#let’s open those wounds and. poke around.

[emmaspolaroid]

(head in my hands) post canon noremma

[kentofic]

Eyes on me - Nanami Kento x f!reader

absolute pwp 18+ MDNI — cw: dry humping, oral, overstimulation, praise, throat fucking, a needy brat of a reader, and just all around self-indulgent filth

Fuck the euphemisms and the beating around the bush. You’re horny. You’ve been clenching your thighs all day at work. You’ve been indulging in dirty daydreams that always end in you bent over a desk. You’ve been doing kegels just to feel something.

But Kento is holed up in his office, ignoring you.

You pace back and forth in front of the door to his home office. You figure you should leave him be. He already hates overtime, and he’s probably in a rotten mood. But you’ve had such a long day, and you’re so wound up now, you won’t get through even the coldest shower without breaking and touching yourself. And to be fair, you’re usually fine with touching yourself. But right now, you need to be touched by him.

“I can hear you clomping around out there.”

You stop in your tracks, grimacing. You hear Kento sigh before he says, “You can come in.”

You open the door a sliver and peek in to see Kento with his head propped up in one hand, the other poised over a pile of documents. Still working, as you thought. And a full hour past quitting time, which explains why his brow is pinched with annoyance.

“What do you need, sweetheart?” he asks, eyes locked on yours.

“I was, uh…lonely. Just wanted to see you,” you grin sheepishly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind you. He says nothing for a moment, just looks you over with those sharp, observant eyes. Those eyes that burn through you, pooling molten warmth in your gut. You fidget under the weight of his gaze and squeeze your thighs together, trying not to look as desperate as you feel.

“Hmm,” Kento murmurs, sitting back in his chair with a wry smile. “Lonely isn’t the word I would use.”

You stiffen, crossing your arms over your chest. He’s right, but hey. “Well, what word would you use then?” you huff, bottom lip poked out in a pout. He smirks.

“Needy.”

You splutter for a moment, caught. You try to explain it away, tripping over your words, while Kento observes you with an amused smile.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he interrupts you once he’s had his fill of your stammering, eyes glittering with mirth. He pats his thighs, his slacks stretched deliciously taut over the thick muscle. “Come here.”

Your heart swells, embarrassment forgotten. You rush over with the intent of clambering into his lap. He stops you for a moment, holding you at arm’s length as he smooths your hair out of your face. You’re so pent up that even that innocent action makes you want to whimper. But his smile has tempered back to a serious expression, so you bite back your desperation and try to show him you’re listening.

“I need to get these papers sorted tonight,” he says. You frown, and he sighs. “I know, I don’t want to do them either, but they need to get done. It shouldn’t take long. If you can be good and occupy yourself until I’m finished, then…”

He trails off for a moment, grazing his thumb over your bottom lip. Your nerves buzz at the short, tender contact. “Then I’ll take care of you. Understood?”

Heat unfurls at the base of your stomach. “Understood,” you salute, overeager. He chuckles.

Kento leans back to make room for you. You settle yourself in his lap, facing him, hooking your legs over his hips and pressing yourself to his broad, warm chest. He’s so tall, it’s easy enough for him to hook his head over your shoulder and keep working. You press your face into his shoulder and breathe in the fresh, familiar scent of his aftershave. You should feel calm, content, like you often do when he holds you like this. Instead you just feel even more hot and bothered, and you can’t help but want to fidget and find some friction against him.

Kento said to be good. But he also said you could occupy yourself. And then he let you climb onto his lap. So, really, hasn’t he given you permission to occupy yourself… using his lap?

A little rub wouldn’t hurt, you reason. It might help ease the sharp burn of desire between your legs—reduce the tension that has you all strung out. He already knows that you’re all worked up. You’re just taking care of yourself until he can do it for you. Yeah, you think, a little rubbing would be fine.

You shuffle your hips against him experimentally, holding your breath for a reaction. Kento does shut down your bratty antics from time to time. But he doesn’t stir, doesn’t chide you, just keeps scratching away at whatever documents he’s tending to. You shift your hips down again, more deliberately—it can’t be mistaken for repositioning. Still, he says nothing. So you shift forward again, and this time you fully grind down with the pressure you need. The friction is delicious, and a little moan bubbles up from your throat.

You feel Kento’s hand come up to grasp the back of your neck, his thumb rubbing against the sensitive spot under your ear. You freeze, a pleasant shiver running through you. He hasn’t scolded you, but his gentle grip on your neck makes you feel like he wants you to ask.

“Kento,” you mumble into his shoulder, “…Is this okay?”

“Is what okay, my love?” he replies, seemingly indifferent—as if his warm hand isn’t smoothing down the length of your back before stopping to grasp at the soft flesh of your hip. You let out a shaky breath as you shudder.

“…R-Rubbing myself on you? While I wait,” you say in a soft rush of air. You press your face into his neck, cheeks prickling with warmth.

Kento lets out a slow, measured exhale and squeezes your hip. He chuckles, the sound low and rumbling and so obviously pleased.

“Do as you like, sweetheart.”

You hear him pick up his pen again, but his non dominant hand keeps a firm grip on your hip. You feel his promise to take care of you seared into you with each pad of his fingers.

You start grinding down on him again, building a rhythm. It feels so good— the pressure and friction and warmth of him against you, even through layers of fabric. You feel him start to harden beneath you, and you smile to yourself. Even if his mind is occupied with silly paperwork, Kento’s body belongs to you and only you.

A wicked little idea starts to take form in your mind.

You let soft, deliberate sounds of pleasure spill from your lips as you grind into Kento’s steadily growing erection. You pant as you rock against him, fanning warm breath across his neck with each exhale, your lips just barely brushing his skin. You relish in how your usually unflappable lover stiffens, your soft lips and sweet little sounds curling a shudder down his spine. You don’t push it too far—you agreed to be good after all. But you dance up to the line, feeling equal parts giddy and greedy.

Emboldened by Kento’s small reactions, you slowly swirl your hips the way you know he loves, and you let out a breathy sigh of his name. You feel the muscles of his neck tense, and he clears his throat. You think he might finally chide you, but he doesn’t. Wordlessly, he reaches between you to readjust his cock so it isn’t pinned to the side as it strains against his slacks. He aligns it vertically, his flushed tip peeking out from his waistband. You grin widely, having won your prize. You’re not the only one who’s needy now.

You press down against him, rutting your clothed cunt against the underside of his cock. His breath hitches as the soft material of your shorts catches against his sensitive tip, and you know soon it’ll be smeared with precum. You rock against him with a fervor now, trying to shift your hips at a better angle each time, pitching your pelvis forward to try and catch more of your clit on each down and upward motion. Trying to get more of that delicious friction that’s pooling wetness in your panties. But even as you pant softly into his shoulder and work yourself against him, you know it won’t be enough.

It’s all Kento’s fault. Before you met him, an orgasm was a simple delight that your own fingers could give you with ease. But now your body knows him. It knows how he feels pressed deep into you, snug against your cervix, filling you up completely. It knows the true depths of pleasure that you’re capable of feeling only when he’s inside you. Even if he hasn’t left any lasting marks, Kento has engraved himself into your body.

You need him to fill you. And right now, you’re warm and wet, but so empty.

You whimper, rocking yourself faster, more desperately. It feels good—really good—but the more you try to chase that goodness to an orgasm, the quicker it seems to slip away. You’re riding a wave that refuses to crest and crash down—it just undulates over and over. You screw your eyes shut, trying to focus on that small flame inside you, trying to get it to burn just a little bit brighter.

Then all of a sudden, Kento’s other hand is sinking into your hip and he’s griiinding up into you with so much pressure that you gasp.

“Not enough, is it?” Kento says, his voice husky and strained.

You let out a sound halfway between a whimper and a sigh of relief. “Not enough. I need you,” you pant, your hips still bucking against his—chasing the heat of his reciprocating friction.

Without warning, Kento stands up, and you squeal as you lose balance on his lap. You lock your legs around his waist and throw your arms around his shoulders to avoid falling. He uses one arm to hold you up, and with the other hand he neatly gathers and tucks his documents into a drawer. With a soft grunt, he sits you down on his cleared desk.

You start to release your koala-like hold on him, only for him to pull you into a searing kiss that has you scrabbling at the nape of his neck for purchase. His tongue licks into your mouth with a force and precision that makes you moan. You kiss him back in earnest, your legs still locked around his waist, drawing him in as close as you can.

You both part, panting. Kento caresses your cheek with his thumb as he looks at you with those dark, lust-glazed eyes that say without words that he intends to devour you. Then he places a hand in the center of your chest and gently pushes you down on your back. You stare up at the light fixture, dizzied, as he lifts your legs from around his waist and scoots you further back onto the desk.

You gasp when you feel him lift your hips and remove your shorts and panties in a single, sharp tug. You’re bare to him now—the cool air making your wet folds feel icy cold. But only for a moment. Because then he presses that searing hot tongue to your core and oh. You can’t help but arch up into the sensation as the flat of his tongue slides through your folds, lapping up the mess you’ve made while waiting for him.

“Sweetheart.” You feel the affectionate name rumble against your sensitive folds. “You’re dripping. All this for me?”

“Y-yes—fuck, Kento,” you whimper as he dives in again, working his tongue into your sopping entrance before slowly licking back up to your clit. “I couldn’t wait—I need you, Kento, please—“

You’re cut off by your own moan as he seals his lips around your clit and sucks. Your hips lift off the desk to meet the hot, wet suction as best you can. He lets you press yourself into his mouth, sucking hungrily at the sensitive nub until your thighs are trembling. Then he releases your clit with a wet sound, and he works back into your soaking folds to taste you again, groaning softly as he slurps and swallows down your arousal.

That small flame you were chasing while grinding against him is now building into an all-consuming fire. You can feel the pulse of it deep in you as the sensation mounts, stronger and hotter. The pleasure Kento gives you is so intense and sudden after hours of restraining yourself, you feel your body starting to run away with the feeling—a freight train gaining speed, out of your control. You’re going to come if he doesn’t stop, and this isn’t how you want it, even as good as it is.

“Kento, gonna come,” you gasp out, clawing at the smooth surface of his desk. “Don’ wanna come—stop, stop, I don’t want to come yet—“

Kento lifts his mouth from you the moment you say stop, but he doesnt remove his face from between your legs. He peers up at you from there with those sharp eyes, half-lidded and dark. The visual alone could send you over the edge if you weren’t desperately trying to stave off your own orgasm.

“And why don’t you want to come yet?” he asks with suspicion—seemingly resentful that you pulled him away from such a delicious meal.

You swallow, trying to catch your breath. You know what you want, and embarrassment aside, you’re determined to have it.

“Wanna come on your cock,” you say softly.

It’s not just dirty talk, or a move to play up his ego. You need it. You’ve needed it all day—to come undone with him splitting you open, filling every inch of you.

The moment you make your request, Kento’s expression shifts, and for a second, your desperate desire is mirrored on his face. Then in a quick succession of motions, he’s standing up, undoing his belt, pulling his cock out of his pants, and yanking your hips towards him with such sharpness that you yelp.

“You’re so good, you know that?” he murmurs as he leans over you, one hand aligning his cock with your entrance. He cups your face, tilting it so you look into his eyes as he presses the blunt head against your opening. You whimper at the beginning of the stretch.

“So fucking good for me. So perfect,” he rasps, his eyes burning. “Asking for what you want like a good girl. You want to come on my cock? Then go ahead and come, sweetheart.”

He slams into you in one precise thrust that has you squealing at the sudden, blinding-hot stretch of it—the press of it into the deepest parts of you all at once. Even if you’ve had it a thousand times before, the way he fills you still hits you like a boulder. He thrusts once, twice, three times, each devastatingly deep, and you’re gasping for air as if he’s fucked all the breath out of you.

This. This is exactly what you needed. To be taken apart by him in the way only he can. You can’t contain the blaze that’s been built by your dry humping, and the wet heat of his tongue, and him, just him—the man that drives you wild just by sitting there and doing paperwork. Kento holds your gaze as he fucks into you, looking at you like you’re a treasure, like he wants to eat you alive, so utterly devoted that it makes your heart swell, and it’s too much. It’s all too much, in the very best way.

Everything locks down and the heat explodes. You cry out his name when you come, your body shuddering and writhing with the force of it. Kento stills his hips and lets you pulse and clench around him as it works, and you swear you only ever want to come with him inside of you—the fullness radiating pleasure into the deepest parts of you.

When you finally come down from your high, you’re still trembling, and Kento is smoothing your hair out of your face as he studies you. His expression is soft but dark in an indecipherable way.

When your lucid eyes find his, he asks, “Did that feel good, sweetheart?”

You nod weakly, and you feel his cock jump a little inside you. He smiles softly, tracing his thumb over the apple of your cheek.

“Mm, that’s good, love. Now give me another.”

Before you can process it, before you can open your mouth to protest, he’s drawing out of you and plunging back in with full force, and you scream.

Your brain and body are already fried from your first orgasm, haven’t had time to recalibrate—and he wants another. And he seems determined to take it from you.

Kento sets an unforgiving rhythm, pounding into you with deep precision, bottoming out every time he rolls his hips into yours. Every drag of his girth against your walls feels like it sprays off sparks of electricity, and you can’t help but try to curl back from him, trying to escape the intensity of the feeling. Your recoiling is met with a firm grip on your neck—not enough to truly choke you, but enough to keep you from scrambling away.

“No running,” he says in a warning tone, snapping his hips forward with each deep thrust, never slowing his pace.

“‘s too much,” you slur out. You’re trying not to run, you’re trying your best to take it, but it’s so hard when every stroke feels so white hot.

“You can take it, sweetheart. Give me another, I know you can,” Kento coos—and you want to. There’s nothing you want more than to give Kento whatever he asks for, especially when he’s sweating and flushed and looking so in love as he thrusts into you.

“I’m trying, ‘m tryin’” you whine, hot tears starting to prickle in your eyes at the overstimulation.

“It’s okay, love, just let go. Let go and give me another,” Kento says, more softly now, moving his hand from your neck to cradle the side of your head. He presses a kiss to your forehead as he works deep in you. “You know what to say if you want me to stop.”

You shake your head, bottom lip trembling as the tears spill down your cheeks. “I wan’ to, I want to—but I can’t.”

“You can, and you will. You’re going to right now, love, I can feel it,” he says lowly, and oh. Oh. Oh fuck. He’s right.

Your body’s feedback to your brain must be delayed, because you don’t even feel your peak building until it’s suddenly there—looming over you, drawing your whole body up taut before crashing down like a tsunami. Your second orgasm blazes through you in an instant, and you let out a strangled cry as it takes you by surprise.

“Good girl, there it is,” Kento soothes as you writhe and sob through it. He finally slows his pace as you shudder and whimper and grab at his shirt to keep yourself grounded—trying to keep yourself from completely falling apart.

You lose focus of his face for a moment—your eyes must roll back, because you hear him say “Eyes on me, love” in that low, smooth voice of his. With some effort, Kento swims back into your vision—his expression a portrait of lust and reverence. If you weren’t in the throes of such miserable pleasure, you might notice how his hands are starting to shake, how his jaw is clenched, how his hips stutter as he slowly, slowly strokes in and out of you now—on the edge of losing control.

You gradually come down from your peak until you’re back on solid ground. You blink up at Kento, dazed, your head resting heavy against the hard wood of his desk. You devour the sight of him above you. He’s panting softly, a few strands loose from his usual slicked-back hair and now hanging into his eyes. His tie is loose and his dress shirt is rumpled from where you gripped it. An unkempt, sex-mussed Kento—the sight makes you throb, and you wonder how your body can still respond to him after coming twice.

At least his hips are still now, which is a small mercy for your blindingly sensitive cunt. You gaze up at him, eyes soft, as he wipes the tears from your cheeks with the pad of his thumb. You turn your head to catch his thumb in your mouth and suck it, and he lets out a low groan.

“Don’t do that unless you’re ready to give me one more, sweet girl,” he warns.

You promptly release the digit, which makes him laugh. He presses his thumb back between your lips and watches lovingly as you lave over it with your tongue then release it with a final, wet kiss. He can’t help but shudder a little, and you notice.

“Are you close?” you ask softly, and he nods.

“Don’t know if I can hold back. I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs, looking a little pained. You can see now the visible signs of his restraint, and it warms your heart that he’s worried about you. Even when he takes you beyond your limits, he’d never push you to the point of breaking.

“I don’t know if my pussy can take any more right now,” you admit, your thighs still trembling. “…But if you want, you can fuck my mouth,” you grin, your mouth watering at the thought.

Kento’s eyes widen, then darken, and a soft groan slips from his lips as he surges forward to kiss you.

“You dirty little thing,” he murmurs, nipping at your bottom lip before soothing over it with his tongue. “So good for me. Get on your knees.”

You scramble to comply, and Kento helps lever you up and off the desk so you can kneel at his feet. He grabs a cushion from his chair and leans down to slip it under your knees, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as he draws back to his full height. Your heart brims with affection at the simple sweetness of the action.

You look up at him with wide, adoring eyes, and press soft kisses to his thigh that make him shudder. His cock is hard and heavy between his legs, flushed and shining with your own wetness. You grab the base, testing the girth in your hands, and Kento lets out a soft, strangled sound.

“You really are close, huh?” you giggle, licking a stripe from base to tip, tasting yourself on his hot flesh.

He grits out a moan, squeezing his eyes shut as you take his swollen tip between your lips. You suck on him gently, circling your tongue around the head, and you feel him throb on your tongue in response. Kento’s hand finds its place in your hair, gripping firmly as he slowly rocks into your mouth. You open your jaw further and meet his shallow thrusts with eager bobs of your head, sucking greedily around him.

You love taking Kento in your mouth, if for no other reason than to drink in his reactions. The soft grunts and pants and groans you pull from him make you preen. You watch him through your eyelashes—the way his brow is knitted, his jaw slack and bottom lip trembling with restrained pleasure. You do your best to burn the image into your mind. Though there is one part of this gorgeous vision that could be improved. You pull off his cock with a wet sound and rest his throbbing shaft on your cheek as you squeeze the base with one hand.

“Eyes on me, Ken,” you grin, parroting his earlier words. The irony isn’t lost on Kento, who lets out a sound between a scoff and a chuckle. He dutifully opens his eyes and peeks down at you, his pupils blown wide with lust. When his eyes meet yours, he groans and turns his head away, his cock twitching against your cheek.

“I really won’t last if I look at you, sweetheart,” he says, his voice breaking with the effort to restrain himself.

“I don’t care if you last. I want to taste you already,” you grin. He huffs out a shaky breath as you rub his tip against your slick, swollen lips. “Fuck my mouth, Kento. I want you to come down my throat,” you urge him, your eyes burning into his.

His breath hitches, and you feel his hand tighten its grip in your hair. “…I can’t be gentle,” he warns you, eyes flaring and voice tight.

“Then don’t be,” you hum, smiling before kissing the tip of his cock. Kento’s hips twitch, and he groans.

“Fuck. I am going to ruin you,” he murmurs, cupping your jaw and rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip. “If you can’t take it, slap my leg. If you don’t, I won’t stop.”

A thrill runs through you, and you feel your pulse throb through your cunt. You nod, dizzied and giddy with the promise of Kento using your throat.

You slacken your jaw and place his tip on your tongue, then look up at him with expectant eyes—waiting for him to set the pace. He hisses a breath out through his teeth as he readjusts his grip in your hair—then he plunges his cock into the waiting heat of your throat.

You gag at the intrusion, but you do your best to open your throat, even as your body jerks as you choke around him. He sets an unforgiving pace, stuffing his cock down your tight, wet throat as you try diligently to take him—fresh tears burning in your eyes from the effort.

