#i guess there's more to say there but i'm firmly on the

[tuiyla]

You are probably tired of getting asks about UHT's past of bullying Rachel, but I have to ask: why do you think they targeted Rachel to begin with? Because let's not forget that in Pilot, Quinn was cyberbullying Rachel before Finn even entered the picture. Rachel's gold star narration in Pilot came way before Finn was blackmailed into joining Glee Club.

I personally think it's a mix of Rachel being the daughter of a interracial gay couple in a small town, and being a potential threat to Quinn in general, not in romantic sense.

Because to this day, I am still shocked Sue never once tried to snatch Rachel up for her squad. Girl can sing, can dance, can follow directions, and really, you can't tell me Sue wouldn't have managed to rein Rachel in. Not to mention Rachel is dangerously loyal to a fault— she could have been one of, if not the most, Sue's most powerful assets!

Hey Anon, no worries I think I've only really gotten asked about the UHT's bullying of Rachel once so it's not a dead horse topic. It's gonna be long but I hope you're along for the ride.

I think there are two dimensions to this ask, why the UHT targeted Rachel and, connected to that, this topic you introduce of Rachel's potential as a Cheerio. Let me answer the first one by saying she was an easy target and elaborate as we go.

Rache was an easy target. That's an easy answer to the bullying question and explains why, even before the threat of Finchel entered the picture, Quinn and by extension the rest of the Cheerios bullied Rachel. And it wasn't just the cyberbullying we see before On My Own, or at least I'm also willing to consider the deleted bathroom scene with Rachel and Quinntana canon. The fact that they bullied her in person, too, is canon to me, anyway. Why is she an easy target? Well, high school social hierarchies do be like that, especially in media aimed to exaggerate these divides. We all know Rachel is beautiful but she's not the conventionally attractive type, which already places her lower on this cruel food chain. And then there's her loud, overachieving and overbearing personality which I'm sure already alienated a lot of "cool" and "laid back" kids in middle school and freshman year. Even put aside the theater kid thing which already gives her an aura of uncoolness in McKinley's established sports-obsessed world, Rachel's too much. Personality-wise, she's just too much for people and kids can be stupid and cruel and turn the traits of a well-meaning but sometimes obnoxious girl into subjects of ridicule.

To be clear, I am most definitely not saying Rachel deserved any of it. Not for her interests, not for her personality - which is admittedly too much but in an endearing sort of way when you get to know her. And certainly not for her looks, when even the most shallow environment has to admit she is pretty just not in the most conventional way. Rachel never deserved to be bullied and she didn't bring any of it on herself, but by a combination of things and by nature of someone having to be at the bottom, she became an easy target. An easy target gets piled on and leaders of packs and those at the top are even more likely to pick on them just 'cause. Quinn, as we come to learn, is desperate to be on top and willing to throw people under the bus, and to be on top someone has to be at the bottom. Maybe she started the bully train against Rachel, maybe a more senior Cheerio did in her freshman year and Quinn followed suit to fit in. For our purposes, it doesn't really matter because she did lead the charge when we're introduced to her and there's no excuse for that.

And I think with that answer I'm also disagreeing with you, Anon, because I don't think it's because of Rachel's dads and I don't think Quinn saw much of a rival in Rachel until she set her eyes on Finn. First, the gay dads thing: as I established, there were plenty of other factors that landed Rachel at the bottom. Valid or not, a discussion for another day because of course bullying itself can never be justified. Did having an interracial gay couple for fathers also contribute to painting a target on her back, maybe. I hardly think that would have been the only factor, but I'm sure the backwards parents of Lima kids would have heard about the Berrys and dissed them in front if their kids. The kids, in turn, feeling empowered to extend the bigotry they heard at home and hurling insults at the poor Berry kid herself. Russell WASP patriarch Fabray and Alma anti-Black homophobe Lopez don't strike me as people who wouldn't have all kinds of colourful things to say about Hiram and LeRoy Berry.

But that said, my point is that that's not reason enough alone for Quinn Fabray, personally, to target Rachel. I think it can potentially be part of a bigger picture of toxicity learned at home, sure. And it's not like the UHT's insults didn't have a shocking dose of transphobia and some homophobia in canon. I just don't think it's that simple, and I think what high school kids perceived as cool and lame contributed more. Such as Rachel embodying much of the "lame" part. And to also say, about the rivalry, I don't think Quinn or any of the other Cheerios saw Rachel as anything but a loser prior to the show's start. There's no reason to. If anything, based on her reactions throughout Showmance and s1A, pre-series/early Quinn would be offended at the notion that she and Rachel could be considered rivals, that someone like Rachel could be a threat to her.

And this brings us to the Cheerio Rachel question, which... is another point on which I have to disagree. See, even though Sue, later on, does expand the squad and includes more non-traditional candidates. the Cheerios at the beginning are very much building on the high school social hierarchy I mentioned before. Sue literally spells the HS caste system out to Will in the Pilot. She strictly adheres to these cruel notions and wouldn't pick someone with Rachel's aura of uncoolness. Sue also recognizes difficult personalities and I doubt she would have wanted to deal with Rachel, even if she likes a challenge every now and then. And to your point about singing and dancing, well. The Cheerios aren't singers. The only time we see Sue include singing in the routine is (conveniently) when Kurtcedes join. Apart from that, even though she literally has the Unholy Trinity at her disposal, Sue knows that cheerleading isn't Glee, you don't typically need to belt a Celine out. As for dancing... well, oof, I know Glee tells us Rachel practices oh so much and is an okay if not good dancer, but even Lea Michele admits she really can't dance. Most of the time, even in her "dance" numbers, Rachel does a few moves while the actual dancers do their thing around her. Sue hardly has a need for that. Besides, I don't think Rachel herself would have wanted to join anyway.

Bottom line, TL;DR? Kids are cruel. Environments that foster hierarchies based on arbitrary indicators of cool vs lame also foster the type of bullying Rachel went through. At the end of the day, it's just the plain stupid cruelty of those at the top feeling insecure but also being boldened by their perceived power. Quinn and Santana and all the other Cheerios bullied Rachel not (just) because her dads didn't fit in with a small conservative town. They didn't put that much thought in it. And not because they looked at Rachel as anything but a loser who was beneath them. It's good old-fashioned picking on someone who the world deems inferior, not because you yourself know them and have decided they deserve it.

[bumblingbabooshka]

The sentence “Mark Johnson and T’Pel are here again, sir” becomes every Starfleet admiral’s worst nightmare.

[coockie8]

ok im not in the storm hawks fandom literally dont even know what that show is but i thought you were fucking kidding when you said the main plot is dark enough to be on par with game of thrones until you reblogged that unnerving trivia post like wtf this was a kids show?!?!?

This show was only a kids show because the networks wanted it to be. It could've been an R-rated sci-fi/fantasy series about the horrors of war by just taking itself more seriously. Easily.

[redheadedbrunette]

yea ig i read “i’ll think ab it” as not *canon* canon yet yk? also it was chocolate cake w chocolate chips and peanut butter chips in it, and then my mom put chocolate syrup on it, so it was very sweet. we also used mayo bc we didn’t have enough eggs -t1sb

Okay, that sounds so delicious and I'm very jealous and mayo cake is an actual thing.

And the way I read it was her not really fully committing to it at that particular moment, but given her (voluntary) emptionally vulnerability followed by the kiss, and the stark difference with which that scene was handled in comparasion to every other scene they've had together, it at least seemed like they're making actual progress that's not going to get backpedaled at the start of the next book.

[moonybadger]

Been trying to watch Adventure Time finally since I loved Fionna and Cake so much and man. I can really tell why I didn't get into it back in high school lol

[araneitela]

How do they greet someone they dislike/hate? How do they greet someone they like/love? — @etherealguard // Meme: Character building questions

To say wildly differently still feels inherently lackluster, but it's a good start. Alright, let me touch on the first of the two. So to preface this, to me, Kafka does not come across in any capacity, as someone who would care to harbor the energy required to fuel a semblance of hatred towards anyone. More so than anything (and I think this is the much worse option of the two), throughout the game as we've been shown so far, I would argue that she displays a semblance of indifference and worse still, she presents herself with a sense of contempt towards many of them. Now, I have to note, this is not representative of a well-formed opinion of any individual or their character following any time spent with them, it is very much a 'default' mindset of sorts that has always dictated her view of people. You can take her by surprise and impress her during a first encounter, but those chances are slim, and if you miss said feat, we know that obtaining a second chance is even slimmer. She simply doesn't engage with most people long-term, which is inherently tied to this notion of 'boredom'. It is, honestly, as Blade said in her SQ after all: "I've yet to see anyone follow her for as long as you did... and live to tell the tale." She simply... grows bored. So how does all of this manifest in terms of greeting? There would be no actual ignorance — although she might attempt it towards someone a little too peppy, like for instance March 7th (I'm sorry, March) — but there would be a very strong air of nonchalance. An 'oh, it's you' in an obviously irritated tone would be perfectly in-character, but hey see it this way, at least it's indicative that she remembers you, right? That's already a bit of a compliment, I'd say.

As for someone that she genuinely likes (love is a big word, more on that a different day or if [/when] that comes about), there are two to three options. Look at Silver Wolf (and Elio, but he stands entirely on his own with this), someone that she's come to appreciate, she is a perfect example of someone who engages her mind just enough to keep her interest, but it also helps that I don't believe that SW and her are constantly around one another. It's the concept of 'absence makes the heart grow fonder', or rather— when you're consistently around someone else, you get used to them, and inevitably learn enough to a point where they become part of your 'routine' and they fall into this notion of normality. That equals boredom, for someone with the nature of Kafka. But, you can tell they're not quite there any way, there's even a hint of (in my opinion) that trademark 'disinterest' tone of Kafka's present in this conversation. But I digress, that's simply aimed at the topic at hand and it leans into what I said before: not everything has her interest. But look, Silver Wolf re-engages with her and you can tell Kafka regains interest. But anyway, I digress still! I'm terrible, I know.

When it comes to the other, or two, options: you're looking at the Trailblazer and Blade respectively. With the Trailblazer, especially since Kafka's SQ, she is not reactionary, she very much initiates the contact, she's curious and so she engages, but her dynamic with him/her is entirely unique, so do take this with a grain of salt. Regardless of how one chooses to react, Kafka is always the initiator of contact, and if she's turned down, she will attempt to re-engage or will prompt minor pity and/or guilt, for it is just one of many games that she plays (even if the intent behind it is to obtain and hold their attention for as long as she craves it, due to genuine interest). She is playful in her approach, but will still be direct if the situation calls for it.

As for Blade, he is rather equally as unique in the attention that he receives from her (and in the way he receives it), and honestly, since Kafka's SQ, he definitely warrants his own meta post in the future as it's a lot more complicated than meets the eye (in my opinion, any way). But to touch on it slightly, there is an element of warmth in her approach of him due to... I can't say that it is a shared experience, but there's an inherent understanding between the two of them, and there is also, arguably, a dependency from Blade of Kafka (in a meta post coming to a dashboard near you in the future; I could argue vice versa as well but vastly differently so, but this plays into theories for Kafka's 'goal' with the SH) which forces them to share space. And considering neither of them seem to be (Blades, correct me if wrong) ones to actively seek social engagement, this has created an intriguing dynamic. Furthermore, while Blade comments on the Trailblazer's prolonged presence in Kafka's life, he inherently implies with this that he has been there to witness it, he remembers it, this also means he had defies and continues to defy that same reality. As to not continue on an ages long tangent as I plan to do in the above-mentioned planned meta, I'll leave you with this: it is a vastly different warmth than what the Trailblazer receives, but it is also, in my opinion, one much the same. Stay tuned, and I sincerely apologize for the intense ramble!

[waitingonher]

because i love you — [hoo boys headcanons]

summary: your "thing" with the hoo boys!

author's note: in honor of the pjo series coming out today,,have this rlly rlly short draft from earlier this year! xoxo

percy jackson — doodling on him

“give me your hand.”

“yes ma’am.”

minutes pass as you doodle gods know what onto percy’s hand. you always resort to this whenever the camp head counselor's meeting begins late—which seems to be every meeting—and giving percy "tattoos" certainly kills time. last meeting, you drew a can of beans and the time before that, was a bouquet of tulips. so honestly his guess being a pair of socks this time isn’t too far of a reach.

