#of the one decision you can never ever take back.

[hyunjins-orange-slice-too]

Hi can I request first time with chan with shy reader? 🥺👉🏼👈🏼

i’ll help you through it, yeah?

pairing: chan x virgin reader

genre: smut, fluff, friends to lovers

word count: ~2.6k

warnings: mutual pining, pet names, protected sex, praise.

authors note: i have this request in my inbox for other members as well, so look out for those in the future. i have so many requests (tysm btw) so it’s taking me a little while to get through them. i’m trying to do the oldest ones first because y’all been waiting so long. - not me blushing while writing this. i wish my first time was this sweet. lol

masterlist

"i’m just sick of it, ya know?" you complained. "i’m sick of feeling like this. like im unwanted and missing out on something."

your best friend looked at you, intently listening, but worry starting to mar his features. "are people being mean to you because you’re a virgin?" you could sense the anger threatening to rise up out of him at the thought of someone being mean to you.

"no. this is just pressure i’m putting on myself at this point. im too old to still be a virgin."

"i don’t think that’s true." chris said. "i thought you were saving yourself for someone you really loved? wasn’t that the point?"

he was right, you had always said that since you and chris were kids. you didn’t want your first time to be some fleeting, gross experience. you wanted it to be sweet and full of love. but, it didn’t seem like that was working out and you were tired of waiting.

"yeah well i don’t think that’s going to happen." you said, your voice soft, almost sad. "the person i love doesn’t love me, so im just going to have to give up on that." you chuckled sadly, the sound almost a scoff.

"i understand that. im in the same situation." he confided. "but i haven’t given up. i don’t think you should either."

you looked over at him, the space between you both on the couch was small. you could feel the warmth radiating off of him. that’s just how chris is. he’s warm. he’s warm and he’s safe and.. how could you not be in love with him? your heart longed for him to be the one to take your virginity. your heart ached with the thought of it.

he looked back at you with his big brown eyes, his curly hair tickling his eyelashes. and he thought you were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. why couldn’t you just see how in love with you he is? he hated himself for not being able to confess to you. for not being able to just come clean and tell you how you are the center of his universe. but he was scared. to have you as his best friend and to long for you but never have you was better than telling you and losing you all together. but maybe.. he could try to help you with your current problem? see how things went and then he could decide from there what he would do.

"i could maybe.. help you." chris said shyly, rubbing his sweaty palms together in his lap.

you were shocked. "help me? with this?" why would he offer to help you unless he also wanted to? you felt a small bit of hope bloom in your chest.

"only if you want to." he said quickly. "i’m not trying to push myself on you. i’m just trying to help. we don’t have to."

you thought about it for a moment, your body screaming at you to say yes. but your mind was telling you everything that could go wrong. what if he hated it? found you gross and laughed at your inexperience? you brushed those thoughts off. you and chris has been friends for over fifteen years. he would never do something like that to you. he was kind.

"i would be okay with that.." you said. "but it might not be very good."

"i’ll help you through it, yeah?"

you loved him. god you loved him. this was the right decision,you knew that.

he scooted closer to you on the couch, your thighs pressed against each other. he touched your face, turning you to look at him. he looked in your eyes before saying "if you want to stop, just tell me,okay? i won’t be mad." you nodded as he looked down at your lips. and ever so slowly, not wanting to overwhelm you or scare you, he leaned it. his pillow soft lips made contact with yours and you were done for. he moved his lips against yours, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head. your hands found their way around his neck, tangling in his curls.

this felt so right, but your stomach churned with worry. your body was still tense.

"sweetheart, relax." he whispered against your lips. "you know me." he kissed you again, his tongue grazing your bottom lip. you felt embarrassed. kissing chris felt like the first time you had ever kissed anyone,even though that wasn’t the case.he had you so flustered, your lips weren’t listening to your brain’s commands. you opened your mouth and let his tongue in. he tasted sweet.

he pulled away, admiring your flushed cheeks. "do you want to move to your bedroom?" he asked. you nodded, and he stood, offering you his hand. he led you though your apartment and to your bedroom, knowing the way by heart. standing at the edge of your bed, he pulled you close. he kissed you again, his hands finding their way under your shirt, tickling the skin of your tummy.

"can we take this off?"

your hesitation made him pull away, studying your face for any signs of wanting to stop. "would it help if i took mine off first?" you nodded again, thankful for his suggestion. "you want to help me?"

you grabbed the hem of his black shirt and pulled it up and over his head, discarding it on the floor. you looked at him, at his body. you had seen him shirtless multiple times over the years. summers spent together swimming and early mornings at his apartment after late night study sessions, but this was different. his chest was bare because he wanted you to see it. and that made your skin hot.

"now you.." he said, reaching for your shirt slowly, giving you time to protest. but you didn’t. you let him pull your shirt off, leaving you standing in front of him in your jeans and lacy black bra. his eyes grew wide, his breath catching in his throat. could he do this? you were so beautiful and he hadn’t even seen all of you yet. you were starting to squirm under his stare. his hands were warm and soft as they grazed over your skin, his arms wrapping around your waist as he moved to kiss you again. his fingertips danced up your back, until they unclasped your bra and it fell to the floor. he continued kissing you, not looking at your bare chest right away, giving you time to get used to being bare in his presence. you nipples brushed against his chest, growing harder. arousal pooling between your legs as his kisses moved to your jaw and then your neck.

he took his time with you, slowly placing wet kisses on your skin as he guided you to the bed. he laid you down gently, his body hovering above you. he kissed down to your collarbones, across your chest and down to between your breasts. he looked up at you, his lips still pressed to your skin. your cheeks were red, your mouth slightly open as you tried to draw in breath. he saw no signs of stopping in your eyes. no , they begged him to continue. his lips closed around one of your nipples, his tongue gently caressing the nub. his hand gripped your waist as he sucked on your nipple, your hands balled into fists at your sides.

"you can touch me if you want to, baby." he said, his breath blowing cold against the wet skin of your breast. "don’t hold back."

he kissed his way across to your other nipple as you brought your hands to his hair. he started to move lower, until his lips were against your belly button, and even lower still until his tongue was running along the top of your jeans. "can i take these off?" he asked, fingers grazing over the button and zipper. with your approval, he carefully unbuttoned them and slid them down your legs, revealing your panties that matched your bra. he looked up at you, his face only inches from your center. "you’re so wet, baby." he said. "i can see a little wet patch on your panties."

your face flushed and you turned your head, hiding your embarrassment in your pillow.

"hey.. hey.." he said, his hand finding yours, tangling your fingers together. "don’t hide, baby. let me see your pretty face." you did your best to look at him, trying not to focus on your insecurities, but trying to focus on him instead. you squeezed his hand, his kind brown eyes showing nothing but love. he kissed your hip, and across your skin until he was placing a gentle kiss on your clothed clit. you jerked slightly. "is that the spot baby?" you nodded, biting your lip.

he pulled away, standing up. he chuckled at your pout, your little whines of protest. "just let me take these off." he unbuttoned his jeans, and kicked them to the side. he was only wearing his underwear now, his erection causing the material to stretch uncomfortably. he admired your body from this angle. your arms wrapped around your middle, your legs bending, trying to cover yourself. "don’t." he said, grabbing one of your wrists in each hand and holding your arms out. "let me look at you, baby. god, you are so beautiful."

his hands found their way back to your breasts,squeezing slightly before his fingertips grazed down your skin to the elastic of your panties. he hooked his fingers around them. "can i take these off? can i see your little pussy?" you lifted your hips in answer, helping him slide them off. you were completely naked in front of him now but you didn’t have time to be self conscious about it. his lips were already back on your skin,kissing everywhere he could reach. "fuck you’re so pretty." he mumbled against your tummy. "been dreaming about this."

what did he mean by that? you wondered.

"can i see you too?" you asked, your voice sounding so loud to your own ears, having been silent for so long. but you were starting to feel more comfortable. he made you feel so safe.

"of course you can." he said, straightening again to take his briefs off. and now you got to admire him for a moment. the hard muscles of his chest and abdomen leading down to his hard and leaking erection. the first thing you thought was that he was big. but honestly, you didn’t really have much to compare it to.. so what did you know? "don’t worry baby. we’ll go slow." he said, sensing your hesitation.

he leaned down to kiss your lips once again, his fingers making contact with your wetness. he rubbed soft circles on your clit. you grabbed onto his shoulders, your small whimpers falling into his mouth.

"does that feel good?" he asked.

"yes.." you breathed. "so good."

his fingers traveled down through your folds and teased your entrance. "i’ve got to prepare you a little bit, okay? like this.." and he slid one finger inside of you slowly, pumping in and out. you had done this to yourself before but this was completely different. you had never felt like this before. "there you go, baby." once he felt you had gotten used to the first finger, he added a second. he moved them in and out slowly, his thumb rubbing softly on your clit. you could feel your orgasm building. you were embarrassed by how quickly it had come. but you had been waiting so long for him to touch you like this, you couldn’t help it. he could feel you fluttering around his fingers. "are you going to cum?" he whispered against your neck, his lips pressing soft kisses, his teeth nibbling.

"yes.. yes fuck." you panted.

"go ahead, baby. let go."

and you did, you clamped down on his fingers, his name falling from your lips as your body shook.

he had been fantasizing about you moaning his name like that for so long now that it took everything in him not to bust right then. he took a deep breath, pulling his fingers out of you. you watched as he brought them to his mouth and licked them clean, your pussy dripping and pulsing, begging for more. he leaned over the side of the bed and fished a condom out of his pants pocket.

"are you ready?" he asked, holding the condom up.

"yes please." you said, breathless.

"ooh so polite." he teased, giggling as he tore the foil pack open. you watched as he pumped himself a few times, precum leaking from his swollen tip, before sliding the condom down his length. he leaned down and cupped your face, kissing you softly. "remember, we can stop at any time. just tell me. okay?"

"i don’t want to stop." you said, desperate. "please don’t stop."

he smiled. "i won’t unless you tell me to." he knelt in front of you, his hands on your knees, spreading your legs. he lined himself up with your entrance before slowly pushing the tip in. you gasped and his head fell back, his mouth open. he slowly inched his way inside, giving you time to adjust. you whined under him, your eyes squeezing shut at the stretch. "i know, baby. i know." he said. "you’re doing so good." once you felt his thighs on the back of yours, he stilled. letting you properly adjust to his size. he could feel you pulsing around him, his cock begging to cum. "i’m gonna move now, okay?"

you nodded frantically. "yes. yes please, please."

he slowly pulled out and pushed back in, his pace increasing with each thrust. he wasn’t going to last much longer. he knew that. "fuck— baby you feel so g—good." he stuttered. his hands were digging into your hips as he pumped into you. his mouth open, his eyebrows scrunched together, his hair sticking to his forehead. "are you doing okay?"

"fuck yes.." you gasped. "gonna— gonna cum."

he could feel you squeezing around him. he fell down on to his elbows, his arms caging your head, his panting breath in your ear. he continued pumping in and out of you, the wet sounds filling the room. "cum with m-me baby." he said. "fuck- fuck-"

you squeezed him tighter as your orgasm washed over you, you vision going dark. his thrusts got sloppy and then stopped all together as he spilled into the condom. he collapsed next to you, his panting matching your own. he lazily kissed your jaw and your shoulder. "i love you.." he said.

you froze.

"shit- sorry." he said. "i- i didn’t mean to ruin the moment.. it slipped out."

you turned to face him, his brown eyes looking worried. "i love you too.."

his hand caressed your cheek, his thumb rubbing softly back and forth. "really? you’re not just saying that because your overcome with emotion right now?"

you shook your head no. "i’ve been in love with you for a while now.." you confessed.

he chuckled. "i’ve been in love with you for a while. guess we were both too scared to say anything."

you nodded, feeling blissfully happy. you nuzzled into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"are you okay?" he asked. "was that.. okay?"

"i feel amazing." you said, your voice muffled by his chest. "i’m glad i waited for someone i truly love."

"gahh my heart." he said, squeezing you tighter,

[animeyanderelover]

Anon: How would yan chuuya, jouno, light, megumi and gojo react to a darling that just doesn't care that they're yanderes?

I already did a similar concept with Chuuya before but I added him nonetheless because I wrote this with a darling in mind that is even fine with the Yandere killing

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional mindset, clinginess, isolation, murder

Tags: @maggiequinn59 @shumidehiro @leveyani @izanami78 @lovley-valentine7

Darling doesn't care that they are obsessed

Yagami Light

✍️Light takes the information very well, a pleased grin on his lips when he realises that none of the things that he does seem to bother you. It’s a sign of submission from your side, something that could only ever please a man with a god complex like he has. This is how it should be after all. You should know your place and love him utterly and completely for the perfect being that he is. Light has done some terrible things in the name of his proclaimed love for you, things that he believes he has the right to do as no one is allowed to steal the person away from him that he plans to keep by his side after he has become the New God. Stealing what belongs to a deity is nothing short of a sin. A sin that has to be punished with death itself. After having confirmed that his feelings for you haven’t scared you nor have some of the actions that he has committed which you were aware of, Light starts truly testing how far your adoration and your dedication go for him. He reveals his ideologies, his mission, his identity to you as well as the future he plans to have with you all whilst you remain loving and loyal. Oh, you are indeed worthy of ruling this world alongside with him. He chose wisely.

Nakahara Chuuya

🟠Chuuya tends to let his delusional side get the better of him yet upon initial discovery that you truly don’t care about his behavior as long as he keeps on loving you and treating you well, the Executive is a tad bit concerned. Are you sure? You’re really fine with all of this? He’s in the Port Mafia, he’s killed people for you even. It’s just hard to believe that you accept all of it as gracious as you do to the point where Chuuya wonders if you’re trying to trick him. That distrust remains for a while even if you give him no reason to doubt you. Paranoia is rarely soothed by logic after all. Once Chuuya has been convinced that you truly mean it when you say that you don’t care about his obsession he gets undeniably more delusional though. If you don’t mind his obsession after all he can’t possibly be as bad as he thought he was. He starts indulging in his obsession for you more and more as you basically give him a free pass, asks of you to move in with him so that he can protect you better all whilst spoiling the living shit out of you. He doesn’t really have to hold himself back as much anymore which leads the Executive to turn his possessive behavior up quite a bit. You won’t mind after all.

Jouno Saigiku

♦️For Jouno this knowledge is a bit of a double-edged sword. On the one hand you are easier to deal with, don’t throw any tantrums which could get on his nerves and show quite a level of obedience that deeply satisfies his possessive side. The composed sound of your heart doesn’t overwhelm him but sometimes he also finds himself getting bored. Don’t forget that this Hunting Dog is still an utter sadist after all who would love to listen to the melody of your frantic heartbeat once in a while. After all it’s quite unspectacular for you to be so monotonous with your behavior and your acceptance all of the time. As much obedience and acceptance you may give him after all, it is all for naught if Saigiku doesn’t have control over you by having you fear him. Loyalty and love are not enough in his mind, not if there isn’t fear that weights you down and has you carefully thinking about every stupid decision you might make. The sadist inside of him is truly talking out of him with this desire yet Jouno never attempts to restrain his actions. Since you’ve already taken so well to everything that he’s done so far he’s sure you won’t mind learning how to be a bit scared of him~

Fushiguro Megumi

💙Megumi’s silent paranoia has led him to justify his overprotective and somewhat overbearing behavior most of the time yet there is a shred of awareness still left somewhere inside of him. It is this last shred of sanity that is the only thing letting him know that you shouldn’t think this way, that you should be scared of him. Perhaps you’re trying to trick him? Something holds Megumi back from believing you when you first admit it to him, almost accusing you of trying to fool him so that he lets his guard down. The moment you manage to convince him though that you are speaking the truth the last shard of awareness shatters and leaves him thoroughly led by his paranoid and overprotective instincts. Of course he trusts you. It’s everyone else that he doesn’t trust though. So you two better spend time alone with each other where others won’t be able to bother the two of you. When he isn’t with you, try not to leave the house. If you do, please contact him and let him know where you are, what you are doing and when you are back home again. No, he isn’t overbearing and overprotective. He only wants to ensure your safety, wants to know you’re safe.

Gojo Satoru

🩵Gojo totally eats your behavior up as soon as he knows that you really don’t mind his overbearing, clingy and paranoid attitude. This man has no restrains to begin with as he never holds his affection back but everything becomes even more gross for the people forced to watch as soon as you indirectly give him the free pass. The man is thrilled, constantly smothers you in love and presents and he quickly pushes this relationship to move in the direction he wants it to go. You quickly find yourself moving in with him as it takes him little to no time to convince you, you find yourself spending an almost overwhelming amount of time with him as he gets quickly jealous when you pay attention to others as his possessive and needy nature quickly cages you in. You’re compliant, you’re sweet and you love him for the person that he is which only pushes Gojo to cling tigthter and tighter to you. He finds comfort in you, he finds his peace when he’s with you and he only confines his pain and his feelings to you. You know him. You understand him. You love him. For those reasons he will never let you leave him nor will he ever let anyone lay a finger on you.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mad Season 6 🕸 Story A

Warnings: non/dubcon, social anxiety, chronic illness, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: this is Peter's side of the story.