He moans as you take everything he gives you, his gaze fixed on the way your lips stretch around him—a slick mess of spit and precum clinging to his shaft and dripping down your chin as he fucks into your mouth. Tears are streaming down your cheeks now, but you don’t tap out—you just dig your fingers into Kento’s thighs, deliriously happy to choke around him if it’s for his pleasure.

“Fuck—sweetheart, you’re so fucking perfect—taking me so well, choking on me—gonna make me f-fucking come—“

Mindless praise spills from Kento’s lips like a prayer as he rocks into the wet heat of your mouth, his pleasure threatening to surge up and over the edge. You can sense how close he is now, and the thrill of it has your aching cunt throbbing again. Kento watches in amazement as you slither your hand between your thighs, rubbing haphazard circles around your clit as you gag on his cock.

You force your eyes open, tears clinging to your lashes as you look up at Kento, desperately wanting to see how he looks right now, so close to coming. You expect him to have his eyes squeezed shut with impending bliss, but you find he’s staring at you, mouth agape, gaze reverent and drunk from pleasure. And the moment your glassy, tear-filled eyes lock with his, he’s gone.

Kento comes with a choked sound, snapping a final deep thrust into your throat before stilling as his hot cum spurts down your throat.

You do your best to swallow it, but you can’t take it all. You pull off with a wet gasp, coughing and spluttering as you try not to choke on the cum coating your mouth and throat. Kento shudders through the aftershocks of his orgasm, transfixed by the sight of you gasping for air, thick strings of saliva and cum running down your chin and connecting your mouth to his cock. That heady mixture of spit and cum drips and splatters on your shirt, your thighs, the floor, as you cough and catch your breath.

Mind still hazy with pleasure, Kento fumbles around to help you. He digs through his drawers and finds a handkerchief. He kneels down, cups your jaw, and begins to wipe your wet mouth and chin. He cleans your face gently, dazed and murmuring praises—before you cut him off with a whine.

“‘M sorry, Kento,” you whimper, looking genuinely disappointed.

“For what, love? You were perfect,” he soothes, confusion knitting his brow. You meet his gaze with a frown.

“I wasted your cum. I really wanted to drink it,” you say glumly, staring at the mess of cum staining your shirt and your thighs.

A beat passes as Kento stares at you with amazement, then he huffs out an incredulous laugh. He pulls you to his chest, shaking with mirth, as he smooths a hand down your back. You melt into him, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s alright. There’s more where that came from.”

You feel his wet, spent cock stir against your thigh.

———

a/n: the first time i had multiple orgasms i thought i was gonna die. idk how you guys are surviving 3+ back to back 😭 anyways I’ve looked at this way too long—please take it away from me 💀

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GOJO x FEM READER

Gojo Satoru likes his girls clingy. 

wc — 1k

tags — confident reader 

He lets you loop your arms around his neck and whine for kisses, gifts, everything he has. With an unlimited budget and the deep pockets of a man in love, he spoils you rotten. 

Here’s the problem with being the strongest: you will always be the strongest. From the day he was born, there was no competition. Gojo didn’t even have to begin to outstrip his peers. He was simply born better than them. 

But eventually, even that level of talent grew exponentially until he went from being simply unbeatable to untouchable. His growth was incomparable, leaving him a lonely god on his own plane of existence. 

That’s why he needs you: sweet and soft and demanding. Everyone else had it all wrong. 

The Gojo clan spoiled their young head rotten. Knowing that he would bear the burden of the world from the moment he was born and those blue eyes opened, his mother demanded her child grow up in peace. Nothing was asked of him, no demands, no pleas for help. 

The outside world relied on Gojo as their saviour, but within the Gojo compound, he was just a spoiled little boy whose mother adored him. 

The way he acts within the walls of the Gojo stronghold is a carefully kept secret. He’s as soft as a newborn kitten, hair carefully washed by his childhood nurses and left out to sun in a patch of light. He’s sleepy and warm and mellow, hardly the strongest anymore. Without knowing any of this, you somehow bring that back out in him years later. 

An auxiliary manager in training, you first met him when you were tagging along with Ijichi on one of Gojo’s missions. Ijichi was flustered, even more so than usual, at the thought of having to care for a mentee when he could hardly take care of himself.

It only made matters worse that your first mission would be with Gojo. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach, despairing at how he would inevitably fail to shield you from his barbed comments and wicked teasing. 

In the end, he needn’t have worried. The two of you turn the tables on him. 

Poor Ijichi. 

It started off as a way to bully him more, because Gojo could be such a little tyrant. 

“Come on, Ijichi. Let her tag along, what’s the harm!” 

“You heard him,” you had announced self-importantly, and thrown yourself promptly into the passenger seat. 

That was usually Gojo’s seat, but he was willing to give it up for some amusement. 

You hadn’t been given permission to go on this mission, but you had insisted. First you wheedled, then you whined, finally you outright demanded. You wanted see the powerful Satoru Gojo in action. 

He leans forward, arms draped over the back of your seat. He pokes your cheek playfully as he says, “Oh, are you a fan?” 

“As if!” You scoff. “I don’t care about you, I care about your cursed technique.” 

Gojo takes your bluntness in stride. Maybe it’s the way your eyes sparkle when you talk about his technique (he caught you demanding details on Hollow Purple from Ijichi once) or maybe it’s the way your cheeks puff out when you pout. He knows you’re lying. Part of your assignment to Ijichi is because you begged Masamichi to be placed where you could watch Gojo work. 

It’s easy work for him. The curse is vaporized in seconds. He makes it look so weak you wonder why they even bothered with it at all until you remember that this curse had been failed to be exorcised by a first grade sorcerer who had come back licking his wounds. It’s not that it’s weak, it’s that he’s too strong. 

“Anyone up for lunch? My treat,” Gojo says, still immaculate as ever. 

Ijichi, who had been standing so close he got covered in some strange muck, not even from the curse but from Hollow Purple cutting through the mud, looks at him suspiciously. Gojo is never this nice. 

You have no such reservations. Ijichi yelps and protests when Gojo brings you to a luxurious restaurant in the heart of Tokyo without a reservation, relying on the strength of his name alone. He doesn’t even eat much, content to watch you order whatever you like on his dime. It amuses him, the way you’re so confident about it, as if you know he won’t refuse you. 

He won’t. 

By the time you order dessert - for you and Gojo, telling him he’ll like whatever you choose for him - he can’t bear the burning question that’s been lurking in the back of his mind anymore. 

“Smoke break!” He demands cheerfully. 

“You don’t even smoke!” Ijichi says, terrified, as if Gojo is some high school bully dragging him out under another pretense to shake him down for cash. He might, just for fun. 

You smile and wave them off. You wouldn’t let Gojo do that seriously, but Ijichi is just so fun to tease. You’ll come rescue him later if it looks like he’s really miserable. 

“Alright, spill the beans,” Gojo says, leaning against the doorframe and blockading Ijichi from going back inside. “What’s her deal?” 

Ijichi just stares at him slack jawed, open mouthed, terrified, clearly still waiting for some kind of attack. 

“Oh, come on! I’m not that mean to you, am I?” Even Gojo can’t resist a twitchy smile at what he’s saying. “Who is she? Where’s she from?” 

Ijichi blinks. “She’s just some girl. Masamichi hired her.” 

“She’s a right little princess,” Gojo murmured. “What, is she the daughter of a clan head or something? Maybe even the Three Clans?” 

Ijichi sighs. “You would think so with that attitude, but she just comes from a normal non-sorcerer family.” 

“Her?” Gojo asks disbelievingly. “A girl like that? Impossible.” 

“It’s true,” Ijichi says. “I don’t even know where Masamichi picked her up.” 

Gojo returns to his seat with a overly sweet parfait waiting for him. You’re right, he does like it. Or maybe he likes it because you’re finally giving him your full attention, waiting with rapt delight to see if he’ll give it full stars. 

He thinks he might take you out to dinner more, if it gets you to look at him like that. You might not be a clan princess yet, but he can’t wait to make you one.

[strang3lov3]

Pharmacy

Summary: (mall rats 6) Surrounded by medical supplies is a convenient time to slice your hand open. Joel wrestles your stubborn ass to treat your wound, then fucks you how you like.

Tags: Jar Jar Binks, Star Wars opinions, manhandling, descriptions of injuries (I tried to keep it as short and sweet as I could, bc I myself am a squeamish girl!! I was squirming the whole time writing this!!!) blowjobs, f masturbation, kinda rough unprotected PIV, creampie, dirty talk, reader and Joel have googly eyes for each other

A/N: as always thank you so much @papipascalispunk for editing. Thank you all for your continued patience with my writing, I am a busy busy lady and you may not get another fic from me for two weeks or more with the whole finals thing, but I do have lots of shit planned! One thing at a time bug one thing at a time. I wish I could write smut for my history of Indiana final essay but I don’t think that would fly with my nun-obsessed professor. Also, thank you @noxturnalpascal and @speckledemerald for hyping me up ❤️❤️

Joel is standing in front of a map of the mall, studying it intently. It’s been a while since you’ve been at the mall with Joel, actually. With the weather getting worse with more and more snow, Tommy is trying to keep travel limited to patrol. Supply runs for necessities only, and Jackson is in need of medical supplies. Rubbing alcohol, gauze, bandages, first aid supplies. There’s actually a medical building not far from Jackson, but it’s pretty well picked over at this point. 

“Mall has a pharmacy. A CVS or Walgreens, somethin’ like that. I’ll go,” Joel had volunteered in Tommy’s office. 

“I’ll come too,” you added as you were helping Tommy fill out patrol logs.

Joel sighed, “No.” 

“Why not?”

“Supposed to be a quick trip. In and out. Don’t need you gettin’ distracted by lotions and perfumes again.”

“Those are necessities,” you argue, “Besides, buddy system. It’s important for us to stick together.” 

“We are not buddies,” Joel scoffed. Tommy raised his eyebrows in amusement.

“No? What are we, then?” 

Joel opened his mouth as if to answer with something sharp and argumentative, but no words came out. His cheeks turned rosy as you both shared an odd look, with Joel’s hands frozen on the buttons of his coat. The pencil you wrote with felt heavy in your hand, held awkwardly on the paper as you stared at Joel. You didn’t mean for that question to come out the way it did. What was the answer to the question, anyway? 

Tommy filled the silence with his own answer. “I know what y’all are,” he smirked. 

Joel shot Tommy a warning look, then took your jacket from behind your chair and held it open for you. “Let’s go, then,” he said. You put your arms through the sleeves, zipped yourself up and left. You could hear Tommy chuckling to himself as you walked out with Joel.

You rode horseback to the mall. Still feeling awkward from the interaction at Tommy’s, you both stayed silent, but the ride wasn’t uncomfortable. You hugged Joel tightly, and Joel savored the warmth of your cheek on his back. 

“Found it,” Joel taps the map, “I remember now. It’s downstairs.”

“Ha!” you brag, “I told you. I knew it was downstairs. I was right.” 

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll throw a party when we get home,” Joel replied, taking off towards the dilapidated staircase. You follow close behind, dragging your fingers against the railing, letting your hand tap each of the thin rods that support it. One breaks off and falls with a clatter. Joel doesn’t bother turning around to see what it was. “You break these stairs, you find us a new way out of here,” he warns. Dramatic. You pick up the thin rail and twirl it as you walk behind Joel, then poke his ass with the piece of metal. Already exhausted by you, he sighs, “What’d you find now, trouble?”

“Lightsaber,” you answer. 

“What?” Joel tilts his head and turns around to finally see what all the noise and clattering was. You’re holding one of the thin rods from the railing, still twirling it. “No, put that down,” he tells you, “You’re gonna give yourself tetanus. Put it down, sweetheart.”

“Ellie lent me this DVD. Did you ever see this old movie, Star Wars?”

“Quit while you’re ahead,” Joel grumbles, rolling his eyes and shaking his head, “Ain’t that old, smartass. And of course I’ve watched Star Wars, who do you think introduced it to her?”

“Oh,” you reply, “Well, there was this character, Jar Jar–”

“Nope,” Joel cuts you off, “You’re done. Lost your talkin’ privileges. Drop your lightsaber and zip it.”

Still twirling the rod you ask, “You don’t like Star Wars?”

“I like Star Wars. What you watched is not Star Wars.”

“Yes it is, Joel. It was on the DVD.” 

Joel turns back around and keeps walking, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Yeah I do. Mesa–”

Joel interrupts, “Do not finish that sentence,” he warns, “God, that movie was so stupid. Took Sarah to see it when it came out, we ended up leavin’ halfway through and gettin’ ice cream instead.” You watch Joel smile at the memory as you approach the pharmacy and he holds the door open for you. You smile with him. Joel doesn’t talk about Sarah much with you, but he mentions her now and then, at least more than he used to.

You and Joel find the first aid aisle of the pharmacy. He knows what to look for, so he peruses the aisles and stuffs his bag full of supplies. Watching him bend over, you can’t help but poke his ass again. “Knock it off, space cadet,” he says, annoyed.

You giggle to yourself and toss the rod aside. You hadn’t realized the end that you were holding was damaged when you broke it off the railing. Fuck. It’s sharp, jagged, and slices your palm all the way across. The rod clangs on the ground and startles Joel. 

Joel turns around to see the rod on the ground, and you clutching your fist tightly. “What’s in your hand?”

“Nothing,” you answer, feeling your hand become warm and wet. 

Joel connects the dots. He bends over and checks the rod for rust and there’s none, thank god. But the end is very jagged, almost serrated like a knife. “Open your hand.”

“No,” pressing your lips together, you lower your gaze and open your fist slightly to check your hand, then quickly shut it. Joel watches your eyes go wide and the color draining from your face. “It’s n–mmm,” you hum, your voice shaky, “I’m fine.” 

“You’re not fine,” Joel reaches for your hand, “You’re hurt. Need to see how deep that cut is, clean it and–”

You shove Joel backward with your free hand, and he looks momentarily taken aback. There was a lot more strength behind that shove than he would have anticipated. You’re not playing, not teasing like usual. “Do you wanna try that again?” he asks, his voice firm.

“Don’t touch me.” 

Joel takes in your expression. You’re not trying to start a fight with him, you look worried, anxious, and defensive with pale lips and trembling hands. You had mentioned not handling blood or pain well before, but he didn’t know you were this squeamish, you poor thing. “I have to, hon.”

“Joel…”

Joel raises a hand in your direction, “Don’t argue with me on this. You need to sit down, I can tell you’re gettin’ freaked.”

“Joel,” you say his name again in a warning tone, much sharper than before. 

“I know,” he says softly, as he steps closer to you, and you step back, your feet hitting the wall behind you. You’re feeling more amped up now. “Just let me look,” as he reaches for your wrist and pulls you closer, his grip tightening when you struggle against him and try to pull your arm away. “Quit squrimin’,” he grits his teeth as he fights against your strength. Minding his own strength, and with one hand gripping your wrist, he moves the other to your shoulder and forces you to the ground as gently as he can. A sliced hand is bad enough, he doesn’t need you fainting and cracking your skull open. You kick your legs and punch against him, but he pins his body on top of yours, your free hand between your body and his leg.

“Get the fuck off me, Joel,” you spit, “Get off, get off, get–”

“Hey. Hey,” he says, his voice firm yet gentle, “Breathe, sweetheart. I know you’re nervous.”

You stare at Joel with fiery eyes, breathing heavily through your nose. Shallow breaths, probably not getting enough oxygen to your brain, but at least you’re breathing. Joel gives you a moment to settle down.

“I need you to listen to me,” he tells you, “I don’t know how deep your cut is. I need you to let me look.”

“Please,” you beg, “Please don’t.”

“I’m gonna be gentle,” Joel promises as he flips your wrist up, gently beginning to pry your fingers open, “You look at me. Don’t look at your hand. Just look at me. Will you trust me?” 

Nodding apprehensively, you keep your focus on Joel. He nods in response, then examines your palm. He bites his cheek and frowns. 

“Is it bad?” you ask shakily.

“Uhh,” he hums, “It’s not good,” he answers you honestly. You’re cut in multiple areas and by the looks of it, the gashes go pretty deep. “You might need stitches.”

Fuck that. You squirm under Joel with all of your might to force him off of you. 

“Stop thrashin’. Stop it,” he says, holding your jaw firmly and looking into your eyes, “I’m not gonna stitch ya. We can cross that bridge when we get to Jackson. But you are risking infection. So I’m going to stop the bleeding, wash it, disinfect, then wrap your hand. That’s all.”

He has a tendency to get frustrated with you, and you’re sure he’s beyond frustrated with you right now, but he’s not showing it. He looks sincere, but you’re still on edge and lacking assurance. “Promise?” you whisper.

“I swear,” he assures softly, rubbing your jaw gently with his thumb. When you nod in response, Joel takes his coat off and folds it, then slides it under your head. He needs you as comfortable as you can be. 

“We are gonna have to amputate, though,” he jokes as he pulls out a rag from his bag and presses it into your hand. You give him a dirty look. “Kidding,” he says. 

Joel removes the rag to see if your hand is still bleeding. You catch a glimpse of the cut and the blood in your palm, running down your wrist, “Oh god, my hand, Joel–”

“Don’t look,” he repeats, “Just keep lookin’ at me, sweetheart.”

But you don’t. You can’t seem to peel your eyes away, and you feel lightheaded. Joel notices.

“Tell me somethin’ new,” he says, distracting you from the pain.

“Joel, please,” you whine.

“Somethin’ new,” he reminds you.

“I saw a cat yesterday.”

Joel nods in response. “What color?” he asks.

“Uh, calico,” you reply. He’s reaching into his bag, pulling out his canteen and rinsing your hand out with his water. The cool water feels soothing on your palm. 

“What’s calico?”

“It’s when a cat has three colors, Joel,” you answer impatiently, as if the answer should be glaringly obvious to him. “Fuck,”  you hiss, as he pats the wound dry. The fabric feels irritating and painful against you. 

“Tell me more. Tell me good things.”

Following his instructions, you begin rambling. It’s not hard once you start. “I saw a cat and I kicked Tommy’s ass in a board game and his baby is so cute, by the way. Almost as cute as the cat.”

“You think cats are cuter than babies?”

“Obviously. Babies are gross and they’re noisy and I finished the sweater I was crocheting for Maria and the snow looks pretty and I love you and I…” 

Joel pauses his work on your hand momentarily. He doesn't hear anything else you say after those three words. I love you. It’s a fuzzy sort of quiet, he’s in disbelief. I love you. When your hand twitches, he pulls his focus back to you.

“...And I watched Star Wars.”

“Yeah,” he replies quietly, “You said that already, you said–”

“I did? Oh yeah. I guess I did.”

You’re clearly delirious, in panic mode, and not thinking straight. You don’t remember talking about Star Wars an hour ago, you don’t even realize what just slipped your lips a second ago. Joel smiles to himself. He’s suspected it for a while. He loves you too. But that’s a conversation for later. There’s a more pressing issue at hand, quite literally.

Joel clears his throat and blinks a couple of times. “Uhm,” he hums, thinking of something to say, “And you said you got that movie from Ellie? The Phantom Menace?” 

“Star Wars.”

“Yeah, Star Wars Episode I, The Phantom Menace,” he corrects you. You shrug. “Unbelievable,” Joel says, “Thought I taught that girl better.” He reaches for a bottle of rubbing alcohol and keeps your hand open in his. “Alright, deep breath in and out. This is the worst part, then we’re done.” 

Before you have time to breathe in and out as instructed, before you have time to argue, Joel dumps the alcohol in your palm. You yelp and tug your hand away, but he holds it still.

“I know, I know, I know, baby,” he coos, “Almost done.”

“Joel,” you cry.