“okay, done,” you release his hand, a proud smile gracing your features, “cute right?”

he quirks a brow upon seeing the drawing, “is that…” percy turns his head to the side, gaining better perspective, “is that a flying fish?” 

“wow, you’re good,” you say, giving him a nod of approval, “although, last time you did say that my can of beans looked like a roll of toilet paper…” 

your boyfriend throws his hands in the air, “in my defense, you used a shitty pen so it was hard to tell.” 

“whatever.” 

jason grace — sewing your initials on his clothes

“hi love,” jason says, plopping down beside you on the couch. you give him a bright smile as he places a gentle kiss on your head, “almost done?” 

nodding proudly, you hold up his pair of jeans to show him your work: your initials sewn onto a corner of his back pocket, “yup, just finished actually! what do you think of the color? i think you bought the thread for me on our second date. but i totally forgot i had it until i went digging in my supply box.” 

a grin plasters itself on jason’s face as he nods his head in realization, “i knew the color seemed familiar. i remember wondering why a tiny spool of thread was so expensive. but it’s perfect, i love it,” he kisses your cheek, “all my friends are gonna be so jealous that they don’t have their girlfriends’ initials sewn onto their clothes.” 

you laugh as you imagine jason vehemently bragging about his jeans to all his friends, “tell them i’m charging $50 if they want me to do theirs,” you wink. 

“we’d make more than the stolls’ and their smuggling business if we did that,” he laughs, admiring your work once more. who knew that having your initials on his pants would have such an affect on him, “also, can you do my sweaters and my other jeans?"

you raise a brow, "i might have to start charging you at this point."

leo valdez — impromptu fashion shows

“wow!” you clap enthusiastically, “your outfit even puts paris fashion week outfits to shame!” yes, because a rainbow checkered crop top with a humongous green tutu and a pink boa paired with insanely skinny stilettos beats any and all high fashion runway outfits, “now, leo valdez, can you give us a few words about your new clothing line? and possibly a bit about what it’s like to be so amazingly talented?” you inquire, raising an invisible microphone to his mouth. 

leo oh-so humbly bows and rises with a proud grin, “thank you, thank you, but i honestly must give all credit towards my beautiful muse, y/n, she’s the inspiration behind my new line. and about being so talented, it really is such hard work to be this naturally gifted.”

“ooh, do tell about this ‘y/n.’ i’ve never heard of her but she does sound absolutely gorgeous!” you exclaim, keeping up with the act. 

your boyfriend nods firmly, “oh yes, she’s very, very, very beautiful,” adding a playful wink, “but i must say, she has the worst morning breath i’ve ever encountered!” 

your smile drops and you squint your eyes, “i’m going to choke you with that stupid ugly boa if you don’t take that back right now.” 

“uh ma’am,” leo backs up nervously, clutching his boa, “i’m going to have to call security if you threaten me again.” 

"i'm seriously going to kill you."

[studioghibelli]

the end of the world- a joel miller x reader

summary: you had a strict relationship with joel that stuck to the rules. fuck, leave, repeat. it was only a matter of time until feelings were dragged into the mix. when joel leaves at the first sign of love, you're left wondering what you had done wrong. (rated explicit, 18+, mdni)

warnings: post outbreak!joel, jackson!era, implied fwb relationship, heavy handed on the angst, a whole lot of pining, a lot of flashbacks, and smut. (unprotected piv sex, fingering, clit rubbing, masturbation?, dirty talk, pet names, allusions to slapping/rougher sex, brief biting, a tiny bit of daddy kink.) ended with a bit of fluff

note: i think this is my favorite thing i have ever written. i guess i was in some sort of mood or sumfin. also i absolutely hate spell checking so sorry for any errors. enjoy!!

Joel used to be rough.

He used to imprint his name upon your skin through heavy handed grips and crescent shaped nail marks, left deep into the supple skin of your thighs. Like hieroglyphs on a wall of sandstone, he made sure the world would see what beauty he had left etched into your skin, like a canvas that only he had the privilege of painting.

He used to take you by the throat and kiss you with biblical fervor. He would kiss you so hard the taste of his spit lingered on your tongue for the days following, reminding you who you belonged to, if only for a few hours.

He used to sink his incisors into your neck, suckling at your skin like a vampire in search of an artery. He would leave deep patches of purple beneath your ear, the mark of a man who knew just what you wanted, the mark of a man who was more primal, more animalistic, than he was human.

Then, something changed.

Soft was he, on one fateful night, where his rough palms dragged across the side of your body, gentle waves of pleasure heaving, heaving, heaving, washing over you until you were a shell drowning in an ocean tide, consumed only by thoughts of him.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

A mantra, a promise, a prayer.

Soft was he, his lips molding to yours like cement stuck in the cracks of sidewalks, unwavering and unbreaking, filling you up to the hilt.

Soft was he, as he slipped his cock deep into your pussy, deep and gentle, hitting against every inch, every spot, that made your legs quiver just for him.

Soft was he, as he cradled your face in his rough hands, eyes boring in to your own, the curved bridge of his nose pressing into your rounded cheek, coaxing you, asking you, begging you, to cum for him.

Only ever him.

His hand's had done irreversible damage, taken many lives, and he pushed back the guilt for those crimes long ago, but Joel figured that perhaps holding your face in his hands was worth all the blood, the sweat, the grime and decay. Perhaps touching the skin of an angel was enough to bathe him clean from his past sins, enough to purify the monster which lurked within.

And then one day, he swore you off.

"Can't be around you anymore." He snarled, hand dragging down his face, heavy and hot with the burning poker of shame.

"Says who?" Your voice was cracking, the angry prick of tears stabbing at your eyes, like daggers dripping with bitter venom.

"Me. This ain't.... right. We should never have done this."

"Why isn't it right?" You were begging, trying your hardest to coax put a semblance of an answer from him.

"You're too young for this. For-for me. I ain't good for you."

"Where is this coming from? Just two nights ago you were making love-"

"That's the problem." Joel hissed. "Makin' love." He scoffed spitefully, shaking his head firmly. "It's the end of the fuckin' world and I'm worried about makin' a woman cum, makin' your eyes roll. I should be out fightin', I should be out makin' rounds and doin' my work. Ain't thought of anything like that since I've been with you. I have duties. Responsibilities. I'm too old to be sleeping around like some teenager."

You hated yourself for allowing a tear to slip, hated yourself for showing weakness in his presence. "What about your duty to me?" You cried out, hands tangling into tight fists. You felt your veins pumping with venomous resentment, wondering how you could have been so stupid to allow him respite behind the walls of your soul, sanctuary from the world around the two of you.

"I don't have no duty to you. You're not my wife, not my girl. You're just somebody I was fuckin'."

That was two months ago. Two long, grueling months.

This winter in Jackson was particularly brutal. Perhaps nature had been in tune with your heart, rocking and shaking and screaming in unison with your thoughts, angry and vengeful. Like Poseidon wreaking havoc on the ocean, like Zeus bringing hailstorms of lightning, like Zephyrus playing his hand in an assailing wind; you felt your rage through the soil, the packed snow, the shaking pine needles.

Everyday you would trek to your shop, sit behind the counter, and patiently wait for someone to stop by, wait for someone to ask how your day was (which you would inevitably lie about, tell them how good you were), and wait for someone to barter or trade with you.

A dozen chicken eggs for a woven blanket, a few sprigs of rosemary for some pencils, a handful of sheep's wool for some freshly pressed paper.

It was the same every day.

Rise, work, sit, cry, sleep, repeat.

For the past two months you had lurked around the corners of Jackson with a heavy gray cloud hanging over your head, and each day for the past two months you despised yourself for being so caught up with Joel fucking Miller, for being so upset he left you.

You lived in the smallest house in Jackson. There was no reason for you to take up a big one, no reason for you to have two stories, no reason for you to have a big open kitchen or spacious living room. What was the point? No husband, no children, no nothing.

You had tried to make it yours, and you had tried to make it happier since that horrible, awful, nasty thing happened between you and Joel.

You had bought a thick and oversized crocheted blanket the color of sand with a harvest worth of kale, thrown it over a soft and lived-in suede couch to curl up under. You had bartered a basketful of gourds for two knitted pillows, a brown dachshund stitched into one, and a ginger cat stitched into the other. You had picked up a backpack full of books on a run into the nearest town, settling on classics that you used to read as a young girl, in hopes you could feel that golden peace so often felt during childhood, when the only pressing matters on your mind were untied shoelaces and what mom was cooking for dinner.

A life long ago. A life you could barely remember. You were a small child when the world went to shit, barely starting school, with gaps between your teeth and messy, unruly hair. Still growing out of your sneakers, still biting your nails, still picking up worms from the rich soil with amazement and wonder bubbling in your eyes.

When everything happened, when the buildings were bombed and fields burnt, you were forced to grow up. Forced to toughen up, to be someone you never planned on being at such a young age. You ditched the sparkly backpacks and trips to the library for switch blades and look out towers, for uneasy silence and stale dinners.

Then you met Joel, many years after it first began, and everything seemed a little bit better. It started fast and rough, as though you both thought the world would implode the following morning. And then, when the realization that this was life, that nobody was going anywhere, things grew gentler, softer, more meaningful.

Joel's kisses grew deeper, his touches dragged out for longer, his mouth imprinted upon your soft and lithe skin like droplets of dew on blades of morning grass, gentle and ethereal. His words became breathless, sweet, full of desire and thick with honeyed praise.

"Look at you, such a pretty little thing. Shakin' like this, all for me. Who's makin' you feel like this, sweet girl?" Joel's middle finger was buried to the knuckle in your tight pussy, thumb gently tapping at your clit. A string of saliva strung from your nipple to his lips, where his plush mouth had been covering your hardening bud in gentle bites, sucking like a man on a mission.

"You." Your voice came out as a mewl, quiet and shaking. "You, daddy."

Joel grunted a primordial, brutish grunt that rumbled through the sturdiness of his chest, adding a second finger as his head ducked down to your neck, where his kissing resumed upon the blades of your collarbone. "Good fuckin' girl. Good girl. So fuckin' good, a god damn dream. You know that?"

The wall in front of you was covered in framed images you had found on your travels around Jackson. Some original art you scored in the back of a desolate thrift store, some vintage movie posters you found huddled in the dusty corners of a theatre, some polaroid photos you had taken with old friends.

You blinked the memories of him away.

With each day, you tried to convince yourself it was for the best. With each day, you tried to make yourself understand where he was coming from, why he did the things he did.

"You're just somebody I was fuckin'." You remembered his words like sandpaper grinding against the track of your throat, burning their fiery syllables into your tongue. How true his statement actually was, you weren't so sure.

Joel's forehead was pressed to yours, eyes fluttering open and shut with each deep thrust, hands entwined into your own. Your palms were pressed rigid and unyielding into his, Joel's thick fingers wrapping and molding into your smaller ones, chest rubbing against yours with each masterful movement of his hips.

His hot breath, soaked with the sweet smell of whiskey, fanned across your face, coating you with the ache he felt for you, the love he knew he had growing deep inside for you. Each breath he took was a promise. He was never going to leave you. How could he?

"Joel." You chanted, head thrown back in ecstasy, eyes full of stars.

"What do you want from me, darlin'? Say the word and its yours." Joel's voice was breathless and throaty, coating you in the sweet nectar of his affection, seeping deep into your pores until it filled your soul with yearning,

His cock, thick and veined, was slowly pumping as deep is it possibly could within your walls. You fluttered and ached and wept against him, bodies meshing into one, tight and close yet flowing and gentle, like the Bernini sculptures you saw in an art encyclopedia, a long time ago in Boston. Joel filled you to the brim with his length. You felt full of him, wrapped and wanting and wanton. For his eyes only. Only ever him, always.

"Right there." You begged, nails dragging down the length of his wide, sturdy, strong back, marking him with the love caked beneath your fingernails. That unspoken love that weighed heavy on your shoulders, like a wool blanket in the dead of winter.

When Joel's eyes met yours, hitting against the spot you begged him to touch, he had that gaze glossed over his irises, that heavy, awfully gentle look threaded within the chocolate umber of his orbs, the stare that only a man in love ever carried with him.

The memory stuck to your mind like glue on a school project, drying there with no hopes of ever coming loose.

That night, with Joel so heavy on your mind, you treaded heavily to your record player, sifting through the record's you had collected over the years.