Summary: a class project gets messy. (short!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Um...” you drone dumbly at Peter. “I don’t know.” 

He stares back at you. He looks scared, “you don’t know?” 

“I’m sorry, I...” the raucous party rumbles on inside the walls. “I can’t think here.” 

“Hey, let me grab my jacket, we can talk outside,” he offers. “Wait, where’s your coat? You can’t go out like that?” 

You look down and realise you left your jacket inside. In fact, he took it. You shrug and he holds up a finger.  

“Please, just give me a chance.” 

You nod. What else can you do? He rushes back through the door and you turn away. You try to ignore the couple sloppily lapping at each other’s mouths. 

You don’t know what to think. You can barely cling to a coherent thought. Bucky’s warning echo in your head. Isn’t this proof? There are other girls, not just you. Yet, you keep asking yourself why you care about them. Peter asked you to be his lab partner, not his girlfriend. 

In fact, no one has ever asked you to be their girlfriend. Why would they? You’re quiet and boring. You shrink back against the wall and peer down at the floor. You should just tell Peter to go back to MJ. 

He appears and your resolve rots away. He only has his coat. “Hey, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t find your coat. I looked all over. The green one right? With the orange buttons? I don’t know what happened but take mine.” 

He holds you his jacket, “Oh, it’s fine. I can’t--” 

“Now what kinda jerk would I be if I let you go cold?” He insists. “I’ll be fine. Really. I like the cold.” 

You blink and take the jacket. You don’t like arguing. You already feel bad enough after barging in on him and MJ. You can’t stop thinking of it. God. It feels so... wrong. 

He walks you down the hall. You’re both silent. You keep distance between you as you get to the elevator and ride it without saying a word. You go out into the lobby and as you get to the front door, you grab the front of his jacket and start to push it off. 

“Please, keep your coat. I should go home--” 

“Just hear me out, okay?” He begs and stops you from taking off the coat. “Please.” 

You face him and dip your chin, “okay.” 

He sighs. You peek up from under your eyelids. He smiles nervously, cheeks pinkening, and he shifts his weight on his feet. He clears his throat. 

“Look, I’m an idiot. I went into that room with MJ. I know how she is. I’m not going to play victim here. All I can say is it won’t happen again.” His jaw ticks, “I’m a dummy. I was... I was so nervous about talking to you. I know you hate parties but I thought if I was drinking I could just tell you how I feel. And of course, it just made me stupid.” 

Your mouth falls open. He can’t be saying what you think he is. Right?

Before you can respond, the door to the lobby opens and you look over as MJ struts out. Her long legs are toned in her heels and her short leather skirt. Her hair is perfect and her makeup brings out her natural colouring. She’s perfect and you’re wearing a pleated skirt. 

You look at Peter again and deflate. 

“Peter,” MJ approaches, “why’d you run off?” 

“MJ,” he sighs, “I told you--” 

“What did you tell me before you had my tongue down your throat?” She smirks. 

“Stop,” he snips. “I said no.” 

“But you didn’t stop me,” she scoffs. “And now what? You’re scurrying around with her? Really? Her?” 

“Don’t be mean,” Peter steps between you and her, as if he’s trying to hide you. 

“You call it mean, I call it honesty,” she chirps back. 

“Get out of here. You weren’t even invited,” he snarls as he reaches back and latches onto your wrist. 

“When did you turn into such a fucking loser?” She snips and shoves him.  

He collides with you but takes most of the impact. She stomps out in her clunky heels as you turn to watch her. She doesn’t look back. 

Slowly, you spin back to Peter, “are you alright?” 

“Yeah, fine,” his shoulders droop. “Look, I get it. I screwed up. I don’t want to ruin the rest of your night. I already dragged you here. Just, take my coat, get home safe. Be done with me.” 

His eyes twinkle wetly and his nose twitches. He looks like he could cry. As small as you are, he seems even smaller in that moment. 

“You didn’t let me answer,” you say. 

His forehead lines in confusion and his lips open wordlessly. 

“I... I’m surprised is all. It’s been a weird night and...” You sway and fold your hands. “I’m kind of a mess myself. I really don’t do well in crowds. I know you know that.” You try to smile. “And I know it’s lame but... I really do try and...” you look away and your cheeks heat up. “I don’t think I would if I didn’t like you too.” 

Another suffocating silence sucks the air out of the room. You fidget and stare at your boots. You wince as Peter steps closer. He surprises you as he pulls the jacket closed and does up the zipper. As the tab reaches the top, he taps your chin and you look up at him shyly. 

“Can I walk you home?” He asks as he brushes his hand down the sleeve and tickles your fingers. 

A full smile breaks through and you nod giddily, “sure.” You grab onto his hand, vibrating in vibrant excitement. Can he feel you shaking? 

“You still cold?” He asks as he tugs you towards the door. You shake your head but as you step outside, he puts his arm over your shoulder and pulls you close. He walks you down the pavement as a blistering wind blows around you. “Gotta keep my girl warm, huh?” 

“Your... girl?” You squeak. 

He hums and squeezes you tight, “all mine.” 

[possessionisamyth]

Not to kick a dead horse, but there is a way to make Pier's death genuinely very loaded and tragic that fandom consensus just seems to continue to miss! I've never seen a take about Piers's death being about PIERS, but all about "ooohh chris lost a good one" and how the two are not able to fuck anymore. But I am going to free you from these shackles while I zero in on Chris' comment of

"I wanted him to replace me."

Surely Piers was being trained to take Chris' job ideally after a decent retirement party, but neither of them get that luxury because Edonia happens, and Chris is gone. The beloved captain has vanished, and the person who's supposed to take his job is right there, so they give it to him. It's Piers responsibility to not only be a face of what the BSAA represents, but also the heavy shackles of expectations are slapped onto him.

Everyone wants Chris, which means Piers can't be himself nor figure out how to run the same jobs his way. No, it has to be Chris' way. There's no time for anyone to adjust and shift gears either with the C-Virus outbreaks, the terrorist attacks from Ada*(Carla), and the search party he shambled together to locate the missing Redfield. So he tries his damnedest to fill Chris' shoes and suddenly realizes just how out of his depth he is. There were so many reasons people called Chris for certain tasks, even tasks Piers hadn't known about and definitely hadn't been trained on, that Piers never saw. There's no mentor to dial. No reference other than fellow soldiers saying things like, "We don't know how, he just got it done," which is the least helpful thing in the world. Hell, there's barely any notes to go through when he searches Chris' office for a semblance of a hint as to how he should do this job.

Maybe it turns out Chris was doing his best to gently ease that heavy mantle into Piers' hands. It's why his scheduled retirement seemed so far away at the time. Perhaps, after one comment too many where he'd been accidentally addressed by the name of his captain for the 50th time, Piers breaks. He can't do this. He's not ready for this. He needs the one person who did all this back by any means necessary, so he drops all the work and joins the search party. He verbally harasses an amnesiac Chris into coming back because maybe it isn't that bad. Maybe Chris just needs a reminder of what he's been doing everyday for literal years and things would be back to normal again.

But it's not. It's messier. It's uglier. This isn't the Chris he worked so hard to fight alongside. There are glimpses of him in there, but most of the time in China, Piers feels like he's working with a stranger. People die, and Chris keeps pushing forward no matter how much he's shouted at, and Piers feels like this is all his fault. The deaths are his fault because he couldn't buckle down and do what Chris originally wanted him to do. Take Chris' place. Replace him. Be better than him.

So when they go to that underwater facility, and their backs are against the wall, there's the looming sense of failure and a terrifying amount of pressure. If they get out of this alive, who knows when Chris would be back in shape to work again if that ever happens. Piers would have to be responsible. He was already responsible for the squad he gathered to take up this job, and they were skewed into pieces around downtown Lanshiang. Take Chris' place. Replace him. Be better than him, and Piers failed on all accounts. He couldn't get Chris back the way he was supposed to be. His squad was dead. The responsibility he'd have to take up if they made it out alive would be nigh unbearable, and then he gets infected.

He gets infected and suddenly the decision is so easy. To let go. To hope for the best. To be the one left behind when he was supposed to be the one moving towards the future. Another glimpse of the Chris that Piers knew is seen, a more confident glimpse wherein Chris does everything he can to try and save him. And Piers smiles when Chris fails. When he saves Chris. When he seems to finally do one thing right after things never seemed to stop falling apart.

It's the last thing Chris sees. That smile and the ever encroaching weight of immeasurable responsibility that'll grasp him tight as soon as he breaks the surface. The weight Piers couldn't take from him, and maybe never wanted in the first place.

[readerforexiao]

Ataraxy | 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ

⌗ Wriothesley x Reader | Fluff, Romance, Established Relationship | tw: plot, light mentions of trauma, readers job was previously a healer, briefly implied abuse & dark past & ptsd, mention of a somewhat graphic injury/ies, same au as Sacrifice | wc: 4.5k |

⌗ A/n: i rushed and i hate it, but I'll get nowhere if i second guess everything, so yes this is all "writing practice" for me, especially dialogue bcs that's one of my weaker skills.

⌗ "And how could you not smile upon seeing life pour out from those truly deserving of happiness?”

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, it bathed the sky in a warm, golden light, gradually shifting through hues of orange, pink, and purple. A gentle breeze whispered through the tall grass, swaying the blossoming fields of flowers in a soft, rhythmic dance.

The atmosphere was peaceful, undisturbed, until the soft murmur of their voices blended with the distant birdsong as they walked hand in hand along the winding pathways.

"Where are you taking me?" you asked, curiosity bubbling up as you felt the tickling sensation of what you assumed to be grass brushing against your legs.

"Somewhere," Wriothesley replied vaguely, pausing only for a moment to adjust your blindfold. "You can’t see anything, right?"

"Not a thing!" you answered, chuckling softly as you extended your hand free of his to the side, feeling the tips of grass graze your palm as you crossed the edge of the pathway. "But I can definitely feel long grass, so I’m guessing it’s─"

"Nothing!" he cleared, his voice rising a little higher than he intended before adding in a softer, more composed tone, "Dear"

“Alright, alright. It’s nothing, I shall assume no further” you teased, squeezing his hand as he resumed guiding you into the unknown.

After years of survival and constant fighting, the nightmares that shaped you had begun to fade when you settled into a quieter, more domestic lifestyle. Not to say the healing process happened overnight or that it would ever truly heal completely, but you'd be surprise how much of a difference the right company can make.

One small decision can change everything, but it's never without challenges.

Old habits die hard, as they say. Even now, despite knowing you were the safest with the man holding your hand, a deep instinctual memory of the times when you had been held down and robbed of your vision against your will surfaced, and subconsciously you fell back on those old instincts of paranoia.

Your ears sharpened to the sounds surrounding you, picking up the melodic chirping of birds, the rustle of grass, and the faint whistle of the breeze. The air carried the earthy scent of damp soil, the crisp freshness of dew-covered grass, and the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers. You recognized the outdoors as instinctively as you recognized your lover's eyes in the dark. However, beyond that little knowledge, your awareness stopped there.

Still, with blind trust, you let him guide you, placing your heart in his weathered hands as though he held the gift of life itself.

You drew in a deep breath, silently pleading for your anxiety to settle— a battle you’d often lost. But this one time, against all odds, it listened and quieted itself as though it finally caves and realized it needed not fret when Wriothesley was by your side.

Wriothesley squeezed your entwined fingers in reassurance once again, and you couldn’t help but recall the night his smile first drew you in; the fateful night of your first encounter, when his body convulsed and rough screams tore from his throat as you removed several shards of metal and glass from his torso. As you wiped the sweat from his brow and patted it away from his chest, unable to stop yourself from flinching at the sight of the pain and exhaustion etched onto his beautiful face.

The second when your gaze collided with his and you met the muted shades in his eyes— though lacking vivid color— something about them infused your world with a vibrancy it had never known before. His warm smile, droopy and effortless in their gratitude, lulling a moment of distress into peace like you have never known all those times your hands soaked in blood.

“How much longer?” you asked, but certainly you had no desire to rush because each minute with him was a joy, a treasured experience. Every second adored and loved, and time be damned if ever you wished it to hurry and run away from you.

“Impatient, are we?” his low voice replied, and you could see the grin that was fixed on his face in your memory. “Just a little further.”

A hint of his excitement slipped through.

How could he restrain the childlike spirit that had been stolen from him when your hand was in his and your love within his heart?

And how could you not smile upon seeing life pour out from those truly deserving of happiness?

Thus, the anticipation mounted as you noticed the subtle shift in pace, curious about what could possibly make the Duke so eager to leave his work unfinished.

Soon, the space was filled with an eerie hollowness, and the sound of your shoes echoed as they crossed the rocks and puddles.

You froze, a shiver of subconscious fear running through you. Wriothesley paused to momentarily release your hand, hus absence startling you but not for a moment too long, and his arms were looping around your waist to bring you close.

"We're entering a cave," He informed, and your love for the man sunk deeper into your core.

It was the relief that came from his small act of thoughtfulness— the brief bit of information, the tone in which it was voiced, and the actions that followed it. His ability to compromise and his effort to balance his excitement and the secrecy while simultaneously reassuring you. It is something of such significance that lies beyond anyone's comprehension.

The chirping of birds gradually faded, replaced by a new muffled sound— an almost imperceptible trickling, like water.

As he neared the surprise he had arranged, Wriothesley stopped and untied the blindfold.

"Are we there yet?"

"Not even close, but almost.." He replied while parting the vines to reveal an entrance to the otherworldly beauty that awaited beyond, the scenery that stole your breath and left your heart momentarily still.

Every inch of the landscape was mesmerizing, as if untouched by time, raw and unfiltered.

You turned in slow circles and everywhere you faced yet another stunning detail unfolded— nature at its purest. You were encased within these naturally crafted walls of rock that made you feel safe and protected from the world outside, as if nothing could possibly reach you.

It was a place where the sun filtered in from above in a way that neither overshadowed the elements below nor diminished its own brilliance, and it's beams of light casting golden hues over the vibrant wildflowers that carpeted the patches of dirt.

A sight like this was bound to leave a lasting impression and how wonderful that it was a memory you would always associate with him.

"Wriothesley..." you whispered his name, breathless, and he swelled with pride.

"Too early to be speechless, sweetheart, there's more"

He led you carefully over the slippery rocks as the water roared beside you, and you couldn’t resist the urge to let your fingers dance through the cascading spray.

Wriothesley watched with delight as your face lit up with wonder and awe. He cherished the way simple things brought you joy, that he knew this would brighten your day. Simply put, Wriothesley loved that you loved him and that things like this could be shared with you.

Eventually, the path narrowed, forcing you both to move in single file, and for a brief moment, you were engulfed in the cool darkness of another cave. This time, no worries ladened your shoulders. You walked with an eagerness, anticipating what could possibly be an even better sight than the one you just saw.

You emerged into a small forest where the sunlight, mirroring the waterfalls, seeped through the thick canopy of trees above, shining dappled patches of light across the forest floor. The air now smelled of pine. The soft crunch of leaves and twigs underfoot as the distant hum of the waterfall fell behind you.

"Beautiful,” you muttered in absolute wonder, entranced by the passing trees and their distinctive appearances, the waving of their brances. Each root told a story while the sturdy bark that ascended into the sky provided shelter for countless animals over the years.

“How on earth did you find this place?"

“Believe it or not, I got lost"

You spared him a glance at his reply. "You.. got lost?"

"Is it hard to believe?" He cleared his throat. “Sometimes the best discoveries happen when you’re not exactly where you planned to be.”

You raised an eyebrow, “So, you were just wandering when you stumbled upon this place?”

"I mean-" Wriothesley hesitated, his mouth opening but then falling closed when the words slipped from his grasp before he could fully form them. He knew there was no point in trying to force the little lie, as innocent as it was, without solid ground beneath it— especially not one you’d believe. He was always confident, quick with his words, but when it came to you, the truth weighed heavier and excuses felt all the more shallow.

The idea of him having enough free time to leisurely explore Fontaine was laughable. With the recent surge in criminal activity and the flood of court cases, both he and Neuvillette had been neck-deep in work. The Fortress of Meropide was overrun with new inmates, and managing the prison had become even more of a balancing act.

“What will it cost me to convince you that I simply got distracted on my way to a pickup point?” he joked, though a hint of nervousness underlined his words.

“Being distracted while on the job doesn’t reflect well on you, Your Grace.” You crossed your arms, an amused smile tugging at your lips as you entertained his playful banter.

“I’ll have you know, I was actually on my lunch break.”

"You hardly leave the house even on your days off," you commented. "You expect me to believe you left the prison on your lunch break for a stroll and ended up getting lost? Your sense of direction may be poor, but i doubt it's that poor Wriothesley."