“Look, all done,” he whispers as tears off a piece of gauze and lays it over your gash. “See? All done. Just need to wrap it,” Joel prepares more gauze, “Makes sense you’ve identified with Jar Jar, of all characters.” 

“What do you mean?”

Joel begins to wrap the bandage tightly around your hand. “Clumsy,” he murmurs, “Troublemakin’... accident prone.” 

“I don’t think you like Star Wars,” you tell him.

“Not the prequels,” Joel replies, “Only good thing about the outbreak is that they couldn’t finish that godforsaken mess of a trilogy.”

“What do you mean, ‘prequels’?”

“There was an original trilogy that came out before that movie you watched. Ellie didn’t show you them?”, and you shake your head no, “So you don’t know Han Solo or Princess Leia. That means nothin’ to ya?”

“Nope.”

“Jesus Christ. What about C-3PO? R2-D2?”

“Oh, yeah. I know them. They were in that movie.”

“No,” Joel disagrees, then looking baffled for a second before nodding his head as he remembers the hour he spent watching that movie with Sarah years and years ago. “Mm, yeah, you’re right. Guess they were,” Joel concedes, “We’ll have to rectify this, you know. Have a movie night sometime.” 

“Yeah,” you agree, “You can make me popcorn.” 

“I’ll make you popcorn,” Joel says, watching a smile form on your lips. “There it is,” he praises, “Missed that smile. Don’t like seein’ you upset like that,” he murmurs, finishing your bandage wrap and securing it in place. “What am I gonna do with you?” he asks as he presses a kiss to your palm before he lets your hand go. You can still feel the warmth of his touch on your skin as he watches you and your cheeks begin to warm.

“I know what you’re gonna do with me,” you whisper. 

I’m gonna kiss you, and I’ll tell you that I love you too. That’s what I’m gonna do with you, Joel thinks, his heart beginning to race.

“Tell me, sweetheart.” 

“You’re gonna listen to my Jar Jar impression.”

Joel sighs. He watches you with adoration, and he wants nothing more than to express that adoration for you. It’ll happen when it happens. He decides to let it go for now and play along with you instead, however you want to. You deserve it, after all. He’ll put up a facade like you drive him crazy and he’ll let you believe you’re really getting under his skin, just to watch you smile and hear you laugh like you really got him this time. And he’ll tease you back, at least once more. 

“Please spare me until I lose my hearing in my other ear.” 

You oblige, smiling and rolling your eyes. Still holding eye contact with Joel, you become acutely aware of the position you’re in, that all too familiar position. Faces close, bodies closer and staring into his sparkly, warm brown eyes with his weight pressing into you. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, the way he took care of you, who knows. Out of the blue, you’re turned on and Joel knows. Joel cocks an eyebrow when your breath hitches, when you bite your lip and begin to squirm underneath him, seemingly now uncomfortable, aroused no doubt. “Time and place, hon,” he smirks smugly.

Heat rises up your neck and your cheeks at his accusation, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Yeah, you do. I know how you operate,” he asserts. “What’s got ya all worked up all of a sudden?” Joel asks, his hand caressing your cheek, your jaw.

“Nothing,” you lie. Your skin burns where his fingers trace.

“I think you’re lyin’. I know you like when I get rough with ya, just wasn’t expectin’ ya to like it now of all times, when I had to wrestle you down to fix that gash in your hand,” Joel taunts, “You’re very stubborn sometimes, you know that?” 

“Challenging,” you counter his claim, “And I wasn’t being stubborn. I could have taken care of my hand myself. I didn’t really need your help.”

Joel knows that’s a lie. You did, in fact, need his help. Badly. 

“That right there is stubborn.”

“No,” you argue, “And I’m not worked up right now, either.” Joel makes an amused face at you, and you wince internally. 

Shit. You fucked that up. Overcompensated.

“Right. Course not.” 

Against your better judgment, you open your mouth to argue further but Joel hushes you. “What do I get if you’re wet right now, sweetheart?” he whispers, unbuttoning your jeans. Your tummy flutters with desire as his fingertips skate across your skin. “You’re more than welcome to stop me right now,” he purrs. He’s giving you an out, a moment to make a choice, but you don’t dare stop him. And Joel grins. He snakes his hand down your pants, underneath your thin cotton panties. The anticipation builds with the tickle of his fingers lightly dragging over your mound, his middle and ring fingers tracing over your lips. You gasp quietly when he dips his fingers at your core, his fingertips collecting your arousal. You stifle a whine as he pulls his hand away from your body, showing you his two fingers glistening with your slick. Joel clicks his tongue, “Can’t be comfortable,” he murmurs, his tone sarcastic and sympathetic all at the same time. “This all for me?”

“No,” you breathe shakily. Yes. 

“You’re lyin’ to me,” he mumbles, bringing his two fingers to his lips. His mouth makes obscene noises as he sucks them clean of your arousal, humming at the sweet taste. Before you can think, he’s pulling your pants and underwear down in one fell swoop, his fingers finding their place back at your pussy. “You could tell me the truth and I’d go easy on ya,” he offers, his thumb pressing against your clit.

You love the thrill, that feeling in your stomach. Joel gives you a moment to answer, but you don’t. “No?”  he asks before situating himself on the ground with you, backing himself against a wall and pulling you into his lap. “Gonna make it worse for yourself,” he says, spreading your legs apart and hiking up your shirt, one hand playing with your pussy and the other kneading your breasts, teasing your nipples, “Why don’t you tell me how much ya needed this, hm? How you want me to make it all better.”

You sigh, a soft Joel falling from your lips as you become wetter, more sensitive as Joel’s fingers dance through your slick folds. He pushes two fingers inside you, fingers curling into that spot that he so loves. His thumb rubs tight, steady circles around your clit and he flicks the thumb of his other hand across your sensitive nipples, the combination of actions filling you with a deep, hot pleasure. You rest your head on his shoulder, the scratchy hairs on his cheek pressing against your forehead. You reach behind yourself to touch him, tangling your fingers in his curls.

“We’ll do this the hard way, then,” Joel shoves you forward, careful not to use too much of his strength but enough to let you know that he’s in charge. He’s always in charge. He takes his folded coat from the ground and positions it in front of himself. He stands up tall, knees popping as he rises. “Since you have nothin’ better to do with your mouth than tellin’ lies…”  Joel snaps and points to his coat, “Might as well keep you quiet instead. Down,” he instructs, “On your knees. Do it now.”

“Yes, Joel,” as you assume the position.

“Ah, now she speaks,” he taunts, the quiet metallic clang of him undoing his belt buckle sending excitement shooting through you. “Open,” is his next command, “Nice n’ wide, hon, you know how,” he instructs as he pulls out his cock, hard and with a pearly bead of precum glistening on his head. You open your mouth for Joel, eyes wide and Joel taps his member on your tongue. “Keep ya from doin’ that stupid fuckin’ impression, too.”

Your eyes light up as you think of something quippy to say, but Joel slides his cock into your mouth to keep you from doing so. “Ah-ah,” he tuts, “Quiet.” He’s delicious, masculine, heady, and intense. He fills your mouth entirely and you swirl your tongue around him, tracing thick veins and salty skin. “Attagirl,” Joel praises you, gripping the back of your head and pushing himself further into your mouth. You nearly gag, pulling back slightly but he holds you right where he wants you, “Right there.”

He pushes you further than you’re used to, but not to the point of discomfort. His tummy nudges your forehead as your nose presses against dark curls at the base of his dick and you use your hand to cup his balls. As you hum against him, you wonder if Joel intends for this to be a punishment. His tone and the way he conducts himself is commanding, but the way he fucks your mouth is gentle. 

“Still not worked up, right? Don’t need me?”, he asks, staring down at you with raised eyebrows. You shake your head no, lying again. “Okay,” he says, “I wanna watch you fuck yourself on your fingers. But don’t come. Not until you tell me what I wanna hear.” 

Your eyes flutter shut as you bring your fingers to your core, feeling your arousal. You push two fingers into your dripping pussy, pumping them in and out and trying to mimic the way it feels when Joel does it.

As you fuck yourself, you hollow your cheeks around his thick cock, letting him feel every inch of your soft and wet mouth. He’s domineering above you, but his hand on your cheek is gentle, caressing your skin softly. He looks down at you through hooded lids and as your eyes flutter shut, you wonder what he’s thinking. 

The way you’re touching your pussy hardly counts as fucking yourself, it’s teasing at best, and excruciating at that. You rub circles around your clit steadily, subtly, needing more than what he’s told you to give yourself. With your fingers working your clit and your mouth working Joel, the familiar pleasure of your climax is just within reach. Feeling yourself reaching your peak, you look up at Joel, “What are you doin’?”, he asks, like he’s caught you doing something you shouldn’t be.

You pull your mouth off of his cock to whisper, “Please, Joel,” which garners an irritated look from him. Joel bends lower to grab you by your bicep and force you to your feet, spinning you around and bending you over an empty shelf of an end cap. He parts your legs and drags his cock through your folds with one hand, the other gripping your hip. 

“Need those magic words, sweetheart. Say it, ‘I need you, Joel’. Go on, now. You got it.”

With the leftover feeling of your ruined orgasm and Joel’s cock teasing your pussy, you fold immediately. “I need you, Joel,” you breathe, “I need you.” 

“Tell me more. How do you need me?” as he continues to tease. 

“Need you to fuck me,” you gasp, “Please.”

“Need me to fuck ya,” he repeats, amused. Joel notches the tip of his cock at your entrance, “How ‘bout that. Tell me somethin’ I didn’t know.” 

It’s a rhetorical question. He doesn’t give you time to answer before he buries himself inside of you. You groan at the sudden intrusion, how deeply he enters you and how full you feel. 

He doesn’t need to experiment with you, doesn’t need to vary how he fucks you. You grip the edge of the end cap with both hands as he finds his pace immediately. His cock hits you right where you need him. 

“Hey, hey,” he whispers, reaching for your bandaged hand, “Don’t hold that. S’gonna hurt your hand. Hold mine instead,” as he wraps his palm around yours. “Better?”

“Better.”

You’re lost in it all, his hand holding yours tightly and his thighs hitting your ass, his balls slapping against your clit. His face is right next to yours, his nose buried in your hair as he nips at your ear. 

“Fuck,” he grunts as he fucks you. He moans softly, his breath feels warm. Each thrust feels deep and intentional. “Good girl. Takin’ my cock so good.”

“Yes, Joel,” you moan. 

He makes stuttering, strangled sort of noises. His breathing is sharp and unsteady through his gritted teeth, and you wish you could see him like this. You can just about picture him perfectly, his messy salt and pepper curls and that deep set line between his brows. 

He fucks you hard and rough, both of you panting and moaning. Soon enough, his rhythm becomes frenetic and stuttering. “Squ– fuck, squeezin’ me too good, I’m not gonna last, sweetheart.”

“Let me come, Joel,” you plead, “Please.”

“I know, I know. Don’t need to beg me, darlin’,” Joel coos. He snakes his hand between your thighs and quickly finds your clit, his thrusts still steady and deep. He expertly paints circles around your clit as he becomes sloppier and frenzied. 

“Oh god, oh fuck, Joel,” you’re gasping, feeling your walls begin to clench and squeeze him, “Right there, right there, fuck.”

“Yeah, s’it, let go for me,” he pants. 

With a few more circles tracing your clit, you fall apart on him. You come with a loud gasp, gripping his hand hard. Even after he helps you ride out your orgasm, he doesn’t yet stop fucking you, and the sensation is becoming all too much. You bite your lip to stifle yourself as he chases his own orgasm, and he spills into you with shuddering breaths and grunts, painting your insides with his seed.

You catch your breath with Joel as he begins to go soft inside you. You feel empty when he pulls out of you, craving the weight of his hand on yours after he lets go. As your breathing slows, turn around to face Joel. His dominant, taunting demeanor is gone and he helps you back into your clothes, then examines the bandage on your hand. He frowns when he sees he’s crumpled it and dampened it with his sweat. “Hang on,” he murmurs, quickly reaching for more gauze to rewrap it. 

You touch his shoulder, “Just– let’s wrap it again at home. It’s just gonna get ruined again.”

“No, I promise I’m not gonna clean it again, I just wanna–” Joel stops talking when you reach for his hand. He looks at where his hand connects with yours, then looks at you. “Okay,” he says. He stares at you intently, as if waiting for you to say more. You look like you want to.

Hand in Joel’s, you walk together out of the mall. The horseback ride home is quiet. You hug Joel tightly, and Joel savors the warmth of your cheek on his back again.

“Joel?” you ask. 

“Yeah, hon.”

“You’re sure you don’t wanna hear my impression?”

“I’m sure,” Joel says, but you can hear the smile in his voice. 

as always, i appreciate all of my readers. please please please leave a comment/reblog/send an ask if you enjoyed, your comments really do mean the world and keep me going <3

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[talesof-old]

james potter in grey sweatpants. would literally be on my knees for him i swear

- 🦌

bitchhhh i can’t do this right now 😭 i’m gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

sweatpants | j.p.

pairing(s): james potter x fem!reader

warning(s): 18+, smut but not, suggestive?, dry humping, making out, idk

word count: 520

masterlist

You turned the page of your book, patient as James finished showering. The past three weeks had been hard on your boyfriend, Quidditch practice after practice all day everyday. The team was being worked to the bone, but they’d taken it with far more grace than you would. In the brief glimpse you’d gotten, James’ body seemed wound with tension. Your eye twitched as you heard the shower shut off.

In record time, James was exiting the bathroom, tossing his towel into the hamper. You unabashedly stared. You weren’t blind—James was an exquisite man, toned and solid and strikingly beautiful. Grey sweatpants hung low on his hips and your mouth watered. At this point, you’d practically conditioned yourself to fuck him when wore those pants.

“What?”

Though his smirk was enough to tell you he knew exactly what you were thinking, you shrugged and made grabby hands at him. He all but strutted towards you. You smiled, fingers grazing damp skin as he stood in front of you. James placed his hands in his hips. He fought back a shiver as you traced over his v-line. Years ago, he’d gotten antlers tattooed on his abdomen and you were shameless as you pressed a kiss to the nearest one. James inhaled sharply.

You grinned. Tracing over his brown skin, you ran a finger over the hem of his sweatpants. His dick twitched, a sight that nearly had you moaning yourself. James stiffened, his larger hand coming to rest atop of yours.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You leaned forward, resting your chin on his hip and batting your eyelashes up at him. He groaned. “You’re a minx.” You giggled at the tortured undercurrent of his voice. James was always so confident and charming, it was a gift to see him flustered.

“I’m not sure what you mean, love.” He raised an eyebrow at you, carding through his black hair as if to give his hands something else to do other than grab at you.

“You can touch me, I promise I don’t mind.” He exhaled slowly. Something was warring within him, you could see it in his dark eyes. “And where is it you’d like me to touch you?”

You leaned back on the bed, settling on the pillows and opening your legs.

“Where ever you want.”

James was on you in a breath, crawling onto the bed and kissing you hard on the mouth. He slid a hand underneath your waist and pressed your body tight against his. “Merlin,” he breathed. “You’re,” he paused to kiss down your neck. “So,” he nipped at your collarbone, teeth sending tingles across your skin. “Devious.” He punctuated the sentence by returning his mouth to yours.

You snaked an arm around his shoulders and tangled your fingers in his wet, unruly curls. He whimpered as you tugged on the strands. You grinned, wrapping your legs around his lower body and rolling your hips to grind against his. His dick had gone hard, poking against your pelvic bone. You laughed when James let his head fall to your shoulder.

“You’re gonna kill me, honey.”

+++

[lale-txt]

what gets their heart pounding... ♡ [partly ns.fw] ↳ w/ Kakashi, Obito, Madara & Tobirama

a/n: reader is gn! Lale, you can't write those hcs for every series you enjoy—I CAN AND I WILL. i got positively possessed while writing these and now i'm thinking about turning each of them into a oneshot. picked my two favorite Uchihas and my two fav white haired men for this round, but i have other chars for this in the drafts already >:3c

❦ 𝐊𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈

the subtle touches when you’re together; hands brushing, pinkies almost interlocking, your fingers tapping his arm to get his attention, his hand on the small of your back for a brief second when you move through a crowd; as if your bodies are simply drawn to each other

the urge to adjust your headband or to brush a strand of hair behind your ear when you’re too lost in thought to notice, only to snap out of it and look at him with those curious doe eyes, so full of life

the way your tongue pokes out between your lips when you patch up his wounds after a mission together; you’re so focused on his well-being that it makes Kakashi’s heart melt

your mumbled “you’re too reckless, i worry about you” that reveals just how deep that love for him runs, making it impossible for him to shove his own feelings aside any longer

the small gasp you let out when he pulls down his mask to kiss you with hunger and an unknown softness, as if he was afraid of waking up from the sweetest dream

realizing he’s not dreaming at all when you’re lying tangled in the soaked sheets together and try to catch your breaths, skin on skin, sparking little fires everywhere

your hand on his chest, feeling his fluttering heartbeat, eyes glued on your fingers as they wander down lower his stomach, until his cock is twitching in your fist and shortly after inside of you again

❦ 𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐎

everything, anything you do. this man’s heart falters the moment he feels your presence nearby.

hearing his name roll off your pretty tongue, a sound like velvet, catching him off guard whenever you call out for him, your face lightening up when he turns towards you (not knowing you’re his whole sun)

your fingertips tracing the scars on his face; a thing he has never allowed anyone before to do so, but with you… it’s different. you’re being so gentle, it makes him want to place his bare heart into your open palms 

feeling your soft skin for the first time when his hands wander underneath your clothes, exploring every inch of you paired with the sweet sounds you make, his breath hitching in his throat

your pleading eyes when you tug on the hem of his shirt, silently asking for it to come off, as if he could ever resist you. as if the essence of his soul wasn’t already stained in your colors.

the way your eyes flutter wide open when he reveals this scarred body of his and how warm your lips feel on his skin when you kiss and lick and suck from the side of his neck down to his hip bones 

now it’s your name falling out of his mouth, between broken moans, when that pretty mouth of yours wraps around his throbbing cock, lapping up everything he has to offer you and you’re doing it oh so willingly 

❦ 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐀

the sound of your laughter coming through the open window with the warm summer breeze. you’re his sweet new neighbor and he’s been smitten with you ever since you showed up on his doorstep, a plate of inarizushi in your hands to introduce yourself

seeing you reading in a corner the backyard, that little frown on your face while the tip of your nose almost touches the scrolls; you’re so eager for knowledge and he can’t help but admire this

the complete shift in your expression when you notice his presence (barely anyone does, at least not like you do), your whole face brightening up as you wave at him

hearing you late at night, when you don’t realize just how thin these walls are, the sweet sounds of your moans when you touch yourself. Marada can’t help but wonder, are you thinking about him? you couldn’t possibly… right?

feeling how hard he is when he finally gives in to the temptation, palming himself to the muffled sounds of yours, only a thin wall between the two of you, you so blissfully unaware of the mess you’ve made out of him when he spills himself in his hollow fist

seeing you again in the backyard a few days later, except that this time your kimono is hiked up to your hips, your legs spread wide, giving him a good visual on what happened on the other side of the wall

his sharingan ablaze, taking in the view of you, until you gesture him to come closer, closer, till he’s on his knees in front of you, showing you just how much he adores you…

❦ 𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐀

the way you lean over him when he’s sitting at his desk in the hokage office, pointing out something on the scroll in front of him, but you’re making it so hard for him to focus with your chest pressing against his shoulder and that sweet smell of yours entangling him

the startled sounds you make when he wraps a blanket around your shoulders after you’ve fallen asleep in your office once again, and the way you drift back into sleep when you notice it’s him and that you can feel safe here

your apologetic smile when he’s scolding you the next day for working too much; as if he wasn’t missing out on sleep for the sake of the village and doesn’t secretly admire your passion and drive (being oblivious that maybe, maybe, you just want an excuse to spend more time by his side) 

the small “oh” coming out of your mouth one night, when you’re in the archive together, searching for one specific scroll, but instead his lips finds yours and suddenly your fingers are in his hair and his are pulling you closer by the hips and that scroll is completely forgotten (it was never about the scroll)

the tension between you unloading when you straddle his lap and all the useless fabric between you is shoved aside hastily so you can sink yourself fully onto his thick length

feeling you tremble on top of him until he wraps his arms around you, holding you so close to him while he slowly works you open, his lips on your neck, his dark, calm voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear while you clench around him 

[anantaru]

— taking care of his wounds

including xiao, scaramouche, diluc, childe x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff & angst, crack, mentions of blood, sweet n cute

— xiao

"you do not have to do this."