"That'll do." You mumbled with dejected finality, putting the vinyl on the player as you lowered the needle.

Why does the sun keep on shining?

Why does the sea rush to shore?

Don't they know it's the end of the world,

Cause you don't love me, anymore?

As you listened to the sweet voice of Julie London, you looked around your kitchen, the pile of dishes only stacking up, higher and higher. With your hands on your hips you walked over, forcing yourself to do something with your night. You couldn't sit and mope, you had already spent too long doing that anyways.

You let the hot water fall upon the backs of your dainty hands, watching with glass eyes as it fell and dribbled off your fingers, the soapy suds filling the porcelain bowls. You cupped them in your hands, breathing in the citrusy scent, closing your eyes.

Think. You begged yourself. About anything else but him. Think.

Why do the birds go on singing?

Why do the stars glow above?

Don't they know it's the end of the world,

it ended when I lost your love.

You pricked the tip of your finger with the sharp point of the butcher knife, gently twisting it soft enough to only make the hint of an imprint, thinking to yourself. You had lived your entire life fighting, fleeing, hiding, escaping, yet it only ever felt like the end of the world once you lost him.

"Damn you Julie London!" You shouted, voice mellow dramatic and emotive, face planting into your arm which rested on the wooden counter.

"What'd Julie London ever do to you?"

The voice, raw and rough, startled you, awakening you from your trance. Before you could catch it, a puppy like yelp escaped your mouth, sharp and nasty against the ears.

You knew who that voice belonged to. The voice that lulled you to sleep, the voice that whispered sweet nothings as you lay naked and bare on linen sheets, the voice that called you good girl and sweet angel and pretty princess whilst crammed deep into your cunt.

Joel.

Turning so hard you nearly snapped your own neck, you saw him standing in the doorway of your home, tall and brooding, filling the heavy air with the familiar scent of pine needles and bergamot. He held a basket in his arms. A basket he had bought from your shop, many moons ago.

“Ever heard of knocking?” Your voice was nastier than you meant it to be, but you couldn’t help the emotion rising within the confines of your chest, beating at your ribcage like a wild animal locked in a zoo.

“I did knock. You didn’t answer. Took the liberty to walk on in and check on you.” He shrugged, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world, and slowly shut the door behind him.

“To check on me?” You scoffed bitterly, turning your back to him again as you resumed your cleaning. You heard the vinyl come to a stop, the air silent and palpable, moulding to your rage. You took in a deep breath, looking down at the sponge you were grasping ahold of a little too tight. “Two months go by, and suddenly today- of all days- you decide to take the liberty to come and…. check on me?”

Joel’s sigh, burdened with what felt like guilt, swirled through your ears. “Yes.” Was all he said, simple and plain.

Oh, you had a lot more to say than one meager word.

You were too nervous to meet his gaze, too worried your tears would come flooding, soaking through your skin and deteriorating until you were nothing more than a puddle of nothing on the wooden floorboards.

“I….” You struggled for a long moment, tongue twisted and stuck in your own throat. “I don’t know what to say to you anymore.”

You heard the sound of dense boots against the ground, felt the weight of the air behind you shift. He was close. His scent was coated around the inside of your nostrils, fogging your mind with past memories you swore you’d never ponder on again.

“I know what you want to say.” Joel’s voice was quiet, barely a whisper in the wind. “That you hate me. That you never want to see me again. That you hope I’m ripped limb from limb by clickers. Gunned down by raiders.”

Tears welled within your eyes. You didn’t speak for a long beat, sniffling as quietly as you could possibly muster. “After everything, you know I-…. even after you broke me. I-I don’t wish for that. Never even thought of that.” You admitted your terrible secret with a shaking voice, hand tightening so deeply around the sponge, your middle finger sunk straight through the material.

Joel’s fingers gently traced down the small of your back. An offer. You heard a gentle thump as he set the basket down, followed by his other hand pressing flat into your side.

“I’m scared.” His voice was full of emotion you had never once heard from him. “That’s why I left.”

“What?”

“I’ve lost everyone, ‘cept Ellie. Tess, Bill, Frank, Sarah.” His voice cracked, trailing off. “I couldn’t lose you, too. I can’t watch you…. can’t watch you fall victim to this world.”

You shook your head, dropping the sponge against the metal sink, tilting your head to look out the window which stood in front of you. The night sky was sparkling with millions of stars before you, snow flaking down from the heavens, coating the glass window pane with a copious layer of delicate snowflakes, each so different and unique. It was beautiful.

Joel’s left arm slowly wrapped around you. You wanted to fight him off, wanted to scream and banish him from your home, wanted to promise if you ever saw him again you’d kill him on the spot. But you couldn’t. Not when he was so vulnerable, so warm, so willing.

You shifted against him, leaning back until your bodies were close together. His hand rested taut against your belly, his other arm soon finding solace beneath your shirt, pulling you even closer.

“I’m sorry.” He finally broke the dizzying silence, chin nuzzling into the blade of your shoulder. “I didn’t know what else to do. I- I still don’t know what to do.”

You blinked away new forming tears, taking in a deep breath. “You could start by warming me up.” You were so meek, you were unsure if he heard your words.

Joel’s hands slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, pressing gently into the skin of your tummy, fingers massaging into the supple skin of your waist, your love handles, drawing circles into the line of skin right above the hem of your pants. Your back fell deeper into his chest as he touched you, felt you, as if he had never known your body before.

You could stand there and argue with him, cry and rage and scream at the universe, or you could let him apologize the best way he knew, let him make it all up to you.

“After this,” you managed to choke out, “am I still going to be somebody you just fuck?”

He wasted no time shaking his head. “You never were. You were, are, the light of my life. I don’t know what I was thinking.” His breath was hot against your neck, his lips pressing kisses, scattered like constellations, into your skin.

“You weren’t thinking.” You moaned a breathless laugh, head tilting to allow him access.

“No, I wasn’t.” Joel’s fingers slipped into your pants, palm cupping your pussy, hot and wet with the promise of his touches. “Damn baby, this horny already?”

“Haven’t been touched in two months. Sure you understand.”

He chuckled a deep, endearing chuckle, nudging his nose into your cheek. “Think I should do somethin’ about this?”

You nodded quickly.

“Words, pretty baby. Use your words.”

“Yes. Please, do… do something about it.”

“That’s my good girl. I’ll give you what you want, I promise.”

You felt butterflies brewing within your belly as his middle finger traced the middle of your green cotton underwear, rubbing where you swollen clit gently poked against. He knew you like the back of his hand, like a map he had spent years memorizing. Giving you pleasure, knowing where and how to make you cum, had become second nature for Joel.

“Don’t be ‘fraid to lean against me. Let daddy take care of you.”You groaned softly at his words, falling back into his body. His strong arms wrapped around you, keeping you up, bicep thick and muscled against you. “Push those down for me.”

You wiggled out of your pants and underwear, bottom half open and exposed for him. His fingers dragged across your mound, brushing against the outside of your pussy that cried out for his touch.

Joel slipped his index finger between your outer lips, finding your clit, slowly drawing circles around your aching bud. You sighed out, once again meshing in to his chest as he touched you, feeling the silkiness of your pink, throbbing cunt.

“I missed this pussy. So wet for me, so needy. You like it when I touch you? Like it when I make you feel good?” His words were hot in your ear, melting into your senses like dripping candle wax.

“Oh, I love it. I love it so much. I love you so much.” You were too caught up in pleasure to understand the weight of what you just said, head rolling against his shoulder as he teased your pussy.

Joel let out a quiet moan at what you just admitted, his hold on you tightening. He was never going to let you go. He sunk his middle finger into your tight opening, slowly hooking it against you G-spot, thrusting it up and down the way he knew made you cry for him.

Your knees were shaking, yet you had no fear of falling. As foolish as it may have been, you had complete trust in Joel Miller. You knew he wouldn’t let you drop. Your walls fluttered around his finger, clit begging to be touched once more. You lowered your hand, gently flicking at your swelling button, moaning out as he added his ring finger to your cunt.

“That’s it baby. Rub that pretty pussy. Cum on my fingers.” Joel whispered m, gently biting down on your ear lobe.

You felt your thighs quivering, belly tightening as your orgasm drew closer. Joel watched you with hawk like vision, relishing in the way your fingers traced and danced across your clit. Before you had the chance to announce your climax, you found yourself cumming on his digits, coating them in you sweet, slick arousal, screaming his name as thought it was the only word you ever had the chance to memorize.

When you came down from your high, Joel slowly removed his fingers, bringing them to your soft lips. “Suck.” He commanded gently. You did, wrapping your mouth around them as you gingerly took them in, all the way to the hilt, sucking them clean and dry, free from any of your cum. “That’s my good girl, my pretty darlin’.”

You shivered against him, your head falling back. Joel gently tapped the counter. “Jump up there.” He whispered.

You did as you were told, grabbing the collar of his flannel, pulling him closer.

“Kiss me, Joel Miller.”

And kiss you he did.

His lips found yours with the passion of ten thousand soldiers, sickly sweet and supple against your mouth. Joel was consuming you with this kiss, torridly leaving his mark into the soft ridges of your pouted lips, blanketing you with the desire he had for you that he so often tried to push down. Your fingers found his graying hair, legs wrapping around his waist until the bulge breaking at his jeans was pressed right into your bare pussy.

You grinded against him, clit still sensitive and aching from the power of your last orgasm. Still, you dropped your hands to his zipper, tugging them down swiftly.

“Want you to fuck me.” You whispered against his mouth, tongue sliding across his. “Want you to cum inside me. Make me yours.”

“You’ve always been mine.” Joel muttered, hand slipping down to remove his boxers. “I was just bein’ an idiot.”

“Then make it up to me.”

The tip of his cock found the slick lips of your pussy, and he slowly pushed himself in through on graceful movement, filling you to the top until your clit was pressed against his stomach. Joel felt your pussy clench against him, and he groaned, letting his head fall to your shoulder. He sat there for a moment, relishing in the warmth being inside of you provided, arms wrapped around you like a belt, pressing you hard into his chest.

You gently placed your hands on the back of his head, pulling away to look at him. Tracing over his features, you took every inch of him in. That Aquiline nose you had grown to love so much, the patchy beard littered with charming speckles of silver, that stray curl in the middle of his forehead that never stayed put. Joel Miller was beautiful. He was an enigma of a man. Stoic, masculine, tender, intuitive, full of emotions and worlds unknown to everyone. Everyone but you. He was a crazy, deep, beautiful paradox of a human, and he was all for you.

Joel slowly pushed out from you, before pumping himself back in. He did this a few more times, his eyes never straying from your own. His fingers slipped to your clit, gently rubbing the pad of his thumb against it.

“Think you can cum on my cock?”

You nodded.

A smile lifted the right corner of his mouth. “Tha’s what I like to hear.” He leaned down, kissing you again as he began fucking you, deep and slow, each move methodical and well planned, as if he knew just what he wanted to do to your body.

Your hands fell to his broad shoulders. His broad shoulders. That alone could have made you cum. The tanned slope of his beautiful, beautiful shoulders, collarbones thick and jutted out just right, followed by patchy chest hair, down to his soft belly that pressed into yours so perfectly. He was beautiful. You traced your fingers down the trail of his biceps, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch, straight to his wrists, lacing with his long, skilled, well worked fingers, palm rough and calloused, tough as leather against the softness of your sweet, smooth hands.

You drunk his figure in like a lovesick fool. Oh, you were, weren't you? So full of love and affection for this brute of a man, well aware he struggled with his emotions. You watched the crows feet by his eyes crinkle as he clamped his eyes shut, watched the line of his neck pulse as he threw his neck back in pleasure.

He was a Baroque portrait of lust standing before you, dark and brooding, thrusting into your cunt as if it were the sweetest thing in the world for him. He growled into the air with each pump of his hips, nails digging into your skin as he held you close, never to let go.

"Joel." You whispered softly, burying your face in his chest as your second orgasm fast approached. You weren't sure why you said his name, not sure what you wanted exactly, but Joel knew. He always knew. He just cradled the back of your head with his right hand, his other gripping ahold of your waist, pounding faster, deeper, harder, hungrier. You were all he wanted, all he ever wanted, all he ever needed.

