#so simple yet so complicated at the same time !!

[ovaryacted]

COMPLICATED

─ Javier Peña x fem! reader || WC: 3.2k

SYNOPSIS: You begin to realize Javier's position at the DEA is putting a wedge in your marriage. It was only a matter of time before everything you've built crumbled once you reached your breaking point.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. ANGST. Established relationship. Javier & Reader are Married. Marriage problems. Arguments & Confrontation. Thoughts of slapping Javi. Mentions to prior sex & intimacy. Javier is falling apart. Self-sabotage. Mentions of religion/faith. Mentions of the DEA & Javi's job. Both Javi & Reader are in Colombia. Reader's occupation is unknown. Spanish dialogue between Javi & Reader. Please proceed with caution if relationship issues/arguments/possible DV are a sensitive topic for you.

Disclaimer: I have not watched Narcos yet. This is all just my interpretation of another aspect of Javier Peña’s character. Therefore, it is not strict to the canon or details of the show.

A/N: I wrote this for @almostfoxglove's Angst Challenge for August and got Javier Peña, so this is what I came up with! I will admit, I rewrote this fic twice because my initial outline changed halfway, so I started from scratch and got this. It is angsty, and I do want to mention that this is a different take on Javier P., because I personally do not characterize him this way but I ventured out of the norm and put him through situations (I love him a lot though). Anyways, I hope you all enjoy. Reblogs, comments, and likes are always greatly appreciated! <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

You waited for him, the same way you always did.

Sitting on the couch and staring idly at the TV screen, you tried your hardest to find something to occupy your mind again. The cigarette comfortably sat between the index and middle fingers of your left hand, the weight of the two golden bands on your ring finger enticed you to take another drag.

You always hated how much Javier smoked. The stress from working at the DEA compelled him to go through two packs weekly, an ashtray present in every room of your quaint apartment, probably another on his desk at work. You didn’t predict there would come a time when you’d consider yourself a smoker, much less of cigarettes, despite recalling the multiple times you reminded your husband of how bad they were for his health.

“Those things will kill you before your job does, Javi.”

The irony in your words, a hypocrite of your own making.

You don’t blame him for not listening, either. Now you think you get the appeal of going through the cancer sticks one by one. You crave the high of the nicotine rushing through your veins with every inhale and relieving your jumpy nerves. The peace you’d feel for a few minutes was the only tranquility you could get in the hectic mess of your crumbling life.

You wish you knew how things got to this point.

The years blended throughout your relationship with the charismatic Javier Peña, a fine man you bumped into on your way home and accidentally sent all your groceries falling to the ground. Apologies poured out of your mouth repeatedly, and he bent down to help you clean up your mess, offering to cover the expenses of the ruined food you just bought with a faint smile.

The curl of his lips and the sparkle in his brown eyes bewitched you from the start, and you took the money he offered in your palm before he walked off, your sight trailing down on the cocky sway of his hips and the broadness of his back.

He dwelled in your mind like a phantom, haunting you in your dreams and inhabiting your senses. You didn’t anticipate to bump into him two weeks later while running errands, the smug look on his face at the sight of reencountering you so quickly didn’t go unnoticed. It was a simple conversation, a brief introduction followed by an offer for drinks when you both had time with reassurance that you would meet him under better circumstances.

The rest was history.

Sure, you knew Javier was a busy man, always on the run due to his highly demanding job you didn’t initially know of. From how he carried himself, you gathered he was associated with law enforcement, not from Colombia naturally, but perhaps the United States. You didn’t suppose he’d be affiliated with the federal government of all things, and the thought of what he was doing in the country worried you the first few months of being with him.

But all of your apprehensions about his professional occupation went out the window when you got into bed with him, limbs tangling into the sheets, and hushed promises whispered sweetly in your ear. All you cared about were the words he’d say as he took you every which way, claimed you his all over his apartment when you’d meet him late at night after a stressful work day.

That was the most intimate you knew him, in the throes of passion in which he seemed to be an expert. His hands strung your body with ease, pulling on the invisible red string that connected the two of you whenever his fingers wandered between your thighs. He drank every moan and cry of his name, hips moving against you so reverently others would mistake you for a place of worship.

It was a matter of time before dates turned to sleepovers, and your stay in his life became more permanent when you moved in with him. You didn’t object when he got down on one knee and popped the question you’d been waiting to hear after a year, jumping in your heels with a broad smile and tears streaming down your cheeks once he slipped the ring over your finger.

You never got the wedding you dreamed of since you were little, and you didn’t go on the honeymoon he promised you due to his prior commitments. Instead, you settled on going to a courthouse when you briefly visited Javi’s home in Texas and stayed in his government-covered apartment while in Colombia.

The signs of stress were there from the beginning of the relationship, but the rose-tinted shades you wore were a perfect fit. To you, ignorance was bliss, and you refused to pop whatever abstract bubble you found yourself trapped in with the man you’ve come to know as your partner.

You stuck by him when he needed you most, never opposing him when he sought after you for solace following the close calls he had while chasing down Escobar’s men. You kept your mouth shut when you saw him cleaning up the wounds he hid from you, locking the bathroom door behind him to avoid worrying you to such an extent. You didn’t utter a word when he started coming home later and wouldn’t give you notice, blaming the job and the intricacies of the caseload he was assigned to manage.

“I’m sorry. It’ll get better.”

You wanted to believe him, to think that somehow the craziness that was happening with the business of narcotics in Colombia would be slowing down, and your life would go back to normal, the way it should be. That way of life was gone. Sometimes, you think you’ve never had it to begin with.

You didn’t ask for this. Neither one of you did.

The disconnect between you grew after another close call on a raid, causing your first full-blown argument. The aftermath resulted in harsh kisses and bruises on your thighs from when Javi fucked you hard against the wall, holding you tightly as you scratched down his back. The subsequent times were like that; you could only communicate with him when your bodies engaged in the best way they knew how. All the pent-up frustration was released when he was inside you, groaning apologies and curse words as he filled you to the brim over and over, and you took it with a smile of forgiveness.

At some point along the way, there was no more fun to this game of tension you’ve created to ignore the elephant in the room. Not after the bickering turned into disagreements, your pillowcase growing wet with suppressed tears after a yelling match. The touches turned fleeting, the nights were lonely, and the animosity that wedged itself in your marriage thrived in the dismissive regard you both held for one another.

Your touch burned him more often than not; the last time he caressed you with care was lost to the ravages of his anxiety. All that remained was the past, the memories that you shared before shit hit the fan, and frankly, you don’t think you could take any more of this torture.

The other side of your bed stayed messy and cold, barely catching him when he left in the mornings for work. The caseloads kept piling on, the raids got more personal and farther from home, and the cycle continued to repeat itself. There wasn’t an end in sight, not soon anyway.

Stuck in your thoughts, you missed the instant the front door opened and closed, stubbing out your cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table. You glanced over to see Javier stepping through the entryway, peeling his leather jacket off and tossing it to the side while holding your gaze momentarily.

“You’re still awake?” Javier asked you, hinting an edge to his voice as he spoke to you.

“Hello to you too,” you responded calmly, asserting your tone. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d wait for you.”

“You don’t need to do that.” Somehow, the faux concern made you chuckle dryly, watching him walk past you to head right for the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of whiskey and leaving his back turned to you.

“And what else do you need me to stop doing?”

Your question forced Javier to pivot and face you, his glass sat on the counter as you observed him. Keeping your distance, you stood on the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the archway and crossing your arms over your chest.

“Tell me. What else do you need me to stop doing, Javier?”

He remembers when you only called him by signature terms of endearment. Baby. Honey. Amorcito; he particularly loved that one. Now, you addressed him by his first name as if it were its own curse word.

“What the fuck do you mean?” he raised an eyebrow as you continued to speak, malice brewing inside as you itched to say the things you’ve kept bottled up.

“It seems you want me to stop everything. You don’t even come home anymore. I forget you live here sometimes,” you said, trying to be sarcastic, but your words were as sincere as they were hurtful.

“I do come home when I can. It’s been busy at w-”

“Work. It’s always about work and your fucking job. Work this, work that. Do you ever get tired of making excuses for yourself?” His eyes narrowed, staring you down as his body became rigid.

“Do you think me going out there every day chasing down these fucking pendejos is a godamn excuse? No estás pensando con claridad.”

“Oh, I’m the one that lacks sense. That’s rich coming from you.” You started to laugh, standing straighter and looking at your spouse vexingly. “You don’t think going down this goose chase with your head cut off to catch Escobar is crazy? Te has vuelto loco, Javi.”

“I do this for you. For us.” You know he’s trying to convince himself of this lie more than you.

“There is no us if you’re not here! You haven’t been here for months! I don’t know shit about you anymore, and this job has turned you into a different person.”

It was wrong to raise your voice at him; the previous quarrels usually passed through intense conversations, and he’d walk out the door to leave you for the rest of the night, but it was never this intense. You think this time would be the dreaded catalyst you’ve prolonged to avoid, and there was no turning back.

“You knew what you were getting into when we started dating. I told you what I do for work, I told you how this was going to be. It’s not fucking easy. You know this.” He took another sip of his whiskey, gulping it down all at once, hoping the buzz would give him the strength to handle the onslaught of words he knew was coming.

“So now it’s my fault that our relationship is falling apart? What? I should’ve known better than to fall in love with you? Should’ve known better than to marry you?” You were inching closer, your hands flailing around as you spoke exasperatedly.

“Yes. Maybe you should’ve known better.”

The only thing that could be heard in the kitchen was the clink of the ice melting in Javi’s glass, reaching a stalemate as you stared at him in bewilderment and heartbreak. You stepped forward to meet him chest to chest, imagining yourself slapping the words clean out of his mouth. You opted for putting your pointer finger under his chin, the tip of your nail grazing the underside of his jaw as rage washed over you.

“You don’t get to say that to me. Not after everything we’ve been through, everything I gave up to stay here with you in Colombia.”

Tears graced your lash line when he looked at you again, your brows creasing as the mask you’ve worn for so long unraveled. You tried to stay the good wife; you did, but you were getting edged closer and closer to the breaking point. Javier wants to be surprised that you found the audacity to confront him like this, but he knows it was what he deserved. Perhaps he deserved worse for what he’s put you through.

“Why can’t you give this up? Why? You know how this is going to end. I’ll hear from Steve that you didn’t make it back from another assignment or worse. All of this and for what? Help me understand, please.” You begged him to see your pain, hoped to see things as he saw them, to understand why he was going to such great lengths to kill a man at the expense of everything else rotting around him.

“It’s complicated. Everything about this is complicated. The last thing I need is for you to get involved in this mess, too.”

“It’s always complicated with you.” You shrugged with a shake of your head, admitting your defeat.

“I sit here and wait for you to come home, and you don’t. You’d rather be out there, doing god knows what, while I stay and twiddle my fucking thumbs waiting for something to happen,” you looked down to the floor, staring at your feet as the emotions swirled inside you, losing control over the storm of their intensity.

“I don’t complain or say anything when you don’t come home. I get it, this is the job, this is what you have to do. But I don’t see you, Javier. You don’t talk to me, you don’t touch me, or even look at me…I don’t want this for us anymore.”

You didn’t think your words were getting through to Javi anyway as he remained quiet, the stinging bitterness festering before was forgotten and replaced by the dull ache of his heart. Hearing you say this to him hurt in ways grazed bullet wounds and rough tumbles to the ground couldn’t amount to. The self-loathing and anger that’s been building inside him after discovering all the corruption of his job settled in the pit of his stomach, bile rising to the back of his throat at the thought of it. He hated this.

“I don’t want this either. I don’t want to keep hurting you…”

I don’t want to lose you.

“Then why do you still do it?” You presented your left hand to hit his line of sight, gesturing to the two rings you wore, the ones he gave you when he swore to love you for the rest of your life. “Does this mean anything to you?”