"but i want to!"

deep down inside, it was imperatively embarrassing for xiao to have you mend his wounds and scratches— especially considering the fact that you were seeing him this way for once, a shelter of vulnerability and weakness, as he always seem to put it.

a good for nothing who cannot even be strong enough to defend himself, let alone the person he fell in love with.

keep in mind, you were very much aware of your boyfriend and his cruel views on himself, precisely the hurting words chosen by him, which he would insult himself with on a daily basis.

as punishment? one can only guess or say that much, but there was a translucent underlining that only a handful of people were able to take a grasp on.

"and you‘re my boyfriend xiao." that happiness in your voice, he couldn't get enough of it. but you always add the right words into the mix, catching a bolstering blush on xiao‘s handsome face the sweet moment he picks up your chosen name for him.

'boyfriend' was he worthy of such a name? he shivered, it took all his self control to not run off from this vulnerable moment.

"i‘m also worried." and you sigh so sweetly against him, melting your skilled fingers into his flesh and filling all the cold emptiness within his heart. "i don't want you to worry." his voice almost breaks in midst his sentencing but it's low, his words mumbled, "you could find someone better than me."

it's a graven fear the man held for what felt like an eternity. to see you leave one day due to his weaknesses.

because every time he experiences you taking care of him, yes, xiao does turn embarrassed— his eyes twinkling open wild, but he feels that static, as if he could actually reach the heavens behind the sky.

he suddenly hisses when you began to wrap a small cloth around a bigger wound on his hand, sneakily sealing your lips over his roughened up knuckles to kiss each and every one of them.

"there will never be someone better than you, xiao."

— scaramouche

"how childish."

scaramouche's face was mounted in a discomforting tinge while he gazed at the cute, little, not to mention pink, band aids covering the majority of his face and chest. "shut up."

you shake your head, laughing at your boyfriend's bright, assessing eyes while he hopelessly attempted to wholly conceal the agonizing pain bound within his facial features, keeping them in check with a hard look, brows criss crossed and squeezed together, "you're using too many of those."

"i wouldn't have to if there weren't that many scratches all over you."

but above and beyond, there it was; a crucial, meaningful expression that sneakily slipped past his own eyes— your current state, when you lock away the smallest amount of warm tears glinting nervously, finishing it with a soft smile, not wanting to make scaramouche feel even worse.

what confused you, and, frankly, scared you in the first place was the severe rarity of this situation— it was uncommon for him to get this beat up, this littered up with scratches and bumps, you can still remember the mere seconds earlier, when he showed up in front of your door step— dirty clothes ruptured and ripped, his bottom lip popped open and blood sliding down his chin, eyes low lidded, barely any life behind them.

by all means, scaramouche was doing better now, with the help of you and your quick responses doing wonders. needless to say did he too, catch a glimpse of your distress when you suddenly had stopped mending his wounds.

"hey." he pokes your left cheek, once, twice— "hey," and his comforting, warm voice ever so softly slips past your ears.

"i'll be okay, besides, i will take it as an insult if you think that is enough to end me."

and judging by the hitch of your breath, scaramouche felt a rambling burn deep inside, at nothing but that distraught look on your person. He opens his eyes wide, steady as glass, before sloping his head towards you, a faint, transient smile lightening his bruised face when you lean in to kiss his lips, tenderly, but compelling enough to lift the worry off your shoulders.

— diluc

patience— and the adequate plenitude of pressure were the very two notions you had channeled tonight, with your trembling hands slowly dapping the blood off diluc‘s injuries.

you truly cannot remember the last time he had shown any signs of recklessness in his usual behavior when it came to fending of intruders, so whatever must‘ve happened today had to be of graven importance or a powerful enemy catching him off guard.

"thank you." he suddenly speaks, but averts his eyes, and although his voice was raspy and chill, diluc managed to quickly snap you out of your stinging thoughts. you move to his face, tilting his chin up to catch an ideal view on the main bruises around his left cheek, allowing you to tackle those as well, "for doing this i mean."

at his words, you stop your hand, smiling serenely, almost angelic.

"you don't have to thank me for this."

"—but, do you want to tell me about what happened?"

diluc's face twitches when you retorted back to brush a splotch of dried blood from his jaw— you noticed how his lip was busted open, this thought again, of someone hurting the love of your life, it compared to sharp needles jabbing at your skin, over and over until drilled in its entirety.

but he didn't, diluc would never tell you about anything dangerous, not even when he showed up to your home, looking like that. "i rather not." there it was, that brave smile he'd manage to put on whenever he found himself in a situation like that, regardless, worry gnawed away at you, your gaze piercing through him like a freezing blast of ice.

"yet worry not." all of his attention was on you as he slants close to take your cheeks in his roughened palms, feeling them shake against your skin awakened a murky, dull feeling where you wanted to just cry in his arms, "i'd never let someone hurt you."

sigh, deep down, you wonder if diluc will ever comprehend that seeing him like that was already hurting you, was already pulling the hot air off your seized throat and clenching your heart with dread, feeling as if you could not breathe.

instead, you smile kindly at him, foreheads resting against each other, overcome by a dark sense of silence.

— childe

"hah! you should see the other guy!"

excessive boasting upon boasting, your sweet childe was out here acting like he had just experienced the best day in his entire life— a certain smile, brighter than ever witnessed before, if it wasn‘t for his black eye and bloody nose breaking the illusion he attempted to portray.

however, in contrast, childe found it exceedingly cute and appealing whenever you were severely worried and concerned about him— as is someone was ever able to greatly harm nor scratch the overenthusiastic harbinger. "you really shouldn‘t be this reckless sometimes."

you sigh deeply, then shake your head, mending the bigger wounds with a wet cloth first so they were clean and ready to be wrapped up.

but, important side note, you being brightly concerned for him made his heart flutter unexpectedly and childe suddenly expels a large wave of pride, "but you love it when i'm reckless."

"i do not."

"you don't?!" his smirk fades.

"i want you to be save." you kiss the corner of his mouth, and a vast deal of weariness sweeps over you, claiming your energy with it when you remember that this wasn't possible.

ajax was a harbinger after all.

his voice, now thick of seriousness, greets you closely, "don't worry about me." he speaks so idly, listlessly and without a care in the world, as if he doesn't care about his own wellbeing. and it left a bitterness littering on the tip of your tongue.

"because as long as you have everything in your life, i too will be fulfilled." with that, childe kisses you, all around passionate, needful and telling. on the assumption that he longed to show you his determination to protect you in a different way than solely using his own choice of words.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[lieslab]

Daddy issues

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Chan X gn reader

Summary: A simple phone call from your father and Chan's added anger makes you mentally crumble.

Genre: Angst & comfort/hurt

Word Count: 7.3K

Trigger warning: Parental issues, (specifically daddy issues) emotional abuse and neglect, physical abuse, a bit of an unhealthy romantic relationship, anger, self-hatred, blood, self-harm, mentions and attempt of suicide via razor blade, and a panic attack.

A/N: Even without the request, I feel like this has been a long time coming. Please heed the trigger warnings. Please. Shout out to all the baddies out there with parental issues. Shout out to all the Chan stans with daddy issues. You're so strong, keep going, I believe in all of you <3

Requestee, I hope this leaves you satisfied. I don't think you ever said you were struggling, but just by this, it seems you are. I hope this helps you cope with whatever struggles you either have had or currently are facing in life.

I did change a few things around to fit the story more, but most of it's the same. I think I got everything you wanted in there, besides those few minor changes. I also experimented with time jumps which is new, but I think they were needed for this one. This is a long one, so buckle up and please enjoy!! <3

_ _ _

The words are thrown around without much thought. Daddy issues this and mommy issues that. People wear them like a badge of honor. Always seeking out other people that can fill the gaps that their parents left behind. Searching for temporary band-aids to cover wounds that need stitches to heal. 

Everyone wants to be perfect. Nobody wants to admit that the people who were supposed to love them the most fucked them up the worst. Nobody ever wants to admit that their nurture was ripped away before they ever got it. Cruelty swaddled them instead of sweetness. Neglect and despair instead of encouragement and understanding. Some people were doomed from the start. 

At twenty-two years old, you understood that your daddy issues were a noose around your neck, they were always there. A poking twine that pressed against your windpipe and jugular. All it took was a few words and the noose tightened. It was suffocating, it was restricting, and it was paralyzing. 

There was a devil and an angel on each shoulder. One was angry and smoldering. Smoke bellowed out of its ears and it was always ready to snap. The other was an angel, sweet and soft-spoken, constantly reassuring you that you had it better than most. Of course you did because, at least, you had a dad, right? 

Any dysfunctional relationship could cause a rocky conscience. You swore you were doomed from the start. You’d never fall in love. Nobody would be able to care about you in the way you wanted them to. At least, it was like that until Bang Chan. 

When Chan came into your life, you fell hard. You didn’t get a chance to stand before your knees were jerked out beneath you. He was strong, he was charming, he was dominating, and he was everything you wanted him to be. 

Being older meant he had more wisdom and more life experience. He was soaked with the knowledge that you craved. He understood you, he got you, and heading towards his later twenties, he was hesitant when you showed up. While you turned twenty-five, he’d be thirty. 

You didn’t let that stop you from wowing him. From caring about him with every fiber of your being, you would have given up everything to appease him and more. Hell, if he experienced organ failure, you’d cut yourself open without a second thought and rip it from your insides with a smile on your face. You were down bad, but your issues were still there. 

You were aware of them when you seeked out his validation. When you kept asking if he was sure he still loved you. You couldn’t shake everything that your father had ingrained in you, but you were still so desperate to fill that void. 

Some would say it’s weird, but you would say that you needed him to survive. You needed him. He was the air in your lungs and the familiar thump of your heart. You needed him as much as plants needed the sun. Like the Earth needed the moon and like bees needed pollen. You called it destiny whereas a few of your family members called it desperation, but they didn’t understand it. They just…didn’t get it. They had no idea what you had been through. They didn’t understand the gaping wounds that had yet to be stapled, but Chan got it instantly. 

He realized it after you swayed the conversation in another direction at the mention of your family. He knew it when fathers were brought up and the hurt flashed across your eyes. He knew it when you clung to him like a koala with fear and asked for clarification on his thoughts about you. 

You were damaged and he knew that. He didn’t mind because everyone had their issues and besides, at the end of the day, he still loved you as you were. He was thrilled to wrap his arms around you when you curled around him and point out everything he loves about you. 

From the squish of your soft cheeks, the curve of your nose, the shade of your eyes, and the way you dress, he loved it all. The good, the bad, and the ugly, he gave the relationship his all; you both did. No matter how much the guys joked that he was a silver fox, he always rolled his eyes and shook off their comments. They were just joking and he knew that deep down, the guys cared about you too. 

He knew a lot about you, but he didn’t realize just how much these issues bothered you. He didn’t realize that you were nearly suffocating yourself. Out of all the things he knew, he had no idea how much you silently suffered until you snapped. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The day started a lot like any other day. You went to work and by the time you finished, you found a text message from Chan announcing that he’d be at the studio later tonight. It was one of those days where the creative juices were overflowing and he wanted to get everything worked out before he forgot. 

You didn’t mind it and started to head home, but then you thought about the dimpled smile and sparkly eyes of Chan. God, you were utterly smitten. With a quick change of direction, you found yourself heading towards the JYP studio instead of your apartment. 

Give or take twenty minutes and you were walking into your second home. The JYP building truly has become your home away from home. You came here a lot to support Chan and the guys. It was strange having an extra person along, but eventually, they grew used to your antics. 

The guys accepted you with open arms and when you came around, they got excited. Sometimes you brought presents, like cookies. Other times, just your brief distraction sidetracked them from their ongoing issues. That temporary change of direction helped them sort out their issues quicker. 

You checked in at the front desk and pulled on your guest badge. It was a new system that the company had been doing after a sasaeng had managed to gain access to the building. If you were found roaming the halls without a pass or a security badge, you were instantly booted unless you could properly explain yourself. 

You tugged the lanyard over your head and practically skipped to the studio room. Upon knocking, the door opened to reveal Changbin. A grin pressed his cheeks up into points. “Hi!” 

“Hey,” you returned the smile, “is Ch-” 

He jerked the door open wider to reveal Chan in the background. Chan was directing whoever was in the booth. You picked up Felix’s deep voice in the background. Chan was sitting in a hoodie and a pair of navy blue basketball shorts. He bobbed his head along to the voice. 

“You can come in, just try to keep it down because we’re rec-” 

“You’ve got it.” 

He opened the wooden door wider and you stepped inside. In the booth, headphones were over Felix’s ears. His messy blonde hair had been pushed around by the band connecting the ear covers. 

His eyes focused on the lyrics as he sang. You slung your bag to the side and smiled as you saw Jeongin sitting on the opposite side of the couch. The two of you exchanged a wave and you quietly came to sit beside him on the opposite side. 

Changbin snuck back into the chair beside Chan and Felix continued to sing. After a few more seconds, Felix’s voice cracked and he stopped singing. “Fuck!” He cried out. 

“I don’t ever recall that being part of the song,” Jeongin mumbled. 

“Yeah, what Innie said,” Changbin agreed. 

Chan stopped the recording with a sigh. He pressed a button, so Felix could hear him in the booth. “Felix, is something wrong today? This is the fourth time your voice has cracked. Do you need us to change the lyrics or-” 

“No! No! No! Of course, I don’t need you to change the lyrics! It’s just the pitch of the song. It’s so high and I’m really trying my best here, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get it or not and oh-” His eyes brightened when he saw you. “When did you get here?” 

Chan shifted in his seat and blinked when he saw you behind him. You smiled softly at him. “Hi, baby.” 

“What are you doing here? I told you that I’d be home late.” 

“I know, but I just wanted to see you.” 

“I’m busy.” 

“I’m fully aware. I have no intention of stopping you from working. I’ll sit here silently without a peep. You won’t even know I’m here.” 

“Yeah, right,” he mumbled beneath his breath. 

Felix and Changbin both shot him a glare. Changbin’s fingers jabbed into Chan’s side. Chan was worked up and stressed because Felix wasn’t getting this part of the song. It wasn’t just Felix that had struggled, everyone was struggling. 

Chan had created the instrumentals of this song and thought it’d be a home run, but he hadn’t considered how much the pitch would be a struggle for some of the guys. He was frustrated because if they couldn’t reach the right note, the song would have to be scrapped and he was distracted by other songs he wanted to work on. 

Seungmin’s silky and strong vocals weren’t the same as Felix’s deeper tone. Han’s wide range of vocals wasn’t the exact same as what Minho was comfortable with. Songs could be challenging and this seemed to be the biggest challenge yet.

Luckily for you, you hadn’t heard Chan’s mumble because your phone vibrated in your hands. You swiped the screen before thinking and held the phone up to your ear. “Hello?” 

When Chan rolled his eyes, Changbin slapped him in the back of the head. “What is your issue today?” He whispered. “Knock it off and stop being an asshole.” 

“We’re busy and-” 

“So tell them to leave and don’t be an asshole about it.” 

“Easy for you to say, you don’t have a significant other always up your ass.” 

“You're the world’s biggest asshole right now and unless you want to lose them, I’d drop the attitude. Just because you’re frustrated, it doesn’t give you the right to be a jerk. Use your words, you’re supposed to be the oldest in the room, so act like it.” 

“Oh, so you’re finally picking up the phone this time?” 

Your father’s voice in your ear caused your heart to sink to your stomach. The blood in your veins turned to ice. You shut your eyes before responding. “I’m sorry, but I’ve been busy recently and I-” 

“Busy my ass. You can text your mother, but not me? I was the one who created you and you still can’t be grateful for that. Without me, you’d be nothing.” 

“I’ve been texting the family group chat and I-” 

“You know damn well that I don’t give a shit about no family group chat!” 

You winced and pushed yourself up. Jeongin stared at you with a raised eyebrow. When you noticed, you flashed him a smile and held up a finger to let him know that you’d only be a minute. Before anyone could say anything, you disappeared outside the room and into the empty hallway. 

“What do you want?” 

“Is it a crime to want to know how my child is doing?” 

Your stomach twisted into thoughts as your father scoffed. A frown appeared on your face and, even though he couldn’t see you, you shook your head. 

“I’m sorry, but it’s difficult to find time to talk when we’re on different time zones and-” 

“Bullshit! You’re an ungrateful piece of shit! I gave you this goddamn life and you can’t even come visit! I have to find out from Google that you’re dating an idol! What have you told him? Why won’t he come visit?” 

“Nothing!” Your voice squeaked in shock. “I haven’t told him anything, he’s just so busy. He’s in a band and we-” 

“Then bring him down here, so your mother and I can meet him! What happened to respecting your parents? I didn’t even give you permission to date him!” 

As his voice raised louder, you tugged the phone away from your ear. A lump began to form in your throat as curse words were thrown your way. You shut your eyes and waited for him to calm down. Your hands were shaking as you mumbled into the phone. 

“I think I’m losing reception, I’ll call you back in a while.” 

“Don’t you fucking hang up on m-” 

The click ended his words before he got out the sentence. All at once, the weight of everything fell on top of you. Insult after insult wormed deeper and deeper into your brain. You wanted, you needed, to speak to Chan. You weren’t strong enough to deal with this on your own yet. 

You shoved your phone into the back pocket of your jeans and pushed the door open. Felix was singing again and your fingers curled into your palms. “Chan?” Your voice came out hoarse. “Can we talk for a moment?” 

The sound of your voice caused Jeongin to look up with a face full of worry. Even Changbin glanced behind his shoulder to check on you. When Felix caught Changbin’s head turning, he looked up to find you rapidly blinking back tears. His singing stopped and Chan’s fist flew into the desk. 

The rattling of the desk shook your soul. It started everyone, but you the most. Suddenly, you were five years old again in the back of your father’s van. You were weak and vulnerable. Defenseless, there was nothing you could do as your father’s wrath expanded along the four locked doors. 

You sucked it in and you couldn’t breathe. Your heart hammered in your chest, but there was nothing, absolutely nothing you could do. You were five and yet the anger of a thousand angry men was cast at you. 

It vibrated the marrow in your bones. The strands of your heart strings curled inward. Your childlike curiosity shattered in the backseat. Stay quiet, don’t utter a word, just take the yelling. Like a deer in headlights, you were trapped. 

It funneled down your throat and created a lump. Crocodile tears appeared in your eyes. You sniffled and your bottom lip shook, you were alone once more. Alone in the thunder and anguish; the swirl of one man’s anger. 

A flower in the middle of a tornado. Thrown, chucked, depetaled. Ripped from the stem and crushed between the winds. At the end, you were ripped to shreds and utterly defeated. Not even the thorns of your own stem could save you. 

“Goddammit! Why can’t you just go home? I’m trying to work here and you’re ruining it! I don’t have time for you right now! Go home and I’ll deal with your bullshit later. This is my career we’re talking about!” 