Joel bit down onto your shoulder softly as he twitched inside you, and you knew his orgasm was soon to come. He kept the same pace on your clit until you were putty in his hands, legs tightening as pleasure washed over you. You both came in harmony, moans mixing and melding into the air which surrounded you. His cock painted your walls with thick, hot ropes of white, and your tightening walls milked every last lick of it out as your came hard, head dizzy with thoughts of him.

He whispered your name softly as he slowed to a stop, pillowing you against his body. "God, I missed you."

You nodded in agreement, sticky skin pressed together like two puzzle pieces. "I missed you." You pulled away, holding on to him for support as you slowly stepped off the counter. You gently pressed your palm into his chest, feeling his cum dribbling down your thigh. You smiled softly at the feeling before glancing up at him. "More than you know."

Joel gently ran his palm down your back as you slipped your underwear on, quickly following suit.

"What's in the basket?" You asked, pointing to the item he left alone on the living room rug.

"Oh. It was s'posed to be a peace offerin'. Makin' up with you was easier than I thought." Joel joked, and you gently slapped his shoulder.

"Whatever." You giggled, walking over to the present.

Inside were some paintings Ellie had made you that Joel never had the courage to send before, some sprigs of dried herbs they were growing in their back yard, some handmade goats soap from a lady down the street, and a long, narrow velvet box. You picked it up slowly, turning to look at him.

"Now if you don't like that I might as well go out and die in the woods. Took me fuckin' weeks to find." Joel admitted, rubbing his neck nervously. "I remember you sayin' you wanted one of them."

You slowly opened it, met with a shimmering string of pearls. A necklace. A necklace you had spent your whole life yearning for. Your lips parted with surprise. "I-I've never seen one in person. Only in those old magazines they had back at QZ."

Joel walked towards you, nodding a bit. "Spent a whole weekend with Tommy, all the way in Cheyenne. Almost got me killed." He chuckled, hands falling to your hips.

"Oh, Joel. It's beautiful. It's.... I've never seen something like this before." You whispered earnestly, gently sweeping your hair up. "Put it on me?"

He smiled a soft, rare smile, gingerly clipping it around your neck. He took a step back, admiring you, soaking you in, memorizing the way it looked on you. "Yeah, that was worth the trouble."

You smiled happily, falling into his arms. He held you tightly to his chest, fingers sweeping through your locks of hair. "By the way..." Joel murmured into your head, pulling away slowly as his fingers found your chin. Your eyes met in a searing gaze, full of summertime warmth that fell over you like golden sunlight. He stared at you long and hard, and you saw something like tears gloss over his gaze.

And when he spoke, his voice was calm, steady, devout:

"I love you, too."

[chilumi-shipper]

Not Meant for the World

Kamisato Ayato x Fem!Servant!Reader

Summary: You fell for him, he fell for you, it was the typical start of a relationship, only problem is… well, he's him and you're you. A Commissioner who holds power over the nation, and a servant that basically amounts to nothing in the whole scheme of things. It was a mutual decision to keep your relationship a secret, only to be kept within the dead of night in his bedroom, evaporating before the sun could even rise for another day. But then… Ayato seems so keen keeping it a secret forever, letting the stream of wedding proposals and love letters flood in, going through great lengths to make sure the information doesn't leak out, almost like he's ashamed of being with someone like you. You could only take so much of that.

Tags: Angst no Comfort, Hidden Relationship

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

"You should probably go back to your quarters." As you were snuggled up to your lover's chest, enjoying his warmth under the covers of his bed, he spoke.

"But it's barely time." You whined, pressing your body closer to his and rubbing your face on his chest.

Back then, he would cave, he would chuckle and wrap his arms tighter around you, saying that you could stay for a little bit more and that he didn't really want you to leave anyway.

Now… he pulls away from your embrace, sighing as he looks you in the eye.

"It would be best to elliminate all the chances of us being caught, and I believe that some of the servants have been getting up early to start their shifts." He reasoned, his hold faltering as you feel his arms slip off you.

You felt a clenching pain in your chest as you slowly get up, looking around his room, you didn't want to leave, and yet when you looked at him, you felt like you were being pushed away.

"Okay… I guess I'll get going now…"

This is the part where he would usually kiss you and remind you that he loves you…

It never came…

You left his room without another word.

…

"Is it perhaps too much to visit a festival together?" You asked, not expecting a pleasurable answer from the Yashiro Commissioner sat on his office chair and drinking a cup of tea you prepared for him.

"I believe it is, being seen in public in a non-professional setting would be rather suspicious if it's just the two of us." Ayato responds firmly, oblivious to (or perhaps just ignoring) the frown that formed on your face.

"We've been out together multiple times…" You reasoned, though you sounded unsure, not wanting to sour his mood and lessen your chances of getting him to agree to your proposal. "We haven't been on a date in a while."

"The families offering up their daughters to me are very vigilant of my public movements, suspicions will arise if they were to see me with any lady for no particular reason." He did not even spare you a glance, answering swiftly as he always does.

Yet again, you fail to persuade him to be with you. You prepared to say more, but a knock came before your words.

A guest came to the estate, a father of one of the many noble ladies offering their hand in marriage.

Long story short, he's here to talk marriage business, as these fathers always do.

When the guest left for a moment, "My lord, I just need a few more minutes to talk to you." Many times, you have tried to intervene, not satisfied with how your conversation earlier abruptly ended.

"Y/N, there are matters more important than this. Wait a moment." He pays you no mind, but you have had enough. "You are being too obv-"

"Ayato, stop." You spoke firmly, freezing him in his place. "I'm still talking to you." You approached him, his back still turned to you.

Slowly, he turned around to face you, his eyes held an unfit expression for him, almost like nervousness. "Y/N, let's not do this now…"

"Do you still want to be with me?" You asked impulsively, stripping the formalities and simply talking to the man you knew as your lover. Your eyes fill with tears, looking at him being lost for words. You hoped his answer would be immediate, that he would exclaim that why would you even ask such a question.

As you stood there, "Lord Kamisato, come along, don't let the servant keep all of our time." The guest came back, standing beside Ayato, who had yet to say anything.

No words were spoken, but the Commissioner knew that right there, right in front of the unknowing guest, in your watery gaze, he had a choice to make.

"Why don't you get us some tea in the meantime?" The guest spoke up again referring to you, but you have no intention of moving until your lover finally speaks up.

With a gulp, Ayato stood his ground. "Yes, please prepare us some tea, Y/N. No more of your nonsense."

A single tear, that's what you allowed for him to see as you nodded silently. But as you prepared the tea, your vision was blurry from the neverending tears, your sobs couldn't be controlled as you struggle to catch your breath.

But you needed that, you needed that to remind yourself that you are merely a servant.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The Yashiro Commissioner sat on his bed that night, looking at the door to his room. His heart was beating fast, hoping for it to open and show the figure of his lover, though the odds are against his desires.

He hoped that maybe you'd spare him a chance, that you'd walk into the room and tell him that you'll allow him to show you how you much he truly loves you.

The door remains close. And so does his heart begin to ache. Ayato didn't sleep that night, he merely lied down and looked up at the ceiling, trying to imagine your warmth embracing him, trying to make it seem like your side of the bed wasn't left cold.

…

"My Lord…" His eyes looked up from the document he's been staring it for the past hour when he heard your voice… calling him in such a cold manner. You said nothing more, placing a tray of tea and pastries on an empty spot on his desk.

"Ahh, thank you…" Ayato looked at your face, hoping to see your usual smile whenever you served him his afternoon tea, yet your face held nothing but a blank expression. You merely bowed at him, before leaving without another word.

Your name was at the tip of his tongue, and his entire being screamed at him to just say it. He wanted desperately to call for your attention, but, though he did not want to admit it… he was scared…

You stopped in your tracks, remembering something that you had to discuss with him. Ayato, ever so perceptive of your actions, perked up.

"You have a meeting with the head of the Tenryou Commission later at noon, something about an agreement with regards to your relation with his daughter." You did not bother to face him to give him the reminder, opting to walk away once you finished your sentence.

The Yashiro Commissioner's face fell as he watched you leave the room, his heart still heavy, and his mind cursing at him for not having the guts to talk to you properly.

…

The pain felt more real once he entered his room for the night.

The place has been wiped clean of your existence, the covers have been changed so not even your scent lingered, some of the clothes you kept in his closet are gone, the vase of flowers you like to decorate his nightstand with is gone…

The framed picture of the two of you that sat on his nightstand is gone…

It felt suffocating…

With a sigh, Ayato closed the door, not wanting to see such a sad space, he instead went back to his office.

As he sat on his chair, he opened one of the drawers of his desk…

A smiled couldn't help but form on his face, a bittersweet one, when he saw the picture of you that he kept there a long time ago.

He laid his head on his arms on the desk, your picture next to his face. He figures that it was the only way he can sleep without feeling the suffocating emptiness of his room weighing upon him.

…

Today is the day the festival you were so excited about starts, and it's already been arranged for quite a while that today is your day-off. "…Y/N was really hoping that I'd join her at the festival." Half of

Thoma's words were muffled, but he could make out your name and the festival.

The blond retainer was asking for a day-off as well, to go with you.

Something uncomfortable boiled in Ayato's core, you asked him to join you back then, and he said that he couldn't. Yet, all he wishes now was to accompany you, to be by your side and not have to think about keeping your relationship a secret.

"With Y/N…?" Ayato asked, his voice laced with disappointment that did not escape his retainer's ears.

"Is something the matter, my Lord?"

Truly did his entire being want to disapprove of Thoma's request, he wants to go to you and offer to go with you himself.

"No, I'm quite alright, Thoma…" The Yashiro Commissioner heaved a sigh. "I'll allow your request."

You spent your day at the festival with Thoma, and it was obvious that you enjoyed it given the large smile that was plastered when you got back to the estate.

Meanwhile, Ayato spent his day at his desk, looking at meaningless paperwork while dreaming of being hand-in-hand with you at the festival, imagining that you would eat your heart out with all the streetfood available, watch the firework show when nighttime falls, and dance slowly at the festival music at midnight when everyone else already left.

That night though, he approaches you, his heart pounding when he caught your attention. "May I… ask you to sleep next to me again?"

He was tired, he could only take a week of sleeping in his office because his room haunted him too much. Unfortunately for him, he doesn't know how to even start explaining himself, doesn't know how to win you back, to say that he does choose you over any form of nobility that he has.

You smiled at him… emptily.

"I'm your servant, my lord. If you wish for me to, I will."

So you did, you slept next to him, he hugged you tightly, snuggling you up to his chest, yet you refused to hug back, to nuzzle in his embrace like you used to. You merely did as you were requested.

Ayato tried to ignore the tightening of his heart just before sleep and exhausted took over him.

But he couldn't ignore the chill he felt when he woke up hugging nothing. It's just as it should be, the servant listened to her lord, and now she left to do her other tasks.

It was crazy to hope a relationship like yours could work out. Kamisato Ayato felt a few tears fall from his eyes, now, he wished for you to stay.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Yo, it's 3am and I'm gonna sleep now.

[steddiealltheway]

Steve looks at Eddie and takes a deep breath. He can ask this. He really can. It's not that big of a deal.

"Hey, Eddie?"

Eddie glances up from the small book he's writing in and raises his eyebrows.

"Can you give me a hickey?"

The book shuts quickly, but, other than that, Eddie remains relatively frozen in place.

Steve shifts to sit up a little straighter against the wall of Eddie's bedroom as he explains, "There’s this girl who keeps coming into Family Video who is really persistent. I've tried to drop hints that I'm not into her, but she isn't getting it. And Robin suggested that I needed to appear to be in a relationship so she would stop."

Actually, Robin had told him that he needs to be direct and reject her, but he didn't want to be cruel. So, he suggested that the two of them should pretend to be in a relationship. But Robin only looked at him in disgust and told him that she would not be taking the fall for his problem.

"Why don't you just reject her?" Eddie asks.

Steve sighs. Why do people keep having to ask him that? "It's not the Family Video way."

Eddie snorts and glances away, pausing for a moment before turning back. "Why me?"

Steve shrugs. "You're the only friend my age that I can ask. It would scar me and Robin for life, and there's no way I'm asking Nancy."

"You know who would do it with no questions asked?" Eddie asks.

"Who?"

"Argyle."

Steve laughs. "Yeah, but I don't really know the guy."

Eddie softly smiles and nudges his shoulder. "So you're saying I make you comfortable?"

Steve looks at him, wondering why he's phrasing it like it's a question. "Yes," he confirms.