It means everything to me. You mean everything to me.

The words were too heavy for him to say, refraining from confessing his true thoughts the way he wanted. His lips were sealed, but his eyes confirmed what you already knew. He was just too cowardly to do or say the right thing himself.

“I love you Javier, I do. So much that it pains me, but this is not a life we should be living. Don’t you want more than this?”

Of course, he wanted more. When he slipped that ring on your finger, he had already envisioned the life he had dreamed of with you. A quiet life somewhere in the countryside, away from all of the noise of the government and countries that were running rampant with issues he shouldn’t be responsible for fixing. He saw the distant future, a kid or two running in the yard while you sat on the porch to watch them, a look of peace on your pretty face as you peeked over at him from across the ranch.

A happy home, a happy life. That was what he wanted, what he prayed for.

Javier despises himself for being unable to amount to his dream for both of you. He’s so wrapped up in this nonsense with the DEA that he’s had tunnel vision so profound he can’t see the light anymore.

“I know you’re not going to stop until all of this is finished, I know that. But I can’t do this anymore. So I’m giving you a choice, the DEA or me.” His eyebrows shot up at the sudden ultimatum you’ve proposed to him, eyes growing wide as he comprehended the hand you’ve forced upon him.

“You can’t make me choose this, that’s not how this works. I can’t just drop everything for you, not now when we’re this close. Don’t do this to me, please…” his hands landed on your shoulders, squeezing them to make you rethink what you said before doing something you may regret.

“I don’t want to do this, but I have to,” your eyes met the brown irises you used to spend hours looking at and admiring, the spark in them long gone. “I can’t stay here and watch you destroy yourself, Javi. I love you too much to witness that. Please don’t put me through that.”

Walking away from him and heading to the bedroom, you knew nothing else was left to say. You couldn’t save him, your love couldn’t save him either, and you thought maybe backing him into a corner would knock some sense that he’s been missing.

As you entered your bathroom to look at your reflection, you heard the front door open and close again, exhaling a shuddering breath. He’ll be outside for the night, maybe stop by a bar and drown his sorrows before going to work again as if nothing happened. Your eyes turned bloodshot as you cried, your hands covering your face to muffle your sobs as you sank to the tiled bathroom floor with your back to the wall. You brought your knees to your chest, comforting yourself and hoping something would come in the form of a miracle.

Maybe you’ll wait for him a little longer. Maybe you’ll leave your ring on the dresser with a letter, find your way back to the United States, and rebuild your life, forgetting all about Javier Peña. Maybe there was nothing left to give, nothing left to save. Maybe you just didn’t know what you were doing, and you went over your head.

You prayed for whatever God existed to give you the strength to persevere through this troubling time. In that silent prayer, you wished for the man you still loved to come back home to you, for him to want a better life for himself and to end this torment he continued to put himself through.

Slipping into the empty bed like you’ve done so many times before, you tucked yourself in the sheets that still smelled like him, glimpsing at the window to count the rays of moonlight that peeked through the curtains to help you doze off.

You dreamed that in the morning, you’d wake up to strong arms wrapped around your waist, apologies and promises muttered alongside kisses to your temple as he reclaimed you as his, the way he used to do before all of this. You desired to give him what he wanted, be the person he needed to show him better and save him from himself. But that was wishful thinking.

The man you knew, the man you loved, wasn’t here anymore, and there was no way you could bring him back.

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Spanish Translation: pendejos - idiots, No estás pensando con claridad - you're not thinking clearly, Te has vuelto loco, Javi - You've gone insane/you’re crazy Javi.

[the-goo-goo-muck]

NOW PLAYING

LATE

Starring: Choso Kamo

Choso's a simple man with simple desires, & a morning meeting with Gojo & Yaga doesn't typically fit into those desires. . .not when he wakes up to you in his bed

Warnings! fem!reader, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, praise

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Choso’s biggest complaint about humans is that they’re all so complicated. He thinks he’s a simple guy, & he is. He eats the same thing for breakfast every morning, he tells Yuji the same thing before every mission (“Be safe, & be smart”), he gets ready in the exact same order everyday, & he loves his girlfriend. 

Truly, it’s that simple. He’s that simple. 

But when you tell him that you think you “wanna move in with you, Cho. Then we can be together everyday. When you come home from missions, or hanging out with Yuji, I’ll be there,” it throws him off. Not that he’s complaining, but it’s Thursday morning, he needs to leave in 10 minutes, & yet here he is, lying in bed with you still, tracing patterns on your shoulder, admiring your soft snores that you swear don’t exist, & he just can’t find it in himself to get up.

He never would’ve allowed anything to distract him from his job, from his purpose, so why can’t he get out of bed & start getting ready? Why can’t he seem to find the will to leave you? & furthermore, why on earth would he ever want to leave you? He doesn’t spend too much time pondering it; all these complicated questions leave his head spinning. He’s accepted the fact that he isn’t here to be a genius, he isn’t half-human to be the smartest guy around. As long as he’s fighting curses, protecting those he cares about, & loving his girlfriend the way she deserves, nothing else really matters, right? 

You’re just so vulnerable like this. Some deep, dark instinct in his brain is telling him to stay with his woman, protect her, make her happy. Of course, he doesn’t need caveman intellect to encourage these thoughts, Choso will do anything to make you happy. Even be late to a meeting with Gojo & Yaga. 

“Morning, pretty,” he murmurs against the nap of your neck, trying to be subtle in the way he grinds his crotch against your ass. But you'd sang this song & danced this dance more mornings than you could count. 

“Cho, you have to go to work.” Of course, you would decide to be reasonable right now, right when he needed you, needed to feel you, needed to taste you. He wasn’t trying to be a tease or a flirt, but you second guessed that when he trailed delicate kisses, with both his lips & his eyelashes from the bottom of your jaw to the base of your neck, to the valley between your breasts, to your navel, down your stomach until he reached the silk line of your panties. He looked up at you, begging for permission, & the answer you gave him was hooking your fingers under your panties & pulling them down to your ankles. He wastes no time in burying his face into your pretty pussy: kittenlicking your folds, pressing chaste kisses all over your upper thighs, finally providing you the stimulation your body is begging for by shoving his nose into your syrupy, sweet cunt. 

You’re losing coherency, trying & failing to get through to him in any way that “yo-you’re gonna be late, Cho,” & it’s barely a whisper, some form of a whine, & damn it, he’s thinking to himself, he must not be doing a good enough job of sucking on your swollen cunt if you’re still forming sentences. 

“Don’t care.” He doesn’t even spare you a glance, too entranced by the taste of you, the smell of your perfume mixed with your arousal. 

Choso was not the type of person to call out of work, but it was after your third date, when you’d taken him home, let him finger you & sat on his dick, that he was texting Yaga at 3:00am that morning after round four that he wasn’t going to make it in. You’d scolded him for that rash decision in the ten minutes it took his cock to get hard again, & lost all sense of rationality after that.

He was gonna get you there, he thought; sex-brained & dumb, ‘cause that’s how he liked you best. Of course, he loves his sharp-as-a-tack girlfriend, but he loves you even more when you’re like him: zeroed in on one thing. His one thing was almost always you. He knew you would never cheat on him, but the thought of you even thinking about another man—platonically, even—made him sick. 

You're clawing at his hair, still trying to talk sense to him, but the words are lodged in your throat, replaced with moans of his name, begging; as if you'd ever have to beg, when Choso's stream of conciousness consists of two words: "please her, please her, please her, please her—"

So he’s confident, when he slides two fingers into your weeping cunt, that he’ll have his way with you this morning, send an apology to the higher-ups, & make sure his girlfriend knows how much he loves her before he leaves. 

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is it obvious that i'm in love with him. . .orrrr. . . ???????

LOOKING FOR SOME MORE? MASTERLIST <3

LOOKING FOR SOMETHING SPECIFIC? ASK <3

[slidetoleft]

thinking about aaron minyard in the morning of tilda’s birthday every year.

thinking about aaron minyard as a kid making toast and coffee for tilda to try and soothe her hangover.

thinking about aaron minyard avoiding tilda on the last few birthdays she had, but still leaving a present on the coffee table before she woke up.

thinking about aaron minyard frozen to his bed the first birthday tilda is gone.

thinking about aaron minyard considering breaking his sobriety his freshmen year at palmetto from a new wave of grief.

thinking about aaron minyard resenting kevin and neil when their drama (and aaron’s fear of driving) prevent him from asking andrew to drive him to tilda’s grave the next year.

thinking about aaron minyard’s rage over cass spear’s failure to be a mother that andrew could count on.

thinking about aaron minyard wondering if tilda ever realized he wasn’t in that car.

[platykool]

Finally watched mob psycho 100 first season so here’s a badly drawn Reigen to celebrate

watching this may be one of the best decision I've made

[thestrangestwatermelonofall]

"I wouldn't do that if you aren't a ghost" well too bad I'm not a coward. I am currently standing outside and letting the snow fall gently around me. The beautiful sight of the snow falling, the sound of it hitting my hood but also the peaceful silence of the world around me, it is all wonderful and I am enjoying it all.

[drakonovisny]

drunk and. comtemplating human nature

[screampied]

sukuna never says “i love you.”

to him, the words are meaningless. he’s been alive for thousands and thousands of years, of course he knows what it means. he’s not stupid, but for some reason—every time it comes out of your little human mouth, his heart aches. you say it so sweetly with the cheekiest grin on your face, not a single care in the world. he hated it. three words, eight letters of pure rubbish. at least, that’s what he thinks to himself. for sukuna, he expresses his love in a different way.

physical touch. flicking your forehead, teasing you, saying things he’d never say to you while you were awake. that was his version of love, he didn’t need those stupid, stupid words. or did he?

“love you, ‘kuna,” you’d pepper another kiss against his cheek. he tchs, the audacity for you to do something so embarrassing. he never says it back but you know deep down he’s got to feel at least something in that cold heart of his. he just has to, after all you did steal his heart in a way. and he stole yours. your eyes always had a glinting sparkle whenever those words would come out and he hated it. his response to you saying you loved him would always be the same.

“yeah yeah,” he gruffs. or a simple, “i know..”

but— there’d be a time where he’d regret not saying it back. a cold, cruel time where it’s just you and him, no one else. except, it would really just be him.

sukuna had a hard time at expression his feelings. it’s not like he hated you—despite his rough, barbarous persona.

he didn’t hate you but he did. it was complicated. it was a struggle trying to put it into words. all he knew was that he loathed how soft you made him, he noticed his behavior would change around you overtime. sukuna’s voice was get more gentle, his shoulders would relax, and he’d always finding himself flicking your forehead for some strange reason. it’s annoying,

you’re annoying.

the feeling was love though, it had to be.

had to be,

so the moment comes where he regrets not saying it back.

it’s something he’d continuously beat himself up over for. because now, here you are, laid all out near the ground in his arms. all four of his arms held you in a tight, cradling embrace and he’s got an expression you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. sukuna’s scarlet red irises were blown and fearfully dilated. his thin nostrils flared up and his slit brows contort in panic and confusion.

sukuna ryomen was scared.

“brat. get up.” he murmurs, three simple words was all he said to you. three simple words but you could barely even hear them.

all you heard was a brief inaudible mumble. you saw his lips moving but barely any sound came out. your body felt crushed, the pain was excruciating. your limbs, they felt like they were on fire. getting up was the last thing on your mind and you’ve probably sone the most careless thing imaginable.

you took a hit for sukuna, a deadly hit that was powerful enough to cost you your life. it’s funny though—all the talk of seeing your life flash before your eyes, and now, being snatched into the inevitable end, you were starting to really see it.