“Okay, maybe I didn’t get lost in the traditional sense,” he admitted.

"I seriously doubt you got lost at all"

"Can I keep it a secret?" He asked.

“Are you trying to hide something from me, Wriothesley?” you teased. “Did you meet a secret lover here or something?”

His brows furrowed as he shot you an incredulous look. “I'm highly offended. A secret lover? Really? Do you think I’d go gallivanting around with someone else when I could be here with you?”

“I’m just saying, it’s not every day you find yourself wandering in the woods during a workday. It raises questions!”

He shook his head, a smile forming on his mouth despite himself. “You’ve got quite the imagination, but I assure you, my only agenda was to see if this place had any potential for a date. Trust me, this is all about you,” he insisted.

“Then why not just tell me?” you challenged, your words laced with the stubbornness that stemmed from the worries you grappled with every day.

Wriothesley hesitated, and in that moment of hesitation, his gaze was drawn to a single wildflower, unique among the others, nestled between the roots of an old tree, its petals swaying wirh the breeze. When he suddenly stopped walking, you were left puzzled and even more so when he released your hand and turned his back to you. You watched as he crouched down silently, his movements hidden from view as his fingers brushed the cool earth, gently picking the flower he had been eyeing.

For a moment, he simply admired it, its soft colors a stark contrast to the ruggedness of his hand and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, thinking of how it paled in comparison to your beauty. Rising to his feet, he tucked the flower behind his back and returned to you.

"I know how much you tend to worry..." He held out a deep sapphire rose adorned with shimmering flecks of frozen ice. You had never seen anything like it despite visiting many places and encountering countless flowers; none compared to this one.

As you accepted the flower he offered, your fingers brushed during the exchange and you felt the coolness of his bare skin, unencumbered by gloves, gear, or gauntlets.

Your attempt at steadying your racing heart all but failed miserably.

"...And I would rather you enjoy our evening without fretting over how I stumbled upon this place.” You were focused on admiring the rose, still, you frowned at his words. "The phrasing of your words worry me, Wriothesley..."

"Do you not trust me, sweetheart?"

"I do," you said, fixing him with a serious gaze that matched your expression. "Just not with your own life"

Archons have mercy. He couldn't tell if they had blessed him or forsaken him for his heart thudded in a way it never had before, as if he were in the throes of a heart attack. It was a rhythm of emotion he had never experienced before you, and it both exhilarated and terrified him. How could you love him so fiercely, caring so deeply for a life he considered worthless and easily expendable?

Standing alone in the heart of the forest where you were surrounded by the curious gaze of a squirrel and its two tiny offspring, and three bunnies frolicking in the underbrush, their fur reminiscent of your favorite ice cream flavors: caramel, vanilla, and chocolate chip, the world came to a standstill. He thought the moment perfect, feeling as if he had all the time in the world and wished to remain as you were, regardless of the unanswered questions or the surprise he stayed late into the night after work to prepare for you. This was all he wanted: to hear your love confessed with his every breathing second.

"You've been reckless lately. I'm not sure if it's exhaustion or frustration, but I'm aware of the injuries you've tried to hide from me. You should know better than to think Sigewinne wouldn't snitch on you, " you chuckled.

"They were minor injuries," his hold on you tightened as he defended himself.

You flicked his nose.

"Minor? You dove off a cliff, got shot in the shoulder, sustained a knife wound in your thigh, and nearly crushed your other shoulder against a boulder! And how many times have you almost wrecked your gauntlets from punching too hard?"

"Correction, the bullet only grazed my shoulder."

"Oh, so that makes it better? Just a little love tap from a bullet, huh?" You snorted.

He rolled his eyes, but a smirk played on his lips.

You were in for a shock— he knew it would give you a heart attack if you learned that he stumbled upon this majestic place while chasing a few criminals near the waterfalls, ultimately, he had only caught the runaways after taking a tumble over the edge himself. The punishment for revealing such reckless behavior was far too great; he couldn’t bear the thought of enduring days of silence from you without a single kiss.

How did we get here? Wriothesley chuckled at the thought. This conversation was taking a turn completely opposite of what this trip was meant for, but of course he should have known better given your stubborn and caring nature.

You could read him like an open book, and impressively, you could do the same even when it was closed, knowing him so well that you didn't need to see the pages. You could recall chapter numbers along with its contents and even quote your favorite lines. You remembered every contour of the lines on his palms, just as you could recall each scar he bore and the stories behind them.

He cupped your face, grinning ear to ear.

"What's so funny?" you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Just thinking about how much you care," he replied, feigning innocence.

"Care? I’m practically having a heart attack over here!" You exclaimed, your hands clenched into fists, but then you remembered the rose you were holding and eased up.

Wriothesley noticed and gently took it from you, tucking it safely behind your ear. “You’re right, and that’s why I can't tell you, it'll only worry you more. This trip was supposed to be about relaxation, not me giving you gray hairs.”

“Thoughtful and sweet, and I love you for making time to take me on dates, especially considering how busy you are...”

"But?"

"But you're a crazy bastard, and however you stumbled upon this heavenly place is definitely a cause for concern."

'That’s exactly why I won’t tell you that I fell from the waterfalls and tumbled from that tree over there.' His smile quickly vanished, and his eyes widened as he realized he hadn’t kept that thought in his head like he’d meant to.

“Archons save me, my lover is a complete idiot!” you exclaimed, the frustration spilling out of you. He flinched at the sharpness of your voice, his playful demeanor shifting to one of mild concern.

“Okay, okay, I might’ve misjudged that one,” he admitted, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “But I’m here alive, aren't I!”

“Fine?” you echoed incredulously, throwing him a glare.

Wriothesley took a step closer as he tried to soothe you, not realizing he was digging his grave. “I didn't mean to worry you, my love. I needed to catch those criminals when things got a little... chaotic.”

“A little chaotic? You think falling from a waterfall and crashing into a tree is ‘a little chaotic’?"

You inhaled deeply, forcing yourself to calm down. "If you pull another stunt like that, I will tie you to that same damn tree.”

He raised a brow, “Oh really? You think you can keep me tied up?”

“I’ll find a way,” you shot back, trying to sound more assertive than you felt. “You may be strong, but I’m resourceful. Just imagine the look on your face when you realize you’re not getting away this time.”

Wriothesley chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. “I have to admit, the thought of you trying to tie me up is rather amusing."

"Talk more and see where that gets you, Wriothesley"

"I'm a yapper, sweetheart. Talking is my specialty"

Clearly

ᯓ ✴︎˚｡⋆

The path you walked wound gently out of the forest, branches brushing your shoulders as you distanced from its heart until the trees thinned, and the setting sun grew visible, spilling ahead into an open field to reveal a hidden clearing where the butterflies fluttered between the long glass, and a soft brisk of wind carried the scent of pollen through the air.

In the center stood a lone tree, its branches heavy with blossoms that seemed to sway in dance with the breeze.

You drank in the sight, breathing it in like the crisp air that filled your lungs, knowing you would leave this place with its image seared into your soul, never to fade.

Amidst the haven of colors and a great many unique fragrances, a cozy little picnic blanket lay spread out, surrounded by cushions and a spread of food from the basket.

The dainty glow of seelie lights strung between the branches, spilling its orange warmth below, and along the pathway you strolled, an entourage of fireflies escorted you.

Wriothesley grinned so widely his cheeks ached, and his eyes stung from not blinking—he couldn’t bear to miss a single second of your awe-struck expression.

"What do you think? Did I redeem myself? " Wriothesley spoke, his voice blending seamlessly with nature's song—low, honeyed, and rough in all the right ways. It harmonized with the surroundings yet still managed to stand out and draw in your attention.

"Up until a few minutes ago I thought nothing could possibly beat the waterfalls.."

“Worth nearly dying for, wasn’t it?” Wriothesley teased, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. But the humor fell flat as your expression shifted, disapproval etched across your face, your brow furrowed, and lips pressed into a tight line.

“Please don’t joke about that,” you said softly but firmly, the seriousness in your voice unmistakable. You hadn’t meant to darken the mood yet again, but after everything that had been said in the forest, one thing was clear— Wriothesley’s reckless disregard for his own life was far more troubling than he realized.

Wriothesley's expression faltered at the weight of your words. His gaze dropped briefly before meeting yours again, this time softer: understanding the concern behind your stern tone.

"I’m sorry, sweetheart," he said, "I didn’t mean to upset you."

You sighed, the tension in your shoulders loosening just a little. “It’s not about upsetting me. It’s about you not seeing the value in your own life. Every time you throw yourself into danger like that, it feels like you're slipping further away.”

His brows knitted together, “I’m not used to people worrying about me, not like you do,” he admitted quietly. “I guess I didn’t realize how much it bothered you.”

“It does only because I care. And I don’t want to lose you.”

Your faith in him was unshakable and you knew his strength, his resilience, and how capable he was of handling himself. But the world wasn’t as kind and it didn’t share your affection for him. If anything, it was the cruelty of that world that fed the fears that kept you up at night.

You had given all you could. And so had he.

Today was meant to rekindle your love and commitment after months of survival, sacrifice, and tireless work. This trip had been planned as a time to reconnect, to bask in the golden afternoon sun and lose yourselves in each other, making up for the moments you’d given away to the world. It was supposed to be just the two of you, wrapped in the peace of the scenery. Yet, as you stood before him, he realized this heartfelt conversation was exactly where all that time apart had led him.

Wriothesley was accustomed to worse, much worse. He had never experienced someone caring for him the way you did, and adjusting to that was knowingly going to be a challenge. In the past, his life felt meaningless. He fought without a clear purpose, indifferent to the thought of death; if it came, it came.

But every day spent with you was filled with stolen glances and lingering smiles, a desperate longing for your touch. You would sneak an hour from work to bring him lunch, slipping letters through a guard to reach him. You even adjusted your grocery shopping routes to pass by the prison, timing your visits for when new inmates were expected to arrive. Each small act was a testament to the connection you shared, a defiance against the constraints that kept you apart. And it made him realize how deeply he craved this kind of connection; how much he wanted to fight not just for himself, but for something greater.

This is what had been missing all along: a reason to fight, a reason to care. He now often found himself pondering the future, imagining a life where he wasn’t just surviving but truly living.

One thing he needed to improve was precisely what you had scolded him about: the value of his own life.

Happiness had the tendency to ebb and flow, and at times all those buried emotions and anxieties would surface, triggered by just a single word. But as you expressed your growing concern for the man before you, you felt an invisible weight lift from your chest, and a deep-seated worry begin to fade. A sudden wave of ease washed over you, as if nature in its ability to calm, had liberated you.

Wriothesley turned you around until the only view was of him framed against the painted sky. With a smile, he leaned in and rested his forehead against yours. His hands gliding down your forearm, chilled fingers elicting goosebumps. He took hold of your hand and guided it to his chest where you felt the steady rhythm of his heart quicken beneath your touch.

"I'm not asking you to change who you are— I know you can’t help but rush in headfirst. But being a bit more cautious wouldn’t hurt. What if next time you fall from a tree, hit your head, and end up with amnesia?"

"You’d take care of me until I remember?"

"Or I could use it as an excuse to finally be done with you for good."

"Yeah, no— don’t joke about that," he scoffed. "Like you'd actually leave me.. weren't you just talking my ear off about how much you love me?"

“You do know that if you die, you won’t see me again, right?”

“Well, damn, you have a point. I’ll just drag you into the afterlife with me.”

“How romantic,” you said, rolling your eyes as he leaned down to place a quick kiss on your cheek, his lips lingering as they moved to your ear.

“So romantic”

You laughed lightly, “Mhm,”

“Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?” he pulled back to look at you, his eyes gleaming with flecks of mischief. “Imagine it— we could haunt all the places we loved.”

“Yeah, right. I can see it now: ‘The haunting couple’ who bicker about everything,” you chortled.

"I guess you wouldn't need to worry about me dying," he joked.

He nodded, his expression turning more serious. “Agreed. I want to make more memories with you— happier ones, not ones where I’m falling out of trees.”

A warmth spreader through you at the sincerity in his eyes. “Let’s just make sure you stay in one piece, alright?” you said, leaning in closer.

“Deal,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Now, how about we make the most of this day together instead of talking about my impending doom?”

“That sounds like a plan,” you agreed, barely having a moment to process it before Wriothesley swept you off your feet, laughing at the squeal that escaped you.

Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as he looked deep into your eyes, captivated by an irresistible pull that drew him closer. A tender smile blossomed on your lips as his lips finally met yours, your eyes gently closing as you surrendered to his affection. As the kiss deepened, the world around you seemed to fade away, time suspended in a perfect moment of intimacy. You were cocooned in a bubble of warmth, where only the two of you existed. His heartbeat pulsed steadily against your chest, resonating with your own.

With ease, he carried you over to the blanket spread out beneath the expansive sky and protective tree. The sun dipped lower behind the mountain peaks, seelie lights began to glow brighter as did the fireflies blurry beams.

As he set you down on the blanket, you looked up into his eyes and it sent a thrill through you.

“This,” he murmued against your lips, cheeks flushed and a hint of salive tracing his lower lip “is perfect.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the day’s worries lift as you nestled against him, the blanket enveloping you both. “It really is,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the magic of the moment.

"I love you.."

You leaned in, kissing the corner of his mouth. "Not as much as I love you"

All rights reserved | Copyright @readerforexiao 2024 do not copy, steal, or repost to any other platform

[goodolddumbbanana]

Dark Sun asks Sundrop to help him impress Sun.

Sundrop(No Moon! Sun) *still in his very upbeat phase*: So... What do we need a Wither dragon for?

Dark Sun : What do you mean what do we need a Wither dragon for? Why in the hell do you think I just spent whole months driving Nexus crazy?

The whole purpose of recruiting Nexus in the first place was just to make Sun realize how horrible Moons are so that I can prove my decision on killing Moon are right and Sun just do the same with me, he will join me and he will not refuse, because of the implication.

Sundrop ( * sweating nervously*): Oh, uh... okay. You had me going there for the first part, the second half kinda threw me off.

Dark Sun (*patiently explaining*): Well Sun, think about it: Nexus just went crazy and attempted to go on a rampage killing all of Sun's family members.

Sundrop (*kinda regret interacting with Dark Sun right now*): Erm...

Dark Sun: And Moon is just pathetic crippled in the background thinking how miserable his life was like some pathetic egoistic person he is.

All his family is busy with their things. With that, Sun will get isolated. So when I show up, what do you think Sun will think?

"Ahh, there's nowhere for me to run. What am I gonna do, say 'no'?"

Sundrop (*slowly take a step back*): Okay. That... that seems really dark.

Dark Sun (*shake his head innocently*): Nah, nah, no it's not dark. You're misunderstanding me, Sun.

Sundrop (*Press the phone secretly behind his back while anxiously calling Cringe Sun") : I'm-I think I am.

Dark Sun : Yeah, you are, because if Sun said "no" and refuses to go with me then the answer obviously is "no"...

Sundrop (*hello, twink boy~ calling this soon? Has my skibidi toilet break dance finally impressed you?*: No, right. Yeah...

Dark Sun : But the thing is he is not gonna say "no", he would never say "no" because of the implication.

Sundrop (*whisper* Get your ass and Sunny come here immediately!!! Dark Sun went cooko again!!!*) : Haha...Now you've said that word "implication" a couple of times. Wha-what implication?

Dark Sun : The implication is that things might go wrong for him if him refuse to join me. Now, not that things are gonna go wrong for him but he is thinkin' that they will.

Sundrop: But it sounds like Sun doesn't want to join you..? Or date you?

Dark Sun : Why aren't you understanding this? Sun doesn't know if he want to do as I say or not. That's not the issue...

Sundrop : Are you gonna hurt Sun?

Dark Sun : I'm not gonna hurt Sun! Why would I ever hurt Sun? I feel like you're not getting this at all!

Moondrop : I'm not getting it.

Dark Sun : Goddamit.

[SunBOT staring at them]

Dark Sun : Well don't you look at me like that, you certainly wouldn't be in any danger. I mean, I couldn't kill you if I wanted to.

Sundrop : So he is in danger!

Dark Sun : No one's in any danger!

...

Okay, except Nexus. But that Moon has it coming!!

[lidiasloca]

time travelling to harry

PART TWO

harry potter x reader

summary: you use a malfunctioning time-turner that takes you to Harry Potter’s fifth year, and you find it very difficult to not fall in love with the Hogwarts’ legend.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄☆

"Yes."

Harry gives you a dazzling smile in answer. “Great!”

It is then that you realize the weight of your decision. What if this changes something? Well – if you change something in your past, meaning this present, then you’d see it already in your present, meaning this future, right?

“What are you thinking about?”

“Oh. Nothing. Nothing.” You try to smile, but it comes out nervously, paired with your flushed face. “Mmmm… where do we start?”

Before he can answer, Ron’s yell cuts through the bubble you've created with Harry. “Guys, it’s getting late. We’ve decided to leave it here for today.”