For some reason, it seems to fluster Eddie, but he quickly nods and sets down his book. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I'll give you a hickey," Eddie says.

Steve swallows and runs a hand through his hair. "Cool. Cool. Uh, I guess we should do that now?"

Eddie nods, but neither of them move.

A few seconds pass before Eddie clears his throat and asks, "So, how are we doing this?"

Steve shrugs. "However you're comfortable with, but you should probably be in front of me."

Eddie nods and says, "Right." Then, he shifts and swings a leg over Steve's lap, straddling him on his bed.

Steve's heart beats a little faster. He hadn't thought this far into his plan, and he certainly hadn't expected Eddie to make him feel this way.

Eddie slowly leans his head down to Steve's neck then sits back, biting his lip in thought but not saying anything.

"What?" Steve asks.

Eddie fidgets with his rings and says, "This will be easier if we're standing up or laying down. Sitting like this is going to hurt my back."

Steve knows that either position is going to kill him, but the thought of his knees buckling while standing up has him deciding, "Well, we're already on the bed, so..."

Eddie nods at him and moves so Steve can lie down.

As he gets comfortable, Eddie climbs on top of him, hovering in a way that must be a damn workout.

Steve laughs, "You don't have to do a plank over me. You can get comfortable."

Eddie blushes a bit then settles his weight over Steve's body. And oh. Yeah, that feels nice.

Steve reaches up to hold Eddie's hair back so he can look at him. And shit, he didn't realize this is an angle he wants to see Eddie at more often.

"You're still okay to do this?" Eddie asks, voice slightly rougher than before.

Steve nods quickly. "Yes."

Eddie nods back and leans down as Steve tilts his jaw to expose the right side of his neck.

Eddie's breath is hot against his neck, mouth hovering but not touching yet. "Where do you want it?"

Steve tries not to sound so strained when he says, "Right under my jaw."

Eddie's lips finally brush against the sensitive area almost like a kiss before he opens his mouth wide and presses his lips firmly against the skin, tongue brushing lightly against him before he begins sucking. Steve's eyes squeeze shut when Eddie's teeth brush slightly against him. He slaps a hand over his mouth and fists his hands into Eddie's sheets.

This was not part of the plan. This was definitely not a part of it.

Soon, Eddie pulls away, and cool air makes contact with the wet spot against his neck as Eddie breathes out.

Steve's hand clamps over his mouth tighter before he opens his eyes, thankful that Eddie is staring at the mark and not at his face. But he's confused about why he's frowning.

Then, Eddie's hand comes up to lightly tilts his jaw back to him, but he still stares at the mark with his brows pinched.

"What's wrong?" Steve asks, a little more breathlessly than he wants to sound.

Eddie finally looks him in the eye and says, "It's...it's good. Like, a solid hickey... but it's right under your jaw like you asked so it's not extremely visible." He crawls off Steve and grabs a small mirror off his side table.

Steve grabs it, trying to ignore how flushed he looks before he stares at the hickey. Eddie's right. It's nice and red, standing out against his skin, but only when he tilts his head just right. Hell, someone could brush it off as a hit to the jaw.

Steve sighs. He doesn't know if he'll be able to survive Eddie giving him another hickey.

"I can give you one on the middle and bottom of your neck if you really want to sell it," Eddie offers.

"Sure," Steve says without thinking. Because shit, if he doesn't think he can survive one more hickey, how the hell is he supposed to survive two??

But Eddie takes the mirror back and is on top of him again before Steve can really think.

Luckily, Eddie looks him in the eye and asks, "Are you sure you're okay with this? We could just put makeup on you to make it look like hickeys."

Against his better judgment, Steve shakes his head and replies, "No, it's okay. I want this to look as realistic as possible. But, hey, are you okay with this?"

Eddie nods quickly and enthusiastically in a way that makes Steve feel like maybe he's not the only one enjoying this a little too much. Honestly, it makes him feel much better... but also knowing that Eddie's into it makes him feel h-

His thoughts are cut off when Eddie's hand fists into his hair and gently pulls to expose his neck more. Without thinking, Steve's hands come up to grip onto Eddie's back tightly as he sucks another hickey into his neck.

Steve pinches his lips together as best as he can, but he's sure his heavy, quick breathing gives him away.

Then, Eddie moves on from his neck to the junction between his neck and shoulder, pulling at his shirt to get better access as he trails his lips over his skin, never losing contact as his wet lips leave a trail connecting the two areas.

But when Eddie starts sucking a mark into his neck again, something about the area sets something off in Steve causing him to moan loudly. He slaps a hand over his mouth again, but the damage is already done.

Only, Eddie doesn't pull away. He sucks harder.

Steve's back arches off the bed, and his hands fist into Eddie's hair pulling him off of him.

Eddie's lips are red and wet with his own saliva and his pupils are blown wide in juxtaposition with the panic filling his eyes.

Steve breathes out, "Please tell me I'm not the only one who wants this."

Eddie shakes his head quickly and rasps out, "Fucking hell I thought you were going to murder me."

"Eddie, the last thing I want to do to you right now is murder you."

He leans down, brushing his nose against Steve's, and whispers, "And what do you want to do to me right now?"

"First, I want to kiss you," Steve confesses, heart hammering in his chest.

Eddie leans down, lips brushing against his as he asks, "And then?"

"I'm thinking something that involves a lot more hickeys."

Eddie smiles. "I like the sound of that."

Finally, they both move together, kissing deeply in a way that makes Steve think that maybe Eddie's lips are magic everywhere.

And shit, he's going to have a hell of a time explaining the hickeys to Robin and the kids, but it'll be worth it.

Now including an Ao3 link :)

[newfallstrangeleaves]

Yandere with a unknown identity

Breaking and entering

M!Yandere X F!reader Warning: non-con, fingering F! Receiving. Summary: You had a terrible day and end up going to bed early when a masked man breaks in and decides to make it all better.

Part 2 aaand Another part

You had such a bad day today. Nothing seemed to go your way. All day you kept your emotions in. When you got back home all you did was throw off anything uncomfortable and then crawl into bed to just cry it out. 

While crying your heart out you don't notice the bedroom window slowly creeping open and a dark shadow climbing in. He is just about to walk further into your apartment when a sniffle stops him in his tracks. 

Perhaps it's the feeling of being watched, but something tells you to turn around. When you do you are met with a tall man dressed entirely in black. Not even a speck of skin is showing. His face is covered by a balaclava and the room is dark, only the lights from outside shine in but you can tell he is looking at you. 

In an instant he throws himself on top of you, pinning you down. You try to scream but he covers your mouth, muffling any sounds you make. Your panic is met with soft hushes which by no means calms you. He is way stronger than you. He holds both your hands down with one hand while he covers your mouth with the other. He has one leg on either side of you, straddling you, forcing you lower body in place while not putting all of his weight on you. 

You struggle against his grip but to no avail. Tears stream down your face. The mix between panic, crying and a hand covering your mouth makes you gasp for air. 

"Shhh, shhh. It's fine, I promise I'm not going to hurt you. Just breathe, breathe okay?" He hushes you softly. Because of the lack of air you force yourself to calm down. Taking slow breaths through your nose. 

"I'm going to move my hand okay? Don't scream." He says firmly and when you do he chuckles, pleased by your obedience. 

"Good girl." He whispers as he starts to wipe away your tears.

All the while you look up into his only exposed feature. His eyes. Even with only the moonlight shining in through your window his blue eyes are piercing through you. 

"Don't hurt me.” Your voice is barely a whisper. 

“I'm not going to, I told you that before." He stops for a moment before he speaks again. "Why were you crying before?” 

He wipes away a few more tears that escape you as you avoid his gaze. 

"It's okay, you can tell me." When you don't answer he continues. 

"Did something happen today? I could tell you were upset when I got here." 

When you still don't answer he moves off your body and with one arm pulls you after him making you sit up beside him. His sudden motion and the fact you don't know what he possibly could want from you makes you panic again. 

"I don't have much money. I… you can have my jewelry." 

"I don't want any of that, I want to know why you're crying." He cuts you off. You take a moment to calm down before you answer him. 

"I just had a bad day, that's all." It feels like your heart is beating out of your chest. But then he nods, straightening his back.

"That's alright, it's over now. If that's any help." Then he squints his eyes and you can only guess that he is smiling under his mask. Then he looks down, catching your shirt riding up exposing skin. He takes a deep breath before he continues with a low voice. 

"Maybe I can make it a little better." Without really being able to do anything he moves you to sit in his lap with your back pressed against his chest. You let out a small gasp and squirm in his grip as you feel something hard pressing up against your ass. He grabs one of your legs to hold you in place and to spread your legs. You try to pry his hand off you but his grip on you is too firm.

He places a leather gloved hand on your clothed cunt, groping and rubbing. The friction makes your breath hitch. He moves his finger up and down your underwear and much to your dismay a sting of pleasure hits you everytime he brushes over your clit. He rests his head on your shoulder whispering in your ear. 

"You're so beautiful, I'll make all your problems go away, I promise." 

He pushes your panties to the side and slides a finger inside you while he circulates your clit with his thumb. He curves his finger looking for that perfect spot.

"Please stop…" 

"Shhhh… you will feel so good soon." 

He adds another digit inside you, that together with the gloves extra thickness he stretches you out. A whine escapes you, which prones him to work faster. You can feel yourself getting closer with each move he makes. Your breathing grows heavier and so does the knot in the lower half of your stomach. His fingers hit a certain spot inside you and you jolt as if electrocuted. A moan leaves your lips as he continues to abuse that spot.  

You grip his arm, scratching him through his shirt as your orgasm riples through you. Throwing your head back on his shoulder as you bite your lip to try and suppress any sounds, but a muffled moan slips you anyways. He works you through your high and stops when you relax leaning back on him. 

"Didn't that feel good huh?" He nudges your cheek with his nose. 

"How about we go for another one?" You shake your head but he doesn't care. His hands start up again. 

His hand lets go of your leg and worms his way under your shirt. With no bra on he goes right to squeezing your boobs and playing with your nipples.

"Oh, you're so wet. I wish I could be inside you. Feel your pussy clench around my dick instead of my fingers." 

Another orgasm ripple through you. But this time he doesn't stop. 

"You're doing so good. Just a few more for me." 

The room is filled by the wet sounds from your pussy and the moans that you have stopped caring about. All your mind can focus on is his fingers. 

You couldn't keep count over how many orgasms he made you go through until he decided you finally had enough. 

You feel exhausted. Leaning back panting on his broad frame. Sore from the over stimulation. 

"How are you feeling?" He holds you so impossibly close to him, one of his arms wrapped around your waist. He is gently rubbing your cheek with his index finger. The leather feels cold against your skin. 

You look up at him through hooded eyes and for a moment you two just look at each other. Then you move your hand to pull off his hood but he grabs your wrist. 

"Not today, hun. Another time I will show you." He gently lifts you up and moves you off his lap. 

"I'll be back in a sec okay? Don't move." He tells you as he stands up. Before he leaves the room he grabs your phone. You can hear him walking around in the kitchen. 

When he gets back he hands you a glass of juice and a towel. You cover your lower half with the towel as you watch him pick out new clothes for you. You can't not notice the giant wet stain that is left on his pants. He hands you the clothes and goes to get his bag by the window and set it back down on your bed.

"Do you want me to help you shower?”

“No, I want you to leave.” You say firmly. He takes a deep breath before nodding. 

“Okay, I'll leave. Just before I go." He opens up his bag and reaches down. Fear overwhelms you like a cold shower. He must have noticed you tensing up because he says. 

“It's okay, I'm just going to give you money. Take the day off tomorrow and the day after that too. This will be plenty to not disrupt your economy. And hey, treat yourself, eat out or buy something nice. I know how hard working you are, you deserve it." He hands you the money and then heads for the front door.

But before he leaves he turns back to you once more. “And remember to lock, will you? Been too many times where I have got here and you've forgotten to lock for the night. The window too. You can never be too careful.” And with a wave he is gone, left is just a stack of money in your lap.

[chronicowboy]

Buck tucks them away in a corner when the mingling begins. They're stood far too close to be decent, Buck pressed up against the hard lines of his date with little care for anything besides being close, close, close. But in his defence, Tommy had taken his turnout coat off somewhere along the way which means he's stood there in a too-tight LAFD tee straining against his biceps and those suspenders Buck has always found more than a little maddening. So, really, it's only right to tuck his hands beneath one of the straps to pull Tommy even closer. And Tommy goes easily, smiling wide enough that it brightens his whole face as he presses Buck a little more firmly into the wall at his back.