“get up,” he repeats, and this time, a single tear falls right onto your cheek. you meet sukuna’s gaze. the king of curses was a mere mess right before your eyes. he was like this for just you. teary eyed and sniffling, he can’t stand this pain.

you’re being held in his lap and not once does his eyes leave yours. sukuna takes a while to speak again and it’s as if he’s carefully thinking of what to say. time was precious right now, but he didn’t wanna think about anything. his focus was solely on you, his favorite little human.

“can you hear me? say something.”

“you .. you’re gonna get wrinkles if you keep frowning too much, ‘kuna.” you hum, a weak finger stroking against his cheek.

archons, for whatever reason, that little comment brought a smile to his face. you were so annoying to him and yet, he wouldn’t wanna be in anyone else’s presence. everything hurt though,

your body felt scorchingly hot, your pulse remains to ring through your ears and you were wheezing a bit. “hey, hey,” he watches as you try to cling onto his hand. sukuna didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know what to say - all he did do though, was hold you. it was the least thing he could do. your hand was so small compared to his, his long fingernails gently tickling against your skin.

he didn’t have it in him to scold you for trying to protect him. as fragile of a being you knew you were, you did it anyway. you risked your life for him. sukuna let his guard down and you jumped right in the way without a second thought for yourself. that’s what love was, his heart bleeds at the recent flashback before a shaky breath leaves his lips. “this wasn’t supposed to happen. you can’t leave me like this, please.”

“i’m not l- leaving.” you reply, your voice weak and frail. sukuna knew that was a lie. the more you stared at him, how the look of worry on his face paints and marinates his features, he was really scared. you were his everything, his breath of fresh air, maybe even his one true love. “never gonna leave you, sukuna.”

and sukuna lays there with you on his lap. you seem still - too still. right before his eyes, he watches as your body’s temp run cold, final breaths making its introduction. everything was going so fast. he barely had time to react before he realized,

you were gone.

“no,” he whispers under his breath. the demon was at a loss of words. the feeling in his chest, it was indescribable. painful, and tight as he watches the light leave your eyes, something within him leaves also. a part of him. you were drifting away and there was nothing he could do about it. “no.” he repeats against, feeling a dull ache run cold through his body. sukuna didn’t know what to do. he’s seeing red, but perhaps that wasn’t just bloodshed and anger. maybe, maybe it was the one true feeling he was denying all along,

love.

his breaths become heavy once he realizes you’re actually gone. no movement, no cheeky replies, no random “i love you ‘kuna’s,” no nothing. the tear in his heart was enough to make him see the light with you. it hurt horribly, a lump in his throat builds up before he starts to weep. one tear comes then multiple shortly follow, landing past the thin fabric of his sown kimono and onto your lifeless body.

sukuna hated you. he hated how you made him so soft, so vulnerable, so weak. you came into sukuna’s life, stole his heart, and also broke it.

as his eye twitches, his smile had already faded once you left him.

for the first time in centuries, sukuna was defeated. his enemy wasn’t a sorcerer, a curse, or even himself who he believed was his true worse enemy. sukuna ryomen was defeated by four simple letters, love. not only did you leave him in tears, but you also left him with an engagement ring inside his right palm.

he was far too late, he was gonna propose to you. that way, he’d build up the courage to say those stupid, stupid words. opening up his right hand, he stares at the ring he wanted to give you way earlier before this incident even happened. sukuna waited too long, he’d actually plan this for quite some time but again, he was scared.

with a defeated sigh, he surrenders, glancing at you for one last time. no smile on your face anymore but he just used his imagination. there you laid, peaceful, almost as if you were asleep. taking a deep breath, sukuna gives you his last gentle forehead flick before finally telling you the words he’s been longing to say for years.

“i … i love you too, brat. never leavin’ you either.”

[silkscream]

natural devotion

ੈ✩ synopsis: gojo finds you, his ex-wife, in a sketchy dive bar. he almost doesn't recognize you.

ੈ✩ cw: smut (minors dni, ageless + blank blogs will be blocked), previous arranged marriage, ex-husband!gojo, clanleader!gojo, rough bathroom sex, semi-public sex, drunk sex, oral, fingering + penetration, light choking, gojo is.... weird idk how to explain. he's just strange and cold and possessive and so odd

ੈ✩ wc: 3.2k

ੈ✩ a/n: literally nobody asked for this. also it's unedited. sorry

Gojo thinks he sees a ghost when he sees you.

At least, he thinks it’s you.

You don’t see him yet, so he takes the liberty to scan you over more thoroughly. You’re not wearing anything like the simple, modest attire he remembered you donning around his estate. Instead, you’re in a form-fitting crop top and the tiniest mini skirt Gojo has ever seen. He’s not sure if it even classifies as a skirt.

Interesting.

He takes a breath as he sits down next to you, interrupting your conversation with the bartender to offer his card. You turn to look at him and you laugh.

“Put hers on my tab,” Gojo says.

“Always the gentleman.”

“You know I’ll always take care of you. Even if we aren’t married anymore.”

You could scoff at that, but you decide to be polite. He’s as candid as he’s always been. It used to humiliate you, but you aren’t the same docile little wife you used to be. You also realize his gesture could be interpreted as tender, which isn’t something you were ever used to in your marriage.

He was a cold man and it was a marriage of convenience.

Or perhaps he was only cold to you. You would watch how he would interact at social gatherings and clan parties, his charisma infecting entire rooms. Toothy grins that shone as brightly as his hair. Always loud, animated, and magnetic.

To you, he was mostly indifferent.

He was never outwardly mean, but he was constantly occupied with missions. It almost felt as if you weren’t married at all. You enjoyed speaking to him when he was around, though. There were moments when you could almost picture yourself being his friend, but then he would be away and come back cold. 

When you asked for a divorce, he complied without a blink. Even after you were free from becoming an incubator for the Gojo clan’s next heir, something in your chest ached at how easily Gojo signed the papers.

And now, he’s tipsy in a bar with you and more tuned into your presence than ever. When he looks at you, there’s a lingering that you convince yourself you’re hallucinating.

Small talk with him is odd. He’s much more complicated than that, but here you are, discussing trivial things right now. If he’s remarried yet (he hasn’t). If you honed in on your cursed technique (you have).

It’s terribly odd. Like talking to a stranger that you’ve only met in a dream.

“I thought you’d have better taste in bars,” he drawls, sipping a Cosmo. It was annoyingly endearing, the way he wasn’t the kind of man to have a glass of whiskey despite acting like it.

“I could say the same to you.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not a regular. This place is full of perverts.”

“Does that include you?”

Gojo grins. “Not like some of these guys. You would’ve gotten roofied if I didn’t sit down. And your outfit certainly isn’t helping.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” you scoff.

“It is one. You’re a sight to behold. Never saw you in anything like this when we were married.”

“Your clan would have my head. I assume you would, too,” you mutter. 

His eyes are taking you in, flickering between your face and your body. It would make you uncomfortable if you weren’t already three beers in. 

“I wouldn’t be angry. I just don’t promise that I would’ve kept my hands to myself.”

You stare at him in disbelief.

“I think this is the most forward you’ve ever been to me.”

“You were so timid back then,” he smirks. He places a hand on your knee, his thumb tracing the skin. “Such a nervous little girl. There were times I assumed you were cheating on me, the way you were so rigid with me.”

You remember being obedient and quiet. Perhaps rigid, but you had only followed his lead, pushing yourself away from him just because he was doing it to you first. You know you shouldn’t apologize or feel guilty for your lack of intimacy with him, but the way he teases you makes your face heat up.

“I wouldn’t cheat on you,” you frown.

“Good,” he smiles. It almost seems genuine. “I wouldn’t have let anyone have you, anyway.”

Your eyes widen in slight surprise.

Why did you let me divorce you, then?

His fingers are tracing circles into the skin of your thigh absentmindedly. The flutter in your chest threatens to pull on your lungs when you notice.

“You’re so different now,” he notes.

“Not really.”

“I don’t just mean the way you look, by the way. Your eyes are sharper. Posture better. Not a meek little thing anymore, huh?”

You could flush at how he belittles you, but the praise gets to your head. 

“Huh. You’re the opposite. You look and act the same as when I last saw you.”

He laughs. “I always liked when you talked back, you know. Anyone ever told you can be a bit of a brat?”

You raise a brow. “Yes.”

His breath smells sweet. Tongue like a candy apple from the sugared liquor in his glass, you were sure. You don’t wince when he gets closer to you.

“Yeah? And how do they deal with it?”

You bite the inside of your cheek before entertaining him.

“Everyone’s a little different,” you mumble.

You miss the flicker of jealousy in his eyes. You’re too distracted by the shape of his mouth.

“What do you think I’d do?” Gojo tilts his head as if he’s taunting you.

“I don’t– what?” you stammer. 

“You’re a smart girl. Use your imagination.”

He grins again. Everything about him is sickeningly sweet. It’s not a side of him you’ve ever seen directed at you. There’s almost a fondness there. You would only see it before in rare moments, usually when Gojo was a little drunk. You suppose he could be drunk now and you’re almost grateful despite yourself. He would always get a little handsy, especially if you were dressed up for his clan events. He’d have his hand only on your leg, crawling up the skirt of your dress. During times like those, he felt like a real husband.

They were always such fleeting moments. Even years after the divorce, certain memories could still make you dizzy. 

Your mouth goes dry. You compose yourself. 

“Sorry. I, uh, have to use the bathroom.”

“Gonna use your imagination in there?” Gojo jokes.

“Something like that,” you mutter back, if only to humor him.

You don’t realize the hole you’ve put yourself in once you utter the words. The invitation you’ve given him. Unfortunately, you’re also still reeling from the conversation, so you forget to lock the door of the handicapped bathroom. 

To be fair, Gojo did try to convince himself not to follow you for the entire three minutes you were gone. But he’s never been that good of a man. It was your fault for being so damn tempting in the first place. But he had tried to be good even in the very beginning – he was polite, kept his hands to himself. Bought you anything you wanted. 

He even let you leave him. After seeing you tonight, he now knows it was a grave mistake.

“Satoru.”

“Hey.” 

He closes the door gently and locks it. Leans against the door with his arms crossed as if waiting for you to do a magic trick from the way he’s looking at you expectantly. 

“Why are you–”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t want me to follow you,” he tuts. 

Okay. Fine. He had a point.

“This must be exciting for you, yeah? Seeing me lose it over you?”

You can’t form words. Despite the fire in your belly, you aren’t completely sure what his angle is here. He steps forward and backs you into the wall. He could pin you to it, easily.

His hands rest on your thighs, riding up the length of the pathetic excuse you call a skirt. 

“You’re trying to kill me with this,” he huffs. “Just making everything so… difficult.”

He almost sounds disappointed in you. There is a rush of desperation flooding your brain like a knee-jerk reaction. You can feel your heart about to burst.

“Sorry,” you mumble. You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for.

“I was really trying to behave, too,” Gojo sighs. “Wouldn’t want to scare my ex-wife away with how much I missed her. Christ.”

“You– what?”

“Yeah, baby. How could I not miss this face?” He strokes your cheek. You’re convinced he’s been possessed by someone else, maybe. Mistaken you for a different stranger.

Your knees are already going weak. He leans in to whisper in your ear. The hand stroking your cheek holds your chin, squishing your face slightly.

“Didn’t you miss me?”

“I… I did,” you whisper.

“Good,” he smiles softly. “I like knowing you still think about me.”

The proximity is driving him insane, but he’s always liked to play with you. Sometimes he would be a little mean on purpose, but never enough to be considered bullying. He just enjoyed watching you squirm back then — it was adorable how dedicated you were to playing the part of a doting wife. He wanted to see you crack, maybe beg for his attention, but you were always too stubborn.

His cock throbs knowing that you’re putty in his hands now. Melting against him, soft and willing like a blooming flower. God, he needs a taste. He nibbles on your earlobe and grins when he feels your breath hitch.