The song’s soft instrumentals faded in the background as the song ended. You couldn’t stop the tears from slipping down your cheeks. It stung more than you ever would have imagined. The words were a sharp sting to your cheek. The noose of daddy issues choked you again and you couldn’t breathe. 

“See you later,” you mumbled as you tipped your head down and rushed towards the door. You pawed at your tears and rushed into the hall and down the corridor to head home. 

“What the fuck was that for?” Changbin snapped. 

“We’re working!” 

“And they were crying! If you would have taken five seconds to look behind you, you would have-” 

“Don’t try to guilt trip me! It’s bullshit! I probably hurt their feelings. Whatever. We have work to do. I’ll apologize later.” 

While the two bickered, Jeongin stepped up and disappeared out the door to try and find you. Whatever you were struggling with, it hadn’t been good. Chan’s outburst had only made it worse and he knew that. He saw the terror in your eyes when the other person responded on the opposite end of the phone.

Felix looked from Chan’s angry face to Changbin’s scowl. When he caught Jeongin rushing out the door after you, his confusion only grew. “What’s happening?” He asked into the microphone. 

Chan slammed his hand down on the button, so Felix could hear him. “Don’t worry about it. Get out of the booth, we’re going to take five.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

As you walked home in the whipping wind, your hair tangled around your head. It blocked your vision and the gray skies added to your warped reality. It felt like everyone and everything was against you. 

That was the one fatal flaw with humans. When we enter a dark mindset, it’s the only thing we think about. The only thing we feel is the harsh and back-breaking weight of the world on our shoulders. The clouds close in and all feels lost as the rain pours down. 

You walked quickly with your head down. Keeping to the sidewalks, you were nearly running. You were moving so fast that by the time Jeongin made his way outside the studio, you were already halfway down the road. He wanted to talk to you, but he didn’t want to frighten you. He kept his pace brisk, but he didn’t run. 

He loved Chan for a wide variety of reasons, but he couldn’t believe he had just snapped at you like that. Of course, Chan was angry when he was mad, but this wasn’t okay. None of this was okay. 

You sniffled and kept rushing as the wind cupped your ears. You were hollow on the inside. That faint flicker of light inside you had been kept going by Chan. It wasn’t the best idea to depend on one person to make you happy, but you didn’t know what else to do. 

Your biggest fear has finally come true, everyone hates you. Maybe not to your face, but you can feel it. The bitter hatred that’s so vitriol, it’s rancid. A hatred that’s thicker than oil and stickier than jam. 

You were looking at assumptions, not facts, but your brain was set in stone. No one would be able to save you now. You had fallen far from grace. Your issues had poisoned you from the start. Maybe, just maybe, you weren’t meant for any of this life. 

Perhaps, you would take a chance and try again in the next. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

When Jeongin knocked, you didn’t respond. He shoved the hair out of his face and tried again. When you didn’t respond to the softer knocks, he knocked harder. When you didn’t respond to that, he held his breath and turned the knob to your apartment. 

Breaking and entering wasn’t something he would have liked to go to jail for, but could you blame him? He knew you were hurting and he couldn’t stand the thought of you being alone and sobbing. 

Chan’s words to you had been far too cruel. Sure he was angry, but anyone in the right state of mind would have realized that something was terribly wrong with you. It was a gut feeling in the pit of his stomach that he couldn’t shake. 

His brain was screaming at him to leave as he silently ventured further into the apartment. One step into the hall and then another. He didn’t bother with the common courtesy of kicking off his shoes. 

The place smelled like sweet citrus. It was a familiar scent that had belonged to you since he had known you. Once upon a time, Chan marveled at how much you adored citrus. If only he would have been here now. 

The carpeted hall felt too silent. The living room was too empty as he stepped out into it. Bookshelves filled with books, a coffee table with the TV remote, photographs of Chan and the rest of the band on the back wall. Your friends were your everything and so was Chan. 

Where were the photos of your family, he wondered. It was such a simple thought, but it flew by just as quick. Your presence was here, but yet you weren’t. Where were you at? 

He softly called your name and stepped by the coffee table. The bar table in the kitchen had been left abandoned. The hum of the fridge caused his heart to strum faster. There was an eeriness that he just couldn’t shake. 

Every fiber of his being was wound up. Loose floorboards creaked beneath his feet. He was sure that he had seen you enter your apartment. From a distance, he watched your figure fumble for house keys and stumble inside. Your hands brushed past your face and he was positive you were wiping away the tears that kept blurring your vision. 

He called your name a little louder, but there was no response. His mouth dipped into a frown and he uttered your name again when a faint whimper caught him off guard. His spine stood erected as he waited for another sound, but it never came. 

As he approached the room it came from, he was prepared for sobs. He was prepared for tears. He was prepared for the anguish that came with it, but he wasn’t expecting the bright red that began to seep beneath the bathroom door. 

His heart stopped and for a brief moment, he couldn’t breathe. Nothing made sense. The circuit of his brain had stumbled across a trip. Something cut out and his brain whirled trying to reboot. 

A scream ripped from his lungs as he rushed towards the bathroom and there you were. You didn’t stop. You didn’t even care or notice that he was there. 

Full of self-hatred, you were cutting, no. You were sawing it out of you bit by bit. They don’t tell you that when you hate yourself, there is no pain in self-harm. It’s a dangerous sweet release. The stinging and burning sensation fills you with a sense of euphoric triumph. Self-mutilation feels like bliss and the cold blade in your hand feels like a friend. In some twisted way, it can be the best thing you ever feel. 

There was blood everywhere. It dripped from the slices in your wrist. It saturated your clothes and it was all over the bathroom floor. Maybe you tripped and fell. Maybe you were set on killing yourself. Maybe you just snapped. 

Human skin is so thin that it can easily be penetrated by a single piece of paper. So small, so little, and yet the fiery ache of pain is felt everywhere all at once. You couldn’t feel the fire in your arm. Gone into shock, your body had blocked you from feeling anything. 

You weren’t even aware of Jeongin’s presence until he grabbed your arm. Your bloodshot eyes were watery as they met his concerned russet ones. “Please, stop,” he whispered. 

With a snarl, you jerked your arm away from him. You started to scream and lash out. He grabbed your hand and pinned you down again. 

“Get the fuck off of me!” You yelled. 

“Please, please, please stop.” His voice wavered. He was terrified for you and he didn’t want to make it worse. He knew how much Chan’s yelling earlier upset you. He didn’t want to trigger you further. 

“Leave me alone!” Your shrill voice cracked from desperation. “Get off! Let go!” 

“No!” 

You swiped the blade down with your hand, nearly cutting him in the process. Your head bucked as you tried to free yourself. He ducked his head with a yelp. 

He shoved your bleeding body back onto the floor. Your free hand flew up, in an attempt to stop yourself, but it didn’t work. Your brain rattled around your skull as you were blinded by the sudden pain of it all. 

Jeongin panicked as he desperately used the code word to activate the voice command on his phone. When you heard “call Bang Chan,” you lost it even more. 

“Stop it!” He begged as you squirmed again. Your hands flailed and you yelled back. 

Back and forth back and forth, you refused to let go of the blade. You gripped it so hard that you didn’t care that the sharpened blade cut into your opposite palm. You were fighting tooth and nail to keep a tight grip on it. You weren’t going to let go. Not even Jeongin, one of your closest friends, could save you from the demons in your head. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

In the studio, Chan was ready to slam his head into the wall himself. Changbin was non-stop lecturing him and once Felix found out, Felix was also up his ass. Nobody seemed to understand that they had a job to do. 

When his phone rang, he used it as an excuse to leave the pair angrily grumbling to themselves. He stepped out the studio door, just as you had. He let out a sigh before he swiped and answered the call. “What do you want, Innie?” 

A thump responded along with a yell. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I.N? What are you-” 

“Put it down! Put the blade down! Stop it!” 

His heart suddenly turned to ice. “I.N?�� He whispered. “What is hap-” The response that you gave nearly dropped him to his knees. 

“No one cares! Just let me die!” 

He suddenly felt like he was about to projectile vomit. His stomach churned and twisted and the world felt a little blurry. “What is happening?” He raised his voice and began to yell at the phone. “Jeongin?” 

“Alexa, speaker phone!” Jeongin cried out. “Chan, I can’t stop them! Please! I need you! I don’t know what to do! They won’t stop hurting themselves!” 

The world stopped tilting on its axis. The seconds froze in time. His breath caught in the echo-chamber of his lungs. “No,” he whispered. Tears pricked in his eyes and he suddenly rushed down the hall. 

“Don’t let them die! Do you hear me, Innie? Don’t let them die!” 

He flew out of the JYP building like a bat out of hell. He clutched his phone, now on its own speaker phone. This path that he used to practically skip after work because he was so excited to see you. Now it could potentially be the path to your corpse. 

“Fuck!” He cried out as the struggle continued on the other end of the phone. 

“C-Chan?” You croaked weakly. “I don’t wanna do it anymore. I-I can’t.” 

Guilt swallowed him whole. He could barely breathe as he ran. “Baby? Baby, can you hear me? It’s okay. I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?” 

“You hate me.” 

“I could never hate you. I took it out on you earlier and I’m sorry.” His head jerked as he made sure he was pursuing the correct street. His footsteps thudded on the pavement. 

“Listen to me, I need you to drop the blade. Can you do that to me? Listen to Innie and drop the blade. I’m coming, okay? I’m nearly there, just listen to my voice.” 

To Jeongin’s relief and Chan’s surprise, there was a soft clatter as you released the blade from your hand. You were exhausted after fighting with Jeongin and the blood was starting to become tacky against your skin. 

You hated the murky feeling that it left behind. Every movement of your wounded palm oozed more blood. Jeongin panted over your body. Your arms were pinned to your sides as he straddled you. 

His own body was painted in your blood. Bright red handprints smeared across his white shirt. His light pair of blue jeans seeped it up like a sponge. There were even fingerprints staining his cheek from where you had swiped your hand at him. 

“I’m almost there, I’m coming to the house right now. Where are you? What room?” 

“Bathroom!” 

Chan burst through the door and into the bathroom. His heart dropped when he found you pinned and nearly half unconscious. Blood was all over the floor. It was smeared against the bathroom cabinets and the tub. 

Jeongin never took his eyes off you. He was too afraid that you’d find the blade again and do something worse. Chan ended the call and stepped over the puddle of blood leading into the bathroom. 

He softly called your name and stepped beside you. Your eyes weakly met his. He felt like he was going to burst into tears. His knees buckled and he sank down beside you. He didn’t waste time grabbing a wet rag and shifting beside Jeongin. 

“Innie, I’ve got it from here, go call an ambulance.” 

Jeongin hesitated, but finally nodded and stepped out of the bathroom. Before he left, he kicked off his shoes, so he didn’t trample blood into the rest of the house. 

The realization of your situation sent shocks of electricity buzzing through your skull. “Fuck,” you muttered. Tears began to build up in your eyes and they trickled down your face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I-” 

“Shhh. It’s okay, it’s okay. Just try to save your strength, okay?” 

“I didn’t mean to,” your voice came out shrill. 

“I know, it’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

The lining of your lungs seemed to thicken as you struggled to breathe in. You squeezed your eyes shut, but it felt like breathing through a straw. Your brain had expanded with every wrong thought and now you were suffering. 

“Baby?” Chan whispered. He leaned forward closer to you and placed his hand over the razor blade, so you couldn’t see it. “What happened? What’s going on?” 

“Can’t breathe.” 

“Panic attack?” 

“Sorry.” 

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” 

“M-my dad,” your voice wavered. “I can’t-” 

“You don’t have to talk.” 

“Not a good relationship.” 

“Is that who called you earlier?” His eyebrows furrowed with worry. “I assumed, but I didn’t know for sure.” He reached down and pushed a bit of hair from your face. 

“He’s not good. H-he yells a-and-” You hiccuped, “abusive.” 

“Oh, honey…I didn’t know. I-I was just so frustrated earlier, I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I didn’t mean to upset you and I-” 

“I don’t feel good,” your eyes drooped further. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t do that. Baby? Baby, listen to me!” Not caring about the blood, Chan cupped your face. “Don’t you dare give up! Stay with me!” 

The last thing you heard were his desperate pleas as your eyes rolled back into your head. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

When you finally came back home from the hospital, Chan forbade you from going to your apartment alone. Instead, he was nice enough to open up his dorm for you to use temporarily. It wasn’t a permanent fix, but it was a manageable one for now. 

Ever since you regained consciousness, everything had been so foggy, but you remembered bits and pieces. You remembered the wine colored blood and the fear on Jeongin’s face. You remember being unable to breathe and the desperation of Chan’s voice. 

Maybe some part of you was glad that you couldn’t remember the entire thing. You weren’t sure that you wanted to remember traumatizing your boyfriend and your friend, at least, not the specific details. 

Your hospital stay had ended up turning into a week-long stay. It turns out the hospitals don’t play when it comes to suicide attempts. You didn’t even try to deny it. There was a tender hurt inside of you that you had no clue how to fix. 

It was a surprise when things that the mandated therapists were saying made sense. Sure, you knew things were wrong, but to hear validation from people, it made you feel a tiny bit better. 

When you left, you promised to come back. There were parts of you that really did want to heal from all of this. You never wanted to put anyone through this ever again. When clarity came through at the hospital, you realized you didn’t really want to die, you just wanted the self-hatred festered inside your being to stop. 

You wanted the negative energy to cease and you wanted to be loved. You wanted to be healed in ways you didn’t know how to heal. You wanted a lot of things and the therapists had promised that if you came back, they could start to help you turn things around, but you had to consciously make that decision. 

You yourself had to focus on your own healing. It was hard and it was difficult. Healing is one of the hardest things a person can do for themselves, but it can be so rewarding. You don’t have to let your demons win. 

“Fight back. Raise hell. Don’t let them win.” It was something another patient had said during a mandated group therapy. “I’m tired of letting the negative thoughts in my brain win. I want to live. I don’t want to just survive, I want to live.” 

The more the people talked, the more you realized that you had some of what they were missing. Sure, your parents weren’t the best, but you had friends. You had a significant other. You had little things that some people craved. 

For most of your time spent at the hospital, you were lost in your thoughts. You had barely uttered a few words to Chan. When Jeongin came in, you nearly collapsed into tears apologizing over and over again for scaring him. 

He insisted it was fine, but you knew it wasn’t. Nothing you could do could ever take back the damage that you had given him. The nightmares, the trauma, it’d be something he might have to live with forever. Sure, it’d fade, but for now, it stuck to the back of his head like glue. 

“So…” Chan’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. The two of you were standing in the dorm living room. He had sent the rest of the guys over to the other dorm, so you could settle in. “Welcome to your new temporary home.” 

This place really was your home. You had been here time after time again. These walls just might have known you better than your own apartment did. You glanced around and nodded. “Thank you.” 

“I cleared out my room, so you can have it.” 

“We’re not sharing?” 

“I didn’t think you’d want to.” 

Your hands tugged at the sleeves of your long sleeve shirt. Your fingers curled into them. The damage to your arm was so bad that doctors had a hard time fixing all the damage. They had also been concerned about infection since the wounds were so deep and there were multiple of them. 

You played with the hems trying to find words to say. “I’m sorry,” you finally got out, “for everything.” 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“It is entirely my fault. I don’t know how to deal with things in a healthy way. I’ve been handling a lot on my own and I broke down. I snapped in the worst way possible. The doctors called it a nervous breakdown.” 

“You know I’m not mad at you, right?” 

“Maybe you should be.” 

He shook his head, “I could never be mad at you.” 

You lowered yourself to the faux leather couch behind you and slowly took in a deep breath. “I have a lot of issues and I’ve always known they were there. I just…” You shrugged, “I didn’t think something like this would happen. I’ve struggled with self-harm before, but I snapped.” 

He sat across from you and shifted his body to face you. “I’m really sorry I yelled at you that day. I shouldn’t have ye-” 

“You were stressed and upset, it happens sometimes.” 

“That doesn’t make it right.” 

“The therapist says I have parental issues from my father and it has affected me in a variety of ways. In fact, she said it’s why I’m probably dating you.” 

“What’s wrong with our relationship?” 

“She said I need to stop leaning on you to fill the void that my dad left behind and I hate that she’s right.” 

“Oh…” His face fell. “So does that mean we’re breaking up?” 

“Do you want to?” 

He shook his head. “I don’t, but what about you? What do you want to do?” 

“I don’t wanna break up either.” 

“So…” 

“So I’ll attend therapy and work on my issues. I’ll attempt to stop relying on you to make me happy because it’s not healthy.” 

“Yeah…” 

There was an awkwardness between you. Neither knew what to say and nobody wanted to harm the other. Chan finally broke the silence. “Can I hold you?” 

You shifted and crawled over towards him. He was careful of the stitches in your palm and in your opposite arm. You curled into his lap and he pulled you to his chest. Your head leaned against the familiar thump of his heartbeat. “I missed you,” you mumbled. 

“I miss you too.” His lips kissed the top of your head. Your sweet scent engulfed him. He leaned his chin on your head and shut his eyes. The warmth of your body was enough to set his soul ablaze. 

“My dad wasn’t a good man,” you finally mustered the courage to talk about it. “He called me at the studio and I didn’t read the caller ID. I just wanted to see you after a long day. When I left and went outside, he just started yelling and getting upset.”

“He’s verbally abusive and a hothead. Ever since I was a kid, he gets angry easily and he can’t control it. He throws things, he swings, and he’d destroy my things. I lived my life in so much fear because he’d threaten to disown me. My family never did anything about it, they just let it happen.” 

Chan’s hand went to your back. He soothingly rubbed it while you spoke. “I had no idea.” 

“I felt like I shouldn’t talk about it because some people don’t have fathers. I should be grateful that I even have a father and I-” 

“You don’t have to be grateful to someone who frightens you and makes you hate yourself. That’s not what a father should be. I probably enhanced your fight or flight instinct when I yelled at you, I’m so sorry.” 

“Every time I talk to him, I feel miserable. All of them, I’m so angry at all of them.” 

“You don’t have to continue putting yourself through any of that. You don’t have to talk to the people that make you miserable. Please don’t keep putting yourself through all this distress, baby.” 

“I just want to be happy.” 

“And I have no doubt that you’ll get there soon, sweetheart. When you’re feeling at your worst, you don’t have to turn to self-harm. You can come find me, yeah? I’ll always be here for you. Now that I know what’s wrong, I’ll be sure to never act like I did that day. I don’t want to lose you.” 

His arms tightened around your body and his lips found the top of your head again. “You mean so much to me. I can’t imagine a life without you. I’d be devastated if you weren’t here. If you ever feel like that, come find me and I’ll distract you.” 

“But that’s such a burden for you to carry.” 

“It’s not a burden if I love you.” 

You finally picked your head up and looked at him with teary eyes. His own eyes were similar as they looked at you. Without asking, you leaned forward and your lips connected. 

It was pure bliss…until it wasn’t. The front door to the dorm slammed open. The crack of it into the wall sent both of you pulling away from each other. 

Hwang Hyunjin sashayed into the room with a pair of sunglasses, a towel around his neck, and a blue pool noodle over his shoulders. “Surprise, bitches!” 

“Hyung, you have no manners,” Jeongin grumbled as he stepped in behind him. When his eyes found you, he beamed. “Hi!” He waved excitedly and rushed towards the two of you. 

Minho stepped inside, grabbed the pool noodle from Hyunjin, and bonked him on the head with it. “You insensitive fuck! I told you they couldn’t swim due to stitches!” 

“Ow!” 

Minho bonked him again. “You’re lucky you’re getting a pool noodle to the head and not a fist to your pretty face.” He glanced over at you and grinned. “Sup?” 

