker theme to this otherwise light and bright placement.

moon square pluto is often given a really negative spin online; i’ve seen everything from emotionally out of control to “will abuse their children”! this just isn’t a helpful way to interpret harsh aspects. my experience with this placement is that big emotions are very frightening, often because of the native’s early experiences. they seek to “control” their emotions, which can make them quite vulnerable to impulsive or addictive behaviours. they often have a deep relationship with mother figures, and with their children, which yes, at their worst, can become enmeshed and intense. but at their best, these relationships are intimate and founded on mutual trust, long lasting and able to weather the harshest storms.

venus-saturn aspects are all about delayed gratification. the native has to grow into their loving, creative, social side, and they usually have to "grow through what they go through"; depending on the aspect, they may just feel a little different, or have no interest in relationships, or they may grow up lonely or isolated, or deal with unhealthy relationships. they have to do a lot of self-work to develop self-love and nurture the soft, creative side of themselves, before they can really feel at home around other people. but when they reach that point, they can build beautiful, devoted and ultimately very healthy connections with others, that allow all involved to really thrive.

pluto conjunct ascendant natives have a really intense gaze. i think that usually we only think of the eyes when they think of the pluto stare, but to me it goes a lot further than that; especially with the conjunction, pluto-ascendant people look with their whole body. they have the intense eye contact, sure, but they tend to also have a hard mouth and slightly furrowed brow, a certain tension in their jaws and necks. they look like a cat about to pounce in a way, you can almost see that electrical energy under their skin.

in astrology, the sextile and trine are considered to be harmonious aspects; they denote an easy, well-blended connection between the two planets involved. the sextile is steadier, and more prone to stagnation, which can look like complacency or even entitlement; the trine is more dynamic, meaning in a way, it's easier to bring out the positives of the aspect.

lilith in the tenth house is a placement that is very vulnerable when it comes to social media. nowadays, it's so normalised to post everything that it's almost radical to stay away from it, and with lilith in the tenth house, it's easy to feel validated and vindicated through what they post. unfortuntely they are easy targets for online abuse and can actually feed into and "bait" this kind of harmful interaction when hurting and angry. lilith in the tenth house needs to learn to find healthy outlets and become more reflective, less reactive.

uranus conjunct ascendant natives are bright, almost electrified. they can be prone to sudden epiphanies that show up in strange moments; sitting bolt upright in the middle of the night with a sudden realisation, for example. they can be chaotic, but when given space to breathe, they are brilliant, both in that they are clever and reflective with the energy to pull off everything they think up, and that they seem to sparkle. there is a clarity to their voice, their eyes, like they glow from within.

venus square the north node natives really struggle with being uncomfortable. they tend to be somewhat sensitive, and are irresistibly drawn to the beautiful, the soft and smooth. they just want to be comfortable, but this can lead to the native avoiding or dropping anything uncomfortable. if they want to grow and feel fuller in themselves, they will have to learn to thrive in challenging situations, without going too far in the opposite direction and not being able to listen to their instincts or enjoy anything in life.

libra suns with mercury in scorpio are an interesting mix, because they have the reflective sensitivity of libra and the stark and often quite brutal language of scorpio. they are often quite gifted writers, with a talent for the existential and deeply emotional. they aren’t as talkative as you’d expect a libra sun to be, and they are generally more somber, but with a dry, dark sense of humour and a disarming straightforwardness to them.