“I kind of wanted to just take you right there on the bar. Let all those creeps see how good I’d fuck you.”

Your eyes flutter rapidly at his words. He has pinned you to the wall now. You’re close enough to feel him press against you, bullet-hard. A little more teasing and he’d pull the trigger. 

He kisses down your neck, mapping it out with his teeth. He’s barely touched you and you feel like an elastic band about to snap.

“S-Satoru–”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

You pant lightly. You’re preening into his touch. Lightning makes roots down the center of your spine. You forget what you wanted to say.

“What is it? You want me to take care of you?” He pulls back this time to look you directly in the eyes. His expression softens just a second at the lovestruck look in your eyes. Tender and glistening.

You nod slowly.

“I need your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” your voice shakes. “I want you to take care of me.”

He hums, pleased. The desire in his face is so new to you despite having been his wife. He’d only fucked you once before, on your anniversary. You were too tempting and he, admittedly, was tired of punishing himself by not allowing himself the pleasure of having you.

He could see you now, sprawled on the tatami mat, how you smelled like cherry blossoms. Flashes of images reeling in his mind, every little sound you made. He’d fucked his fist to the memory of it all too often after you left him. 

He felt honored to have the real thing in his hands right now.

He kisses you like he needs you to breathe. You feel blood rush to your ears, the music from the bar muffled. All you could hear were the sound of his grunts, the slickness of his tongue in between your lips. 

He spins you around abruptly, bending you over the sink. Hand on your throat, teeth in the tendon of your shoulder.

“Look at how pretty you are,” he rasps. 

You whimper, feeling his hard cock rut against the curve of your ass. He laughs when he swipes his hand underneath your skirt, the fabric of your underwear already wet. 

You gasp sharply when he eases a finger in without any resistance. He swallows the sounds you make, craning your neck towards his face with his hand while the other works another finger in. Your stomach flips, all boiling heat when he curves his fingers in just the right spot. As if he’d done it a dozen times.

“Dirty girl,” Gojo mumbles. “Getting off to her ex-husband's fingers all the way up in her cunt. In a fucking dive bar bathroom, too.”

When you whine, he only scissors into you harder and laughs. It kills you how much it turns you on, even while knowing he’s being cruel. You would fantasize about it all the time back then. Needed him to make you a real wife so you could forget yourself. You close your eyes, groaning.

“S-Satoru, I–”

“You’re not gonna cum just from that, are you?” You hear a grin in his voice.

“Fuck, please —”

His fingers leave you, making you whine in protest. The sopping mess of your arousal trickles down your inner thighs. 

“Not yet, baby. Want you to cum in my mouth.”

Gojo drops to his knees and flips up your skirt, pulling your soiled underwear down your legs at the same time. You cover your mouth to keep from moaning when you feel his tongue prodding at your cunt. 

“I always regret not tasting you on our anniversary,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “You’re sweeter than I imagined.”

“Imagined?” you squeak out.

“You thought I stopped wanting you just because I signed a piece of paper?”

“I didn’t – oh, fuck —”

You’re distracted by the plunge of his tongue into cunt. He sucks at the hood of your clit and you feel yourself jerk involuntarily. He’s fond of your sensitivity. He used to want to take advantage of it.

You let a particular loud whine and he hums, lapping up every drop of your arousal. He sucks at your clit in earnest while he brings his fingers back to you, immediately reaching for the spot he knows will make you see stars. 

You cum so hard that you nearly bang your head against the sink faucet. Your head is spinning from the impact of it, dizzied on the high that came from a clan head in your cunt. The alcohol wasn’t helping.

He’s quick to get to his feet and kiss you so you can taste yourself. He tugs your hair and you arch for him like a taut bowstring.

“Feel how much I want you, baby?” You can feel his dick against you, something like shame flooding your system at how much of a mess you were. Getting his nice slacks all damp with your slick.

“Please,” you beg. 

He doesn’t think twice once he hears your plea. He unbuckles his belt quickly and slides down his pants. He collects your wetness in between your folds to stroke his dick. 

It feels like he’s gouging your stomach when he fucks into you. Bigger than any man you’ve had, still. Gojo likes that he was your first and he’s decided now that he will be your last.

“Tight,” Gojo mutters. You know it’s a compliment but your face heats up nonetheless. His hand around your throat is only more confirmation of his want. 

He smacks your ass with his other hand, looking down to admire the reddish mark he left. Brute. He grins when you squeeze him tighter after it. He notices your eyes struggling to stay open and gives a particularly hard thrust just to see your jaw go slack. Eyes in half-moons, boiled by the heat of your thumping heart. Blood pumping to every soft spot in your body, your brain.

“Satoru,” you gasp.

“Yeah, baby?”

“F-Feels so…”

You inhale sharply, eyes widening when his hand snakes down to pinch your clit. Your hair’s wrapped his knuckles now. A ribbon around a wedding gift. He liked when you used to wear ribbons around your neck. Liked imagining you all wrapped up for him. 

Satoru was so beautiful when he did anything, but he was angelic when he was fucking you. Cheeks all carmine, mouth wide open. It was something you wanted to get used to.

“You keep clenching, Jesus,” he grunts. Teeth at your nape, at your shoulder. Blue eyes staring at you in the mirror.

“Satoru, I’m close,” you whine.

“Hold it.”

“I– I don’t know if I can.”

“You can. You’re a good girl, even if you are dressed like a little slut.”

You whimper at that, your cunt pulsating at his words. Muscles strung out like a wet rag. You nearly cry when he pulls out of you, manhandling you to turn. He picks you up to set you down on the cold sink counter, the porcelain soothing the bruising on your ass.

He groans as he pumps himself slowly, admiring the way his tip catches on your entrance. You squirm a little, impatient, and he kisses you. It feels invasive, almost, from how rough he plays with you, sucks on your tongue. He takes the opportunity to ram into you, enjoying the way the pitched whine rolling out of your mouth gets tasted by him.

“Missed my cock, didn’t you?” he smirks. “Still the best you’ve ever had, right?”

“Y-Yes,” you sob.

His gut fucking melts.

Your mascara was getting smudged, not smudgy like he’d see in porn, but blending in the rim of your wet eyes. Dew-drop lashes.

“Feels best like this. Wanna see your face when you cum for me,” he pants. 

Your hands are on his shoulders, clinging onto him. He’s so much bigger than you, especially like this — your legs spread, his big hands gripping your thigh hard enough to hurt a little. You moan. Your voice sounds girlier than usual, wounded. You don’t recognize yourself. 

“Oh, it’s too deep—”

“No such thing,” Satoru snickers. “You’re – hah – so good at this. Good girl.”

“S-Satoru, it’s too–”

“You love it. Tell me.”

“F-fuck — I,” – you struggle mindlessly, voice strained – “I love it…”

“I know, baby,” he coos. Kisses your forehead, which is hilariously domestic and gentle considering the mean pace of his hips. 

He grabs your chin and makes you look up at him. You’re so fucked out. He’d ask you to take a picture if he wasn’t so focused on making you cum.

“You want to cum, don’t you?” he taunts.

“Please, please, please—”

“Okay, honey,” he chuckles. “You can cum now.”

Your moan is louder than expected as your cunt squeezes him impossibly tight. You can feel all the warmth rush out of you. You really are a sight to behold, which is why Satoru cums immediately after you. You feel like you might pass out. 

He kisses you all over your face, mumbling praise as you come back to your body. It’s all most nonsensical, but you swear you hear I love you. Your half-lidded eyes close as he envelops you with his arms, mascara streaking his shoulder.

He opens his mouth to say something but gets interrupted by a succession of loud knocks.

“Other people need to piss!”

Satoru scoffs, pulling away from you to slide his pants back up and buckle them. He mouths something to you that you don’t understand and leans down to grab your underwear to give to you.

“Just a second!” Satoru yells. “My wife is sick, had a bit too much to drink. Almost done.”

“Wife?” you whisper, bewildered.

Satoru eyes soften in amusement. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

[lev1hei1chou]

When their child wants a sibling

Dad!Gojo x reader, Dad!Nanami x reader Genre: Fluff Masterlist Requests open!

GOJO SATORU

"Mommy, can I have a sibling?" your five-year-old daughter, Hikari, asked as she plopped down next to you on the couch, her eyes wide and hopeful. You were in the middle of reading a book, and the sudden question caught you off guard.

Gojo, who was lounging on the other end of the couch, immediately perked up. "A sibling, huh?" he mused, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "That sounds like a great idea."

You shot him a look. "Satoru, we need to talk about this first."

"But Mommy," Hikari interrupted, "all my friends at kindergarten have siblings. I'm the only one who doesn't."

You sighed, closing your book and putting it aside. "It's not that simple, sweetheart. Having a sibling is a big responsibility."

Satoru scooted closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "She's right, Hikari. It means sharing your toys, your room, and your parents' attention. Are you ready for that?"

She nodded vigorously. "Yes! I promise I'll be the best big sister ever. I can even help take care of the baby!"

You looked at Gojo, who was trying to not laugh. "Well, I suppose we can think about it."

"Yay!" Hikari cheered, jumping off the couch and running around the living room in excitement.

Gojo leaned in and whispered in your ear, "Looks like we're in for some fun times ahead."

Later that evening, after Hikari had been put to bed, you and Gojo sat in the kitchen, sipping tea. "Do you really think we can handle another kid?" you asked, looking over at him.

"Of course we can," he replied confidently. "We're a great team, and besides, Hikari will make an awesome big sister."

You smiled, feeling reassured by his words. "I guess we could start trying."

Gojo's grin widened. "That's the spirit! And, you know, the trying part is the most fun."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help laughing. "You're impossible, Satoru."

A few weeks later, you found yourself in the same spot on the couch, Hikari sitting on your lap this time, telling you all about her day at kindergarten. Your husband was, as usual, lounging next to you, pretending to be deeply interested in a magazine.

"Mommy, did you and Daddy think about what we talked about?" Hikari asked suddenly, looking up at you with her big, innocent eyes.

You exchanged a glance with Gojo, who gave you a slight nod. "Yes, we did," you said. "And we decided that we're going to try to give you a sibling."

Her face lit up with joy. "Really? When?"

"Well," Gojo began, putting down his magazine, "it might take some time. Making a baby is a little complicated."

Hikari frowned, clearly not understanding. "But you can do it, right?"

Gojo chuckled. "Yes, we can do it. You just have to be patient, okay?"

"Okay!" she agreed, and then ran off to play with her toys.

You turned to Gojo, who was trying to suppress his laughter. "You're enjoying this way too much," you said.

"I can't help it," he replied. "It's just so cute seeing her so excited."

Days passed, and Hikari kept asking every now and then about her future sibling. Every time, her dad would give her some humorous yet evasive answer, like "We're working on it," or "These things take time."

One day, you and Gojo sat Hikari down for a serious talk. "Baby, we have some news for you," you began, holding her small hands in yours.

"What is it?" she asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"Mommy is going to have a baby," you announced, watching her reaction closely.

She gasped, her face lighting up with excitement. "Really? I'm going to be a big sister?"

"Yes, you are," Gojo confirmed, ruffling her hair. "But remember, it means you'll have to be very patient and very helpful."

"I will! I promise!" Hikari declared, hugging both of you tightly.

As the months went by, she was true to her word. She helped pick out baby clothes, decorated the nursery, and even tried to learn how to change diapers on her dolls. Gojo, ever the doting husband and father, made sure you were comfortable and happy, always ready with a joke or a warm hug.

One evening, as you all sat together in the nursery, she looked up at you and Gojo and said, "Thank you, Mommy and Daddy, for giving me a sibling. I can't wait to meet them."

You smiled, tears of joy in your eyes, and pulled her close. "You're going to be the best big sister ever, Hikari."

Gojo wrapped his arms around both of you, his voice soft and full of love. "And we're going to be the best family ever."