"That was good. That was really good, right?" Buck breathes, his own smile making his cheeks ache.

He's horny, yeah, his boyfriend is incredibly hot. And, Jesus, the noise he'd made in the lobby—Buck can't wait to wring more of those noises from him. Mostly, Tommy just looks so stunningly happy to be there with him. So, yeah, he's a little amped up. But he's mostly just giddy. No, happy. He's just happy. Because everyone he loves knows who he is, knows who he's with. And he's just really fucking happy.

"How do you think they knew?" Buck asks then, still a little breathless just from Tommy's closeness, from the way he ducks just a little so their noses brush like they're in their own little bubble. "Like they all just seemed to know. I didn't even get to introduce you as my date." Tommy's eyes do something then, the crinkles at the corners smoothing out as they melt into something so fond Buck's stomach somersaults with it. "I mean, Hen I get. Her gaydar is killer. Like astounding. But Chimney?" Buck's eyebrows furrow, but it couldn't be called a frown for the smile still tugging at his lips. "Do you think he just saw how happy I was—"

"Evan," Tommy says softly. Buck snaps his mouth shut at the look on Tommy's face, all indulgence, downright smitten, if Buck had to take a guess it's probably the same look reflected on his own face.

Tommy reaches up to cup his face, swiping gentle, reverent thumbs over Buck's stubbled cheeks, smile twitching with bitten-back amusement. He pulls his hands away then, freshly cleaned palms coming away sooty.

"Oh," Buck murmurs, face flooding with heat. So, that's how they knew. Makes sense.

"I'm sure they saw how happy you were too." Tommy nudges their noses together again, a gentle little nuzzle that makes Buck's body fizz from head to toes, but there's something hesitant to it that has his eyes flickering back and forth between Tommy's. "You're happy, yeah?"

"Yeah." Buck nods just to feel their noses brush again. "Really, really unbelievably happy, Tommy."

And if Tommy's smile had been beautiful before, this one is radiant as the fucking sun. Buck almost wants to shield his eyes from it, except he doesn't. Not at all. He wants to map every inch of it and remember it forever.

"Good," Tommy breathes out. "Good, that's really good." One of his big hands finds Buck's hip, settles there and squeezes just tight enough to make Buck fizz again. "I'm happy too."

Oh.

Oh.

That's nice. That's really fucking nice.

They have to get out of this very crowded hallway immediately.

Buck lets his smile shift into a smirk and sways forward into Tommy's space. He doesn't look at Tommy's eyes as he does it, zeroed in on those lips that Buck could happily spend the rest of his life getting to know inside and out.

"Hm," Buck hums, pushing far enough forward that Tommy stumbles back a step. "We should probably go and get cleaned up, huh?" He extracts himself from Tommy's arms with only the slightest bit of difficulty, leaving one hand wrapped around his suspenders to drag Tommy along with a raised eyebrow.

Buck isn't entirely sure, but he think there's a little bit of pink underneath the soot on Tommy's face. It makes him even happier.

[tofixtheshadows]

Id love to hear ur interpretation and analysis on falin! She’s one of my favorite characters and and I was wondering what ur thoughts on her are

Man, I struggle to think of anything I could say about Falin that others have not already said. But she's one of my favorite things about Dungeon Meshi too.

So much of the story revolves around Falin, and she's not even there. Tumblr loves to talk about haunting the narrative, but Falin might be one of the best examples of it ever put to page. She's dead. She's alive. She's dead. She's alive. She's alive but she's missing, she's alive but she isn't herself. She's dead but she might wake. She's dead but she's frozen in ice. She's alive but she's sleepwalking. They chase her ghost and they chase her body all through the story.

I think what Kui does with her is fascinating. Not just as character with a personality we can analyze, but as an object in a narrative- that's why I say she's one of my favorite things about the story, because I also mean it in a mechanical sense. As a writer, Kui's really good at misdirection- that is, setting you up to believe or expect something about a character or a plot, and then turning that on its head. It's most apparent with Kabru, but it works really well with Falin too.

Because the precious little sister is a very well known character archetype, right? So is the gentle healer. The heart of the party. The white mage girl. The damsel in distress. The martyr.

And this isn't a Laura Palmer situation, where we find out that beneath her wholesome surface there's something dark and troubled. No, Falin truly is a kind and gentle person. That isn't where the misdirection leads (and that, too, I think, is another misdirection- it's not "Plot twist, she isn't as nice as you thought!", which would almost be too easy).

The misdirection here is more about structure than about character (but also, yeah- a little about character).

What I mean is, with these archetypes firmly in mind, along with a whole other host of fantasy genre expectations, I think anyone who goes into Dungeon Meshi un-spoiled probably expects Falin's rescue to be an endgame event; at least on a subconscious level, where you're not really thinking about it but in the back of your head you're already stretching out the story to place Falin firmly in the distance. Fire breathing dragon at the bottom of the dungeon is perfect final boss material, right? Slay the dragon. Rescue the princess.

And Falin is the perfect prize in the traditional old school fantasy that the concept of the titular dungeon is a send-up to. Blonde (white), soft-spoken, sweet-natured, beloved by everyone. An angelic figure.

Maybe that's why Ryoko Kui gave her white wings.

It is sort of jarring when chapter 23 rolls around and it's already time to fight the red dragon. And it takes a few chapters, but they succeed. And then Falin's impossible resurrection succeeds. But by then you guess that this is not going to be the story you expected it to be.

I want to point out that Falin spends a lot of time getting, well, babied, post-resurrection. Marcille washes her in the bath, despite Falin stating that she's capable of washing herself. Marcille schools her about her mana use despite Falin demonstrating that she is not hurting for mana, and brushes aside Falin's explanations. Both Marcille and Laios refuse to actually tell her what happened. Laios scruffs up her hair like she's a little kid and scolds her for something she can't remember doing. Marcille explicitly calls her a little kid when Falin tries to talk about how much she's grown.

Of course I'm not saying that Laios was wrong to act like a big brother, or that Marcille shouldn't be worried about taking care of her shell-shocked friend in the bath. But the framing of it clearly shows a Falin who is struggling to be heard.

If you'd like to address the big gay elephant in the room while we're here, I want to state for the record that- whether you read her as gay or not -I think Marcille is completely oblivious during this. Because Falin is her little friend from school. Her best friend, yes, but also the young tallman student she, in her infinite elven wisdom, had to mentor and look after. Marcille has not yet accepted that Falin is an adult now, nor has she accepted that she, herself, is only barely past teenagerhood developmentally and is not nearly as mature as she believes. Of course she'd scrub Falin in the bath and fuss over her.

Falin, meanwhile, seems more than aware of her own adult body and the inappropriate way Marcille is treating it.

The mana-sharing scene is, I think, Falin trying to get a little of her own back. How do you like it, Marcille?

And she tries again in bed.

Maybe she's wondering if their relationship will change now that they're grown ups. If Marcille prefers her as a little girl, or at least as a woman who lets herself be guided like one; if Marcille will react badly if Falin keeps trying to assert herself. She also might be subtly trying to signal to Marcille that bed sharing, like bathing, carries a different weight to it when you do it as adults rather than as children.

With all this in mind, the decision to turn Falin from the precious prize they rescued into to the vicious dragon they have to slay, hits a lot harder.

Falin with a powerful, monstrous, destructive body. Falin, who couldn't even stand to cause people pain from using healing spells, slaughtering half a dozen people in brutal ways. And that's not her, she's being mind-controlled, but as an object in the story she has completely flipped. From damsel to threat.

And I love that she carries a little bit of that with her when she's resurrected again.

Because she's no longer the girl who's going to let herself be stifled by her brother's and her best friend's co-dependency, no matter how much she loves them. She's different now: stronger, eyes open, forging her own path instead of following in their wake. Falin is still going to come back to them again, but this time it won't be because they chased her. It'll be because they let her go.

[heich0e]

(part 2 of emperor!sukuna)

It's dark, and so terribly silent.

It's not the kind of quiet you find comfort in. No peace, or tranquility, in the stillness. The silence is tense, like a breath you hold until your lungs begin to burn. Like time itself has frozen.

Two red eyes watch you from the shadows.

Vicious. Hungry.

You wake with a start.

"Noble guest!"

Your head whips to the side, only to find the young handmaid who had been assigned to serve you kneeling at the edge of your bed. Her hair is tied, as ever, into two neat knots on either side of her head, but her endearingly lopsided fringe still hangs down over her worried eyes.

"Miwa," you breathe, and perhaps it might be in relief if you had the right to feel any. You lift a hand to your chest and feel the way your heart is racing under your ribs.

"Are you quite well, Mistress?" she asks you in concern.

Miwa is a young girl, no more than twelve if you had to guess and, though occasionally her manners fail her, she's dutiful in your care. You're fond of her in your own way. Grateful for a face in your chambers that doesn't mean you harm, or reproach.

"Yes," you say quietly. Barely a whisper and even less truth. "I'm well."

Your eyes sweep around your quarters, and suddenly you have a thought.

"What's the hour?" you ask her. It's night time, you're sure of it. Late if you were put upon to wager. "What brings you here so late?"

Miwa's eyes slip away, like she suddenly has trouble meeting yours.

"Miwa?" you ask again, more insistent this time.

The young girl fists her robe in her small hands, her head hanging slightly.

"It's the Crown Prince, Mistress."

Your chest feels tight.

"Yuuji?" You sit yourself further up in your bed, your sheet slipping down to pool in your lap. "Is he well? Has something happened?"

Miwa looks up at you with eyes that glisten in the soft light of the lanterns around your room, her lips pulled into a tight line.

"I know you and the Crown Prince have become good friends, Mistress," she says to you quietly, and you're surprised. You didn't know that anyone was aware of the little Prince's visits to your quarters. The girl's nose scrunches up. "Which is why it upsets me that the head of household forbid the staff from telling you."

"What's happened to him?" You feel panic in your veins, hot and quickly spreading, in the wake of her words.

"He's ill, Mistress. Fevered. The poor thing has not had the strength to leave his bed for some two days now."

You rip your blankets from your lap, throwing your legs over the side of your bed. You stand quickly, ignoring the way your blood rushes to your head and makes you feel dizzy.

Miwa stares up at you in shock from where she kneels at your feet.

"Come," you tell her firmly, extending your hand down towards her to help her up. "Take me to him."

Miwa knows her way through the Emperor's palace in a way so familiar that you could never hope to memorize the paths similarly yourself. You wonder how long she's been serving in the royal household to be so intimately familiar with every corridor, path, and passageway. She manages to take you all the way across the expansive property, from your own court to the one in which he Prince resides, without being seen by another living soul.

The two of you pause, pressed close together in a narrow passage covered by a tapestry.

"Will there be guards inside?" you ask her, keeping your voice low.

She shakes her head emphatically.

"The guards are outside the door. This is an entry that the servants in the Prince's household use. I assure you he's quite alone in there—his maids are away to take tea since he's resting, and the court physician has left him for the night."

You nod slightly.

"If I hear anyone coming, I'll fetch you," Miwa assures you, and you know she is sincere.

You lift the edge of the silk that covers your small hiding place, and step into the Crown Prince's quarters.

His room is not wholly dissimilar to your own—a realization that only makes you feel a little ill as you realize just how out of place you are in the place you've been confined. On the other side of the wide room is an elevated bed, and there in the centre lies the small form of the Prince.

His round cheeks, though always somewhat rosy, are flushed a violent scarlet with fever. His skin is pale and waxy, and is dewy with perspiration though his little nose is ice to touch. His chest rises and falls in shaky exhales, and his lips—parted as he gasps for breath—are dry and cracking.

Your heart rends at the sight of him.

"Miwa," you call quietly towards where you know the passageway to be. When you get no response you dare to repeat yourself a little louder. "Miwa."

Her head pops out from behind the fine silk weave.

You wave her over to where you kneel at Yuuji's bedside.

"Mistress, what is it?" she asks as she approaches.

You look down towards Yuuji, brushing some of his soft blush-coloured hair back from his sticky forehead.

"How long do we have before the maids return?" you ask her.