Chan sighed and kept his arms clamped around your back. “I’m so sorry about them. I didn’t have time to tell you that I invited all of them over to hang out for a game night and maybe some movies. We can order your favorite foods and w-” 

“Hyung, look at all my snacks!” 

“Mine too!” 

Han and Felix walked inside with grocery bags full of snacks. They wasted zero time going to the coffee table and dumping them out. The pair beamed happily as they waited for your approval and you managed a soft smile. 

“You two waste zero time making messes, don’t you? Hey,” Seungmin called out and he nodded towards you. “Glad you’re not dead. I can’t wait to-” 

The sound of Changbin screaming your name at the top of his lungs caused your eyes to widen in shock. Thunderous footsteps sounded from the porch and rushed inside. Changbin rushed in grinning with his arms outstretched. He was getting closer and closer until a pool noodle slammed into his face. 

He stumbled back dazed and Minho rolled his eyes. He handed the pool noodle back to Hyunjin and shook his head. “You are all unbelievable. You have zero manners.” 

“Strike,” Seungmin mumbled beneath his breath. 

You snorted which caused him to glance over and grin. 

“This is okay with you, right?” Chan glanced down at you. “If it’s too much, I can ask them to go back and I-” 

You shook your head, “it’s fine. I’m not sure about participating in games, because uh…” You gently shifted your bandaged arm hidden beneath your long sleeves. “Movie night and food sounds wonderful.” 

“Ya-hoo!” Changbin cheered. “Let’s get this party started.” He grinned and rubbed his hands together. “Oh, snacks!” 

“Ah, ah, ah!” Minho ripped the pool noodle from Hyunjin’s hand and bonked him on the head again. A scowl filled Changbin’s face. “Let the guest pick first.” 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. 

“Hit him one more time and he’s going to lose the last brain cell he has,” Seungmin complained. 

“Yeah!” Hyunjin agreed as he crossed his arms over his chest. Minho bonked Hyunjin over the head. He groaned and slumped into the recliner behind him. “Channie, hyung, he’s beating me up! He’s killing my brain cells too!” 

“You idiot,” I.N huffed, “you don’t even have any to lose!” 

“Hey!” 

“So how have you been?” Felix asked as he got on his knees beside the couch. “Do you want a snack? Do you want to play Animal Crossing?” 

“Or we could watch an anime?” Han offered with a cheeky smile. “Whatever you’re up for, we’re down with.” 

“Exactly, whatever you want, babe.” Chan rubbed your back with some reassurance. “The guys and I got you.” 

“Can I just observe you interacting with each other? There’s plenty of humor in that and I-” 

“Oh, sure!” Minho beamed. He lifted up the pool noodle with a smirk. “Sit back and watch me play whack-a-mole.” 

“Wait a minute!” 

“Hey!” 

“Don’t you dare!” 

Without another word, Minho grinned as he started to take turns whacking the guys’ heads.

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[pricegouge]

As requested, follow up to this. 141 x gn!reader, but price is the only one fucking reader explicitly. no gendered language for reader and no genital description, but there are multiple orgasms so make of that what you will. reader wound up being pretty civilian-coded in this one though, sorry

CW for under (re: straight up not) negotiated public/viewed sex. John just basically decides he's gonna fuck you in front of his boys and that's that on that. dub con touching. this turned into a bit of a punish johnny fic for literally no reason, sorry. (it's me. i'm the reason. i vibed too hard with reader in these two fics and i don't like those freaky blue eyes sorrrrrrrryyyyy.) but! he can have some pet play as a treat. uhhh… barest hint of belly bulge 💛

John has never dressed you before, but he catches you with one too many buttons undone the day after burning his dog tags into your sternum and you know you've struck a chord by how he zeros in on the gauze he can see poking out above your hemline. Within the hour he's announcing plans to have his boys over for dinner the next night and assembling an outfit for you before bed.

"Just want you to look nice, pet," he says, eyes far too eager. "Want to show you off a bit, you know?"

Pressed trousers and silk button down, John insists you wear the gold chain he'd bought you for your third anniversary, which conveniently means you have to wear your top unbuttoned just a bit too much to be appropriate, in order to make it all settle nicely against your skin. John asks how the silk feels against the tender spots around the burn and when you say it's fine, he carefully removes the gauze that covers you. You let him because it was more precaution than anything - John's insisting - the burn there more superficial than generic baking mishaps, or hair straightener run-ins.

It didn't stop him from staring at it hungrily, eyes glued to you as you flit about the house, getting ready for guests. You know that look well, though it takes you a moment to place what specifically it's intended for.

"What happened to Mr. The-Boys'll-Know-What-It-Is?" you quip, palm hiding the mark from him as if being demure.

John just shrugs, uncowed. "I tried something for you…" he reminds you, walking away before you can even reply and you gulp because, while that's true, you don't entirely know what it is he's asking you to try.

***

You're not entirely sure how it got to this point. The 'showing off' turned to 'let them see,' turned to curious fingers tracing John's marks, to Soap asking if he could mark you because John hadn't fully considered who he was talking to when he brought up heat play. 

Turned to that stormy look in John's eyes he sometimes got when you were acting bratty and he thought you needed a reminder just who you belonged to.

You've never seen it turned on anyone else, except maybe the occasional brave waiter. You've never given any thought to how that would play out until John's got you sprawled out across the dinner table you haven't even had time to clean off, fingers working you open while he works you with lips and tongue, squeaks and shrieks of protest going unanswered. When you try to lever yourself up for the fourth time, John pries off of you with a wet smack, voice gruff when he tells Simon to hold you down.

Despite the wide-eyed look you turn on him, Simon takes this order just as easily as any other. Coming around the head of the table, you hear the wood creak as he hauls his considerable weight onto it. He walks his knees up until they're flush with your back, presses you flat against his thighs with a sturdy palm splayed right across John's dog tag.

"Easy, pet," he rumbles, and you do your best to ignore the growing thickness pressing against your shoulder.

You would respond with something quite biting, if not for John's own teeth pressing against the crease of your thigh threateningly.

It's Soap who breaks the standoff, shoving at Ghost's hand with a needy, 'Fock, Si, lemme see.'

For all your complaining, you miss John's mouth the second it's gone. He sits up far enough to stare at the younger lieutenant menacingly, voice a low growl when he tells him to keep his hands off you.

Soap huffs, but sits back in his seat, unfortunately close to your face. Gaz doesn't give John enough time to return to his task, asking for permission to play with your nipples with the kind of shit eating excitedness you know is equal parts eagerness to play, and a desire to piss Soap off.

John doesn't even glance at you to gauge your opinion on the matter. "You may," he rumbles before taking your sex back into his mouth almost aggressively.

"Ah, ye fockin' -," Soap curses, but whoever and whatever the fuck they are, you never learn, too distracted Gaz's plush lips brushing over the silk of your shirt, tongue hot and wet through the thin fabric.

It catches you off guard and you can't help but cling to him, palm flat against the nape of his neck. 

"No touching," John growls against your skin, mouth slick from where he's been working his tongue alongside his fingers.

You and Kyle both look, but John's eyes are firmly on you. You nod in understanding, folding your arms up over your forehead on instinct. You'd almost forgotten about Simon, but when he draws both your wrist into one hand and holds them against his chest, you're reminded of just how fucking spread thin you are. 

"Cap," Soap whines, but it's Simon who answers - John's mouth too preoccupied. 

"Wait your turn, pup."

"Not gonna get one if you keep being so fucking entitled." John separates from you to speak, but only technically, voice humid and thick against your skin. When he sinks back into you, a third finger joins the first two.

"John," you whine, and Gaz must take that as a challenge because his breath fans cold across the soaked material of your shirt. It clings to your skin, reveals the outline of the jewelry there. He catches one of the ball ends between his teeth, tugging gently. 

You think you hiss, but it gets swallowed up by Simon's appreciative hum. "Never pegged you for the type, pet," he purrs. "Wanna see mine?"

It's instinctive, the way your hands flatten against his chest, searching.

Ghost laughs, leans over you as best he can. "Lower."

"D'ye hear tha', cap?" Johnny cries. "Ghost's tryna get your hen tae touch his cock."

You can feel John's broad shoulders shrug between your legs. "Sooner let him than let you brand my hen."

The way you gulp back your panic would be audible, if not for the slick sound of Price's fingers in your cunt, or the popping of your buttons when Gaz decides he's had enough of your shirt. You watch John for a reaction, but he gives none. Watches Kyle almost apathetically when the lieutenant gets his lips on your nipple. His voice is like a rockslide when he instructs the other man to use more teeth.

You keen when you feel Kyle's pretty white teeth on you, head knocking back into Simon's plush lower belly. You feel the latter's hand slide across your chest to your neglected tit, but your focus shifts to the abandoned burn, distracted by the way the heated skin tightens when exposed to the cool room air. The only one who seems to notice is Johnny, upsettingly blue eyes darting back and forth from your own down to the inflamed mark on your chest. 

He waits until John is thoroughly distracted, fingers grinding deep against that spot that makes you arch and clench and gasp. "Does it hurt, bonnie?" he whispers, his movements obvious under the table. "Or does it feel better now, wi'out Ghost's ham fist on it?"

You would answer, except the abuse your piercings are weathering combined with the brutal manner John's fingers move within you have your breath coming hard; thoughts even harder.

"An' how 'bout this oone?" Soap continues, free hand daring to slide along the table, down your side. His finger hovers menacingly above the lighter burn there, still covered with a bit of gauze. John's watching, gaze burning you more than anything he's done thus far. You feel ungrounded, unmoored, like you're floating above yourself despite the three and a half sets of hands that hold you down. 

"Such a wee, sweet little thing."

Your tension cuts violently before it can properly build when he presses his thumb to the mark on your thigh and you realize he isn't even talking about you. 

Simon holds you with your hands trapped to your chest, the heat of your burned palm pressed flat against your tender sternum. You've never felt your hand throb before, skin flushed with more than just arousal. It's novel, adds a thread of discovery to your shudderingly good peak alongside the feeling of so many weathered hands on you.

John doesn't give you a moment to recover, pulling you by the hips until you slide bonelessly into his lap. He lines his cock up with your slackened hole without much preamble, the huff of his breaths betraying just how much he needs you. 

Tipped forward until you're flush against his chest, John's voice is a husky whisper meant for you alone when he tells you how good you are, what a perfect pet you've been.

It's hard to listen, brain still tripping over the orgasm he'd just pulled from you. "C- can't."

"You will," he assures, and your breath leaks out of you in a high keen when he angles your hips just right against his own, cock so deep inside you you're surprised you can't see it in your stomach. 

As if he wants to test that limit, John tilts you back against the table with one palm flat against your tummy. You know he's feeling for himself there, eyes like molten lava spilling down your front until he finds what he's after and he leers up at you, pressing down against your walls until his cock grinds hard into you. Your hands scramble against the table behind yourself, palm searing when your grip threatens to break the blister there. You're so concerned with bracing yourself you almost don't notice the way the table doesn't jolt away from John's ministrations, too weighed down by Simon's heavy form shuffling across it to lean over you, eyes nearly a physical weight where they bore down on the place John has you split open, fucking into you furiously.

"C'mere pup," Simon rumbles, and Johnny scrambles to his side, eager as he tucks himself under Ghost's arm. "See that? See how well this little pet takes cap's cock?" Soap doesn't say anything, but you gather he nods by the way Simon continues undeterred, "That's why cap gets to brand this pretty skin and you don't."

He's not even talking to you, but the notion has you cursing, lolling your head back until it falls against Simon's pec. He doesn't let you off the hook, holding your head up and directing you to look at John. "There's a good pet. Eyes on cap when he makes you cum."

It's Kyle's hand that pushes you over, though, quick and clever when he works you with spit-slick skin across your abused flesh. You don't dare look at him when you cum, but you tilt your head against his chest, breathing in the strong scent of him - spice and sweet, so much different than John, but just as comforting.

John lets you ride it out (forces you to, rather, grip firm where he rocks you against himself until your moans are stuttery and your hole flutters more so than properly clenches.) When he pulls out, he guides you to your knees and you hold your mouth open instinctively, but John tilts your head back with a broad palm to the base of your skull, lets you watch from your odd angle as he fucks his fist. It takes you a moment to realize his eyes are on Johnny, the younger man nearly shivering under his captain's glare.

"Whose pet is this?" John asks, nearly indecipherable in his lust.

Automatic, "Yours, cap, please -. Fuck, wanna -."

"Ask pretty and I'll let you lick it up."

"Shite," you hear Soap hiss, voice just as quivery as you feel. "Please, cap? Please let me clean yer cum off yer pet?"

John only grunts, breaths hot and heavy as a bellows as he turns back to you. It doesn't take long. You wrap your hand around his more out of habit than necessity, and John groans long and deep as he cums across your chest, painting the hot skin there in blazing stripes that make you gasp and flinch minutely away.

It takes him a moment longer of staring down at you to settle, stroking your cheek with his rough knuckles until he decides you've both had enough, motioning Soap closer with a lazy curl of his fingers.

There's not enough room between John's thighs for the both of you, but Soap has no problem crowding you from around John's calf. His tongue is hot and rough and slobbery and you cry out in disgust when his first instinct is to slurp rather than lick. John just laughs at you both, leaning back in his chair as he holds Johnny's head to your chest with a firm grip on the man's mohawk. 

"Keep behaving yourself, pup, and I'll let you clean up the other boys' messes, too."

[minami-ff]

Tending to His Wounds

Levi x Reader

“your needlework is not as delicate- as you look”

The aftermath of the latest mission left scouts battered and worn, none more so than Captain Levi. Trudging back to his office, he began to remove his scarlet-stained uniform, revealing an array of injuries beneath. Bruises adorned his body like dark constellations, and among them, a deeper slash on his abdomen oozed with fresh blood.

Just as he reached for the first aid kit, gentle knocks resonated through the door, creaking open and revealing your silhouette. "Captain?" you said softly with concern and cautiousness lacing your words, “apologies, I couldn’t help but notice your gushing wound earlier, and realised the infirmary is closed so I was wondering if I could be of assistance?”

Although your captain had offered you much guidance in trainings, you wouldn’t say you, let alone anyone else, were particularly close to him. His tough exterior and reserved demeanour left you uncertain about the kind of person he was. Hence, a twinge of worry crept in, nervous that he might not appreciate you trailing to his office to help.

To your pleasant surprise, Levi merely nodded. You then moved with a silent determination, fetching water, disinfectant, cloth, bandages, needle and thread from the kit.

As you cleaned the affected areas, the office was filled with a quiet intimacy. The only sounds were the hushed whispers of cloth against his skin and the occasional hiss of pain from Levi when you poked the needle through.

As your hands worked tenderly on his skin, a whisper of wind danced through the open window, gracefully sweeping your hair to the side. In that moment, your concentrated yet soft eyes amongst other gentle features were unveiled to Levi with a new clarity. Captivating him even further from the way you moved with such a light, almost ethereal quality.

"Your needlework is not as delicate- as you look," his tone gruff, enduring the stitching process, as he gritted his teeth through the pain.

You were taken aback by his unexpected comment, not sure if you were understanding it right. The corners of Levi’s mouth curved up, gracing you with a rare smile, to which you chuckled softly. "Looks can be deceiving, Captain."

Once the bandage was secured, you took a step back, eyes meeting his as you whispered. “You’re good to go.”

"Thank you," Levi said, with dark and unwavering eyes refusing to break the deep connection with yours. Intimidated by the intensity of it, your gaze shyly averted and wandered around for a second, before you timidly nodded. A small smile trembled on your lips, "anytime…"

As silence settled between the both of you, you shifted away from him to pack up the first aid kit, not expecting what he’d say next.

"You don't have to be so damn caring," Levi muttered, attempting to revert to his usual sternness. “When work is over, take your well-deserved rest, there’s no need to assist men with their problems at this time.”

His eyes subtly widened in response to your sweet smile, "perhaps I just like taking care of my friends."

Levi's gaze softened, a rare vulnerability surfacing in the depths of his steel-blue eyes. Friends — a term he seldom used, but in that moment, it felt almost right.

"Get some rest, Captain. We have a long day ahead," you suggested softly.

Levi inclined his head, watching as you disappeared into the hallway. The moment you both just shared would have him pondering about it for the days to come. Alone in the dimly lit room, he realised that healing wasn't just about tending to wounds; it was also about finding solace in the presence of those who offered an understanding to the depth of his scars.

[mcondance]

hush baby. william afton. (allusions to daddy issues, general old william using / taking advantage of young reader yk the drill)

william fucks like his age. he fucks like a man who knows what he wants from years of getting. he will get what he wants from you, too.

he drains you of everything you can give him and then, he pushes for more, craving complete control of every thing you feel. its why he picked you, could just see you ending up like this, a slut for his taking, nasty and open to the filthiest things he’s only ever dreamed about.

it’s sad, what you went through to end up like it like this, used and shown no respect in your most vulnerable state, but he pays it no mind when he’s driving into you from behind, towering over your body and stretching your cunt to its limit.

amusement is written over his hardened face, the hilarity of what you allow him to do to you overtakes him as he watches himself breach your entrance over and over again, your cunt having to work to take him like your body knows this is wrong.

but it lets him in, you let him in like it’s right, wince through the pain until it turns to pleasure and he’s battering your pussy with no regard for the pain that’ll resurface the next day.

pain is how he got you, tucked away in your brain, steering you toward a man like him. and pain is how he keeps you, the dull ache of his cock abusing your pussy, the digging of his fingers tucked between where your thighs and tummy meet, the stimulation sending sparks shooting through you.

you’re so nasty when you’ve got a nastier man inside you, when his want to unwind you and use you is reciprocated. drooling on his bed sheets, leaking on his cock, the perverted desire of his heart is realized.

he’s got you singing, speared on his cock and taking it so well. he fucks you like he’ll throw you out tomorrow and you welcome it, soak his cock every time your mind registers the brutishness behind his thrusts, every time he manhandles that spot inside you.

your fingers curl around the column of his headboard, clamping down on them to award yourself some semblance of grounding but it’s in vain, he’s too ruthless and horrific, fucks you too deep with every sob he retches out of your raw throat.

you let him do what he wants, and that’s exactly what he does. you’re all wet cunt and choked moans, a test subject for his disregarded boundaries. his boundaries are your boundaries, the wires crossed and fused incorrectly a perfect path for his will to become reality.

he’s taking advantage of you, it’s what you both know, know what business a man his age has with a girl yours.

but being taken advantage of is how you like it.

every push into you is meant to to hurt, to make those crossed wires fizzle and spark with satisfaction. maybe it doesn’t count as being used if it’s what you want, too. it’s lost in translation, by now, only left with william fucking you exactly how you’d expect him to, how you fantasized about from the moment you saw him.

he’s thankful to have someone like you, someone who’ll let him push and poke and prod and mold into his. he goes crazy every time you bite and choke on your moans, every time you huff and rasp like he’s wounded you but make no move to run from him or to stop. he likes it filthy, and in you, he can have that whenever he wants. he can be what you need, if you let him have you in return. you do let him have you.

you say his name like a prayer, choked and battered and begging for him to twist and turn you inside out just like he wants to. willing to be used, to be fucked dumb and brash.

you like it like this, domination has revealed you as a drooling, moaning, vile mess. it lay dormant, waiting for someone to draw it out. waiting for william to lay you bare and new.

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️Reveling in Richonne - TOWL

#49: The Final Deal (1.05)

gif cred: @nerd4music

Over the years, Jadis has made several deals with Rick and pretty much every single time she screwed him over. 😪 And unsurprisingly, Jadis tries to screw Rick and Michonne over again as she and Richonne attempt to make more deals in the following TOWL scene. However, this time around will be the final deal. Finally. 🙌🏽...