NANAMI KENTO

The sun peeked through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room where Nanami and you lay snuggled in bed on a lazy Sunday morning. The peace was interrupted by a small figure bouncing into the room with unmatched enthusiasm.

"Mama! Papa! Wake up!" Your energetic four-year-old, Haruto, exclaimed, jumping onto the bed.

Nanami groaned playfully, his arm draped over his eyes. "Haruto, it's too early for this much energy."

You chuckled, sitting up and ruffling Haruto's messy bedhead. "Good morning, champ! What's got you so excited?"

Haruto grinned widely, his eyes sparkling. "I want a little brother or sister!"

Nanami lifted his arm and squinted at Haruto. "What?"

Haruto nodded enthusiastically, his hands gesturing wildly. "Yeah! I want someone to play with!"

You exchanged a surprised glance with Nanami before bursting into laughter. "Oh, sweetheart, where did that come from?"

Nanami sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Haruto, having a sibling is a big responsibility. Are you sure about this?"

Haruto nodded again, his determination unwavering. "Yes! Like in the storybooks!"

Nanami looked at you, a mix of amusement and disbelief on his face. "Well, I suppose we should consider it."

You smiled at Nanami, silently agreeing that it was a discussion worth having later. "How about we start with breakfast, and then we can talk more about it, okay?"

Haruto nodded eagerly, already bouncing off the bed and heading towards the kitchen, his request seemingly forgotten in the excitement of pancakes.

As you all gathered around the table, Haruto dug into his pancakes with fervor, occasionally pausing to chatter about his favorite cartoon or his adventures with his friends at preschool. Nanami sipped his coffee, occasionally interjecting with a question or a gentle reminder to eat properly and slowly.

After breakfast, while Nanami tidied up the kitchen, you took Haruto to the living room where his toys were scattered about. Sitting down among the stuffed animals and building blocks, you leaned in closer to Haruto.

"Hey, buddy, about what you said earlier..."

Haruto looked up from his toys, eyes wide with anticipation. "Yes, Mama?"

You smiled warmly, trying to find the right words. "Having a brother or sister is a big decision for us grown-ups too. It's something we need to think about carefully."

Haruto nodded seriously, his brows furrowed in thought. "But Mama, Papa, I promise I'll be a good big brother! I'll share my toys and teach them everything!"

Your heart melted at his earnestness. "I'm sure you would be, sweetheart. We'll talk more about it, okay? Papa and I will figure out what's best for our family."

Haruto nodded again, seemingly satisfied with the answer, and resumed playing with his toys. You watched him for a moment, marveling at how quickly he was growing up. Glancing over at Nanami, who had finished cleaning and was now watching the two of you with a soft smile, you knew you were on the same page.

Later when Haruto was napping after lunch, you and Nanami spoke about what your son had started.

"I never thought we'd be having this conversation so soon," Nanami mused, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your knee.

You chuckled softly, leaning into his touch. "Kids have a way of surprising you, don't they?"

Nanami nodded, his gaze warm and fond as he looked at you. "I think Haruto would make a wonderful big brother."

You smiled, feeling a swell of love for both your husband and your son. "He really would."

One day, after putting your child to bed, you found yourselves lingering at the kitchen table, a stack of pamphlets and notes scattered between cups of cooling tea. Nanami glanced up from a particularly detailed chart of baby essentials, his expression thoughtful.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked quietly, his eyes meeting yours over the rim of his glasses.

You nodded, reaching across to take his hand. "I think so. Our little one is growing up so fast. It feels like we have so much love to give."

He squeezed your hand gently, his thumb rubbing circles on your skin. "I agree. And he's already so excited about the idea of a sibling."

You smiled, thinking back to the countless times your child had brought up the topic, from drawing pictures of a baby with their older sibling to asking if you could name the new addition after their favorite cartoon character.

[marvyu]

SO WHAT? YOU'RE NOT MY BOYFRIEND.

pairings. choi seungcheol x female reader genre(s). smut, fluff, angst

summary. your roommate ruins your date night and treats you with something better.

warnings. explicit language, sexual themes, unprotected sex, swearing, angst, jealousy, emotional confrontation, masturbation (Male and Female Receiving) clit stimulation, oral sex (Female Receiving) hair pulling, aftercare, dirty talk, overstimulation -- if i missed anything lmk!

It was another late night at the office, the clock nearing midnight as the soft hum of computers and the occasional shuffle of papers filled the air. You leaned back in your chair, stretching your arms above your head and stifling a yawn. Across the room, Seungcheol was doing the same, his eyes meeting yours with a familiar glint. This had become your routine – working late into the night, side by side, before heading back to your shared apartment.

"Are you ready to call it a night?" Seungcheol asked, his voice breaking the silence.

You nodded, shutting down your computer. "Definitely. I think I’ve stared at this screen long enough to see the code in my sleep."

He chuckled, standing up and grabbing his jacket. "I know the feeling. Let's get out of here."

The walk back to your apartment was quiet, the streets deserted and the air crisp. It was a short distance, just a few blocks, and the familiarity of the path made the silence comfortable. When you reached the apartment, Seungcheol unlocked the door and held it open for you, a small gesture that always made you smile.

Once inside, the routine continued. You dropped your bags by the door, kicked off your shoes, and headed to the kitchen. "Want something to drink?" you called over your shoulder.

"Sure, just water for me," he replied, disappearing into his room to change out of his work clothes.

You poured two glasses of water and settled onto the couch, waiting for him to return. Moments later, he emerged in his usual post-work attire – gray sweatpants and a plain T-shirt, looking effortlessly handsome. He joined you on the couch, taking his glass with a grateful nod.

"Long day," he said, taking a sip.

"Tell me about it," you replied, leaning back against the cushions. "I don't know how much longer I can keep up with these late nights."

He turned to you, a playful smirk on his lips. "You say that every night, and yet here we are."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips. "Yeah, yeah. Don't remind me."

This was your life – a blend of work and personal time that blurred the lines between professional and intimate. Seungcheol was more than just a co-worker; he was your confidant, your roommate, and the one constant in your hectic life. The nights often ended like this, with the two of you sitting close, sharing quiet moments that hinted at something more.

It had started innocently enough, a mutual attraction that neither of you had acknowledged at first. But late nights at the office had a way of breaking down barriers, and before long, your relationship had shifted into something physical. There was an unspoken agreement between you – no strings attached, no complications, just a way to unwind after the stress of the day. And it worked, for the most part.

The routine was simple and comforting. After sharing a drink and some light conversation, the atmosphere would naturally shift. Seungcheol would give you that look, the one that made your heart skip a beat and sent a shiver down your spine. It was a look that promised escape from the day's stress and a dive into something much more exhilarating.

"Ready for bed?" he would ask, though the question always held a double meaning.

"Yeah," you’d reply, though the answer was never just about sleep.

You both moved with a practiced ease, the kind that comes from familiarity and mutual understanding. There were no awkward hesitations or second guesses – just a smooth transition from the living room to the bedroom. Seungcheol would wrap his arms around you from behind as you brushed your teeth, his lips brushing against your neck, sending a thrill through you. These moments of quiet intimacy were as much a part of your routine as the more passionate encounters that followed.

In the bedroom, the air would be thick with anticipation. Seungcheol had a way of looking at you that made you feel like the most important person in the world. He was attentive, always knowing exactly what you needed without you having to say a word. It was this unspoken connection that made your arrangement work so well. He understood you, and you understood him.

He would start slowly, his touch gentle yet firm, his kisses soft but growing more urgent as the moments passed. There was a rhythm to it, a dance that you both knew the steps to by heart. The way his hands roamed your body, the way he whispered your name – it was a routine that brought both of you immense comfort and satisfaction.

"You're so beautiful," he'd murmur against your skin, his voice husky with desire.

"And you're insufferable," you'd tease back, your breath hitching as his hands found their way to your most sensitive spots.

But beneath the teasing and the passion, there was a deeper connection. The routine was more than just physical release; it was a way for both of you to unwind and find solace in each other. The world outside could be chaotic and demanding, but in those moments, everything else faded away.

Afterwards, you would lie together in a tangled mess of limbs and sheets, the post-coital glow making everything feel warm and safe. Seungcheol would hold you close, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your skin. It was in these quiet moments that you felt the most at peace.

"You should try to get some sleep," he'd whisper, his breath warm against your ear.

"I will," you'd reply, though you often found yourself staying awake a little longer, savoring the feeling of his body next to yours.

One morning, as you and Seungcheol were enjoying a lazy breakfast together, you decided to share some news that had been on your mind. It was your day off, and the apartment was filled with the comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee and the soft hum of the radio playing in the background. You had been chatting casually about work and plans for the day when you took a deep breath and decided to bring it up.

"Hey, Seungcheol," you started, trying to keep your tone light and casual, "I wanted to let you know that I’m bringing a friend over tonight. His name is Haru."

Seungcheol's reaction was subtle, but you noticed it immediately. His grip on his coffee mug tightened slightly, and there was a brief flash of something in his eyes – jealousy, perhaps? – before he quickly masked it with a neutral expression.

"Oh?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "A friend, huh? What's the occasion?"

You shrugged, trying to hide your own nervousness. "Just thought it would be nice to hang out. Haru and I have been talking for a while, and I thought it would be good to introduce him to you."

There was a beat of silence as Seungcheol processed this information. He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes studying you over the rim of his mug. "I see. Well, it’s your place too. You can invite whoever you want."

You nodded, feeling a mix of relief and apprehension. You had expected some sort of reaction from Seungcheol, but his indifference felt almost worse than outright disapproval. You couldn’t quite place it, but there was an undercurrent of tension in the air now, a silent understanding that things might be changing.

The rest of the day was a whirlwind of activity as you prepared for Haru’s visit. You spent hours cleaning the apartment, making sure everything was perfect. The kitchen was spotless, the living room was tidy, and you even put fresh sheets on the guest bed just in case. All the while, Seungcheol watched you with a mixture of amusement and something else you couldn’t quite identify.

"You're really going all out for this guy, huh?" he remarked, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen as you bustled around.

"Well, I want to make a good impression," you replied, trying to sound casual. "It's important to me."

Seungcheol just nodded, his expression unreadable. "If you say so."

As the day wore on, your excitement grew, but so did your anxiety. You couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Seungcheol's reaction than he was letting on. You had always valued your relationship with him, but you also knew that things couldn't stay the same forever. Introducing someone new into your life felt like a step forward, but it also felt like a step away from the comfortable routine you had built with Seungcheol.

The afternoon sun filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow on the apartment. You found yourself glancing at the clock more often than usual, your heart beating a little faster with each passing minute. You had spent so much time with Seungcheol, sharing laughs, secrets, and intimate moments, that the thought of changing that dynamic was both thrilling and terrifying.

Seungcheol, meanwhile, tried to focus on his own tasks. He moved around the apartment with an air of forced nonchalance, his usual confidence replaced with a slight edge of unease. He couldn't deny the pang of jealousy that gnawed at him, but he also didn't want to overstep any boundaries. You were free to see whoever you wanted, and he had no right to interfere. Still, the thought of you being with someone else made his chest tighten.

"Need any help with dinner?" Seungcheol offered, his voice breaking the silence that had settled between you.

You looked up from the vegetables you were chopping and smiled. "Sure, you can set the table."

As he busied himself with plates and cutlery, Seungcheol couldn't help but steal glances at you. There was a lightness in your step, a brightness in your eyes that he hadn't seen before. It was clear that you were genuinely excited about Haru's visit, and that realization made his heart ache just a little bit more.

"What's he like?" Seungcheol asked, trying to sound casual.

"Haru?" You paused, thinking about how to describe him. "He's sweet, funny, and really kind. We've been talking a lot, and I think there's something special between us."

Seungcheol nodded, forcing a smile. "That's great. I'm glad you're happy."