"They often take longer than they should," she says, rolling her lip between her teeth. "They bring wine to the guards outside and overindulge in their company. The head maid of the household often scolds them for it."

You feel a pang of resentment towards the women who fall short in their care for the little boy before you. You ache upon the realization of his neglect.

"I'll need hot water, and cloths."

"Pardon, Mistress?" she squeaks, watching as you roll up your sleeves.

"Hurry, Miwa," you brush off her effort to clarify, peering up at her with resolution in your eyes. "We haven't much time."

You scoop the small boy up into your arms, carrying him over to a nearby window. You open it as quietly as you can with him in your grasp, and then settle in on the floor as the cold night's breeze rushes in. Miwa appears soon with a basin of warm water and the cloths you requested, her eyes wide as she sees the way you cradle Yuuji in your arms, smoothing your hand along his back.

"Bring it here," you instruct her, and she does as you say. She sets the steaming basin before you, and the cloths just at its side.

You shift Yuuji in your arms.

"He needs the steam to help clear his lungs and break his fever," you tell her carefully leaning the sleeping child face-first above the basin. "Place a cool cloth to the back of his neck, and drape another overtop to trap in the vapours."

Miwa doesn't argue, quickly doing as she's told.

After some time passes, you remove the cloths and shift Yuuji towards the window, his head cradled in the crook of your arm like a babe.

"He needs the dry, cool air now," you tell Miwa as she watches you curiously.

"Mistress, you know a great deal on how to treat a fever," she remarks quietly, ringing out another cool cloth in case it's needed.

You hum, eyes glued to Yuuji's sleeping face. He's breathing a little easier now, his skin a bit less sallow. You dip your finger in the cool clean water and dab it lightly upon his lips to moisten them.

"I have three little brothers," you tell her quietly.

"Really?" she gasps in surprise. "I had no idea!"

Of course she didn't. No one in this land knows anything about you. At least not anything true. They know only what hateful rumours have been circulated through the court, and nothing of your person nor your character.

"Do you have any siblings, Miwa?" you ask her in turn.

"Two older sisters, Mistress," she replies.

"And are they too employed by the royal household?"

"They work at a teahouse just outside the palace, the nicest one in the city!" she says proudly. "They have many noble customers who they attend to."

You smile a little, though it's feeble. You know the kind of teahouses, and the kind of customers, she speaks of. You also know just what attending to them means.

"They must be proud to see their little sister working at the palace," you remark.

She huffs a little. "They still treat me like a child."

You laugh a little, reaching out with the hand not holding Yuuji and ruffling her fringe. "You are a child, Miwa. But there's no harm in that, nor is there any question of your capability in spite of it."

Miwa's cheeks flush pink and she looks away shyly, though undeniably pleased.

"In any case," you note, "my older brothers are the same as your sisters, though I'm long grown. I suspect that treatment never changes."

Her eyes go wide. "You have older brothers too?"

"There are six of us in total," you tell her. "The two eldest sons above me, and then three more who are not yet taller than yourself. The youngest is around the Prince's age, in fact."

You stare down at the six year old in your arms. He looks so much like his father, a man you've come to so deeply resent, but you're helpless to the affection you feel for the little boy. You find yourself holding him a little tighter without thinking.

"Thank you for bringing me here," you say to Miwa quietly.

"You've taken excellent care of his majesty," the maid replies. "He looks much improved in such a short time."

You're grateful that you helped care for so many brothers that you have the kinds of skills needed to help in a time like this. Though the muscle memory seems to ache all the same.

"Come," you pick up Yuuji and move to return him to his bed. "The Prince's maids will return soon, shut the window and remove any trace of our having been here. We should depart."

Miwa hastens to erase any lingering evidence of your presence in the Prince's quarters, and you tuck Yuuji carefully back into bed. As you draw his blanket up to his chin, the little boy stirs for the first time. His eyes, bleary and unfocused, search unseeingly as they open. As though too heavy for his weary body to muster the strength to lift, his eyelids flutter closed again soon. His hand, clammy and small, finds yours.

"Mama?" his little voice croaks, though you know he's unaware of what he's said—too far from the periphery of proper consciousness to even remember this moment when he wakes, you're sure.

You place your hand gently on his forehead, over his eyes.

"Sleep, Yuuji," you whisper to him, and his body slackens as he obeys.

You and Miwa depart soundlessly, the beautiful silk tapestry over the servants passage slipping back into place behind you as you take your leave. The way it swings is the only evidence left behind in your wake.

On the other side of the room, cloaked in the shadows away from the soft light of the lamps, a ruby-eyed stare narrows.

The emperor laughs, but there's no mirth in the sound.

[nanamiluvs]

a gentleman by heart !

pairings : nanami x reader, gepard x reader, artem wing x reader

rating : mature to explicit

wc : 1.4k

tags : reader is afab but no pronouns used, lots of kissing, established relationship, creampie, kinda rough sex, desperation, size difference if you squint, just a quick drabble abt these men

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

sexually reserved men who become feral once they get your consent.

he's a gentleman in every sense of the word. he holds doors for you, buys you flowers, remembers trivial details about you- the perfect man one could ever dream of. it's not a surprise he doesn't touch you often, he would hate to make you uncomfortable. even his touch is gentle, his large hand lingering on the small of your back to guide you through the crowd. tall, handsome, kind and strong- what more could you want from a man?

sexually reserved men who, at first, would never suggest intimacy. it's a gentlemanly act, but a result of his shyness at the same time. it's almost like he's refraining himself.

he brings your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles as his eyes stare into yours, so soft. you feel how much he loves you by any and every action of his, how can a man be so perfect?

he excuses himself as he thinks you didn't notice the bulge in his pants nor the slight blush on his cheeks. it's frustrating at this point, why won't he just initiate something else instead of adjusting himself and pretending nothing is happening? you feel dared to make him come out of his shell, to finally do something out of his gentlemanly persona. well, it's not exactly a persona, he's really just that perfect. but you're almost sure there's also something else hiding beneath the waters.

his hand brushes against your knee as he drives, a fleeting touch, one hand firmly gripping the steering wheel when the other just shy of touching your leg. so you grab his hand and place it on top of your thigh, expecting him to blush and pull his hand back.

and he gulps and fucking squeezes the flesh. he runs his hand up and down on your thigh, like he was waiting for your sign to do so. no words are exchanged as his hands moves closer and closer to your core and returns to the base of your thigh once again. you clench your thighs together, not the type of touch you were expecting from your gentle boyfriend but one you were very welcoming of.

you should've guessed it was merely a starting point.

his touches only get more and more daring as time goes on. you give him an inch and he takes a mile. you two haven't discussed this subject openly at all, yet you both knew how his hands started reaching lower when they were on you, more free. you wwante even more.

so finally, when you told him that you wanted him to take you, he was not as surprised as you would expect him to be.

"i know," he says, his hands on each side of your hips as you were seated on his lap. his eyes stare into yours before giving in and hiding his face in the crook of your neck, "and i want you too. i need you so bad-" his sharp breath hits your skin and you almost feel the inner conflict he has going on.

that's why you cup his cheeks and look into his eyes. "then take me. make me yours."

he wets his lips. "i'm afraid i won't be able to let you go if i do so."

when you respond by simply pressing your lips against his, it's like a switch has flipped. his hand comes up to grab the back of your head as he flips you over on the couch, your body trapped underneath his. his eyes are filed with passion and desperation as his lips claim yours with fervor, taking your breath away and making your hands cling onto the collar of his dress shirt, pulling him closer.

he parts away, breathless as he kisses you once again. you don't know when he takes you into his arms and when he drops you on his bed, too focused on his lips and touch to notice. "you're beautiful," he whispers as he unbuttons his shirt, eyes reveling in the sight of your disheveled hair and flushed state.

you truly were the prettiest thing he had ever seen.

he's on top of you and his lips reunite with yours, shirt discarded on the floor before his hands tug onto your top, silently begging to get it out of the way. you let him do so, and his kisses trail down to your neck when he gets rid of the fabric. your hands grab his soft hair as he sucks on the sensitive skin, low moans escaping his lips from how much he wants to do this with you. the sounds you make goes straight down to his member.

soon, both of your clothes are discarded and his hand continues to fondle your breast, pinching and pulling the hardened bud between his digits while his mouth laches onto the other. he's gentle yet so rough at the same time, not giving you the time of the day to breathe. his mouth so wet and hot against your skin, he pulls away with a pop, panting as he, not even once, breaks eye contact with you.

his dick aches at the sight of your bare pussy, glistening with slick and looking just so pretty in his ehes. he leans in, to your surprise, his tongue licking a wet stripe across your slit. he delves in, he may not be very experienced but he's quite the quick learner, memorizing every single sound you let out to his movements. he soon has you tugging on his hair, pulling his head impossibly closer to your drenched cunt, riding out your orgasm in waves as he licks you through it. he grind his own bulge against the bed, chasing some friction on his needy cock.

sexually reserved men who are just so big and thick that you gasp at the sheer size of him when he takes the final layer off. your hand is not enough to accommodate his girth, and he's so hard since the visions he played in his mind were nothing compared to seeing your naked body. "i love you," you say as your arms wrap around his neck. he smiles against your lips and repeats the phrase before gently kissing you.

but you're not even sure if that thing can fit inside you.

that's why you're panting and moaning against his shoulder, his length sliding inside of you inch by inch. it's too much, you whimper, i can't take it.

sexually reserved men who whisper in your ear after leaving another mark on your neck, "you can. do it for me."

you sigh when you get used to his size filling your walls, every prominent vein you feel grazing against you, and he starts moving. he's so gentle at first.

yet that turns into relentless pounding with you screaming his name and grab onto him for dear life as he fucks you, drunk on the way your walls wrap around his dick and the way you call out to him, all thoughts about manners thrown out the window. he swallows your moans with his mouth against yours, kissing you as rough as he's having you.

sexually reserved men who grunt as he thrusts inside, even deeper than before with his long fingers rubbing your clit, sending you over the edge as you start begging him. you don't even know what you're begging for, it just feels too good and you don't know what else to do besides to take whatever he's giving you.

he whispers in your ear, telling you how much he loves you, how beautiful you are, how well you take him and how good you are for him, his words filled with so much love, how he wanted to do this for so long. it doesn't take long for you to cum again, milking his cock as he speeds up, your added slick making it easier to slide in and out.

he was going to pull out before he hears your words telling him to fucking come inside, eyes snapping up in shock before shutting down as his cock completely disappears inside your cunt and he can't hold back anymore. you feel hot ropes of cum fill you up to the brim, so full and warm that you couldn't think of anything else for a moment.

sexually reserved men who immediately check up on you after the high wears off, asking if you're alright or if he had hurt you. you pant and tell him no, you're just too fucked out to talk.

only when he leans down to kiss you could you feel his still-hard dick press against your thigh.

"...already?!"

"...i-i apologize."

nanami, gepard, artem

inspired by that one nanami twt <3

[freyito]

"ꜱᴛᴀʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ" ⨟ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ ᴡ/ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋᴏᴍʙᴀᴛ ʙᴏʏꜱ

i know i was like just hornyposting and all buuuut i've had such a rough couple of days and everythings really building up. figure i'd sit down and write out my favorite "prompt". hurt/comfort... without the hurt, i guess. too hurt to write the hurt :P. essentially what the boys would do when your feeling down and ask to stay with em, of course. is this what im calling the boys now? yes. its MY fic and MY comfort, i get to choose the silly little name for my boyfriends.

cw: gn reader, angsty undertone, comfort, just fluff, bonus characters!, not proofread

⎯ Liu Kang

You do not even need to speak. Liu Kang can see it. You are hurt, near breaking. You trail behind him all day, head down. You actively seek his touch, small things, reaching for his hand, brushing your fingers against his bicep. You are afraid to say it, and yet, he knows.

That night, before he leaves your room to attend to his duties as Earthrealm's protector, you finally speak up. Those three simple words, so quiet, so soft. He does not hesitate to turn around. He is logical, he likes to think, but you pull him in. Within moments, he is in bed with you, his arms wrapped around you firmly. He presses his forehead against your cheek, and whispers,

"I will not leave you, my dear, I am here. Forevermore."

⎯ Bi-Han

Bi-Han knows you almost better than the back of his hand. However, he prefers to let you wallow in peace. He is afraid of pushing past your boundaries, and as such, he is far more distant. Yet, he worries. He worries with his whole heart. However, he cannot let it show. So he is as cold as ever, in front of the Lin Kuei. Strong, vigilant, unyielding.