Richonne enter a Yellowstone National Park museum and it’s fitting for Jadis' final moments to take place in this sorta artsy location.

gif cred: @nerd4music

As Rick and Michonne quietly hunt Jadis down they come across that bumbling trio from earlier and once again they easily disarm them. And then walkers come and take the trio out which…how those three survived this long I’ll never know lol.

So then a shootout ensues with Jadis. And it’s sweet seeing Rick and Michonne hold onto each other as they run away. 

gif cred: @coolpartytimefan

As Rick and Michonne stoop behind some fabric, I adore the quick little moment of Michonne checking on Rick with one hand on his face and one on his thigh. Her baby for real. 🥲

cred: @ririchonne

Jadis is again yapping about living and dying for the cause and calling Rick a traitor and then when Rick pokes his head out she straight up aims for the head and grazes him with her shot. 😑Knowing how fatal that shot could have been to Rick, Jadis’ needed to be sent to the afterlife immediately. Like...

Michonne says Rick’s name with concern as they switch places and he assures that he’s alright. And proving yet again that Jadis oddly might belong in the Top 5 Richonne Believers, she says, “You two together, you are unstoppable.”

Then she gets way too personal when she says, “But that won’t save your kids. You kill me, they’re dead. I die by my wounds, they’re dead.” And she’s feeling extra bold as she steps out of hiding and says, “I get killed by walkers, they’re dead.”

What Jadis fails to see is that having the audacity to threaten Michonne and Rick’s kids in front of them like this guarantees she’s dead. Like Jadis, hon...

You can tell Michonne is seeing red as she steps out with her gun aimed at Jadis. Understandably, because now Jadis is triggering Michonne as a mother.

Rick calls Michonne's name but Michonne is ready to end this lady once and for all as she debates pulling the trigger. Jadis almost looks like she’s beckoning her to do it, but knowing they actually do need some info out of Jadis first, Michonne instead kills the walkers coming from behind Jadis.

When Michonne runs out of bullets, Jadis starts shooting and they both flee for cover. Jadis tries to dish out more of that CRM culty propaganda when she says, “It didn’t have to be this way. You were on the path, Rick. After all these years, you were finally feeling the responsibility to fight for something bigger than yourself.”

Wth, Jadis? 😑 Hearing that I was like - truly girl, shut up because what do you mean he finally felt a responsibility to fight for something bigger than himself?? As if Jadis didn’t meet Rick in the process of him fighting a whole war to free oppressed communities. 🙃 She's an absolute clown. 🤡

Rick makes his way over to Michonne as Jadis tells Rick that “Beale saw it too. He was gonna give you the Echelon briefing the moment you returned.” Yeah well, Consignee Bethune had other plans lol. 😋🚁🌊

And then I always really like this wordless exchange between Rick and Michonne. Because as Jadis claims that Rick’s eyes would have been opened by the briefing, Michonne looks at him and then he looks up at her and the ways it’s filmed you can just tell that there is nothing the CRM could say or open his eyes too that would make him not choose Michonne every single time. 

gif cred: @andy-clutterbuck

Jadis says Rick could have secured Alexandria’s security but he didn’t. Then she tries to make Michonne an issue by saying, “You let Michonne pull you away from that.” If only Jadis knew how true that was considering Michonne literally pulled them out of a helicopter to get away from this army. 🤭

Then Jadis wants to start coming at Michonne directly saying all she had to do was leave when Rick arranged for her escape and since she didn’t Jadis declares that now the fates of their friends and their children are sealed. Ok, Little Miss Villain...

Rick tries to again appeal to Jadis’ heart, if she has one, by saying she doesn’t really want to kill everyone back home. He calls her Anne again and he’s onto something regarding the name Anne getting Jadis riled up cuz she sounds particularly irritated as she doubles down on the CRM perspective that, “It’s not about want. It’s about keeping your humanity or saving humanity. And it is a choice.”

In a way, that is the very thing TOWL explored with Rick’s journey. He thought he had to just die and save humanity but through Michonne he regained his humanity and the belief that they can both keep their humanity and save humanity, it doesn’t have to be either/or.

Jadis says she’s chosen her community and her life and then questions if it’ll be them that dies today or her and everyone back home. And the way Michonne got a good swing at Jadis with RJ’s ax, it’s looking like Jadis is going to be the one meeting her demise. Her time is clearly almost up.

So playing pretend one more time, Michonne says, “She’s right, Rick.”  And then Rick and Michonne demonstrate yet again that verbal communication is just a thing they do for fun because they are entirely capable of conversing and making entire plans just by looking at each other.

As they look in each others eyes they immediately know to try and pull a con on the original scammer herself. Also I just realized this is Michonne once again choosing to just not even address Jadis and speak only to Rick.

Michonne says, “I didn’t want to see it. I wanted her dead so I didn’t have to see it. But Rick, there has to be a sacrifice. Since I found you, all that I’ve done has been for us. But now I see, this can’t end with us going home.”

Jadis asks what’s it gonna be and then Rick says, “Okay,” pretending to agree that he’ll stay with the CRM if Jadis doesn’t threaten Michonne or their home. 

Michonne says, “There’s still a deal to me made, one where we all can live and Alexandria.” And hearing yet another deal even be attempted to be made with Judas was just...

Fortunately, it’s a fake deal and the final deal with this snake.

Rick says Michonne will get supplies that’ll help Jadis stay alive long enough to get to the jump point and then Rick will go back with Jadis. The shot of Michonne looking at Rick as he says this. 🥲 It just truly feels like she’s looking at the love of her life. 🥹

Rick looks in Michonne’s eyes as he tells Jadis that they can say he was the lone survivor of the helicopter crash and he’ll go back to the CRM to work for a future like none of this ever happened.

He says they’ll do this on one condition and Jadis already knows when she says, “Michonne gets away and I never tell them about Alexandria.” Rick says, “It’s the only way this works” and then I love his subtle wink at Michonne when he asks, “We got a deal?” 

Jadis wonders why she should trust Rick after all the stuff he’s pulled but that had me like why should you trust him???? Pretty ironic coming from literally the longest-running scammer in the franchise. 😑

gif cred: @nerd4music

Rick understandably isn’t interested in convincing Jadis why he can be trusted so he just asks, “We got a deal or not?” Jadis isn’t doing so hot from the blood loss so she agrees and says, “Yeah. We got a deal.”

Then, y’all I adore seeing the small detail of Rick and Michonne holding hands. 😭 I love that they were holding hands during this deal, wanting each other to know that regardless of what they’re saying to Jadis right now they’re still entirely in this together.

And I also love that Rick doesn't let go of Michonne’s hand until the very last second as she stands up to come out of hiding and “go get supplies.” 🧲 TOWL said every Richonne scene is gonna have a dash of romance and I’m beyond here for it. 🥰

So Michonne tosses her weapon and exits and I love that she puts a little feisty emphasis on the weapon toss when she looks at Jadis. And then Rick disarms and shows himself as Jadis tells him to come closer.

Jadis lays down her weapons and Rick of course takes one more opportunity to let Petty Rick shine as he looks at Jadis on death's door and says, “You’ve looked better.” When I tell you I love this extra man lol. 😋 I know he’s appreciating the number his wife did on this garbage woman. And whenever Rick’s eyebrows go up like that, just know some shade is bound to follow. 🤭

gif cred: @nerd4music

Jadis again expresses acknowledgement of the power of Richonne when she says, “I was a fool to think I could take you down, with you two together.” Jadis never got much right in life, but she did have a solid grasp on the fact that Rick and Michonne really do make each other stronger and they're hard to beat together. She explains that’s why she agreed to the deal so she could keep Rick and Michonne separate.

And then to the *utter shock* of everyone, Jadis whips out Red’s red gun and attempts to double cross them for the fifty-'leventh time. 🙄But I love how Rick responds unfazed to her ploy like he thinks it’s the most predictable thing ever. 🥱 A serpent gon’ do what a serpent gon’ do, so I'm sure seeing her aim the gun just had Rick like...

Jadis says she doesn’t trust Rick but she respects him. And then Michonne shows up with a weapon pointed at Jadis and tells her to drop the gun or she’ll kill her.

Then, those noodle-less walkers come and bite a chunk out of Jadis' neck. And getting fatally bit instantly spurs Jadis' come-to-Jesus.

gif cred: @perryabbott

Jadis goes into a monologue about the many lives she tried to balance with her back and forth between Jadis and Anne and the CRM and the Alexandrians. And Richonne is nice enough to listen to her last words.

As she realizes Father Gabriel already showed her the answers she needed (realized too late imo 🙃), Jadis reveals where her dossier is hidden and tells them to just destroy it and go home.

She still believes in the CRM and that they’ll bring the world back, so she looks at Michonne and Rick and says, “Tell me you won’t come after them.” And then y’all, Michonne says request denied because she doesn’t give a damn if this is Jadis' dying wish, they’re gonna do what needs to be done. 👌🏽

Michonne replies, “No. Because we are coming for them.” And the way Rick looks, it appears like this development is news to him lol. But I love that Michonne wants Jadis to know this just before she goes.

Michonne continues, “We’re gonna get the dossier. And then the CRM - we’re gonna stop them.” She looks over at Rick as she continues to inform both Rick and Jadis of what comes next when she says, “He’s gonna get the Echelon briefing and find out everything that they do that the city doesn’t know about. The city I saw won’t stand for what they are. And we’re gonna help the city stop them.”

And y’all, the way Jadis is staring at Michonne...I know she’s thinking ‘and this is why I wrote a whole chapter on Rick's wife in my dossier.’ #DirectQuoteFromJadis'Mind. 🤭 Had her like...

Then knowing how much Jadis loves being called Anne, Michonne calmly says, “Because, Anne, the CRM is not the answer and they must end.” And, with the way Bowlcut believes in Richonne, you know Jadis knows they’re going to be successful at stopping the CRM.

Jadis really had to die knowing she and the very mission she dedicated her life to are about to take some serious Ls. 😬

Michonne then turns to Rick and says, “We’re gonna do that.” See, Michonne has been through a whole lot of life and so she’s standing here now knowing the CRM can be taken down just like all the rest.

And always a great and supportive husband, Rick is on board with this plan as he looks from Michonne over to Jadis and says, “You kept us alive for a reason.” And I love the way Rick subtly smiles at her, knowing Jadis is getting yet another front-row seat to the power of Richonne. 

So Jadis,...

Hearing this seems to have Jadis realizing she made some bad life choices and should have just stuck to her artsy lane when she says, “I wish I died an artist.” I always really like that line. Something about it is poetic and pretty in a tragic way.

But also, whenever I hear it I’m like girl, don’t worry you did die an artist...

Jadis reflects on how her life as an artist wasn’t about survival but about truth. She says this is the end of her story and her peace and then it becomes crystal clear a Richonne proposal moment is coming when Jadis removes the wedding ring and holds it out.

As she holds the ring, she tells Rick, “On the bridge, you told Gabriel you wanted to marry her.” And I love that this gets brought up again and that Michonne gets to learn that Rick was planning to marry her officially before he was taken.

The way Jadis looks over to Michonne when she says this always makes me smile because she looks quite happy to let Michonne know, 'yes girl, your man was trying to...

Jadis puts the ring in Rick’s hand and says, “He found this, and he wanted to give it to you.” Rick is shook by this and asks, “How did you...?” And I feel like with the way Rick so clearly had proposing on his mind during this road trip home I’m sure that has him even more bewildered of how Jadis knew this.

Jadis just smiles and shakes her head which had me like - hold up up up cuz no we’re nawt just shrugging off this detail of how she got the ring and was in contact with Father Gabriel. I needed her to tell them about her tea times with Gabriel because Richonne needs to interrogate that man when they get home lol. 🙃

Jadis tells Rick he wasn’t dreaming about killing her and then says, “Go ahead. Do what you said you would do. Please.” Michonne and Rick stand up and the time arrives for Rick to finally take Jadis out for good.

Jadis dies and it’s a somber vibe as Rick just quietly walks away and Michonne follows. After playing in Richonne’s face from season 7 forward, stealing years from them, and putting their children in danger, I felt it was only right for her to go. Even overdue. And while that monologue didn’t at all redeem her in my eyes, it was well-performed by McIntosh and had some heart.

gif cred: @nerd4music

I’m most glad that she gave Rick that ring tho because it leads to the best scene of the episode. 🤩

One of the earliest ways that trifling Jadis tried Richonne was in the season 7 finale when she said she was gonna lay with Rick and asked Michonne if she cared. 🙃 Y’all remember when she looked Rick up and down, turned to Michonne, and asked, “Yours?”

Well...about that.😊

I always find it to be poetically fitting that here in Jadis’ final episode, it’s also the very episode where Rick and Michonne affirm that Jadis' "Yours?" question actually isn’t that crazy because Rick and Michonne really do happily belong to each other.

He’s hers. She’s his. 🥲

So you know I gotta break down the absolutely beautiful scene that makes that sentiment crystal clear. 😌👌🏽💍

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Sun's Out, Guns Out

Anselm Vogelweide x F!Reader • Rating: PG Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • ko-fi •

Summary: Anselm's purposefully got the wrong idea.

A/N: I simply must give a massive shout out to @reallyrallyauthor and their stunning Anselm fics which haunt me every day and night. They have rewired my brain.

Warnings: Anselm being a little shit, fluff, so many pet names oh my god, swearing, reader is wearing a swimsuit, kisses, typos, my terrible German, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 771

“Anselm,” His name comes out a little exasperatedly, which isn’t your intention. “This…” You gesture to him, “This is not what I meant.” 

He quirks his eyebrow up at you, “How so meine Süße?” My sweet.

You give him a look and he smiles, he knows exactly what he’s doing. 

You cross your arms, shifting your weight to your left leg. “You can’t wear this on the beach.”

He looks down at himself for a moment, as if he is seeing his body for the first time before he meets your eyes. Not that you can tell through his dark circle sunglasses. 

“I’m afraid you’re misinformed, meine Hase, weil ich das trage.” My bunny, because I am wearing this.

“Anselm.” You say, unimpressed and his grin widens- the living personification of the Cheshire cat. 

“My love, I don’t see the problem.” He says lightly, practically turning the words into poetry with the rhythm of his voice. 

“Sun’s out, guns out. Means your arms, and,” you raise your hand at the eager look in his eyes, cutting him short, “Arms, as in these,” you poke his biceps, “not weapons arms, not guns.”

“But my dear,” he takes hold of your hand, peppering kisses to your knuckles, “My arms are out.” 

You glare. “You’re a little shit, you know that?” 

“And you love me for it.” He gives you that soft expression that makes you weak at the knees. 

“I don’t think I do.”

“You wound me, my dove.” He kisses your wrist, keeping his eyes trained on yours. 

You shake your head, trying to keep a stern look on your face. “You can’t wear those guns to the beach.” 

The guns in question where in elabourate hosters across his chest and shoulders that you were sure where originally a harness of some sort. The weapons themselves were ornate, practically antiques, and looked like some sort of flintlock pistols. The whole outfit, a pair of black speedos that were a fraction too tight and a pair of khaki green wellington boots (he did not want to get sand on his feet or in his shoes) combined with the guns was… interesting.

He grins, licking his bottom lip. “Yes, I can.” 

“It’s a beach-”

“A private one, we’re the only ones here.” 

You pull an unimpressed face and gesture a little more dramatically than you need to at his bodyguards. 

He places another kiss to your wrist, “They count as ‘the only ones’...” The guards make an obvious effort to not look anywhere near either of you, part of you feels sorry for them, in their three piece suits and cuff links in the heat, their smart dress shoes sinking into the sand.

 “Besides,” he pulls you gently, urging you closer to him. “They’re not loaded.”

“Then what are they for?” You say exasperatedly.

“Decoration, my love.”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose with your free hand. “You’re going to go swimming with-”

He shakes his head, “I’m not going to go swimming, I am going to sit under the large umbrella Sebastian will put up and relax.” 

“Anselm.”

“My leg, my beloved,” he gives you the puppy dog eyes, rubbing his brace. 

You tut, “The salt water will do you good.”

“The metal will rust.” He pouts.

“You didn’t have to wear the metal one, and besides, I asked Angelo to bring your cane.” 

He opens his mouth to speak.

“Not that one.”

Anselm smiles and closes his mouth dramatically, but you don’t miss the little glare he gives Angelo.

“Hey, none of that. I asked Angelo and he just did as I requested.” 

“Hmm,” he steps closer, wrapping his arms around your waist, “I do love when you get all bossy Bӓrchen.” He nuzzles into your neck, pressing light kisses to your pulse point. “Makes me want to take you right here.”

“You’ll definitely get sand in places you don’t want.” 

“Oh, I just don’t want sand in my shoes, I am quite happy to feel it in more intimate places.” He nips lightly at your skin and you shiver. 

“You’re coming in the water with me.” You press, but your voice isn’t very demanding. 

“Of course, my love.” He kisses lower, trailing his lips to your collarbone. 

“And you’re taking the guns off.” 

“Of course, my love.” He kisses the top of your chest, trailing his tongue along the edge of your swimsuit. “But you’re going to be talking this off too.” He lightly dips his fingers under the material at your hip, snapping back against your skin with a smile.  

“Of course,” you say, saccharinely sweet, “my love.” 

Thank you for reading!

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[kiwismitten]

Can I make a request please? Jjk guys noticing y/n hasn't been eating. I read one fairly recently and as someone struggling with the same issue, it just hit me in all the right places. I totally understand if you give this a hard pass since it can be triggering for others. Thank you

No problem <3! I get it, and I struggle sometimes too, and if anyone reading this just needs an ear to listen to msg me i’m not like an advice giver but i can listen.

sorry its only satosugu, i was gonna do sakuna too but he would be a dick about it. and Shoko is involved in both because, shes a cutie.

‼️CW. PLEASE READ: disordered eating , body image issues in gojo's ‼️

Geto and gojo (Separate)

Geto Suguru

Suguru would probably notice the fastest. I feel like he’s struggled with eating before, like when gojo was worried that he lost weight. and for him it gets bad after tough missions, so when he notices you struggling, he’ll pick up on it. (also no defection since i just want everyone to be happy and get alongplsplspls)

After returning to the apartment you share with Geto after a long mission, you practically collapse onto the couch. Your clothes are torn, and you have scrapes across every inch of exposed skin. Leaving the bedroom, hearing the front door shut, Suguru walks over to your beat up form.

"y/n." He speaks softly but stern.

"Suguru-" whatever you were about to say is interrupted by him picking you up. You protest weakly.

"I'm bringing you to Shoko, that was like a two-week-long mission." He notices you're lighter but doesn't mention it. "They should've let me go with you, those damn higher ups."

"Sugu they're just some scrapes it's fine" You protest weakly, but he's already on the way to Shoko, "She's tending to the first year that was with me." he scoffs at that.

"She can multitask just fine, or, i say, just let that kid die." He chuckles softly and you smile at the sound. You had to throw yourself between the first year and a grade one spirit. The higher-ups only told you there would be grade three and four so you can introduce the new student, but once again they proved themselves to be incompetent.

Kicking the door open to the infirmary, Shoko immediately gets ready to scold a certain white haired sorcerer, but seeing it was Geto she walks over observing you in his arms. The first year peeks around the curtain, gasping at the sight of you in the taller male's arms.

"A-ah miss Shoko it's them! I told you they were more hurt than me." the short first year cries, his hair covering one of his eyes. Shoko looks you over and eventually flicks your forehead, making you cry out.

"Sho what was that for i'm injured!" You cry out as Suguru sets you on the infirmary bed.

"Yeah so why didn't you come here?" She glares down at you. Cleaning your wounds.