You sensed the underlying tension in his words but chose not to push it. Instead, you focused on the task at hand, preparing a meal that you hoped would impress Haru. As the aroma of cooking filled the apartment, you allowed yourself to relax, reminding yourself that this was a positive step forward.

By the time evening rolled around, everything was ready. The table was set, the food was prepared, and you had even taken the time to freshen up and change into something nice. As you gave yourself a final once-over in the mirror, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the evening ahead.

Just as you were about to head back to the living room, there was a knock at the door. Your heart leaped in your chest, and you quickly moved to answer it. Opening the door, you were greeted by Haru's warm smile.

"Hey," he said, his eyes lighting up when he saw you. "You look amazing."

"Thanks," you replied, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. "Come in."

Haru stepped inside, and you took a moment to admire him. He was tall and lean, with dark hair that fell slightly over his eyes and a charming, easygoing demeanor. He wore a casual outfit – jeans and a fitted shirt that showed off his athletic build. There was an air of confidence about him that put you at ease and made you feel excited about the evening ahead.

As you led Haru into the apartment, you couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. You had worked hard to make everything perfect, and now it was time to see how the evening would unfold. You guided him to the living room, where the table was set, and the aroma of the dinner you had prepared filled the air.

"This looks fantastic," Haru said, glancing around appreciatively. "You really went all out."

You smiled, feeling a warm glow of satisfaction. "I just wanted to make sure you felt welcome."

Just as you were about to introduce him to Seungcheol, you heard the sound of a door opening behind you. Seungcheol stepped out of his room, wearing his usual post-work attire of gray sweatpants and no shirt. His appearance was casual, yet it held an undeniable magnetism.

His well-defined muscles, honed from hours at the gym, moved with an effortless grace. His broad shoulders and chiseled chest caught the light just right, casting shadows that emphasized his sculpted physique. But it was his face that truly captivated – a strong, chiseled jawline framed a mouth that could shift from a teasing smile to a serious line in an instant. His dark hair was tousled, giving him an endearingly roguish look, while his eyes, a piercing shade of deep brown, held an intensity that made it hard to look away.

There was a certain scent about him, a mix of clean soap and something distinctly his, that lingered in the air and made your heart race. As he moved, there was an air of confidence and quiet strength about him, yet a hint of vulnerability in the way his eyes flickered over to you, just for a moment, before settling on Haru.

Seungcheol stopped in his tracks, his gaze locking onto Haru and then drifting down to where your hands were still connected. The room seemed to freeze in that moment, an awkward silence enveloping you all.

"Hey," Seungcheol finally said, his voice low and rich, like a warm breeze. "I didn't realize we had company."

You quickly dropped Haru's hand, feeling a bit flustered. "Seungcheol, this is Haru. Haru, this is my roommate, Seungcheol."

Haru extended a hand, smiling politely. "Nice to meet you."

Seungcheol glanced at the outstretched hand, his eyes narrowing slightly. He made no move to take it, instead crossing his arms over his chest, his expression remaining cool and unreadable. "Likewise," he said, his gaze never leaving Haru's face.

There was a palpable tension in the air, and you couldn't quite understand why. Seungcheol's usual easygoing demeanor seemed to have been replaced by something more guarded and intense. You brushed it off, attributing it to the sudden change in routine.

"Why don't you join us for dinner?" you suggested, trying to ease the awkwardness.

Seungcheol glanced at the table, then back at you. "I was just going to grab a snack," he said, his tone casual. "But thanks for the offer."

Ignoring the lingering tension, you led Haru to the dining table and gestured for him to sit. As you brought out the food, Seungcheol moved to the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge with an air of nonchalance that seemed almost too forced. He emerged with a bottle of water and a snack, then leaned against the counter, watching you and Haru with a look that you couldn't quite decipher.

"So, how did you two meet?" Seungcheol asked, his voice cutting through the quiet conversation you were having with Haru.

"We met through a mutual friend," Haru explained, smiling at you. "It’s been really nice getting to know Y/N."

"That's great," Seungcheol replied, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Y/N is pretty amazing."

The compliment, though genuine, felt loaded with unspoken words. You glanced at Seungcheol, trying to gauge his mood, but his expression was unreadable. You turned your attention back to Haru, determined to make the evening enjoyable despite the strange undercurrent of tension.

As the evening progressed, the atmosphere in the room grew increasingly strained. You and Haru settled into a comfortable rhythm, your conversation flowing easily despite the occasional pointed look from Seungcheol. Haru seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say, and you found yourself relaxing more with each passing minute. The food was delicious, and the atmosphere should have been perfect, but you couldn't shake the feeling that Seungcheol was watching your every move with a scrutinizing gaze.

"So, Haru," Seungcheol interjected suddenly, his voice slicing through the lighthearted chatter with the precision of a well-aimed dagger. "What line of work keeps you occupied?"

Haru looked up, momentarily startled by the abrupt inquiry. "I'm a graphic designer," he replied, offering a polite smile. "I work at a small agency downtown."

"Fascinating," Seungcheol drawled, leaning back in his chair with a languid grace that belied the intensity of his gaze. "It must be quite rewarding to indulge in such creative endeavors. Y/N and I, alas, are consigned to the monotonous world of numbers and figures."

You shot Seungcheol a pointed look, silently beseeching him to temper his remarks. However, he merely quirked an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips as if he were savoring the undercurrent of tension he had created.

"It has its moments," Haru conceded, his smile faltering ever so slightly under the weight of Seungcheol's scrutiny. "I do enjoy the creative challenges."

"Good for you," Seungcheol replied, his tone laced with a veneer of civility that did little to mask the sarcasm lurking beneath. "It's always heartening to hear of someone finding fulfillment in their work."

Sensing the rising tension, you endeavored to steer the conversation back to safer waters. "Haru, you were telling me about that fascinating project with the interactive website. Do go on."

Haru's face brightened at the change of topic, and he launched into an enthusiastic description of his latest project. You listened with genuine interest, but you couldn't ignore the way Seungcheol's eyes kept flickering back to you, his expression a perplexing blend of amusement and something darker.

As the evening wore on, Seungcheol's interruptions grew more frequent and increasingly pointed. He made snarky comments about the food, pointed out trivial inconsistencies in Haru's stories, and even "accidentally" bumped into you as he moved about the apartment. Each incident seemed designed to unnerve Haru, whose initial charm was gradually giving way to visible discomfort.

"Excuse me," Seungcheol said at one point, reaching across the table with a deliberate nonchalance that belied his true intent. He managed to knock over Haru's glass of water, sending a cascade of liquid across the table. "Oops. My apologies."

You quickly grabbed a towel to mop up the spill, your frustration simmering just below the surface. "It's fine," you said through clenched teeth, attempting to maintain your composure. "No harm done."

Haru forced a smile, but the strain was evident in his eyes. "It's okay," he murmured, though his voice lacked its earlier warmth.

Seungcheol's behavior was wearing on your nerves, and you couldn't fathom why he was acting this way. He had never been so openly antagonistic before, and it was starting to fray your patience. All you wanted was to enjoy your evening with Haru, but Seungcheol seemed hell-bent on making that impossible.

The final straw came when Seungcheol "accidentally" brushed against Haru's arm as he walked past, causing Haru to drop his fork with a loud clatter. The sound reverberated through the tense silence, amplifying the growing discord.

"Seriously?" you snapped, your eyes flashing with indignation as you glared at Seungcheol. "Can you please give us a moment's peace?"

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, his expression one of feigned innocence. "I was merely getting a drink," he said, holding up his glass as if to underscore his point.

"Well, can you manage it without causing a scene?" you retorted, your frustration boiling over.

Haru placed a soothing hand on your arm, his touch gentle and calming. "It's okay, Y/N," he said softly, his eyes beseeching you to let it go. "Really, it's fine."

But it wasn't fine. You could see the hurt and confusion in Haru's eyes, and it only fueled your anger further. Seungcheol was ruining what should have been a pleasant evening, and you were at a loss to understand why.

The tension in the room had reached a palpable peak, a silent battle of wills between Seungcheol and Haru with you caught in the crossfire. The evening that you had hoped would be a pleasant introduction of new possibilities had turned into a minefield of unspoken emotions and escalating conflict.

Seungcheol's final act of sabotage came as the three of you attempted to settle down in the living room. You had just suggested watching a movie, hoping it might diffuse the tension, when Seungcheol abruptly stood up, his eyes glinting with barely concealed irritation.

"I don't think this is working out," he announced, his voice ringing with a finality that froze you in place. He turned to Haru, his expression hardening. "I think it's time for you to leave."

Haru's eyes widened in shock, his calm demeanor slipping as he struggled to process Seungcheol's blunt dismissal. "Excuse me?" he said, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"You heard me," Seungcheol replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "This isn't your place, and I think it's best if you leave now."

You felt a rush of anger and embarrassment flood your cheeks. "Seungcheol, what the hell are you doing?" you demanded, stepping between him and Haru. "You can't just kick him out like this!"

Seungcheol's eyes met yours, a storm of emotions swirling within them. "I'm doing what needs to be done," he said, his tone unyielding.

Haru stood up, his expression a mixture of hurt and frustration. "It's okay, Y/N," he said, his voice resigned. "I'll go. This isn't worth the trouble."

You turned to Haru, your heart sinking. "I'm so sorry, Haru. This is not how I wanted tonight to go."

Haru managed a small, sad smile. "It's not your fault," he said softly. "I'll call you later."

As Haru gathered his things and headed for the door, you felt a pang of guilt and regret. This was supposed to be a simple, pleasant evening, and now it was ending in disaster. Once the door closed behind Haru, the silence in the apartment was deafening.

You turned to Seungcheol, your anger boiling over. "What the hell was that for?" you shouted, your voice shaking with fury. "You just ruined my date! Why would you do that?"

Seungcheol's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with a mix of defiance and something else you couldn't quite place. "He wasn't right for you," he said flatly.

"That's not for you to decide!" you shot back, your frustration reaching a breaking point. "You had no right to interfere like that. Haru is a good guy, and you just humiliated him for no reason!"

Seungcheol took a step closer, his presence towering over you. "I couldn't just stand by and watch you pretend everything was fine when it clearly wasn't," he said, his voice low and intense. "You deserve better than some guy who doesn't even know you."

"Better?" you echoed, incredulous. "And who are you to say what I deserve? You've made it very clear that our...whatever this is...doesn't mean anything beyond a few nights of fun. You don't get to dictate who I see or don't see."

Seungcheol's eyes darkened, his frustration matching your own. "Is that what you think?" he demanded, his voice rough with emotion. "That this doesn't mean anything to me?"

You crossed your arms, trying to shield yourself from the vulnerability his words evoked. "What else am I supposed to think? You keep things casual, no strings attached. That's what we agreed on."

"And maybe I was wrong," Seungcheol said, his voice softer now, but no less intense. "Maybe I want more than that. Maybe I want you."

The words hung in the air between you, a raw and unfiltered confession that left you reeling. You searched his eyes, looking for any sign that he was playing with you, but all you saw was sincerity and a depth of emotion that took your breath away.

The silence following Seungcheol's confession was thick with tension, each second stretching like an eternity. You stood there, heart pounding, grappling with the raw honesty of his words. The anger that had fueled your argument moments ago was now mingled with confusion and a flicker of something unnamed and unsettling.

"Y/N," Seungcheol began, stepping closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I mean it. I want you."

You opened your mouth to respond, to argue, but before you could utter a single word, Seungcheol closed the distance between you. His hands cupped your face with a tenderness that belied the intensity of his emotions, and then his lips were on yours, silencing your protests in an instant.

The kiss was both unexpected and overwhelming. Seungcheol's lips were warm and insistent, moving against yours with a fervor that took your breath away. For a moment, you were lost in the sensation, the world narrowing to the points where your bodies connected. His kiss was demanding yet tender, a blend of passion and desperation that made your heart race.