Tonight, he does not let you go. He misses you so, and you have no need to tell him what you need. It is tender. He pulls you on top of him, holding you close by the waist. And yet, you still speak. And he listens. His gaze softens, tremendously. He looks as if he may be on the verge of tears. His voice steady, as he speaks, yet his face betrays his tone,

"There is no possibility of leaving you, no, not even in death."

⎯ Kuai Liang

Kuai does not know what ails you- but he must. He must know. You have done well to shy away from him, but he is hot on your trail. He knows that hollow look, devoid of emotion, too afraid to show any. Because if you show one, you show all. He does not smother you, no, but he does question you.

The questions stop at night. It is quiet. He is afraid of pushing you further. So Kuai Liang leaves you alone in the bed, with one last kiss on your forehead. Yet, he stands in the doorway. He waits. You speak. And he listens. All you say is one word. He retreats back in bed with you, pushing you closer to his neck. He runs his hands through your hair, calming you down. To still your beating heart. And he speaks with conviction,

"I am here, as long as you need, forever, if you so wish, my love."

⎯ Johnny Cage

Perhaps, Johnny is too much for you recently. And that's okay! He knows his limits. Yet, he finds himself seeking you out. He misses your warmth, your smile, you. He knows that he can be loud, that he can be a lot. And he's always given you space. Yet that look you hold, it is miserable. And he knows exactly what you feel. He follows you around, as if a lost dog, the entire day. He wants you to have space, but he wants you to say those words.

And you do, that night. Finally, those words escape your lips. Just what Johnny wanted to hear. He's got you wrapped up in the blankets, pulling you up into his chest. His hand rests on the back of your head, gently rubbing his thumb into your hair. He presses a kiss to your forehead, and whispers, gently, almost out of character,

"It's alright, sweetheart, I'm not leaving, not tonight, not tomorrow, not anytime."

⎯ Kenshi Takahashi

You cannot hide that sinking pain within your heart, Kenshi can hear the melancholy dripping within your words. He can hear it in your breath, your actions. How your footsteps drag, how slow you walk. He can see it, too, do not be fooled. You stay close, unnecessarily close, you look up at him with such heavy eyes, you stay quiet. He knows. He is waiting for you to act on it, to act on the voice he hears at the very edge of his mind. He is a telepath, you must remember.

And so, when you speak your mind finally, he is all too eager to make sure you know he won't leave. He pulls you up onto his chest, his heartbeat even, soft, and regular. The moment is tender, and he lets your words hang in the air. Silence covers you two like a blanket, comforting. And finally, as he runs his hand down your sides, squeezing your waist gently, he speaks,

"Do not be afraid to tell me what you want, my heart. I will stay close, I will stay."

⎯ Kung Lao

Kung Lao does not need words to stay by you. Night and day. He is glued to your side, trying to cheer you up with his charm. He does not give you enough room to sulk. He's dragging you along with him, even if it's something as simple as watching him train. To keep you at ease, to put a smile on your face. He is making sure everything he does has that effect.

Yet, you still ask him to stay when night comes. He does not deny it, and he pushes himself closer. As if you were not in his arms already. But he makes sure you know he heard you, he squeezes you, and lets out a soft sigh. There is nothing that will take him away from you, and you must know,

"I won't. Nope, not even tomorrow. I'm here as long as you want me here."

⎯ Raiden

You cannot keep Raiden away from you. The minute your expression is somber, he is following close behind you. He does not ask, or interrogate you. But he follows. He is on the lookout for any sort of thing that could have stolen his light from him. What has gotten to you, what dares rip the spark of his life from you? He does not know how to ask you, he is afraid that perhaps it is him.

But it is not. Your hand pulls him back to you by his wrist as you speak. And he obliges. He does not know what has made you feel this way, but he does know, that maybe even this one night will be enough to bring your smile back. He will stay here, as long as you need, as long as he needs. And he makes it known,

"Oh, my light, nothing can keep me away from you."

⎯ Zeffeero

Zeffeero is on you the minute your face so much as drops. Perhaps he is a stubborn lover, too prideful to admit that he cares deeply for you. But he cannot handle loosing your presence, his sunshine. He wants your attention, but does not say so outright. He will do that little thing with the water manipulation and the shapes to amuse you... without you asking. And when that does not bring the smile back to your face, he does not know what else to do.

His heart near stops when you tell him to stay that night. He feels so stupid to have skipped over that part. But he accepts. He tries to show restraint, however he is by you within a matter of seconds. He places a kiss on your jaw, before hiding his face in the crook of your neck. His arms wrap around you, keeping you close. Just as he wanted to the entire day, and he finally speaks,

"Do not scare me so, my dear. I want to keep you safe, and I'll stay until you no longer want me by your side."

⎯ Tomas Vrbada

Your distance is noticeable. However, Tomas does not act upon it. He believes that you need the space you have put between you and him and everyone else. So he does not question it. However, there is a void where you once were. His world fills with the same emptiness and sorrow you felt at your absence. He cannot help but seek you out in the final hours of the dawn. He is afraid, once more. He does not want to pressure you, so he turns his back to you.

You surprise him with your words, he near spins on his heels, a wide and beautiful grin gracing his face. He makes no effort to hide this. His happiness, his light has asked him to stay, and he would be a fool to deny them such a request. He practically throws himself back onto the bed, and wraps his big arms around you. He presses his forehead against yours, and holds your gaze. He speaks, quietly, softly, and you can even hear his smile in his voice,

"I am here for you, Drahoušek. I always will be. Do not be afraid to come to me."

⎯ Baraka

Oh, how Baraka feared this day would come. You have turned your back to him, the air around you rife with despair. He is not afraid that you suddenly dislike him. He is afraid of loosing your positivity. One of the very few things he has held onto because of his affliction. You make him forget all that is bad within this world, within him. And now, there is an absence. He does not know what to do.

But that night, you guide him. Through his own sulking, your words pull him away. Yes. He will gladly stay. If that is what you want. If that is what it takes. He keeps his distance, still. He will always be afraid of his infection spreading. But he sleeps in the same room. And just before you drift off into sleep, you hear him,

"I cannot lose you. Please, tell me when, and I will be there."

⎯ Geras

Geras has reason to believe the reason you have pulled away from him is because of his absence. Because of him. Human emotions are a strange thing, they are intricate, even more so than the dozens of timelines he has watched over. Oh so suddenly, you are turned away from him, too caught up within your own thoughts to voice what has been troubling you. Perhaps it is the fact that he does not have nearly enough time for you. That is the answer he settles on.

Before he can leave you that night, your pleas make him stop. They make him understand, even for a second. He was so sure you were asleep. And yet, you are awake, asking him to stay. He is unsure what to do. But, he must give his love what they want. What they deserve. So, he leans in, and places a gentle kiss on your cheek. His words follow soon after,

"I will always be here, my duty is important, but so are you. Know this, I am always watching over you."

⎯ Syzoth

You've ran off. And Syztoh does not know what to do with himself. He paces, he fidgets, he waits. He must see you again. But you were so hurt beforehand, and he does not know why. You have withdrawn into yourself, without a word. And Syzoth does not know how to comfort you. He knows you are feeling down, horrible even. Yet, he feels as if he has ran you off. His insecurities well up within his mind as he waits. And waits.

And the time comes where you ask him, you reach for him. Your voice quivers. Oh my, how could he have let this happen. He pulls you in, almost bringing you down to the ground. He wraps himself around you, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His nerves calm, in that moment. Muffled, he speaks, his words true and clear, if not a little shaky,

"I waited, my love, and I will stay. I will always be here. Every moment, every moment you need me."

⎯ Havik

Havik is apprehensive. He does not quite understand what to do in this situation. With you, his lover, in front of him, a mess, voice hoarse, your emotions addle your mind. He looks at you dumbfounded. He reaches for you, but his hand does not meet your shoulder. Now, you feel as if you are miles away from him. Space. That is what he understands, now.

But, the space he has given you is broken that night. You find him in bed, intertwining his fingers with yours. His scarred flesh does not scare you, as much would believe. His eyes are warm, peaceful for once. The words are on the tip of your tongue, yet you do not need to speak. Havik answers, regardless,

"Finally. Do not run from me like that again, I do not mean to leave you alone."

⎯ Shao Kahn

To return home, where you are not waiting for Shao in the kitchen, it is a nightmare. The worst is the first thing that runs through his mind. You are lost, perhaps. Taken. But he finds you, safe and well. Back to him, on the edge of the bed. He does not speak, but he lets his presence be known. He lays down on the bed, facing you, and simply watches.

Until it is time for you to speak, you look at him with such sad eyes. He is there. You do not have to ask, for you know the answer. But you ask, anyways. Shao simply reaches a hand out to you, and pulls you back in bed gently. Tonight, he can. Maybe not tomorrow morning, but tonight, he can. And he will,

"I will always stay by your side. I am here to keep you safe, do not forget it."

⎯ Shang Tsung

Shang Tsung pampers you, right out of the gate. He hates to see you like this, so sullen, so quiet. It is his goal to pull you out of this feeling. Even if it hurts his wallet. And yet, it seems his plan falls short. He is disheartened, to say the least. Perhaps he might sulk, as well. But he doesn't, or he tries not to, anyways. He simply follows you around, now. Trying to lift your spirits.

And that only comes when night falls, nestled underneath the covers. Shang Tsung is still close. Extremely close. Yet, you can't help but ask, regardless. And he listens. He chuckles softly, and pulls you in for a quick peck on the lips. For a moment, he stares into your eyes, rolling your words over in his mind. His tone is sly, but his words are, for once, kind,

"There you are, my darling. Of course I'll stay. Who would I be if I didn't? I'll stay forever, if I must."

⎯ Reiko

Reiko wants to be soft with you, and yet, he can't find a way through to you in this moment. He does not understand why you've withdrawn from him. Why you are so somber. He decides that it is space you need, not him. So, he gives you exactly what he believes. Yet, he still keeps an eye on you. He wants to make sure you are safe, regardless. Even as you sulk.

You find him once more at the end of the day, laying in bed. The idea of him, of Reiko, relaxing, seems so odd. Yet, he is lounging. He is waiting. So you speak, and all he can do is look at you. He gestures towards the bed, and you do so. Laying down, he holds you close. Properly. His arms wrapped around the small of your back, your forehead against his chin. And he speaks, finally,

"If I am to say no, then I would rather be decapitated by General Shao himself. Do not ever hesitate to ask, you know I will."

⎯ Erron Black

Outlawin' and Gunslingin' is a hard trade. What's even harder is making sure you are happy. And now, you are pulling yourself away from Erron. This mood you're in... he's going to get you to snap out of it, dammit. And he tries. He tries real damn hard. He flaunts off his skills, just how quick and precise he can fan the hammer, maybe take down some poor bird from the sky. Yet, you still look at him, devoid of emotion.

Erron has all but given up until you find him in the bed that night. Somehow, you look more of a mess then before. And he just can't forgive himself for it. Yet, you still ask. He's dumbfounded, really. He doesn't know what to say. But, his body knows what to do. Absentmindedly, he pulls you into the bed by your hand. He keeps you close, yet still leaves distance between your bodies. His hand finds your cheek and caresses it with his thumb. Finally, he's found his words, and so he speaks, for you,

"Ya ain't gotta worry about me leavin', pumpkin. I'll stay riiiiiiight here, long as ya need."

⎯ Takeda Takahashi

You're quiet. You're so damn quiet and it's almost irritating for Takeda. He can't get to you, he can't break through this heavy, melancholy air around you. He's following you around, regardless. He's going to find out why you're acting like this, and if it's because of someone, he won't mind sweating a little. But it isn't. It isn't cause of anyone, it isn't cause of him. It's cause of you. And now, he truly doesn't know what to do. So he backs off.

Until you find him once more, seeking his attention. His touch. His comfort. Takeda doesn't deny this, as you slink into bed, behind him. You tap him on the shoulder gently, and he turns his head back to you. Before he can speak, you ask. The lightbulb goes off in Takeda's head, and suddenly, he feels horrible. You didn't need him following you around like a bodyguard all day, nor did you need the bombardment of questions. You simply needed him. So, he responds,

"Don't scare me like that, dammit. Of course I'll stay, but just... yeah, yeah. I'll stay."

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