“Oh,” Harry mutters in surprise. You hadn’t realized it was this late either. “Alright, then. See you all tomorrow.”

He waves Ron and Hermione goodbye, and the rest of the students follow them to leave. At last, Harry turns back to you. “We should leave as well. Do you have class now?”

You definitely don’t have class now, nor in about fifty years or more.

“I don’t,” you shyly say under your breath.

He will not find out. He will not find out. Calm down.

“Oh. Alright. Great!” He chuckles nervously, which makes you more nervous. Does he know your secret? “And would you like to – well, I am going to visit Hagrid, maybe… do you want to come?”

Oh my. Hagrid.

“Hagrid?”

“Hagrid. Yes.”

Hagrid. You were going to meet yet another Hogwarts legend.

Your friends always mocked you when you confessed it made you cry that you never got to meet the unique keeper of keys. But now you are, and Harry can read the joy it brings you by your beam.

“Is that a yes?”

You nod with carefree elation. Maybe this wasn’t too bad? Maybe it was the greatest thing that has ever happened to you. This was all you never knew you wanted – meeting your school heroes. Maybe befriending them… Maybe…

Your delight doesn’t falter one bit as you wander with Harry through the castle. Somehow, magic is more alive now than in the future. As if Harry’s magic spreads through the air. Perhaps the saying was right, Harry Potter really was the light of Hogwarts.

“What?” he asks with a laugh as he finds you watching him.

No embarrassment shows on your face, just an easy smile that creates a new complicity between you two. It has been fun talking to him during your walk. You’ve found out he truly is a sweetheart; it was relieving that the hero isn’t intimidating at all, but just a kind boy with a good heart. He is even quite timid, which makes him even more endearing.

“Nothing.”

He chuckles, and shaking his head, remarks, “I have to ban you from using that word anymore.”

You match his playful chuckle. “I’d be left with nothing.”

“Oh, shut up!” he laughs even deeper, hitting you playfully with some books he had picked up for Hagrid.

“Ouch!”

“No, but really – you have to stop saying nothing and start explaining who you are. Or why I’ve never seen you at Hogwarts.” There’s a suspicion in his tone that makes you alert. But he laughs it off.

“Mmmm,” you start, unsure of what to say. “Well, I’m Y/N.”

“I know that,” he says plainly.

“I told you it’s difficult to explain.”

“Try.”

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. But… You inspect the hallway, watching for any signs of someone being around. You're alone, but you still don’t feel safe enough.

“Hey – What?” he exclaims as you swiftly take him by his uniform and pull him through a door. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t risk being heard,” is all you explain.

His confusion only grows, and he takes a step toward you, as if the closer he gets, the closer the answer is to him. “So you are going to tell me?”

“I am.” You sigh, already regretting your decision. “But you have to promise me you will tell no one.”

He nods. “I promise.”

You don’t know why, but you believe his words utterly, just like you would Nathaniel, your most trusted friend. You try to tell your heart you shouldn’t trust this boy you’ve just met so blindly, no matter how kind and good he is.

“Alright. Well… the thing is… I may have come here from – well – from the future.” It almost sounds like a question, the way you say it. A question Harry most definitely doesn’t have the answer to.

“What.”

You nod.

“What do you mean you come from the future?”

You owe him a longer explanation. “I found an old time-turner. I turned it, and now I’m here.” You go to show him the collar, but you don’t find it on your neck, where it should be. Oh no. You must have dropped it somewhere, right? If not, how would you ever return?

Or maybe – just maybe, this was your perfect excuse to never return. To stay here.

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh,” you reply, looking down at your feet. You’ll look for the time-turner after this. “I didn’t know what I was doing, and I don’t know what to do now.”

“You mean you don’t know how to go back?” he asks, still taken aback.

“No, that I know. I would just have to turn the ring five times, or so. It’s just that… Nevermind.”

“What?”

“It’s not that I don’t know how to go back, it’s just that I don’t know if I want to.”

“You don’t want to go back?” he questions, surprised.

“I don’t want to leave.”

“But… Why?”

He’s really making this hard for you. You hope your answer is clear enough as you look into his eyes.

You. This Hogwarts. It feels like home. “I like it here, I guess,” you mutter at last.

He nods, registering your words thoughtfully.

“I’m glad,” he whispers, as a soft blush creeps up his cheeks.

“You are?”

“Yes. I like you… being here.”

You can't help the smile that grows on your face as you avoid his eyes. “I like that you’re here, too.”

He returns your smile, and you simply can't move your eyes away from the sweetness of it.

But your tender moment lasts only so long. “Do you hear that?” he asks, walking outside the door.

“What?” But then your answer comes in the form of a yell.

“Y/N?!” It’s Nathaniel’s voice. “Y/N? Where are you?”

How on earth–

“Nathaniel?” you ask as you face him outside of the room. Harry follows you immediately. “Nathaniel, how did you–”

But your words fade as he collides with you in a worried hug. His uneven breath warms your neck intermittently. “Y/N,” he whispers. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“How – How did you get here?”

“I took the time-turner I assume you used.”

“It was there? It stayed in that room?” So that’s why you didn’t have it anymore. But then – “Do you have it?”

He finally lets go of you, shaking his head no.

Oh my. This complicates things.

“But we will find a time-turner here. I promise. And then we will return home.”

Home.

You turn to the boy behind you. Harry’s face is nearly unreadable, but his eyes tell you he doesn’t want you to go.

You don’t want to go either.

But how would you tell Nathaniel? How could you abandon your real life?

“But we can’t waste much more time,” Nathaniel continues, and you spare a final sorrowful glance at Harry before turning to your friend. “We have to find one now.” He looks behind you and adds, “Does he know where we could find one?”

Even though you love your friend, it still hurts that he sometimes acts this way – that he treats Harry like no more than furniture, not even acknowledging he’s here. Not even speaking directly to him. It was his most Slytherin trait.

And it’s your most Slytherin trait when you tell him sharply, “I don’t need one.”

“What?” he asks with his eyebrows raised.

“I’m staying.”

-Characters by J K Rowling

[i-mybrunettelady]

hail, mighty hero

zaeim and nyra share a moment in kourna. set during long live the lich (lws4). mind the spoilers. 2k words. mature.

Allied Encampment is bustling with life. But it’s not the kind of life that would indicate happiness; in Zaeim’s head, that kind of life is almost a fragment of his imagination. It certainly is for the poor souls of Istan, or even Vabbi. Here in Kourna and the real world, it’s a life of anxiety, a life of uncertainty, of vague hope. People are carrying their restlessness with them and looking up at the leaders of this makeshift resistance group to make sense of it. 

Zaeim feels that burden intensely. He guides his Sunspears, makes plans, tries his hardest to not break nor bend under pressure. Every time he sees a wounded or dying Elonian, he sends a prayer to Kormir and it weighs his heart down even further. Every time there’s an accident, or a failed scouting mission, Zaeim wonders if they’re all going to die and Joko will remain the tyrant of Elona forever. 

So when he feels this way, he turns to Nyra. She stands tall, proud, indomitable and entirely mad. Her eyes shine with something wild and barely restrained, like fate itself had carved a chasm in her soul so now she’s trying to rebuild it back with parts of the real world. She attracts attention wherever she goes and people flock to her like moths to flame. From a distance, she looks radiant. Up close, Zaeim wonders when she’s going to burn out entirely. 

She can’t seem to fight off a sunburn from days in the sands and amongst the army. Her hair, short, messy and in constant disarray, has lightened to a near blonde, a contrast to the areas of her face that caught the beginnings of a tan. She has growing dark circles under her eyes and ever-present dirt beneath her nails, be it blood or tar or whatever else. Comfortable tunics she wears are more filled with creases and dust by the day, patched where they’d gotten nicked in the fights with Awakened. She hardly looks like their leader, Zaeim thinks, as worn out and bitter and restless as everyone else. 

He knows deep down, however, that it is her light this whole thing is centered around. And so, he can’t look away. Especially not when they’re discussing tactics, when she’s explaining things in that strangely accented Elonian of hers, or when she settles on a decision and cuts a clear line in the sand. I have listened to your suggestions. From this point on, you are with me or against me. 

Hardly anyone dares oppose her.

And thus Zaeim finds himself drawn to the moments where he’s with her. He likes the reassurance in her eyes. He likes the subtle nature of her smiles. “I’ve never been very expressive, in terms of.. Face,” she said one night, reclining against a wall. Zaeim raised his gaze to her face. “Do you mind that?”

“Some people are simply not,” he replied, with more eagerness than he’d intended. “I don’t doubt that you’re genuine about this and about Elona. Kormir knows you want Joko dead as much as anyone else here.” 

“There can only be one biggest dick in this desert, yeah?” she huffed and blew a curl of hair away from her nose. “For fuck’s sake, I need my hair to grow faster.” 

Zaeim smiled. “That growth spurt went elsewhere with you, it would seem.” 

Nyra laughed. It was a solid, deep sound, echoing in the small cottage they’d claimed as their base of command. “I’d say Joko stole it and I wanna get it back.” 

“Or Sayida.” 

“Sayida is wiser than Joko.” 

Zaeim shook his head. “Debatable, but I will not argue with you.” 

“That’s smart,” Nyra said, in a gravelly tone. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve suspected a threat. “You are wise too.” 

Zaeim doesn’t consider himself wise. He doesn’t think Nyra herself is wise, either. All he knows is that between them, and supposedly Sayida, and the Olmakhan and the Primeval ghosts, they can take down Joko and see a free Elona. 

Sometimes, that is enough. 

Other times, though, he wants to see Nyra the woman, Nyra the person behind the legend. Then he watches her movements, and notices, rather quickly, that her right shoulder is almost always stiff by the end of the day. She’s careful to not move her right hand much unless she has to, and the occasional stretch she does brings about a pained expression. She doesn’t bring it up, however. 

He understands. He has old wounds too. But in the grand scheme of Alysannyra Ainsaph, that one thing feels like a game changer. She goes from a symbol to a person, and from person to a symbol in a way Zaeim is familiar with, as the Spearmarshal. It makes him want to hold her close, feel the heat of her skin and the roughness of her sunburnt cheeks, in a union that so few people can actually understand. 

She comes to him in a dream, once, and there, she kisses him. And maybe Joko kills them all without Zaeim ever having tried to recreate that dream in real life. Zaeim hopes he musters up the courage to try. 

Opportunity presents itself rather unexpectedly. There is an Awakened Inquest incursion that Nyra herself chooses to annihilate, and that has her painfully rolling her shoulder to try and relieve the ache of it all day. In a break between planning, when the maps are in the safety of Canach’s hands for the moment, Zaeim takes a chance to lean in and whisper in Nyra’s ear, “Does your shoulder hurt?” 

Nyra almost hits his head as she raises hers. “What?” 

Zaeim blinks and steps away. “I noticed your shoulder is stiff and I wanted to offer relief. There is something that us Sunspears use and that I have a little bit of in my pack for old injuries.” 

“Relief, Spearmarshal?” Canach snickers, still looking at the maps. “I do think our dear Commander would love some relief! She’s had so much on her shoulders for this little war of yours–” 

“That’s what you take from this,” Nyra drawls, unimpressed. “Anyone you wanna fuck, Canach?” Zaeim blushes. 

“My hand suffices, Commander.” 

“Good. Stay out of the poor Spearmarshal’s business then. Maybe his hand doesn’t suffice.” 

Miraculously, Canach backs down. He offers Nyra a smile and returns the maps in her hands. “I will ponder on the tactics, Nyra,” he says quietly. “I will also see if Gorrik has any advice on the matter.” 

“Gorrik?” Nyra raises an eyebrow. She huffs out a breath and leans in. “Lie better next time, you asshat.” 

Canach grins. “He knows more than you think he does, Nyra.” 

“Oh.” 

“Oh, indeed.” 

“Get lost, though,” she jerks her head towards the door. “Think about tactics elsewhere.” 

Canach salutes her and heads to the door. He makes sure to close them as loudly as he possibly can without breaking the damn thing. Zaeim watches him go and crosses his arms over his chest. His face feels hot still and he digs his nails into the exposed skin of his upper arms. Yes, Kormir curse him, he does want to sleep with Nyra, and is that a crime? Is it a bad thing if a man wants to sleep with a woman? 

“Zaeim,” Nyra says, “if you frown any harder, you’ll get a permanent wrinkle.” 

“Wrinkles are the least of my concerns,” Zaeim grumbles and looks away. He then clears his throat. “I hope you’re not offended that I–” 

“That you find me attractive?” Nyra taps a nail against the table. The wide stance she’d assumed earlier when talking to Canach now becomes a long, lean form. The wood creaks under her weight when she leans against the table. “No.” 

“But?” Zaeim looks back at her again. She’s rubbing her clothed arms. She’s the only fully clothed and covered person in this entire camp, barring Gorrik and Taimi. She has bandages up to her knuckles. “Are you hurt?”

“Zaeim, I’m more scar tissue than skin behind this patched up tunic,” she says after a while and laughs awkwardly. Zaeim stares. It somehow never crossed his mind that she too might have insecurities. His head has a hard time wrapping itself around that notion, that the Godkiller and Dragonslayer is insecure about her scars of all things. 

“That is hardly a concern to me, if it is any consolation,” he offers softly. “There are a lot of scarred Sunspears.” 

She looks him up and down. Her eyes linger on his arms and legs and on the peek of his chest, before she looks him directly in the eye. Zaeim squirms under inspection. He knows he looks older than he is; life of a Sunspear is hardly easy, and beauty is the first thing to go when you choose to defy Joko. In the grand scheme of things, it’s least relevant. But right now Zaeim wishes very hard that he’d been born a noble, a prince of Vabbi or Istan, someone she would find easy to look at. 

“For what’s worth, I think you’re attractive too,” she says and Zaeim’s head shoots up. She sounds a little sad. 

Zaeim breathes out. “I still have my ointment, if you’d like it.” 

She considers for a moment, and as if to prove a point, goes to roll her shoulder. She stops halfway. “Yes,” she says. She rises from the table that creaks thankfully, and carefully pulls some of her tunic down to reveal her right shoulder. Zaeim sees the tail ends of angry, dark pink burns, but when she catches it, she raises the sleeve so they’re covered again. 

He doesn’t ask. Instead, he points towards a little stool near him. She walks over, playing with the material of her sleeve, and turns her back to him as she sits. His breath catches in his throat. The scar there is gnarly, deep, like something had tried to tear her spine off. It sits in an uneven line at a weird angle too. 

“It would’ve been worse without surgery,” she says, distantly. 

“Is there a way to–”

“No.” The finality of her response makes him close his mouth and dig through his pack. He unscrews the little clay pot and a familiar, slightly pungent scent spreads across the room. Zaeim says nothing as he softly rubs the cream into the knotted flesh. The only sounds in the room are the scoops his fingers make and their breathing, rugged and tense. 

She has tan lines, he notices. Her skin is hot where he touches it. Every so often she turns her head to look at him, and her eyes seem so impossibly big and insistent, conflicted in a way he can’t possibly decode. The sunburn makes their purple hue stand out even more. Zaeim’s hands itch to touch and caress more of her. He imagines his lips on her exposed neck, his hands in her hair. This close, she’s less of a symbol and more of a living, breathing person, with dark circles and a haunted stare and greasy hair, and he cannot get enough of it. 

“Kiss me,” she says. Her voice is rough and rich and breathy. It echoes in Zaeim’s ears like a drum. 

“Gladly,” Zaeim mutters and closes the clay pot. He could die tomorrow; it would’ve been a damn shame if he didn’t leap at an opportunity to kiss her. The pot clinks as he returns it carelessly to his pack and washes his hands free of the ointment. Nyra watches him with a strange expression. 

“What?” Zaeim asks and his heart wants to beat out of his chest. He feels its thunder in his throat. 

“You remind me of someone,” she says softly. “It’s– it was a man as dedicated to his dream and his duties as you are.” The way she implies the man is dead makes it seem targeted, almost a reproach. She’d mentioned a lover before, back in Tyria, but that he is dead. Zaeim has no idea who this man is and senses the topic is too raw to discuss further, but he wonders.

Self reproach is the only thing worse than regret. 

Zaeim crouches before her. This close, she smells like the cream he’d put on her and sweat. “Do you want me to kiss you? Truly?” 

Her eyes blaze. “Enough consideration,” she bites out, “I’m not fragile, for fuck’s sake!” And she pulls him to her and crashes her lips to his, digs her hands in his locs. Zaeim moans under the attention, and he would’ve felt bad about it if it wasn’t swallowed by the domineering force of her lips on his, even if closed. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. 

After a moment, she takes her head back a little, as if snapped out of a daze. “You probably wanted something sweeter,” she says quietly. “This was anything but.” 

“I will not lie,” he replies, “my usual idea of a first kiss is something that isn’t a metaphorical devouring.” 