But just as quickly, the reality of the situation crashed back over you. You pulled away, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. "No," you said, shaking your head as if to clear it. "You don't get to do that."

Seungcheol's eyes searched yours, a mix of confusion and hurt flashing across his face. "Y/N, I—"

"No," you interrupted, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and frustration. "You can't just kiss me and expect everything to be okay. You don't get to treat me like some casual hookup and then suddenly decide you want more. It doesn't work like that."

Seungcheol took a step back, his hands dropping to his sides. "That's not what I'm doing," he said, his voice low but steady. "It's not like that."

"Then what is it?" you demanded, crossing your arms over your chest in a defensive gesture. "Because all you've ever wanted from me is something casual. And now, after ruining my date, you think you can just change the rules?"

"Y/N, please," Seungcheol pleaded, his eyes filled with a vulnerability that made your heart ache. "Just listen to me."

You hesitated, the sincerity in his voice giving you pause. "Fine," you said, your tone still guarded. "I'm listening."

Seungcheol took a deep breath, as if gathering his thoughts. "I know I've been an idiot," he began, his voice steady but tinged with regret. "I've been hiding how I really feel because I was scared. Scared of messing things up between us, scared of losing you if it didn't work out."

You frowned, your anger slowly giving way to confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about how much you mean to me," Seungcheol said, taking a step closer. "I'm talking about how I can't stand the thought of you being with someone else because it makes me realize just how much I care about you. This isn't just some fling for me, Y/N. It never was."

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the raw honesty in his expression. It was a side of Seungcheol you hadn't seen before, and it left you reeling.

"But you never said anything," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "You never gave me any indication that you felt this way."

"I know," Seungcheol admitted, his voice thick with regret. "And I'm sorry for that. I thought I could keep things casual, that it would be easier that way. But seeing you with Haru... it made me realize that I can't do this anymore. I can't pretend that what we have doesn't mean everything to me."

You stared at him, your mind racing as you tried to process everything he was saying. The anger that had fueled your argument was slowly giving way to a deeper, more complex mix of emotions. Part of you wanted to believe him, to take the leap and see where it could lead. But another part of you was still hurt, still wary of getting your heart broken.

The silence hung heavy between you, laden with the weight of unspoken words and the raw, intense emotions that Seungcheol’s confession had unearthed. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the raw vulnerability that he rarely showed. And in that moment, your resolve began to waver.

“Seungcheol,” you began, your voice trembling, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything,” he replied, stepping closer, his gaze unwavering. “Just let me show you how I feel.”

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both fervent and tender. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you against him, and you felt your body respond to his touch, the anger and confusion melting away, replaced by a burning desire.

His kiss deepened, his tongue sliding against yours with a sensuality that made your knees weak. You clung to him, your hands tangling in his hair as you surrendered to the intensity of the moment. Seungcheol’s hands roamed over your body, his touch igniting a fire in your veins.

He broke the kiss, his breath ragged as he looked down at you, his eyes dark with desire. “I need you, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice rough with longing. “I need you to know how much you mean to me.”

You nodded, unable to find your voice. He took your hand, leading you to the bedroom, each step filled with anticipation and unspoken promises. Once inside, he turned to you, his gaze smoldering.

“Undress for me,” he commanded softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

With trembling hands, you complied, shedding your clothes until you stood bare before him. Seungcheol’s eyes roamed over your body, his expression one of awe and desire. He stepped closer, his hands moving to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “I want to make you feel good. Will you let me?”

You nodded again, your breath hitching as his hands trailed down your body, leaving a path of fire in their wake. He knelt before you, his eyes locking onto yours as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, his tongue darting out to taste your skin.

The sensation was electric, and you felt a surge of arousal as his mouth moved closer to your core. He parted your folds with his fingers, his tongue flicking over your clit with a skill that made you gasp. Seungcheol’s hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he devoured you, his tongue and lips working in tandem to bring you to the brink of ecstasy.

“Oh, God, Seungcheol,” you moaned, your hands fisting in his hair as your hips bucked against his mouth. “Don’t stop.”

He hummed in response, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you. His tongue circled your clit, teasing and tormenting you until you were trembling with need. He slid two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that sweet spot, and you cried out, your body arching towards him.

Seungcheol didn’t relent, his mouth and fingers working together to drive you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the tension building, a coil tightening in your belly, and then it snapped, a tidal wave of pleasure crashing over you as you came, your cries echoing in the room.

He didn’t stop, his movements gentle as he coaxed you through the aftershocks, his eyes never leaving your face. When you finally came down, he stood, his fingers trailing your slick arousal up to your lips.

“Open,” he instructed, and you obeyed, taking his fingers into your mouth, tasting yourself on his skin. The look of pure desire in his eyes made your pulse quicken, and you sucked his fingers clean, reveling in the way he watched you.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice a low rumble. He kissed you again, his tongue exploring your mouth with a possessiveness that made your knees weak. You could taste yourself on his lips, the mingling of flavors heightening your arousal once more.

Seungcheol broke the kiss, his hands moving to undo his pants. “Lie down,” he instructed, and you did, stretching out on the bed, your body still humming with the remnants of your orgasm.

He shed his clothes quickly, his erection standing proud as he joined you on the bed. He knelt between your legs, his eyes drinking in the sight of you spread out before him. “I’m going to make you feel so good,” he promised, his voice thick with need.

He took his cock in hand, stroking it slowly as he watched you. “Touch yourself,” he ordered, and you complied, your fingers finding your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles as you watched him.

Seungcheol groaned, his hand moving faster on his cock as he watched you pleasure yourself. “That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours. “Make yourself come for me.”

You bit your lip, your fingers moving faster, the combination of his gaze and the sensation pushing you closer to the edge. “Seungcheol,” you moaned, your body tensing as you felt your orgasm building once more.

“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice rough with desire. “Come for me, Y/N.”

His words pushed you over the edge, and you came with a cry, your body trembling with the force of your release. Seungcheol watched you, his hand moving faster on his cock as he brought himself to the brink.

He leaned over you, his eyes burning with need. “I need to be inside you,” he said, his voice a raw whisper. “I need to feel you.”

You nodded, spreading your legs wider in invitation. Seungcheol positioned himself at your entrance, his cock slick with your arousal. He pushed in slowly, the sensation of him filling you making you gasp.

He set a slow, steady pace, each thrust deep and deliberate. The pleasure built with each movement, the intensity of the connection between you making your head spin. Seungcheol’s hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice a soft command. “I want to see you.”

You locked eyes with him, the depth of emotion in his gaze taking your breath away. The rhythm of his thrusts increased, the pleasure building to a fever pitch. He reached down, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts.

The combination was too much, and you felt yourself hurtling towards another orgasm, the intensity overwhelming. “Seungcheol,” you gasped, your body arching towards him.

“Come for me,” he urged, his voice rough with need. “I want to feel you come around me.”

His words sent you spiraling over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you with a force that left you breathless. Seungcheol followed you, his release spilling into you as he groaned your name, the sensation of him filling you only heightening your pleasure.

He collapsed beside you, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. You turned to him, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your release. He pulled you close, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your forehead.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his hand smoothing over your hair.

You nodded, your heart full. “I’m more than okay,” you replied, your voice a whisper. “I’m perfect.”

Seungcheol smiled, his eyes warm with affection. “Good,” he said, pulling you even closer. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

The promise in his words wrapped around you, a comforting reassurance of the depth of his feelings. In that moment, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. And that was all you needed.

The first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow over the room. You stirred, nestled in the warmth of Seungcheol’s embrace, his arm draped protectively around your waist. For a moment, you lay still, savoring the tranquility of the morning, the quiet intimacy that enveloped you both.

Seungcheol shifted beside you, his eyes fluttering open. A slow smile spread across his face as he took in the sight of you in his arms. "Good morning," he murmured, his voice husky with sleep.

"Good morning," you replied, your own smile matching his.

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "How did you sleep?" he asked, his lips trailing soft kisses down your temple and along your cheek.

"Better than I have in a long time," you admitted, feeling a warmth spread through you at his affectionate gestures.

Seungcheol’s kisses continued, each one a tender promise of his feelings. He moved to your other cheek, then your nose, then your chin, covering your face with a constellation of soft, loving kisses. You couldn’t help but giggle at the sensation, your heart swelling with affection for the man beside you.

"Seungcheol," you murmured, your fingers threading through his hair as he nuzzled against your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

"Hmm?" he hummed, his lips moving to your jawline.

"This is nice," you said, your voice soft. "I could get used to waking up like this."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a tenderness that made your breath catch. "So could I," he replied, his hand cupping your cheek as he leaned in to kiss you softly on the lips.

Just as you were losing yourself in the sweetness of the moment, a familiar sound interrupted the tranquility. The door creaked open, and you felt a rush of fur and energy as Kkuma, Seungcheol’s dog, bounded into the room.

"Kkuma!" Seungcheol exclaimed with a laugh, sitting up as the dog jumped onto the bed, tail wagging furiously.

Kkuma wasted no time, planting herself between the two of you and showering Seungcheol with enthusiastic licks. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, the dog’s antics bringing a lightness to the room.

"Kkuma, stop," Seungcheol said, though his laughter belied any real annoyance. He scratched behind the dog’s ears, giving her the attention she so eagerly sought. "You’re interrupting a very important moment, you know."

You smiled, reaching out to pet Kkuma as well. "I think she’s just making sure we’re both awake," you said, your heart full as you watched the playful interaction between Seungcheol and his beloved pet.

Kkuma’s presence had an undeniable way of lightening the mood, her joyful energy infectious. She turned her attention to you, her eyes bright with curiosity. You scratched her behind the ears, earning a contented sigh as she settled down between you and Seungcheol.

The three of you lay there for a while, enjoying the peaceful morning. 

"Y/N," Seungcheol said softly, his hand finding yours under the covers. "About last night..."

You turned to him, your heart skipping a beat at the seriousness in his tone. "Yes?"

"I meant everything I said," he continued, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "I want to be with you. For real. No more pretending, no more keeping things casual."

You felt a lump form in your throat, the sincerity in his eyes nearly overwhelming. "I want that too, Seungcheol," you whispered, squeezing his hand. "I want to be with you."

He smiled, a look of pure relief and happiness washing over his face. "Then let’s do it," he said, leaning in to kiss you again, this time with a gentle, lingering sweetness that left no doubt about his feelings.

Kkuma, not to be left out, nudged her way between you once more, her tail thumping against the bed as she demanded attention. You both laughed, the moment made all the more perfect by her playful interruption.

As the morning sun continued to rise, you and Seungcheol talked about your future, about the possibilities that lay ahead. There was a sense of hope and excitement, a feeling that together, you could face whatever came your way.

© marvyu 2k24 — please do not copy, repost or translate any of my works on other platforms: i do not tolerate them at all.

[ivesambrose]

PAC: 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟

1. 2. 3.

For those who are sleeping on their potential or are unaware of it.

To book a personal reading with me DM or email me at ivesambrose@gmail.com with your query.

Masterpost

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PICTURE 1

Blessed with the gift of restoring or beautifying things beyond repair. This could be an object, a garment or you, yourself. There's not a single ending or grief that you've faced that you haven't bloomed out of. Perhaps some of you have found inspiration in it as well. You can find beauty in the mundane and the macabre. You'll always find or have access to some hidden resources. Be it esoteric knowledge, classified sources, intuition or people not really in the public eye.