"They're just some scrapes." Shoko is poking and prodding at you, and she gasps slightly when she touches your back. Suguru watches knowingly, he felt it too, the way your bones poked at his arms as he carried you. Shoko gives a look at Geto, and he nods to let her know that he's aware of your toxic habit of not eating properly on missions. She sighs, giving in and wrapping you in bandages to let the two of you on your way.

Leaving the Infirmary, Suguru insists on carrying you. Walking up the stairs to your apartment, you pout, hating being carried. Opening the door up, he sits you down at your dining table. Walking over to the kitchen. All you hear is the beeping of the microwave, and the delicious smell of your favorite take-out food. He brings you practically a feast, complete with your favorite dessert.

"eat." he states firmly. You poke at the food, having not had a proper meal for the entirety of the mission, unsure of what to do, your bandaged arms feeling stiff under his pressuring gaze. Suguru sighs, taking the spoon from you, creating a bite and holding it up to your mouth. Practically moaning at the taste of the food, Suguru sighs in relief. "y/n… they're making your missions longer, you can't keep doing this."

You freeze up at his statement. He always made you a big meal after your missions, but you never realized it was because he knew.

"I'll even pack you meals if you need me to... when i picked you up earlier, and you were so light, and you felt so fragile. I didn't realize how bad it could get if they keep you away so long." His voice is almost cracking as he fumbles to prepare you another bite. Your eyes meet his soft ones.

"i'm sorry suguru.." Your voice is soft. "i'll try to be better with it..." making promises feels like too much right now, but he's just happy that you'll try.

(Suguru does end up making you food to bring with you on every mission after this)

Gojo Satoru

Satoru notices after he brings home your favorites, and you don't eat like you normally do. He's observant, and is way more pushy than Suguru. When he learns it's from insecurities, he will make you feel like royalty every time he sees you.

Going on a run through the High School grounds, you observe the visiting school from Kyoto. Satoru introduced you to his old classmates Mei Mei and Utahime, you studied at the Kyoto location, and transferred to the Tokyo one after graduation. Mei Mei is beautiful, slim and even with her face covered she's glowing with beauty. Then Utahime, she speaks back to Satoru a lot of bantering, but it kind of seems like she genuinely doesn't like him. Satoru teases her a lot, making you doubt your standings with him a bit. You weren’t really officially dating, so were you really in the right to feel jealous?

"Yo y/n! Mei Mei Utahime and I are gonna grab some lunch at that café you like wanna join?" You freeze slightly sweat making your shirt stick to you, would you be intruding on the two if you joined them?

"Ah no Satoru, I uh had planned to grab some food with Shoko!" You lie through your teeth, knowing that you'll just be returning to your quarters and staring at yourself in the mirror wondering what Utahime has that you don't. Satoru makes a face since he had already asked Shoko to join, but she said she was busy.

"ah okay! I'll just bring back your favorite then?" He looks a little disappointed, you normally jump at the opportunity to hang out with him. You nod your head waving your goodbyes and walking off to your campus apartment provided by the school.

After slipping inside you walk to the bathroom looking at the mirror poking at your skin. You glance at your skin, it's not as glowy as Mei Mei's maybe you can ask for her skincare routine... Utahime has his cute energy surrounding her, even in this grim line of work, how do you get that? In the end your mind wanders back to Mei Mei, her body was gorgeous, slim and her uniform hugged her making her look so elegant and beautiful. You sigh dejected, deciding to work out in your bedroom.

After a few hours, you're absolutely soaked in sweat, and you hear a knock at your door. Opening it to see the blindfolded strongest sorcerer holding a bag adorning the logo of the café he was at. You wipe the sweat off your face smiling at his gesture.

"I wasn't sure what you wanted so I just got you two of the things I saw you order before!" He smiles widely, inviting himself in making u scoff.

"ahh yes come in Satoru," You have your yoga mat set out on the floor along with some adjustable weights. He looks at them, cocking an eyebrow, setting your food on the table.

"Weren't you on a run before I went out to eat? You're still working out?" Even with his sunglasses you could feel his eyes piercing through you.

"Ah yeah had to work off what Shoko and I ate-" He stares at you.

"Shoko called me and asked to get her food since she was hungry." He states blankly. "y/n why are you lying to me?"

Your hands go clammy, you should've asked Shoko to cover for you, sighing you look at Satoru.

"i'm just trying to lose some weight, that's all," you try smiling at him but his sour expression doesn’t leave him.

"Skipping meals isn't trying to lose weight y/n." he's now standing arms crossed. "what brought all this on?" You avoid the feeling of his eyes peering into your soul as he pulls his sunglasses down on his nose.

"n-nothing i just wanted to be a bit slimmer" He lets out a humorless laugh.

"y/n stop. lying." He's always been scary when he's serious.

"Fine i just, it's stupid," he looks at you to continue. "Look I know we're not dating, but I just got jealous!" He's a bit taken aback by your outburst. "Mei Mei and Utahime have been getting all your attention, and i just thought- I thought I needed to be more like them..." your voice trails off.

"y/n..." He's back over to you trapping your body between his arms. "I'm sorry, I haven't been doing my job," You look up at him confused. "I only want to make you feel special because I like you for you, why would I want you to change? I only flirt with you y/n" He lets go leading you to the table and pulling out a chair for you.

"okay now eat please before it gets cold," He pulls out the ungodly amount of food he purchased.

"Satoru- why did you get so much food?" You gawk at the sheer volume.

"wasn't sure what my darling would want," He flashes that dumb grin and you sigh, opening one of the boxes. Fixing yourself a plate you start eating happily. "See? Isn't that nicer than being hungry" He digs through the bag again finding some sweets that were meant for you, but he takes one.

"satoru if you eat my favorite flavor you'll be a past tense-" He nearly choked on his bite.

[mistystepmoonbeam]

Reborn in BG3: Chapter 14 - Astarion's Night

You're reborn into BG3 with only the memory of your past life. Now you're Tav's companion on his journey, and must learn about yourself as much as your new reality.

Chapter 14 (Astarion's Night): Your first night in the Underdark. You catch Astarion sneaking back into camp after a hunt, and he finds out you're more injured than you let on.

Tav's Night

Gale's Night

Word count: 1.9K

A/N: Don't mind the slight differences in reveals, it'll all come together. Somehow. At some time.

You get a blissful couple hours of sleep before your eyes open and refuse to close.  The only comfortable position you could find with your bruises was on your side, but now there’s no position that gives you any relief.  Finally you sit up, wondering just how bad your back looks for it to ache so much.  You would give all your gold for an aspirin right now.

It’s too dark in your tent to check your wounds.  Even if you use your staff the light won’t be enough to tell the difference between the shadows and the bruises.  With the camp quiet you step out of your tent and into the firelight.  The braziers are still going, flames a little smaller now but giving off plenty of light.

The first few nights you’d been too scared to take off any of your clothing to sleep.  Your jacket, socks, boots, everything had stayed on.  But you’ve grown comfortable enough to take some of it off.  You walk on the balls of your feet to get to a brazier, enchanted socks whisking away the dirt as fast as it touches them.  Those, your loose pants and untucked tunic are all that protect you from possible attack.  You’ll be fine within the base, surrounded by weirdly overprotective barbarians and Scratch.  The dog lifts his head when he spots you, tail wagging but he remains laying by the campfire.  You hold up a finger to your lips and he sets his head back on his paws, eyes closing.  His tail gives a couple more wags before settling.

It’s hard to manoeuvre your body well enough to see all of your injuries.  You can see the dark blue bruise on the right of your hip, which wraps around to your back, the edges fading to lighter colours.  There’s an equally dark bruise on the right side of your ribs—had you been jabbed there?  Between the goblins' pikes and a couple of falls you’re not sure who is to blame for what bruise.  But those ones aren’t the ones bothering you the most.  The ones in the middle of your back are what keep you from a comfortable sleep and you can’t see them at all. 

You poke at the bruise on the right of your ribcage when a voice startles you. 

“You’re still injured.”

You drop your shirt, hiding your wounds.  You look at the broken wall that leads to the Spectator, finding Astarion crawling in, blood on the collar of his shirt.  His words don’t really register, neither does the guilt in his eyes or his downturned lips.  Instead all you can see is the blood on his shirt and hands, and you rush over to check him for wounds.

“Astarion,” you hiss.  Your hands hover around him, eyes searching for any sign of injury but it doesn’t appear to be his blood.  But he’d just come from—what was he doing out there?!  “You shouldn’t go out there alone!  It’s—that way is…bad.”

It’s no wonder he called you dim when this was how you spoke to him.  Lying on the spot is so much harder when it comes to life and death situations.  You sidestep him and peer outside but there’s no evidence of an epic battle between the vampire and the Spectator.  The petrified drow are still scattered across the cliffs, the explosive mushrooms unexploded.  When you turn back to Astarion he seems lost in thought, eyes on your torso.

“Are you okay?” you ask. “Did you go hunting?  You should have waited until someone else could go with you, we don’t know what’s out there.”

Liar.  Well, half-liar.  The Underdark in the game is only a sliver of your new reality.

“You’re asking if I’m all right?” he questions.  “You…”

He cuts himself off with a sigh.  He grabs your hand and begins to pull you to his tent, muttering something you can’t make out.  When you say his name he doesn’t respond, and you are dragged inside, the flaps closing shut behind you.

Unlike in the game his tent is almost as sparse as yours.  But you can’t really tell because it’s nearly pitch black inside, only the faintest of light coming from the braziers outside making it through the fabric.

“Lie down,” Astarion orders.  You squint into the dark, his hair and shirt the only things you can somewhat make out.  With another sigh he grabs you by your shoulders and manhandles you to the ground.  Your body goes pliant as he sets you facedown on his bedroll and begins to lift your tunic.

“Hey!” you yelp.  His knuckles brush against a tender spot.

“Be quiet.  I don’t feel like being tackled by the tiefling again.”

“But what are you—”

Something cold is pressed against the bruise on your hip.  You flinch as Astarion rubs something against your skin, his fingers warming the spot.  

“It’s a healing ointment,” he says quietly.  “Since you refuse to let the others help you, this will have to do.”

You open your mouth to argue but he quickly continues, “And if you say you’re fine or you don’t need it I will get Tav in here to pin you down while I apply it.”

You snap your mouth shut, face heating at the thought.  You raise your arms to bury your face into them, mumbling your thanks. 

Astarion’s hands are soft as he applies the ointment.  He doesn’t spend too long rubbing it into the wounds, and he’s gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt.  You let out a soft sigh as both his hands travel beneath your shirt and stroke over your upper back.  He’s quick to pull back at the noise, but doesn’t comment on it.  When he’s done with the bruises on your back he tells you to flip over. 

Your eyes shoot open, blinking wide.  You shift and try to sit up when he pushes on your shoulder to keep you on the bedroll.  You lie on your back, wishing you could see his face clearly and at least guess what he’s thinking.  Him being so nice and quiet right now is off putting.  But without his hands on your back the ointment begins to cool your wounds, and the pain fades.  Unsure of what to do with your own hands you clasp them together atop your chest.

Astarion lifts your tunic until he uncovers your ribcage.  You’re about to offer to apply the ointment yourself when he dabs his finger into a cylinder by his knees and leans over you.  You watch his hair fall in front of his face while three fingers press against the bruise on your ribs.  You inhale sharply as he puts too much pressure on the sensitive spot. 

“Apologies,” he says.

“It’s fine,” you whisper back.  “And thanks.  I didn’t know stuff like this existed.  It doesn’t hurt so much anymore.”

Astarion huffs and you see the hint of a smile on his face in the dark.  But still, he doesn’t respond in the usual Astarion fashion.  Instead he drags his fingers down your ribs, almost tickling you until his full palm is against your skin.  His hand keeps going lower until it’s cupping the bruise on your right hip and just…stays there.

“You were telling the truth, weren’t you?” he asks.

Probably not, you think to yourself.  “About what?”

“About…my being warm.”  His fingers dig into your hip, just enough to remind you there’s a wound there.  “Am I…now?”

“Yes,” you answer.  

Whatever expression he’s making is lost in the shadows.  And he still doesn’t move, even with all your bruises coated with the ointment.

Having him there, the warmth of another person and your bruises no longer so sore, you find your mind trying to drift off again.  The couple hours of sleep wasn’t near enough to stave off the exhaustion of the previous day, and Astarion’s bedroll is more plush than yours.  Your eyelids are fluttering closed but you can’t help but wonder aloud: “Do you think it’s because I’m a necromancer?”

“I doubt it, but who knows?”  Astarion pulls his hand off of you, fingers dragging along your hip as if savouring every moment against your skin.  

“Do you think…”  You hesitate, lowering your shirt while Astarion lies down beside you, head propped in one hand.  “Do you think Ethel was telling the truth?”

You can’t bring yourself to face him as he looks down at you.  Not that you’d be able to see him clearly even if you turned your head.  You keep your eyes on the roof of his tent, pretending like this is the most normal of situations.

“It would explain why you’re parasite free,” he replies.  “If you were a Chosen of some high and mighty god.”

“No.”  You turn on your side, mimicking his position and pointing a finger at him.  “Because if I was a Chosen of some high and mighty god they wouldn’t have let me get taken in the first place.  And–and!  I’d remember them.  Gods don’t like to be forgotten.”

Yes, this makes sense.  You continue, “So, Ethel is wrong, and I’m just a really rich person from Baldur’s Gate and no gods love me.  Done.”

Astarion’s brow furrows but he’s grinning.  It’s only because his face is five inches away from your own that you can see this.

“Maybe you should try praying,” he suggests.

Your nose wrinkles.  

“Oh, you have, haven’t you?”  He sets a hand over his heart.

Does drunkenly cursing the gods at the tiefling party count as praying?  You give a small nod, finger finally lowering to press into the bedroll.  Your eyes follow the shadow of movement, no longer wanting to look at the vampire.  “I know the gods don’t really care about us.  Chosen are just…favoured toys for a little while.  Passing fancies.  I’m not about to hold my breath waiting for divine intervention.”

Had you been looking at Astarion you would have seen his eyes flick up and down your features, studying you intently.  You go on, “It would just be nice to…know something.”

When you finally look up at Astarion a breeze flows into the tent, temporarily moving the flaps and letting the firelight in.  The light catches in his eyes, reflecting like rubies when an image flashes in your mind.

Your heart rate spikes.  Or maybe your heart just stops.  That’s what it feels like.  The wind is knocked from your lungs, vision blackened just as quickly as the image had arrived.   A car horn screams inside your head, a voice trying to match the volume of the horn.  Male or female, you can’t tell.  You can’t even understand the words as it all vanishes.

Brake lights.  You’d seen brake lights.

You choke, stuttering breath from your lungs as you try to remember how to breathe.  When you shoot your torso upwards Astarion joins you, watching as you cough and wheeze, choking on nothing.

That was…your death, wasn’t it?  But the first time you’d seen a truck coming at you, now it was brake lights?  You cough again, hands grabbing at the fabric of your tunic and pulling.  God, why was it suddenly so tight?  You pull and pull but it feels as if something is wound around your chest–your heart and lungs and mind.

“What is it?” Astarion questions, voice giving away his worry.  “What’s wrong?”

You gasp for air as another breeze shifts the flaps of the tent.  Someone is watching you, someone that isn’t Astarion.  You peer beyond the tent, past the braziers and campfire to find the source of your unease.  And you see him.  You’d actually forgotten about him, for a bit.  But he’s watching you now from across the camp.

Withers.

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[ameliaenya707]

Drowning

Mdni

Includes

Hurt/comfort

Angst

Depictions of depression and grief

Non-sexual intimacy

From the moment you woke up you felt it. To be honest you felt it before you went to sleep as well, but it was coming in waves and unstable. Too unsure to alert Keigo, knowing he had his own issues to deal with. Not wanting to burden him. But when you woke up you felt the churning in your gut. The empty cavity in your chest that you tried helplessly to fill with menial tasks to ignore the hollow feel of it. You and Keigo knew each other too well. When one of you slipped the other would reach out, but when you both slipped…you just did your best to find solace and respite in one another. Crawling into one another and curling up inside the warmth of each other. Lapping at each other's wounds until the blood clotted and the scabs formed. Smaking away the others hand when they tried to pick at it. And vice versa. You just tried your best for one another. And you could feel today was one of those days. Turning on your side to see him looking up at the ceiling with a vacancy in his eyes, the color drained from the sun-kissed cheeks you loved to poke at. He was the only one you'd allow to jab at your open wounds, and you poked at his in return. The pain providing a quick relief from a numb feeling threatening to drown you both. He turned to look at you and his hands found purchase on your hips, pulling you close as he nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck, seeking whatever comfort he could find there. You both knew you couldn't lay there all day. Rotting only felt so good for so long. With strained breaths and a heavy weight hovering you both, you got out of bed. Stumbling back into eachothers arms, his hand on the small of your back as you both walk to the bathroom. A silent comfort.

You undressed each other lazily. And also to say, awkwardly. Your hand reaching for the hem of his shirt and his hand reaching for the waistband of your sweat pants. Causing you both to huff and take turns to prevent just fumbling and getting nowhere. You stood there cold and naked as you both waited for the water to warm. The image of you both in the mirror catching your peripheral, unrecognizable. You had to catch yourself from falling into an awful bout of derealization. Grabbing his hand and rubbing circles against his cool skin to ground yourself to him. When you stepped into the shower you were able to smile when Keigo let out a low groan, the water hitting against his back. Soothing his tense muscles. You raised your hands to cup his cheeks, thumbs rubbing gentle circles into the bit of pudge. You smiled. He didn't. Nonetheless he grabbed your hips, letting his palms rub against the skin.

“Please let me…just this once…” you pleaded softly and you watched as he sighed. His eyes closed for a moment as he thought and you watched him turn around for you.

“Thank you…” your hands smoothed over his back. Kissing between his shoulder blades and feeling the mass of scar tissue beneath the tips of your fingers.

“Body wash please?” You ask softly and he grabs the body wash and a loofah. Handing it to you. You press a kiss against his bare shoulder as a silent thank you. You squirted the last of the body wash onto the loofah, making a mental note to add a note on the fridge to buy more of his body wash from the store when you went shopping. The thought was overwhelming so you hurried it out. Focusing solely on the task at hand. You lathered up the loofah before rubbing it gently across his back and shoulders. To his neck. Then down to the lower part of his back. Going further down until you had to crouch, Sudsing up the back on his knees and down to his ankles. You rose, grabbing the shower head and detaching it. Bringing it over to wash off all the soap.

You both stepped out of the shower when he finished washing the conditioner from your hair. Wrapping a towel around yourself while he did the same, tying it loosely around his waist. The fatigue lingerd as you both got dressed. Grabbing a pair of his old - falling apart by the seam - boxers and an even older shirt from his teens that he never found time to donate or toss. You pulled them on. The warmth and his scent momentarily silencing your worries as you tie up your hair. You watch as he goes to put his shirt on but you gently grasp his wrist to stop him. Giving him a stern look. He shot back with a look of his own, a silent retort.

“Kei please, the doctors said it'll heal better if you just let me put it on,” you plead with him. It was a back and forth tango of defiance he did with you after every shower you took. You make a step forward insisting he let you put on his scar cream and him taking a step back with a huff.

“I don't like how it feels on my skin, you know this.” You sigh, urging him to just sit on the bed. He reluctantly sat at the edge of the bed, glaring at you as you grabbed the medical cream from the nightstand and crawled onto the bed. Sitting with your legs criss cross behind him.

“I promise, once I rub it in it won't feel as heavy.” He only replies with a mumble under his breath that certainly wasn't excitement. You whisper apologies as you rub the cream against his scars, from his back up to the one on his cheek. Kissing the tip of his nose when you finished as one last I'm sorry. His hand tangled in your hair as he tilted his head, leaning in and pressing his lips against yours. A welcome feeling you could drown yourself in.

You both just tried your best.