Nyra blinks. “We can kiss slowly, if you’d like,” she says and plays with his locs. And then adds, with a grief so big it could swallow the world, “It’s been a long while since I had one of those. Probably don’t deserve them either. But..” 

Zaeim stands up. “This chair is a little uncomfortable,” he says. Nyra follows suit, close enough so he can feel the heat of her body. “I am certain there are more comfortable places in this house for people to kiss.” 

“Walls have hardly ever failed,” she suggests. Finding a little nook that’s big enough for both of them is a challenge, but when they finally do, and when he kisses her again, with his hands on her ass, the world falls away. 

Kormir knows they both need this. Kormir knows they both need a lot of things. And thankfully, Kormir, bless Her, provides. 

[l4ndonorizz]

q&a stream gets personal (chat edition) / lando norris x reader

pairing: lando norris x reader

song: san holo - bring back the color

summary: a lighthearted Q&A stream between you and lando quickly turns serious when fan questions push you both to reveal long-hidden feelings, leading to a conversation that changes everything.

wc: 1.5k

The stream had been going for over thirty minutes now. You and Lando were sitting comfortably in front of the camera, bantering like you always did, making light of the fan questions. At first, everything felt easy—laughs, inside jokes, playful jabs—but you could feel the questions starting to shift, becoming more personal with every scroll through the chat.

Lando, as usual, was taking the lead. He leaned in, his eyes scanning the chat for the next question. “Alright, next one! This one’s for you,” he said, turning to you with that mischievous glint in his eyes. “‘What’s the one thing that annoys you most about me?’”

You laughed, grateful for the harmless question, though your mind was still spinning from some of the bolder ones that had come up earlier. “That’s easy—how you can never decide what to eat when we hang out. You’re so indecisive.”

Lando gasped dramatically, his hand over his chest as if he’d been personally wounded. “It’s called being considerate! I don’t want to pick the wrong place and have you hate me for it.”

“Uh-huh,” you teased, the ease returning to your voice. “Or maybe you just can’t make a decision.”

The chat lit up with laughing emojis and comments like “classic Lando” and “indecision king!” The conversation felt light again—for a moment, anyway. But then, Lando scrolled again, and his eyes locked on a question that made your stomach flip.

“This one’s for me,” he read aloud, his voice quieter now. “‘What’s the sweetest thing she’s ever done for you?’”

Your heart skipped a beat. The question hung in the air, and you could tell Lando was thinking, actually thinking, about how to answer. The playful energy between you shifted slightly, making the room feel smaller, more intimate.

“Well…” Lando started, pausing to look at you for a moment before turning back to the camera. “There was this one time when I got sick after a race, and she brought me soup and stayed the whole night to take care of me. That was pretty sweet.”

Your cheeks flushed instantly. You hadn’t expected him to bring that up, and the chat was going wild—spamming heart emojis and teasing comments like “aww, they’re so cute!” and “best friends or something more?”

You waved dismissively, laughing it off. “I’m just a good friend. That’s what good friends do.”

Lando turned to you, his smile softening. “Yeah, the best.”

His words sent a flutter through your chest, but you laughed nervously, pushing it aside. The chat wasn’t helping either, with more comments pouring in, speculating about your relationship. You tried to keep your composure, but the tension was beginning to creep in, a subtle shift in the air that neither of you could ignore.

Lando scrolled down again, and this time, the question he read out loud made the temperature in the room rise by several degrees.

“Oh, here’s a good one,” he said, glancing at you with a grin. “‘Do you guys think you’d make a good couple?’”

Your heart stopped. The chat was immediately flooded with excited comments, but all you could hear was the pounding in your ears. You glanced at Lando, expecting him to laugh it off, but his expression was more serious than you expected. He didn’t look uncomfortable—just thoughtful.

“I think we would,” he said, his voice steady but with an undercurrent that made your breath catch.

You turned to him, wide-eyed. “Wait, what?”

Lando shrugged, trying to play it cool, but you could see the nervousness creeping in behind his grin. “I mean, why not? We get along great, we always have fun, and…” He paused, glancing at you, his smile faltering just a bit. “I think we’d be good together.”

The chat erupted. Fans were spamming “I KNEW IT!” and “FINALLY!” along with a torrent of heart emojis and comments begging for more details. But you couldn’t focus on the screen. All you could focus on was Lando sitting next to you, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you.

Your heart pounded as you swallowed hard. “Are you… serious?”

Lando’s smile softened, and he shrugged again. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? I mean… we’ve always gotten along so well. I’ve thought about it before.”

The world seemed to tilt on its axis, and suddenly the lighthearted Q&A session felt too intimate, too real. You were aware of the camera recording, the thousands of people watching, and yet all of it seemed to fade into the background as the tension between you and Lando grew.

Before you could respond, Lando scrolled again, trying to move on from the tension, but the next question hit even harder.

“‘Have you ever had feelings for her?’” he read aloud, his voice now much quieter.

The chat was frozen, waiting for his response, and so were you. You didn’t dare breathe as you watched him process the question. For a moment, Lando looked like he might dodge it, make a joke out of it, but then he surprised you.

“Uh… yeah,” he admitted after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I mean… I’ve thought about it. More than once.”

Your heart leapt into your throat. The world felt like it had stopped spinning. Lando was still looking at the camera, but his gaze kept flickering toward you, gauging your reaction. The chat had exploded again, but you couldn’t process any of it. All you could think about was how you had just crossed a line, one that couldn’t be uncrossed.

You cleared your throat, trying to regain some composure. “I didn’t… I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Lando turned to you, his eyes full of something you hadn’t seen before—vulnerability. “Yeah… well, I didn’t really know how to bring it up. Until now, I guess.”

The chat was full of comments, pushing for more, but the two of you sat in an awkward, loaded silence. You felt your pulse racing, and for the first time since the stream started, you had no idea what to say. Everything felt too exposed, too vulnerable.

Lando, sensing the tension, tried to move things along. “Let’s, uh… let’s move on to the next one.”

He scrolled quickly, but the chat had taken on a life of its own, and the questions weren’t letting up. The next one made the tension nearly unbearable.

“‘Do you regret anything in your friendship?’” Lando read aloud, his voice quieter again.

You swallowed, the weight of the question pressing down on you. Lando turned to look at you, his expression serious now, no trace of the lighthearted banter that had carried you through the stream earlier.

“I…” you started, unsure of what to say. The chat was waiting, Lando was waiting, and you could feel the nerves bubbling up inside you. “I don’t regret our friendship; I wouldn’t trade it for anything. But…”

Lando’s eyebrows furrowed. “But what?”

You fidgeted with your hands, the tension between you almost suffocating. You could feel the words building in your throat, but you weren’t sure if you were ready to say them—not here, not now, in front of all these people.

“I guess I regret… not being more honest,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lando’s eyes softened as he looked at you, the vulnerability still lingering in his gaze. For the first time during the stream, it felt like the rest of the world had disappeared. The chat, the cameras, the fans—it all faded away. All that mattered was the way Lando was looking at you, waiting.

“Honest about what?” he asked gently, his voice careful, as if he was afraid of pushing too far.

You hesitated, your heart racing. You knew the answer, and so did he. But saying it out loud felt like crossing a line that neither of you could come back from.

“I just…” you started, your voice shaking slightly. “I’ve never told you how much you mean to me.”

Lando blinked, clearly taken aback by your admission. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” you trailed off, glancing away as the tension became too much to bear. “I care about you. A lot. More than just… as a friend.”

The room felt like it had gone completely silent, except for the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. Lando stared at you, processing what you’d just said, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

Finally, Lando let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I care about you too.”

The chat was exploding with heart emojis and comments, but none of that mattered anymore. The air between you was thick with the weight of everything you’d just revealed, and for the first time, it felt like you were both being completely honest with each other.

Lando gave you a small, nervous smile. “Well… I guess that’s one way to wrap up a Q&A stream.”

You laughed, though your heart was still racing. “Yeah… not what I expected.”

The chat was still buzzing, but all you could focus on was the way Lando was looking at you—as if everything had just changed between you, and maybe, for the better.

[silvery-stars]

me when flowers from hadestown

[whispers-of-gallifrey]

Just watched Fury from the Deep and I love Victoria's exit so much it breaks my heart. She's so worn down by their travels always ending up full of danger and death and her always being put in the position of damsel in distress. She really doesn't want to leave jamie and the doctor but she doesn't want that life and I love that it let's her make that choice. And I love that Jamie's concerned she won't be happy living in, what is to them, the future but she acknowledges she's changed too much to go back to Victorian England, and she's highly unlikely to get back there anyway, not without more death and danger. That the doctor changes his mind about slipping away in the night and agrees to stay another day so Victoria can think about her decision properly without feeling as pressured. The fact that she knows the doctor won't say a proper goodbye because that's his way. The way she stands on the beach watching them row out to the tardis, knowing she'll never see either of them again. The fact she doesn't go back to the tardis with them to collect her belongings. Jamie's "I don't care where we go next" because he's miserable that Victoria made that decision. The Doctor's "I was fond of her too, you know" which is the closest he'll get to admitting how much he cares about them all. I just love it

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just One Reason: When We Met

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

masterlist - to be added

Summary: A chance encounter at the sandwich shop doesn't end how you expect.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

As you approach the sandwich shop, another pedestrian comes up from the other side. You open the door and hold it for them, waiting patiently for them to go first. The place isn’t very busy, you can wait an extra turn to get your food. 

The man barely acknowledges you as he enters. You’re used to that. In the city, manners run down the gutters with the rain and litter.  

You follow him inside. As he stomps to the counter, poking his ear in agitation, you stand back in a single-person queue. You check the chalkboard menu for the soups of the day. Oh, cabbage. They make the best cabbage soup you’ve ever had. 

You bounce on your heels as your gaze wanders over the monochrome wall art over the handcrafted wood tables. You open and close the flap of your crossbody purse. Your father always said you flutter like a hummingbird. Never quiet still and a little skittish. 

Behind the glaze of your distraction, the man’s deep snarl breaks through. You blink and lean to see around him. The cashier bats her lashes and puffs out her cheeks, “sorry sir, we discontinued the Mexican wrap, but the chipotle is similar--” 

“I don’t want the fucking chipotle,” he cups his ear and growls as he pushes his head into his hand.  

“They don’t send us the cilantro lime sauce anymore, sir,” the employee explains. “But I could add some peppers--” 

“Can’t you understand me?” He snips. 

“Erm, if you... if you put a bit of cilantro on, it would be close, wouldn’t it?” You ask, cringing as your thoughts spill out without intention. 

The man glares over his shoulder as his cheek pits derisively. He squints and shakes his head. He throws his arms out and faces the cashier again. “Whatever. Give me the damn chipotle with cilantro. I’m starving.” He reaches back for his wallet, “some fucking week...” he mutters. 

He slides the leather wallet above his pocket but it catches and falls from his grasp. He growls and bends to retrieve it. “Another fucking thing...” 

You watch him pick up his wallet and finger his ear again. It seems to cause him pain. The cashier watches helplessly. You feel bad for both of them. It just seems like a miscommunication. 

“Um, excuse me,” you wave two fingers at the cashier. “Can you add a cabbage soup and I’ll for both?” 

The employee blinks and the man snaps up with a scowl. They both stand in silent surprise. He finally shakes his head. “Why would you do that?” His tone makes it sound like an accusation. 

“I don’t know. Seems like you’re having a bad day and I can?” You shrug and cautiously step forward, “can I also get an iced raspberry tea?” 

“Uhhhh, sure,” the employee keys in the items. 

“Sir, did you want a drink?” You twist back to the man as he stands aside with a leery squint. He just shakes his head. 

“Alright, that’s everything. No cookie today,” you dig in your purse. “Debit, please.” 

She hits total and you pay. The receipt juts out of the machine and you step to the side to wait with one last thanks to the cashier. You tuck your card away and slip your phone out as your hands long to fidget. You know the man is staring, you can feel it, but you don’t want to piss him off even more than he already is. 

The lull that follow is torturous. The man’s wrap is up first and you wait for him to take it. He hesitates and you hand it to him. 

“I hope it’s still good,” you say with a smile at his throat. You’re too scared to look him in the eye. 

“You know I have money,” he grits. 

“Oh, no, that’s not... it isn’t... just a nice thing. Like, maybe one day you can pay it forward. I don’t know,” you rock sheepishly and look behind the counter. 

He nods and backs up. The cashier puts your soup up and your iced tea. You thank her and take your food.  

“Have a good one, sir.” 

You shuffle away to the table in the corner. You sit, self-conscious as the man lingers. Is he mad? You don’t think you were rude. 

The man sighs and goes up to the counter, “hey, look, I’m... sorry,” his words are stiff as if he could choke on them. “Thanks for the wrap.” 

“Oh, uh, okay, sir,” the cashier sounds shocked. “Um, enjoy.” 

You stir the soup and blow away the steam. As you scoop up a spoonful, the man approaches. You look at the velvet toes of his loafers then follow them up. He sits without invitation. 

You stare at him and lower your spoon. 

“Thanks for the wrap,” he says. “I was being a—jerk.” The last word is stunted as if he meant to say something else. “Mind if I eat with you?” 

You look around. The place is empty. You shrug. 

“Sure,” you grab the iced tea and swirl the ice. “Be nice to have company, I guess.” 

He hums and shifts in the chair. He peels away the wrapper and you sip from the straw. You put the cup down and stare into your soup. Your eyes flick up again and you find him staring. 

“Lloyd,” he offers his hand across the table, “but you can just call me that jackass who yells at people.” 

You give your name in return, his change in tone soothing your nerves. 

“You been here before?” He asks. 

“Once in a while,” you say. “When I can afford it. It’s a special treat. They have good soup.” 

He nods and looks down at the wrap, “yeah, food is pretty decent.” He lifts the wrap but doesn’t bite into it. He hovers it before him. “You know, you didn’t have to be nice to me.” 

“You never know what other people are going through. Sometimes, they just need some kindness,” you say. “And if they’re just a butthole, well, you’re not going to change that by matching their energy.” 

His brows arch, and he tilt his head. He sucks in his cheeks thoughtfully, “well, I think I’m just a butthole, as you put it. Thanks for giving me a chance.” 

You don’t know what to say. It’s awkward. You usually eat alone. You don’t have anyone to eat with, not since dad passed. Still, not all change is bad, is it? You’ve already faced the worst kind of change. 

You lean forward and take a bite of your soup. Sometimes making someone’s day easier makes your own a little brighter. As of late, none of them have been more than gloomy. 

[rowarn]

IF YOU NEEDED ME !

simon riley/reader – 7.1k words sale of a lifetime mini series !

tags: smut, childhood best friend!simon, virginity for sale trope, unrealized feelings, soft!simon, protective!simon, virgin!reader, afab!reader, no prns for reader

cw: loss of virginity, cunnilingus, wet & messy, fingering, creampie, mid-sex love confession, a little arguing but nothing crazy tbh, petnames (love, lovie, sweetheart)

; he remembers the way you would look at him when you were children, all smiles and bright eyes. he never thought he was deserving of such happiness. but now, with you shyly covering your bare breasts, in his bed, he feels like he’s the only man deserving of you.

or.

he may not have been the first man you picked to give your first time to. but looking back, you realized he was the only right choice in the end.

Meeting some unknown, shady guy out on the street outside of a seedy bar wasn’t the smartest decision you’ve ever made. Nor was it how you actually intended to spend your Friday evening. But it was the only option you had at the moment, so you swallowed your nerves and forced yourself to stay put at the spot the guy had chosen despite the fact that being out on the street made you feel x10 more nervous and vulnerable. 

You could hear the loud music and chatter inside the bar every time the door opened to let someone in or out. There was a chill in the air that had you contemplating actually going inside and just telling the guy to meet you in there – you were about to give the bastard your damn virginity, the least he could be was accommodating to your temperature struggles. Plus, you could really use a drink.

A car, expensive by the looks of it, pulling up to the curb had you pausing in that train of thought. You recognized him from his profile picture when he stepped out of the vehicle – Lucas, you recall being his name. Whether that was really his name or not didn’t matter; all that mattered was he brought what he promised.

“You have the money?” you asked when he approached you, giving him a tight-lipped smile as a greeting.

“Yeah, got it in the car. All cash, I hope that’s alright,” he grinned, a sight that made a shiver go down your spine. His tone didn’t match the smile, all transactional and dull despite the glimmer in his eyes.

He wasn’t necessarily unattractive but he certainly wasn’t your type. There was a look in his eyes, one that made your skin crawl because you felt like you were nothing but a piece of raw meat in front of a starving, salivating predator. 

“We should get going,” he said, hurrying to open the backseat of his car for you.

You paused, “Aren’t we going to go inside or something?”

He looked confused, grip on the door tightening for a moment before he bursted out laughing. When he saw the shocked look on your face he sobered up, “Sorry, sorry, that was rude of me. Sweetheart, this isn’t a date. I’m just here to get what I paid for.”

“Oh…” you swallowed around the lump in your throat at the condescending tone, humiliation making your cheeks burn, “Right.”

Tears stung the back of your eyes and you quickly averted your gaze so he wouldn’t see how much that stung. Of course, you knew it wasn’t a date. This was a transaction. But you at least thought you’d get to know the guy who was about to take your virginity. You should have known better.

A man who was paying for your virginity wasn’t bound to be someone you could trust to feel comfortable around. You quietly sigh, resigning yourself to this all for the sake of some fucking money. 

You settle into the car, heart jumping into your throat when the door slams. It feels as if you’ve just sealed your fate and you can’t deny that you’re scared. 

But there’s an envelope next to you that you can see stuffed with bills and you clench your fists, trying to calm your racing heart by closing your eyes and breathing. 

You just hope this decision doesn’t cost you your life or something. You’d hate to imagine what that would do to a certain someone.

Suddenly, the car jostles. Your eyes snap open and you see Lucas is jacked up against the side of the car, a very familiar form caging him in. His scarred hands grip the man’s shirt in tight fists. You can’t hear what they’re saying but you can see Lucas is chattering frantically, gesturing wildly with his hands in an attempt to quell the angry man in the skull balaclava. 

You curse to yourself, a different kind of terror shocking through your system. Lucas is thrown to the side and you wince at how hard he hits the pavement before the car door is jerked open.

You can’t even say anything before a strong, rough hand wraps around your arm, yanking you out. You stumble once you’re on your feet, falling right into his chest. 

You try to pull away but his arm clamps down around you. 

Lucas is cursing and screaming his head off, words you don’t even bother to try and decipher because you’re too preoccupied with the masked figure that made his sudden appearance. Nerves make your knees shake and from the look of pure rage in his eyes, you know you’re in deep shit. 

Lucas opens the car door and slams it before driving off, tires squealing against the pavement before he vanishes. Along with that wad of cash that was going to be yours in just a short time. 

Suddenly you’re angry, shoving your hands against his chest to get him away from you.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Riley?!” you shriek, shooting him the fiercest glare you could muster.

“I should be askin’ you that,” he sneers, “The hell were you doin’ with that prick?”

“I–”

“Don’t answer that,” he snaps, cutting you off swiftly, “I know what you were doin’. If you needed money that badly you should have told me.”

“It’s not your concern, Simon!” you cry, resisting the urge to petulantly stomp your foot.

You’re so pissed. 

Simon Riley and you went way back, childhood friends. The two of you had always been in each other's lives. Simon especially was always there when you needed him, a beacon of safety and protection. Your best friend and someone you loved to the ends of the Earth. 

But right now, you’re so angry with him that you can’t seem to think straight.

How dare he show up now, when you’re about to do the most humiliating act of your entire life. How could he show his stupid, masked face here when you didn’t even ask for his help in the first place for a reason. 

“You are always my concern,” he shoots back, scarred knuckles turning white from how hard he clenches his fists, “I have always taken care of you. You should have come to me for help instead of puttin’ yourself in danger like this. You didn’t know that guy, what the fuck were you thinking?”

Anger makes your skin hot, sweat beading on your forehead, blocking out the chill that once made goosebumps rise. You feel ashamed that you were caught in this situation – that the man you’ve known your entire life knew you were about to sleep with some random asshole for a fat wad of cash. You don’t like that he’s made you feel ashamed and confronted you with it.

“Just fuck off, Simon!” you shriek, the only thing you can think of before turning on your heel and stalking away from him.

You don’t glance over your shoulder to check if he’s following because you know he most likely is – from a safe distance to make sure you make it inside your apartment alright but far enough that you can’t get mad at him for it. Your jaw is clenched so tightly that you feel a headache radiating down your neck. 

By the time you reach your apartment, the anger has simmered and all you’re left with is a festering shame that makes tears fill your eyes. You wrap your arms around yourself and quickly shuffle yourself inside, not bothering to check if Simon is out there or not. All you want is to get a hot shower and crawl into bed for the rest of the weekend. 

You do just that, letting the burning hot water scald your skin until you can’t feel any emotions except exhaustion. And then, you crawl into bed and let sleep overtake you without a second thought. 

When you wake up, it’s clear that it’s late into the afternoon. The sun is high in the sky and shining painfully bright through the crack in your curtains. You groan and roll over, slapping the bed to find your phone. 

You grab the device and unlock it, taking a moment to scroll through your notifications. There’s some angry messages from the guy from last night – cursing you out for setting him up to be jumped. It makes you roll your eyes before a particular notification catches your eye.

It’s from your bank – alerting you of a deposit. 

You sit up straight in your bed, brows furrowed before your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see your bank statement. It’s more than you needed and you know exactly who was responsible. 

You jump out of bed, not even bothering to dress out of your pajamas before you’re shoving some slides onto your feet and storming out of your apartment. 

You’re so heated that you can’t even remember the walk to Simon’s place, your mind racing a million miles a second. You storm up to the door and slam your fist on it, the hard wood making your hand sting from how hard you pound. 

The radiating tingle of pain is quickly forgotten when the door swings open. 

Simon stands there, looking down at you expectantly. He leans against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. He wears an army-issued t-shirt that’s a bit too tight. The sleeves stretch taunt around his biceps and you can make out the swell of his pecs. It’s not very often that you get to see his tattooed arms, littered with scars since he tends to wear long sleeves most of the time. 

He doesn’t look at all surprised to see you, clearly having expected you. The apathetic look in his eyes just solidifies that you were right all along.

“What the hell is your problem?!” you cry without so much as a greeting.

He sighs, broad shoulders rising and falling with it before he opens the door wide and motions you inside. You duck underneath his outstretched arm, turning to watch as he closes the door and locks it. 

He wanders into the kitchen and you realize you can smell bacon. He doesn’t seem at all surprised by your outburst nor does he seem interested in acknowledging your question.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, only solidifying how unperturbed he is by your display of anger. 

“No!” you snap, “I want to know why you did that, Simon!”

He sighs again, much louder but doesn’t respond. You stand in the doorway to his kitchen, watching him plate his lunch – which is actually just breakfast food. He places the dish on the table and pauses, looking up at you.

“You needed the money, I had it,” he offered with a shrug of his shoulders.

“I was handling it on my own,” you say, “I-It was my problem to solve.”

“By sellin’ yourself to some prick?” he snarls, the anger he was masking coming out in a flurry.

“I wasn’t selling myself–” you refute but he slams his palms down on the table. His cutlery clatters with the action and you jump.

“I read that post you made,” he hisses, teeth bared, “There’s no fuckin’ reason you should be selling your virginity for some cash when I was right here the whole time!”

Your cheeks burn when he brings up your virginity, crossing your arms over your chest protectively, “I-It’s mine to sell if I want to! I needed that money!”

“And now you have it,” he says with finality. 

He takes a seat and you stand there, fuming. Your jaw is clenched, teeth grinding together as your mind races to find a rebuttal. He begins to eat, taking large, fast bites that just shows how he’s been conditioned to eat quickly by the military. 

“That’s not the point, Simon,” you huff, growing less angry and more frustrated by this conversation. You were just going around in circles. 

“Then what is the point?” he snaps, snatching his empty plate and angrily tossing it in the sink. He turns to you again, a frown evident on his face, “You got the money you needed safely. That’s all that matters.”

“It’s too much money, Simon!” you cry, “I was selling something in exchange for it!”

“I care about you,” he says, “That doesn’t matter to me. What’s mine is yours, you know that.”

You silently glare at him, wishing that the heated stare would get through to him. He stands unbothered, staring blankly at you with his fists clenched by his sides.

You hang your head, sighing, “I-I can’t take your money, Simon, alright? I’m already in debt and I’m not going to be in debt to you of all people.”

“You feel like you owe me, is that it?” he asks.

You nod your head, heart rate spiking when he stalks towards you. You’re close enough to smell his body wash and aftershave, a painfully familiar scent that you adore. He stares down his nose at you, brown eyes lidded and lazy. 

He reaches out suddenly, rough hand gripping your cheeks, smushing them together until your lips pucker, “Then give me a kiss as payment.”

“H-Huh?” you whimper dumbly, eyes wide in shock as his face grows closer and closer.

“It can be payment for a kiss, lovie,” he coos, syrupy sweet and soft, “Will that make up for it, then?”

The air in your lungs suddenly doesn’t feel like enough. This is a man that you’ve known almost your entire life so you’ve obviously thought about him in a romantic sense at some point. Hell, when you were a teenager you even had a crush on him. But he never once looked at you any other way than as a friend so you quickly got over it – or maybe that’s just what you told yourself. Because as you stand there, staring into his eyes, you realize that kissing him would feel like a dream come true. 

You find yourself nodding despite the inner turmoil going on in your head. Simon huffs through his nose before leaning down and pressing his lips against yours. 

There’s a shock of electricity that goes through you at the contact. Your eyes flutter shut as you lean into the kiss, letting him take over. He works his lips expertly against yours, eventually abandoning his hold on your face in favor of wrapping his arm around your waist. You gasp into the kiss when he suddenly yanks you closer, your body pressed close against his. 

He’s warm and sturdy against you, a solid form of muscle that makes you feel safe and content – just as he always has. His hands are big and rough as they grip your hips, kneading the soft flesh there as he gets lost in kissing you. 

“S-Si,” you find yourself muttering without realizing.

He hums in response, chuckling when you continue to mindlessly kiss him. He pulls back, one hand coming up to wrap lightly around your throat, thumbing at your jaw as your eyes slowly focus on him, “What is it, sweetheart? What do you need?”

“I-I don’t…” you swallow thickly around the forming lump in your throat, “I don’t know. I just…”

“Show me,” he breathes, softer than you’ve ever heard his voice. 

The sweet, tender look in his big, brown eyes is what gives you the courage to grab his wrist, leading it just under the hem of your shirt so he can touch your bare stomach. You give him a shy glance from under your lashes, hoping he’ll get the hint that you want more. 

You want him.

Simon, in all his experienced wisdom, understands immediately what it is you’re aching for. His hand travels up further, pausing at your ribs, just under the swell of your breast. Your heart hammers in your chest when your gaze meets his. His eyes are lidded, long lashes obscuring his pupils but still burning into you. 

He stares deep into your eyes, waiting for any sign of hesitation as his fingers creep higher and higher. You suck in a breath when he cups your breast in his palm, squeezing lightly to feel their weight. 

A large, calloused thumb creeps up, passing ever so softly over your nipple until the bud peaks and hardens under the attention. You sigh at the feeling, new shocks washing over you that you’ve never experienced before. 

Sure, you played with yourself plenty – you had a healthy masturbation life, you’d say. But you’d always just been focused on reaching an orgasm, never on the build up. You imagine, however, it would never feel as good by yourself as it does with him.

He pinches your nipple between two fingers and you whine, lips parting as the sound escapes. Simon takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. Your hands grab his shoulders, desperately clinging to his shirt as you lose yourself in the sloppy kiss. 

Drool drips down your chin – it's messy and hot between the two of you. His hand switches to your other breast to give it the same attention as the other. You tremble in his arms, overcome by the insatiable throbbing between your thighs. 

You shift on your feet, the fabric of your panties stick uncomfortably to your core. You’re so wet, wetter than you’ve ever been in your life. By the time he pulls back, there’s a string of saliva connecting your lips to his. 

“You want more?” he asks, voice gravelly as he speaks, as if he’s drunk. You nod your head and he clicks his tongue, “You gotta tell me, sweetheart.”

“I-I want more, Si,” you whisper, feeling your cheeks burn as you admit it. 

“Let’s go,” he hums, taking your hand in his as he leads you around the couch towards the hallway.

“Where?” you ask dumbly, hoping that making some kind of conversation would ease the nerves steadily building in your chest. 

“The bedroom,” he responds, stroking his thumb over the top of your hand as if he can sense that you’re nervous, “Wouldn’t want to be stripped down in the middle of the living room, I imagine.”

“N-No,” you squeak, cheeks burning even hotter at those words. 

You’re going to be naked. In front of another person for the first time. In front of him. Simon. 

“There now, lovie,” he whispers as he shuts his bedroom door behind the both of you. He takes your waist in his hands, kneading the soft flesh there, “It’s alright.”

“I-I’m just–”

“Nervous,” he finishes for you, smiling softly when you nod, “I know. We can stop anytime you’d like.”

“I don’t want to,” you rush out, hands coming up to press against his firm chest, “Just…d-don’t be upset when I don’t know what I’m doing.”

The tender way he looks at you sets your heart pounding like a little rabbit. A ghost a smile appears on his lips, “I would never do somethin’ like that.”

“I-I know, I just…” you look down at your feet only for him to catch your chin in his fingers, pulling you to look up at him.

You swallow thickly around the lump in your throat, holding your breath as he descends down. His lips find yours all over again, as exhilarating and mind-melting as the first time. 

Just the sweet, deep kiss he gives you has your nerves dissipating a bit – back to normal levels. You no longer feel the desire to flee, you just feel an intense longing and anticipation. You crave more from him.

As if sensing this, his fingers find the hem of your shirt. He slowly starts to pull it up, agonizingly slow. But you’re grateful for it, it gives you time to prepare before you’re bared completely to him. You lift your arms for him, a sign that you’re still okay with this. 

He pulls it up over your head and lets the fabric drop to the floor. But he doesn’t look down, he continues looking in your eyes, softly pecking your lips as his hands cup your breasts once more. 

When you sigh and lean into his touch, he finally lets himself break the eye contact. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees how pretty your tits sit in his hands. He touches them softly, sweetly brushing over your nipples in admiration. 

“Perfect tits, lovie,” he coos, chuckling when you whine in embarrassment. 

His head descends, pink lips parting to take one of your nipples in his mouth. It’s hot but his tongue is soft when it circles and flicks at the bud. He sucks, popping off lewdly before switching to the other one. 

The sensation makes you squeeze your thighs together, imaging what that would feel like around your clit. Your hole clenches around nothing, drooling messily into your panties. The fabric was so wet by now that it couldn’t soak it up anymore, leaving it to slick up your thighs instead.

Your core ached, a feeling only Simon would be able to soothe. 

“Please, Si,” you finally break, whimpering pathetically. 

He detaches from your breast, lips wet and swollen from the worship he had been giving your now sore nipples. His pupils were blown wide, black swallowing brown and you were sure that yours looked the same. 

He stands to his full height, nudging you backwards until your knees hit the bed. They buckled at that, leaving you to fall back against the bed. Simon’s bedding was soft, the scent of detergent and his own body wash filling your senses. You relax at the familiar, comforting scent, sinking into the blankets with a bashful smile on your face.

To Simon, you’re an ethereal beauty. You take the air right out of his lungs with the way you look at him.

He remembers the way you would look at him when you were children, all smiles and bright eyes. He never thought he was deserving of such happiness. But now, with you shyly covering your bare breasts, in his bed, he feels like he’s the only man deserving of you. 

He scooches you up the bed, crawling on after you until he’s on top of you. Though you’re still wearing your pants, you feel so vulnerable beneath his weight. He’s heavy and warm and he smells so good. You can’t focus on anything except for him – he’s all around you and it’s exhilarating. 

Feeling bold, you reach up and tug at his shirt. He pulls it off with ease, revealing his toned, scarred upper body. You can’t help but trace over some of the ones you’re familiar with – there’s one from a time he fell out of a tree trying to rescue a cat that you had been crying about. He fell out of the tree on the way down, a jagged branch stabbing into his upper arm and slicing it open. There was another one from when you were teenagers, some other kids jumped him and he took a stab to his shoulder trying to protect you. You kiss that one and he softens, as if he’s remembering it too. 

He’s always been there for you, an overwhelming presence that you simply couldn’t live without. The fact you’re here, in this bed, about to give him your virginity is something that you never would have expected. 

And to think, you were planning to sell it off to some random loser. 

“I’m glad you stopped me,” you find yourself whispering. 

He looks confused for a second before he hums, nodding in understanding, “I am too.”

“I-I want it to be you, Si,” you whisper, the confession leaving you embarrassed. It’s true, all this time, you realize, he’s all you’ve ever really wanted. You had just buried it deep down so you no longer felt those sparks towards him.

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispers back, as if the two of you are sharing some secret little moment that no one else can hear about even though it’s just the two of you in this room. 

“You always do,” you respond, the words making his dark eyes light up. 

He kisses you deeply, moving his lips slowly against yours. When your hands come up to grip the back of his neck, he takes that as his cue to move down to your neck, then your collarbones, down the center of your chest between your breasts, the spot between your breasts, and finally your navel. 

You lay back, head in his pillows with your hands on either side of your head. You watch him, breathing labored as you wait for his next move. He pauses in his path, looking up through his lashes at you before his fingers find the hem of your sweats. You swallow thickly, holding your breath when he slowly begins to pull the fabric down. You lift your hips to help him, pulling your legs free while being careful not to kick him by accident. 

He keeps his gaze on you until you’re settled back down into the bed and the pants are forgotten on the floor to be collected later. Then, he looks down. 

Even though you still have your panties on, you know that the white cotton is soaked through and hides absolutely nothing from his view. 

You watch as he licks his lips, as if his mouth is suddenly bone dry. His hands are burning hot when he touches you again, sliding over your thighs to your hips. He leans down, pressing his lips against each of your thighs. 

His thumb reaches down, stretches over your pubic bone to touch the sticky fabric. You nearly jump at the sensation – someone’s fingers other than your own touching you there for the first time. Simon’s fingers.

As if he can’t help himself anymore, he tugs the waistband of your panties and yanks them down your thighs. You squeal when you’re jostled under the force. 

He holds the material up and you’re mortified to see just how wet they are. He runs his thumbs over the crotch and you whine, drawing his attention from them. He drops them to the floor and returns his hands back to you, gripping underneath your knees, so he can spread you all the way open. 

Your hands fly to your face, covering your eyes in embarrassment at how exposed you are. He doesn’t seem to mind, pressing a kiss over the top of your hands before moving back down your body. 

You peek through your fingers only to find him already staring at you with a sparkle in his eyes. He carefully spreads your slippery folds apart with his thumbs, the movement causing a wet, sticky sound to emanate from between your legs. The little bud of your clit is hard and twitching as it’s exposed to the cool air of the bedroom. When he’s sure you’re looking he leans down, pink tongue hanging out of his mouth. You stop breathing as you watch a fat glob of spit roll down the surface of the smooth muscle and splatter right on your clit. 

“Si-!” your squeal of his name is cut off when your eyes roll back in his head as that sinful tongue slides right over your bud. 

Your whole body twitches at that, hands falling away from your face so you can reach down and grab his hair. It doesn’t even seem like he notices your grip, focused on slurping up that sensitive nub into his hot mouth. 

You choke out a moan, tilting your head back into the pillows as your back arches. It feels just as good as you thought it would when he was giving the same, lewd treatment to your nipples. 

He continues to suck and lick your clit until your mind is completely blank and all you can think is him. Then, all at once it stops and he pulls back, letting your bud slip from the heavenly clutch of his lips.

“You ever have somethin’ inside you, lovie?” he asks, bringing up one of his fingers to swipe through the folds of your entrance, as if to show you what he intends. 

You swallow to moisten your throat before nodding, “J-Just my fingers.”

“How many?” he asks, growing more confident in prodding at the tight little hole. 

“T-Two,” you breathe, any embarrassment you felt long dissipated in the face of true pleasure.

“Alright, lovie,” he hums, “Just lay back, I’ll take good care of you, yeah?”

You nod and do as he says, turning utterly boneless against the blankets. The sweat already slicking your skin despite the fact you’ve only just begun makes the fabric stick to you. 

He prods at your entrance for only a second longer before finally, he pushes his thick middle digit inside you. Your cunt is so wet and pliant that it hungrily swallows it up to the very last knuckle. You clench around it intentionally, getting used to the feeling of the foreign finger inside of you for the first time. 

It feels so different compared to your own, thicker and rougher. The sensation is so strange but you can’t say you don’t like it – in fact, it feels amazing. You already want another, feeling like one just isn’t enough to give you that unknown feeling you’re chasing. It’s like you have an itch that needs to be scratched and only Simon can do it for you. 

As if sensing this, ever the reliable one, he carefully introduces a second finger. The stretch is unfamiliar, a burn around your entrance following as he reaches the last knuckle on that one too. His middle and ring finger stuffed snuggly inside your gooey little cunt as you whine and squirm from the feeling. 

Once you’ve adjusted, he slowly begins working them in and out of you. You slick up his fingers easily, streaks of creamy white coating his skin and making his mouth water. When he crooks his fingers up suddenly, prodding at that tender little spot inside of you, your entire body twitches and the most beautiful moan rips from your chest. 

He can’t resist leaning down and trapping your pulsing little clit under the flat of his tongue. He doesn’t slurp it into his mouth like before, instead, he just licks over it, pressing it down with the muscle. Your eyes are rolled up and your mouth hangs open as you moan and moan, tugging mindlessly at his hair as he works you towards your orgasm. 

It grows and grows, the unrelenting pleasure of his fingers fucking deeply into you and his tongue lapping sloppily at your clit like a mutt driving that knot in your belly to tighten. Drool spills out around his tongue, slipping down to meet his fingers where he easily fucks it into you – the added lubrication not needed but so very welcome with how much wetter and messier it makes you. 

“S-Simon…” you pant, gasping to catch your breath as the pleasure makes it hard for you to even think. 

He glances up at you through his lashes but doesn’t offer any other acknowledgement. There’s a knowing look in his eyes that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s going to wring this orgasm out of your little cunt whether you like it or not. 

And fuck, do you love it. 

The orgasms you brought yourself in the deep of the night, little hands stuffed down your panties as you played with your clit and stuffed yourself with your own fingers was nothing like what you were experiencing now. Simon’s thick fingers and hot tongue were torturing your little clit until your entire body started to lock up.

You looked at him desperately, unsure what was even going through your mind besides him and how fucking good you felt right now. 

Just as you teetered on the edge of this orgasm, he suddenly changed up and swallowed your twitchy little clit into his mouth. He sucked, sending you flying over the edge with a shrill wail of his name. Your legs kicked and twitched, heels hitting him on the back as you trembled and shook through the orgasm that he eagerly fucked out of you onto his fingers. 

He suckled your clit, swirling his tongue around it until it was too sensitive and you were tearily pushing him away. When he finally released you, slipping his fingers from your cunt, you were boneless and twitching on the bed. You didn’t even try to close your legs when he pulled away, giving him the perfect view to watch your cute little pussy clench and messily drool cum in the aftermath of your orgasm. 

He popped his fingers in his mouth, eyes rolling and lashes fluttering at the taste of your cum tingling on his taste buds. As you came down, eyes closed and breathing heavy, he began pulling at his belt. 

You could hear the metal clinking as he dropped it to the floor, peeking your heavy lids open to see him pull the button of his jeans open. As he slowly pulled them down, his underwear went with and suddenly you were more aware than ever. 

His cock was something to behold. Thick and veiny, bobbing in the air where it hung – too heavy to actually stand upright. You’d seen dicks in porn before but none of them prepared you for Simon’s. Precum dribbled from the tip, creating a long, gooey string down towards the floor before it broke. 

He wrapped a big hand around himself, giving a few good strokes as he reached down to cup his own heavy balls. The hair wasn’t wild or offensive, but neatly trimmed short. 

“All good, lovie?” he asked, stepping out of the pool of his jeans and boxers so he could kneel on the bed again.

“All god-good!” you blushed as he laughed, leaning down over you to balance his weight on his elbows.

“You still want this?” he asks, hushed and sweet, 

You glance between your bodies to see that intimidating cock, drooling messily over your skin. You realize, quickly, that you’ve never wanted anything more in your life.

When you voice such, he looks relieved, like a weight was lifted off of his shoulders. He sits back on his heels and spreads your legs, pushing your knees up to your chest.

“Hold them there,” he orders, which you follow immediately. 

Your elbows circle around your knees, holding yourself open for him as he asked. He whistles low in appreciation when your cum-slicked cunt was spread and exposed for him to prod his cockhead against. 

He swipes the tip up and down through your folds, humming appreciatively when your little hole tries to suck him in every time he grazes past it. He nudges your clit, the little bud still hard and sensitive from your orgasm but so eager for more. He couldn’t wait to grant your wish and make you cream on his cock. 

You watch him with wide eyes as he starts to push into you. Your jaw drops as you feel that burning stretch, an ache settling between your legs as he continues to sink himself into you. 

“F-Fuck, wait, Simon!” you squeal and he halts immediately. 

He’s only reached just past the head of his cock but he reaches down to pet your clit. The pleasure shoots through you, making your toes curl and your walls relax around him. He keeps his eyes on your face for any sign that you want him to stop as he moves his hips again. 

More and more of his cock sinks inside and his thumb keeps working little circles over your clit until his hips are flush with yours. Your voice breaks as you moan when you realize you’ve taken every single inch of him. 

He’s heavy and throbbing inside of you and you clench around him intentionally, forcing a moan from his chest. 

He leans down, arranging your knees over his shoulders, folding you up and pressing down on  you. He’s heavy and it makes it hard to breathe but that makes it even better – the pleasure of being speared on that fat cock and being utterly helpless underneath this man is better than any fantasy you could have made for yourself. 

“Fuck,” he snarls, rolling his hips back before rocking them forward again, heavy balls slapping against you as he does, “Can’t believe you were gonna give this little cunt away to some prick.”

“S-Si,” you whimper, biting your lip at the feeling of him slowly and carefully rocking his hips against yours, “‘M sorry, sh-shoulda been you all this time.”

“That’s fuckin’ right,” he hums, “No one else gets to love you but me, sweetheart.”

“O-Only you!” you agree, nails digging into his shoulders when he hits that spot just right. 

He can feel you soaking his cock, drippy cum lathering him up to make every glide of his cock wetter than the last. He sits back up on his knees, adjusting his grip so he can pin your legs wide open, giving him the best view of your greedy cunt swallowing his length up. 

He begins to fuck you in earnest, pulling out halfway before sliding home again - nothing like the little movements he gave you to prepare you. He was going to show you exactly why you should only think of giving him this precious pussy for the rest of your life. No one will ever be able to fuck you as good as he can, he’s going to learn your body like the back of your hand and you’re never going to be able to cum as hard as you can with him. You’ll never even want to use your own fingers again when he’s done with you. 

You can’t do anything but lay there and take it, take the pleasure and take his cock. He hits so deep, prodding at your cervix in a way that aches but it only feels that much better when it’s mixed with mind-numbing pleasure. 

Simon looms above you, panting and groaning as he fucks you like he was made to. He angles his hips just right, blunt nails biting into your thighs where he pins you open, neither of you caring if he happens to break skin while he does. You don’t even register the bite of pain underneath the way his cock prods you g-spot so perfectly. 

Your own fingers would have been tired by now, no longer able to work that little spot like you need. Simon’s cock, however, is unrelenting. The pleasure builds and mounts uninterrupted, every stroke of his length sending you higher. His body moves fluidly, rolling his hips tirelessly so he can give you every ounce of pleasure your sweet little cunt needs. 

You’re creaming around him, a frothy, milky ring forming around the base every time he sinks in and becoming visible when he pulls back. It’s filthy and messy and makes your cheeks burn but Simon seems to not mind in the slightest.

“So fuckin’ messy, love,” he coos, breathy and slurred, “Look at that, pretty cunt needed some cock, huh?”

“Y-Yours!” you manage to choke out.

“What’s that?” he asks, a crooked, teasing grin on his face. 

“Y-Your cock! Only needed your cock, Simon,” you pant, reaching up to grope your own tits, pinching and rolling your nipples meanly. It hurts so good, making you clench around his cock. He moans at the sight, his pretty little virgin tormenting your own nipples.

“That’s right,” he hums, reaching a shaky hand down to thumb at your clit, “Keep pinchin’ those pretty tits, sweetheart. Don’t stop.”

You nod your head, unable to form a vocal response from the new sensation of your clit being played with while he fucks you. It feels so damn good that you could go drunk from it all. Everything in your brain is slow, thoughts of only him and how good you feel are all that’s there. Your entire world, right at this moment, revolves around Simon Riley. 

He knows it too, a cocky grin on his face as he works you to your orgasm. You dangle, almost helplessly, staring unblinkingly at his handsome face as he works it out of you. 

After what feels like minutes, but is probably only seconds, you cum. Hard.

Your head slams back against the pillows, back arching as you cunt clasps tight around him. You cry out in pure, unadulterated pleasure as he fucks you through it. His thumb keeps working your clit as it twitches and pulses under the digit, cumming nice and pretty for him just like he wanted. Just like you deserved. 

You cream his cock messily, it drips down his balls and down your ass to the bedding below. So fucking sloppy and wet, a perfect little cunt made to take his cock. 

His brows furrow, mouth falling open as his own orgasm mounts and builds. Now that your well-earned orgasm is out of the way, he can finally let go and allow himself to experience it as well.

“Where do you want it?” he grits out, teeth clenched from the ache of holding back.

His balls draw up, heavy and full. He feels ready to positively explode when you gasp, “I-Inside!”

His head falls back, the loudest, most drawn out moan you’d never expected to come from a stoic man like Simon falling from his lips. It’s deep and primal, full of nothing but euphoria as he spills into you. His load is hot and thick, drooling out of the sides of his cock as he slows his thrusts to milk the least bits of pleasure from the orgasm. 

When he comes down, he collapses. Your legs lock around his waist and he draws you tightly into his arms, neither of you caring for the way his weight crushes you. All you care about is being wrapped up in his arms where you belong. 

He pulls his neck from your chest and kisses your forehead. Then he kisses your nose. Then your lips. 

“Pretty,” he breathes, still drunk on the endorphins of the sex so his lips are a little looser than they’d normally be, “Always thought you were pretty.”

“Really?” you prompt, cheeks heating at his confession. 

He hums, “Glad you’re finally mine.”

You beam, “No one deserved me as much as you.”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious statement in the world, rolling off of you with a sigh. His cock unplugs your cunt and a gush of your mixed cum comes out, making you whine. He laughs softly, drawing you back into your arms. 

You’ve never felt safer and warmer in your life, knowing in that moment that you should have come to Simon all along. There’s no one in the world who would be there for you, more willing and able than he. 

this work belongs to rowarn. do not repost to third party websites or use for character ai. reblogs welcome and appreciated!

[kindacreepy-kindaugly]

I really don't know if I'm strong enough

I know lettin him do the shit he does just makes me worse n that effects everyone

I don't know if the system even has a way to keep me away from him if it's not a choice I make n I just can't force myself to make that decision

I tried but it scares me so fucking much I'm just. Frozen.

I'm sorry I really really am. I hate that the things I do effect others. I also know apologizing doesn't mean shit n at some point it becomes just another burden. I don't know how to do anything different.

[inkedells]

pairing: old!logan x f!reader

Logan is sick and tired of you treating him like he's fragile. He'll ignore his relentless pain to show you what it's like to be taken apart, rough and slow, then fast and agonizing.

wc: 3.5k of pure smut

warnings: heavy smut, lap sitting, fingering, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), dirty talk, facials, p in v, ruined orgasms, snowballing, kind of angsty, the claws come out, logan is angry with you, kinda toxic, definitely mean, but still kind of sweet, pwp basically, blood, but it's not bloodplay, it's just logan not caring if he's hurt, if i missed any let me know.

Logan comes home and throws himself back on that torn-up leather sofa, thumb flicking his lighter while the other holds a cigar. It’s less of a distraction from the ache in his bones, and more of a device to push you away. Because if you think he’s tired or angry or hurting, you won’t ask him to fuck you.

It’s not like he doesn’t want you. Of course he does. It’s the sympathy in your eyes when he gets tired from just a couple of minutes of thrusting that he hates. The whispered, “It’s okay. baby, I can ride you.” The gentle touches across his body and his neck and his face and his beard. It all reeks of pity. And if you were to sit him down one day and ask him why he hates being taken care of, he wouldn’t have an answer. He would push the voice in his head down into the void that all the strength he had left fell in, the voice shrinking until it’s nothing as it screams, because I’ve never been taken care of, and I would’ve loved it back when being taken care of wasn’t my only choice.

But it’s fine. You wouldn’t ever ask him that question because he knows for a fact that you don’t know. If you did, you wouldn’t be climbing onto his lap quietly, hands rubbing his sides as you press kisses to his neck.

“I missed you, Logan,” You whisper. Your hips aren’t moving; He knows he sat here like this to avoid fucking you, but he almost wishes you were seeking exactly that. Sex, as embarrassing as it would be for him, is better than you holding him because of your sick love for him. He doesn’t think you love him in the way lovers do. It’s the kind of love meant for sick puppies, or the lonely old woman sitting on the bus with all her belongings in plastic bags.

He turns his head to take a drag of his cigar. Silence.

You hold his face, forcing him to look at you as you kiss him. Slow, chaste, no tongue. He feels scrutinized by your touches, and something nervous seats itself deep in his belly.

“How was your day?” You ask, your gaze snapping between his eyes.

He closes them. “I’m tired,” Logan says flatly.

“I know. It’s okay.”

There it is again. Pity.

He scoffs. It’s quiet. Barely there. He didn’t mean to. He watches your face fall the smallest bit. A year ago, he wouldn’t have noticed, and if he would’ve, he would blurt out an apology. Now, he does notice, but he secretly wants to watch it fall even further if it means you’ll realize how much you’ve been hurting him.

You swallow, your thumb rubbing his cheekbone. “I found an American poetry anthology in the basement today. 20th Century. My favorite poem was in it.”

He mumbles, “In a Station of the Metro. T.S. Elliot.” Remembering the poem you told him about months ago sounds too much like sorry. He wishes he’d pretended to forget.

“Elliot Pound,” You correct. Your smile tells him he’s forgiven for an apology he never offered. “If you can recite it I’ll be impressed.”

“I’m not reciting a goddamn poem.” He sounds sarcastic, and it relieves you, but then you kiss him and he’s wound tight again.

You sigh as you pull back. “What’s bothering you, baby?”

“Nothing’s bothering—”

“What’s bothering you?” You interject.

He shakes his head, clenching his jaw. He makes the decision to sacrifice his dignity for the sake of stopping this conversation. You never could resist an orgasm, especially one caused by him. “Enough of that.”

“What?”

But he’s putting out his cigar and lifting you off his lap with a suppressed grunt, then pushing you down on the couch.

“Logan,” You protest.

He continues undoing the drawstring of your pajamas.

You sit up straight, swatting his hand away. “Stop.”

He withdraws immediately, breathing hard through his nose as he looks down at the floor. He was wrong, before, about you not knowing. You definitely know, because you don’t place a loving hand on his thigh and you don’t kiss his shoulder. He’s grateful.

Instead, you observe his profile, then the quiet tremor in his hand. The impossible stillness of the rest of him. He tends to do that when his nerves are on fire. Thinks being a statue is what people who aren’t in chronic pain do.

“Don’t do that,” He mumbles, feeling your eyes on him. “I don’t need you feeling sorry, or whatever—whatever the fuck else goes through your head when you’re around me.”

You say nothing. That’s the most he’s said about his feelings in a while. He knows it, so he forces himself to say nothing, too. It doesn’t last long.

“I’m not dying.” His voice cracks a little at the end and he fights the urge to squeeze his eyes shut.

“I know.” The words come out in a tumble, as if you’re rushing to participate in his lie.

“Then stop looking at me like I’m dying.”

“Okay.” Tears prickle your eyes but you blink them away.

“Okay,” He repeats.

You take a deep breath. “But it’s okay to be cared for, Logan.”

He laughs incredulously, and suddenly his volume is rising and his voice is firm. “Would you just—Would you just quit being my fuckin’ mommy? Would you?”

He only lets your silence marinate for a second before he rushes in to kiss you, ignoring the cramps in his muscles as he tugs your neck forward roughly. You squeak against his mouth, fighting his impossible grip on you, but you give up with a shaky exhale through your nose when your efforts prove useless.

“I can take care of you, too,” He grits out. It would sound sweet if it weren’t for the frustration in his tone. He pushes you onto the couch the same way he did moments before as he opens your legs by your knees and settles between them. He sucks a dark mark onto your neck, his fingers digging bruises in your ribs.

“I know you can,” You reassure him. You can see where this is going. “And I love when you do.” You gasp when he pulls your shirt up over the curve of your breasts.

“No. You don’t.” He pinches one of your nipples and sucks the other into his mouth for a brief second. “It’s okay. I’ll show you so you don’t forget again. You won’t want to get ruined any other way.”

“Logan,” You sigh.

He hums against the soft skin just underneath your breast as his hands ravage your body. He begins to unsheathe the adamantium claws in one of his hands so he can rip your top open. It’s slow and excruciating, so he closes his eyes, but the pain is over too soon and his suspicions are confirmed when he opens his eyes to see them stuck halfway.

You don’t expect him to lean back and individually tug each blade free. There’s blood, and now it’s dripping onto your belly, and he mumbles something that sounds like an apology as he wipes the dots of red away with his thumb.

But the hazel in his eyes is alive again. You hope it’s you that did that. Hope it’s not the pain or the sight of his own blood. You want to ask him, just to make sure. You don’t like hurting, right? You just really like me—

He slices through your shirt, careful not to graze your skin, and you try to ignore the fact that he’s never that cautious with himself, but you can’t.

“Logan, you’re bleeding.” Your voice is unstable.

“It’ll heal,” He says quickly, passively. He wipes his burning palm on his wifebeater.

“But that takes a long time now.”

He meets your eyes, his movements frozen. He’s angry and you’re not stupid. You’re pitying him again. He needs you to stop fucking pitying him. When he speaks, his voice is deep and rough and slow, and you would be scared if he wasn’t your Logan. “Are you done?”

You don’t know what to say, so you just close your eyes and nod. You hear his claws retract faster than when they came out, and almost simultaneously, he’s shoving that same hand under your waistband as two of his calloused fingers push themselves into your cunt.

You arch toward him involuntarily, a ragged moan falling from your lips as he tugs your pajamas off your legs and spits on your pussy to ease the slide of his fingers.

Each groan he pulls from your throat is a step toward dispelling the doubt from your body. Doubt of his capabilities, of his strength, of his devotion to you.

“Beg me to fuck you,” He demands, fingering you roughly.

Your mind is cloudy at this point, from sadness or arousal or both, but you give him what he wants. “Fuck me,” You whisper, your eyelids about to flutter shut as you shed a tear.

But then you catch Logan smiling.

He grabs your jaw with his free hand, and you look at him immediately. “You’re gonna let me use it, right? Get myself off?” You lazily trace his features with your gaze—His nose, his wrinkles, his beard—because you know if it were your fingers instead he’d mistake it for tenderness and get mad again.

You nod, but it’s weak with how hazy everything is.

“Good girl.” 

“Please,” You sigh, “I need you inside of me. I need to—I need it.”

“I know. I know what you’re feeling before you feel it. I know you’ve been missing when I used to ruin you.” He lets the pad of his thumb draw quick circles on your clit. “What? Thought I couldn’t hear you playing with yourself in the shower? If I can hear your heartbeat when I walk through the door, what makes you think I wouldn’t have heard you whining my name?”

“Logan,” You sigh, your hips lifting off the couch, coaxing his fingers deeper for as long as possible before he’s shoving you back down with the heel of his palm.

“I’m gonna play with you now. I’ll fuck you after, don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

“What do you mean?” You breathe, fighting to keep your eyes open as he finds your g-spot.

He grins dirtily, in a way that makes your head spin and your thighs clench around his hand. You’re barely processing his words as he bends down to mumble in your ear, “Right when you’re about to make a mess on my fingers, I’m gonna stop. Then I’m gonna go down on you. And I’m gonna lick your pretty pussy, maybe even fuck you with my tongue if you’re good. And guess what? Guess what I’m gonna do when you’re this close?”

“You’re gonna stop,” You whine.

“I’m gonna stop,” He nods, and it’s mocking, but it’s gentle, and he’s fucking killing you with the way he’s talking right now. “But I’m not mean. I’ll give you a break. You can calm down when my dick is in your mouth, okay?”

“Okay,” You breathe, your hips unabashedly grinding on his fingers. But you want to reassure him he is mean, and you especially want to tell him how much you love it. “Logan, I’m gonna—”

He withdraws his fingers from you so fast it almost burns. You clench around nothing, your lower half spasming as your orgasm barely approaches before falling away again. Only a hint of pleasure is able to make it through the cracks, and you cling onto it, hoping if you focus hard enough, the wave will come back. It doesn’t. You should regret warning Logan that you were about to finish, but all you feel is comfort now that he’s finally proud of you again.

Another tear streams down the side of your face, landing in your hair. Logan’s watching you as he pets your thigh, his lips parted when he leans down over you. He kisses your wet cheek softly, his beard rough on your skin. It’s unlike him to offer you affection this gracefully during sex. It’s always shaky limbs and suppressed groans and dirty kisses. Both of you know it. 

He moves down your body, until his face is hovering over your cunt. He doesn’t have his reading glasses on, so he has to pull his head back and squint as he spreads your folds with his thumbs, studying what you look like. He licks a stripe over you. A second, longer one, before he zeroes in on your clit. You can do nothing except lay there and take it as your hips twitch from overstimulation under his firm hands.

“Oh my god,” You whisper, your fingers twisting in his hair. “F-Fuck.”

He moans at that, pressed right up against you, the sound deep and delicious and vibrating. “Feel good?” He asks teasingly with a nip to your inner thigh.

“What do—What the fuck do you think?”

He breathes a laugh. It’s short and airy, not frustrated like before, and a warmth ignites itself in the back of your mind. It’s overpowering even the feeling of his mouth licking and sucking your most sensitive area; It’s the relief that he’s still hiding the Logan you fell in love with somewhere in there.

You wind your fingers in his hair and scratch his scalp. You try to do it lovingly, although it comes across as sexual and Logan’s breath hitches in pleasure against your pussy instead. So as you suppress a gasp from the pure skill of his tongue, you show your affection differently—you hold the wounded hand he has resting face-up beside your hip. The cuts embedded there are easy to avoid as your thumb rubs the lines of his palm, because even though you can’t see his hand, the puffiness surrounding each slash on his skin are your cues.

He doesn’t move his hand away, but his tongue falters for a fraction of a second before slowing down.

The kind of love you’re pressing into Logan’s skin with each gentle stroke is unrecognizable to him. It’s not the pitiful love he’s so used to. He thinks it might be the opposite. Admiration. Reverence.

“I’m so empty,” You whisper, bringing your hands to grope Logan’s biceps. They’re sweaty and hard and flexing under your touch, and you wonder if he would let you ride them one day.

When your climax starts to creep up on you, it’s thanks to the image of Logan forcing you to lick your arousal clean off his bicep. Indulgently swirling your tongue along his pronounced veins, savoring the taste of his sweat mixed with yourself. He’d probably say somthing like, fuckin’ filthy. Getting yourself off on my arm. Who does that? Are you that obsessed with me?

Logan feels you squeezing his tongue, harder than all the other times before, so he withdraws at the last moment, ruining your orgasm once again.

 You convulse silently, your breath coming out stuttered with your twitching jaw. As if he can read your mind, he unbuckles his belt and removes his pants and boxers. But he doesn’t strip himself of his wifebeater, stained with blood.

It’s the hottest thing in the world.

You blink, and suddenly Logan is hovering above you with his cock over your face. He rubs his leaking tip on your cheeks first, then your lips, and when you open your mouth to take him, he moves his cock away and nudges your jaw shut with his free hand, shaking his head.

“Not yet.”

A whine lodges itself in your throat as Logan spreads his pre-come over the plush of your lips. It escapes only when he lets go of his cock in favor of massaging his wetness across your lips and on your tongue with his thumb. His hard cock is bobbing above you, almost tantalizingly, the occasional drip of arousal landing itself somewhere near your eyes, then your hair, then your mouth, and you watch Logan’s brow furrow as you try to lick whatever you can.

His resolve snaps. A calloused hand squeezes at your cheeks until your jaw falls open. His cock is in your mouth before you can process it, thick and heavy and wet. So. Incredibly. Wet. You start to wonder how it’s even possible that he’s this hard at his age, but you know he wouldn’t want you to be wondering that, so you happily push the thought away.

You suck your cheeks in, swirling your tongue around his tip as you bob your head to meet the subtle, almost imperceivable thrust of his hips. You’re taking it well, you know you are.

He moves back until his cock slips out of your mouth. “I don’t wanna come like this. Wanna fuck you.”

“Yeah, yes. Fuck me. Please.”

He stands up and turns you on your front, your knees pressing into the soft couch cushions with your ass in the air.

“Logan,” You plead as you feel his tip pressing at your entrance.

“I’ve got you,” He says quietly, pushing in until half of his cock is comfortably squeezed by your cunt. Both your breathing is loud and labored, and there’s a specific kind of intimacy in knowing you’re both feeling identical things. Overwhelming and hot and unquenchable by anything other than each other.

His first thrust is shallow, but it ruins you all the same. With how thick he is, it should feel like an intrusion. But all you can think about is how perfectly he fits inside of you.

“Fuck,” Logan breathes. “Look at that.” He traces around your entrance with his thumb. “Stretching so wide to take me.”

You moan, pressing your cheek against the sofa as you rock with his thrusts. He still hasn’t pressed all the way in yet, and you’re growing impatient. “Come on,” You urge, pushing yourself back to force more of his cock into you.

You expect him to chastise you for being so greedy, but he listens to you instead with a slow, full thrust. His tip nudges your cervix with how deep he is, and a ragged moan escapes you. “Yes,” You whine, “Oh god, yes.”

Logan’s breaths are coming out heavy through his nose, quick and occasionally intertwined with a grunt. His thrusts are getting quicker, and it’s starting to burn, but you welcome every sensation he has to offer you. He pulls out, spits on his cock, then shoves himself back inside, and this time you’re both unabashedly moaning the minute you’re joined again. 

His fingers dig in the plush of your ass as he observes himself disappearing into you. It hurts, but you love it. He knows you do, so he spanks you quickly before gripping you and rutting against you again.

“I love when you fuck me,” You whisper, feeling ashamed as soon as the confession leave you. “When you properly fuck me.”

He slows for a moment so he can watch his cock glisten with how wet you are. “I know.” He picks back up his punishing pace.

Your eyes begin to water, from pain or pleasure, you can’t tell. “I love you.”

“I know,” He repeats, this time breathier. His hips stutter. You can tell he’s close.

“I want it on my face,” You tell him quickly, his impending orgasm giving you no time to worry about being too forward.

He pulls out again, letting you turn onto your back as he shifts up your body. He jerks himself furiously, but you swat his hand away and take it upon yourself to stroke him.

“Come for me,” You tell him honestly, softly. His eyes squeeze shut and his lips part around a trembling exhale.

“I’m gonna—” He groans over and over as his release coats your face in long stripes. Some of it even lands in your hair, but you don’t care. Your own fingers work your clit as you stick your tongue out and taste him. Logan bends down to kiss you, chest heaving and hands shaky, and you rub yourself faster, swapping his release between the two of you with a hum. He pulls back so you both can swallow, then he kisses your cheeks with his rough beard, uncaring about the mess on your face.

You don’t know you’re coming until it’s over and you’re breathless, and it’s almost excruciating with how much he’s ruined you, but you’re so exhausted you can’t find it in yourself to dwell on it a second longer.

You wrap your arms around his neck and tug him down for another kiss because you can hardly remember the one he just gave you.

“I’m sorry I had been treating you all wrong,” You say carefully.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” His voice is rough from his orgasm.

You nod, your lips brushing his as you smooth sweaty strands of hair away from his forehead. These touches are hard for him. Any variation of your chaste affection is a reminder that he’s not really Logan anymore.

But the shame in it is gone. Replaced by the reassurance that he can still surround you with safety and firm hands and blatant desire;

And for a moment, he’s his old self again.

A/N: it's been so long since i've written anything, but logan has been consuming my brain for weeks so i had to get this out. i hope it's true to his character. <3 also, my asks are open, so feel free to request anything you want to read about.

[bettsfic]

one of the best decisions i've ever made was to stop arguing.

i'd always been an arguer. i was defensive about everything and mindlessly contrary. it wasn't all my fault; i was (and still am) talked down to and patronized a lot, and when you live your life that way, you become kind of a raw nerve and dedicate a lot of energy to trying to prove yourself. someone even told me once, "it's just fun messing with you. you get so upset."

at 23, i was working in an environment where about a half dozen middle aged conservative men were always telling me what to do and explaining things to me. i either argued with them when they said heinous things or stewed about it for hours or even days. and so my new year's resolution one year was simply: no arguing.

it felt a little like defeat at first, like i was no longer standing up for what i believed in, even though no matter how right i was or how much proof i had for my claims, no one had ever been swayed by anything i told them. part of that was because they had no respect for me and didn't take me seriously; the other part was the simple truth that arguments are almost never productive. when someone says something and you immediately reply with, "you're wrong and here's why," a wall goes up and nothing can go over it.

i couldn't just let these men talk at me though, so i started asking questions. not leading questions, not with an intention to prove a point or walk them into a corner. i genuinely wanted to understand how they came to shape the opinions they held. i realized that understanding and agreeing are two different things, and just because i seek to understand doesn't mean i condone.

a truly fascinating thing happened: these men walked into corners all by themselves. it turns out nobody had ever actually tasked them with speaking their opinions aloud to a neutral audience. no one had ever been sincerely curious about them and their views. sure, their loved ones probably asked, "how are you doing?" all the time as a show of affection, but that's much different than, "what do you think?"

knowing what i know now, i think that's true of everyone. how many people ask you for your opinion and listen to what you have to say without speaking their opinion back to you? without judging you? how many people actively and intentionally try to understand you?

it's been over ten years since my resolution and i think i can count the arguments i've gotten into on one hand. one finger, even. it's amazing what happens when someone tries to rile you up, pick a fight with you, and your only response is, "can you elaborate on that?"

you can work someone into a very open and vulnerable state when you ask questions. they eventually run out of their usual talking points and move into the personal. when i do this, it's not like therapy; i'm not trying to help anyone. and it's not like teaching; i'm not trying to educate anyone. i just want to understand how people reach the conclusions they've come to. even after all these years of asking questions and not arguing, it still amazes me how few people in this world feel understood, and how easy it is to get them to open up when you say, "i want to know what you think."