You're sleeping on your gifts of acquiring wealth. Some of you may have limiting beliefs when it comes to money. You have the ability of being extremely influential with your words but you shy away or underestimate yourself. You'd do amazing in selling/promoting/teaching something but you might think you're not glamourous or confident enough. Both of them are a state of your mind. Some of you can be incredible cooks too, make something simple look appealing and taste exquisite regardless of whether you want to profit out of it or not. Some of you are excellent designers, can stitch fabrics together or put something together like a puzzle piece and make it fit even if they aren't supposed to. With enough awe and wonder you can make yourself happy, something you've been avoiding in the pursuit of keeping up with ever yone else and constant comparison or choosing things to pursue that you aren't supposed to but you end up doing so to prove a point that never gets assured.

PICTURE 2

Such caring and tranquil souls who don't realise that they create their opportunities as they go. You don't have to go looking for them, the more you do they'll elude you. Think of it as looking for your glasses while you were wearing them the whole time. Blessed with the capability of changing lives and circumstances through their thought, ideas and words alone. But you think of it as a power so simple and you seek out more complicated things then wonder why you feel stuck and devoid of curiousity and fun. You're sleeping on your potential to go and see what the world has to offer you and what you have to offer to the world. You might think it's too little but that's far from the truth. You've gathered your perceived mistakes and failures so much that they have piled up in your subconscious somehow. The moment you switch them to what you have gratitude towards, they too will add up and will keep multiplying. You'll either way be guided towards your destiny no matter what.

You have helped others release their burdens but it seems as though you still keep carrying yours with the addition of other's as well. Why? You think you can't execute an idea, you think too much time has or will pass you think you have no relevance. You think too much, so why can't you think in your favour more than once? You're stubborn, so why can't you be stubborn with allowing yourself too walk on your path?

There's an opportunity in everything. The moment you make everything ever in your favour as crazy as it sounds, is when you are prosper.

PICTURE 3

There is power in the unspeakable emotions that you feel but prefer not to. You have the ability to evoke the same emotions in others too. You're perhaps searching for examples or validation from others in regards to what you want to do, where you want to go and what you want to become. But the truth is that you're supposed to be your own validation.

You're meant to be your own example, be as eccentric and revolutionary and chaotic as you wish to be. Some of you are a cult classic in the making and don't even realize it yet. You're like a lightning strike, the poet and the muse. You have the gift to visualise/picture things into existence. You are someone's real life comfort character despite it all You're capable of becoming a healer, taking all the pain and turning into power, inspiring the same in others, you're capable of becoming a leader and an extremely influential person. Use your power well. You're meant to be expressive, you're meant to inspire, to create, to perform, to travel and likely be as many characters as you wish and live many lives, each that caters to your inner child. You can't really go step by step with this, there's hardly any method to it except bursts of energy and inspiration that leads you to where you seek to be. Deep down, you're aware that the only way to live up to this is being a bit strict with yourself, completely accepting your power and contradicting yourself less.

You can easily transmute energy, think of yourself as an alchemist, surround yourself with people and friends who share this vision as well, likey you already are. Stop holding yourself back.

[elvirable]

Instincts

[ Astarion x f!Reader/Tav ] | ao3 link

rating: explicit | word count: 3.7k | status: complete themes/tags: vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, creampie, feelings realization, denial of feelings, light angst at the end, you know the sex scene after the tiefling party?, yeah so this is it, with astarions pov, already catching feelings smh, smut is halfway through, just skip to after all early dialogue

----------------------------------------------------

Little did he know that evening, that was the beginning of his simple plan crumbling apart.

In other words: Astarion has been struggling to balance century-long instincts with newfound feelings, an undeniable connection. He carries out his simple little plan as intended, but meets complications he didn't quite expect. ----------- A/N: so i hung up my cod medals of honor to write this.. i've been playing for a month now. originally posted without proofreading, but its now edited for grammar and some terms -----

It was hard not to have fun around you.

Something of a child-like giddiness would buzz through his nerves whenever you sauntered over, his marbled red eyes wouldn't dare to miss a beat of the vision you were. Swaying hips and that deceivingly coy face. Of course, you were strikingly beautiful – a wickedly delectable sight – but that wasn’t the only source of his carnal anticipation.

It was just you, the enigmatic little thing you were. 

Admittedly, Astarion believed he had read you like an open book the moment he laid eyes on you. It was an instinct of his: gathering a cerebral repository of notable ticks and body language, facial twitches, and octave changes in those around him. Watchful, constant observations.

He had chalked you up to a sort of stoic character at first. Graceful, to a degree, in your manner of subtly balancing the world around you. A stable composure, quick and quiet without brash or idle chatter.. unlike that Gale. You were a less flagrantly repulsive hero-type crafted in his mind – but he had still expected you to be oh-so predictable with a shallow drive for self-emaciating ‘justice’. Whereas the others wore their baggage like a garment, you held your cards close to your chest – like a chameleon suddenly thrust into the spotlight.

Yet the sun rose and fell two or three times around the wilderness of Elturel, when he found himself pleasantly contradicted. He normally didn’t dedicate much attention towards someone he believed he so easily pegged, but his interest began to pique. Just enough to leave him sitting with an edge and a consuming desire to peer in closer. 

Maybe it was the way your mouth twitched into a quiet smile during his verbal antics on the road or the firm passiveness you held from the blighted village to the drama of Emerald Grove; an intoxicatingly confusing blend of traits you harbored. The closer he watched you, the less blurred you became. You didn’t fear being authentic and enforcing boundaries to those who attempted to use you – but you weren’t cruel; you met the world around you just as it was, without discrimination. No unnecessary harm, no free handouts either. 

Or perhaps it was your sarcastic remarks that stirred what little glee he had in him; an especially delicious and refreshing insight into your humor. While he could care to give a critical note or two on your lack of blatant cruelty, Astarion respected your compelling demeanor; he witnessed how all these companions turned their eyes so frequently to you with decision.

But what he did know for sure was the eye contact.

Gods, the first time your heads swiveled mid-strife and your gazes locked with a rich crackle – the memory alone was enough to stupefy him! Something strange stirred, something that didn’t sit comfortably. He didn’t know  what to make of it.

With all this said, that same sensation boiled inside his stomach as he mulled over his every interaction with you. He recalled that moment of midnight – when all was still and you had caught him prepared to taste your throat. Your wary stare pierced through him, washing away briefly the desperate pangs of blood-thirst and left him feeling.. nervous. 

Ugh, how he despised the feeling. 

He was sickened when all those ledgers of observations caved in on himself, caught in his pale throat. He had taken such an overwhelming liking to you – to the extent, he had realized, that he was drawn to your guidance, your approval; a repulsive frustration at the time enough to coil through his cold veins. Without much to say, however, he was adamantly relieved when you conceded and soon regularly allowed him to drink from your slender neck. 

His trail of thoughts glossed over your stifled grunts onto the following morning: when you came to his defense as everyone felt the need to chime in with their unfettered prejudices. And how his ease, his excitement around you became persistently potent – a fresh energy that filled him as you spurred on his teasings and whims. Astarion noticed your subtle release of your ever-strong walls, just enough so he could relish in your humor and affable side.

There was always a hesitation at doting on the sensation that rose inside him at these thoughts of you. He surmised he was merely back in the practice; where he spun honeyed words and charmingly guile eye contact, to wrap his target around his finger. Any little edge of control he could grasp onto, the familiar taste of influence he used to know so well. These habits of two hundred years were kicking in. He’d play the part and – sooner or later – this eagerness to please would be reversed onto you.

Whether it was his own willful denial or the culmination of fate’s ever-spinning thread, the first crumble began the night of the tiefling party.

.

Cool and clear was the star-freckled night. Everything was too merry for him: the wide-toothed grins of the tieflings, sharp strums of the lute, the chatter. Even the wine was downright awful, pungent and tart like vinegar. 

Astarion would’ve normally indulged in his bitter mood, but it was the sight of your drunken smile that diffused his prior desire to complain.

How interesting, he thought as his eyes lapped up your squinted grin and eased laughter. It was helplessly infectious to see you so earnest, casually prattling on in conversation throughout the camp. 

Red eyes followed while you made your rounds, encouraging the tiefling’s dancing lights spell and conversing with the bard. Astarion even raised a brow at the playful expression that washed over your face as you spoke to the hulking druid by the name of Halsin.  When you strolled over to Shadowheart and he caught that carefully provocative glint in the raven-haired cleric’s eyes – a chord of jealousy grew taut inside his chest.

He had half the mind to feel insulted that you hadn’t wandered in his direction yet, but that was quickly dispersed when he noticed you dismiss yourself and head towards a wooden crate near the riverfront. 

Almost like a shadow, Astarion swept in your direction. Whether it was to merely take in your smile up close or to put his plan in motion, he settled on the latter. You were rifling through the crate that held what could barely pass as wine, muttering a quiet curse about the little tiefling probably pocketing a bottle or two.

“Here’s my little treat with her cheeks all flushed,” the words dripped from his mouth with a sweet cadence. “You will come to my bed tonight, won’t you?”

You swiveled at the sound of his voice, raised brow accompanying your hazy smile. The influence of wine lowered your usual wariness, and he caught the realization flutter across your face; there was no constitution in attempting to act reserved, especially with the rapport you two had grown. Amusement was written all over your face, hardly concealed – you had decided to play along.

“A little treat? You can do better than that.” 

“Oh, I certainly can. It would be my pleasure.”

He leaned closer, half-lidded eyes darkening and breath heavy with a mischievous delight. You watched him expectantly, reveling in what would pour from his lips.

“How about this one,” he loosened his posture, as if you both were stowed away from the entire world instead of dawdling along the outskirts of the shoddy camp. “All these accolades from the tieflings are nothing compared to the sound of my name, cried from your lips.”

Astarion watched the smile further spread across your soft lips, the wickedly sweet crinkle in your eyes while you crossed your arms. An exhilaration rose underneath his suave demeanor, even the bemused snicker invigorating.

“Is that the best you can do?” came your quick quip.

“Hmm, let me give it another go,” his voice was thick with arousal, a hungry glint in his eyes. “Every part of your perfect body whispers temptation – it’s as if the Gods made you just to ruin me.” 

His words clung to the air for a moment. The deliberate onslaught of poetic pleasantries laced with such ardent lust, the hum of the wine – Astarion studied your face swirling in thought. Heat had built up from the lower half of your body up to your cheeks, a quiet neediness wavering in your stance and threatened to boil to the surface of your skin.

Gods, you were thinking, it had been the longest time and you’ve been touch-starved.. more so under the urgency of all the trouble you had been thrust into. You never trusted a pretty boy, but you'd be damned if his flowered prose didn't stir something in you; you had never been the subject of such pursuits, real or not. Desire rushed through you, coiling in your stomach.

There was a beckoning in his eyes as they clutched onto yours, imporing you to draw closer, and his boyish features were even more alluring when caressed by the moon’s glow. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to trust those flowery words. They were tinted with an air of rehearse.

“Did these really work on Cazador’s targets?”

“Well, they’re working on you, aren’t they?”

A mild bashfulness buzzed through the warmth on your cheeks, as you couldn’t really deny it. 

“How about if I said these little words… everyone’s favorite,” Astarion continued, pausing for effect.

“I love you.”

Sly amusement colored his face. He had succeeded in riling up the intrinsic urge, no matter how much you tried to conceal it. How adorable you were when your gaze fluttered briefly.

“Having fun, are you?” you observed, smile holding on your lips.

As he had mused earlier, he was. It was hard not to whenever around you.  

.

Festivities settled down, the entire camp fast asleep once the wine crate had emptied and bellies were full. Only the chittering of crickets could be heard amongst the trees.

The forest, usually dressed in potent darkness, stilled beneath the moonlight. A serene, subtle beauty of the night – one Astarion was very accustomed to knowing, to living . He had done this so many times it had become second nature – the salacious rendezvous, the secrecy and fleeting thrill of them all. 

He had contemplated before, the image of you melting in the throes of pleasure. He wondered whether you preferred his hands gentle or rough, what sounds would dribble from your lips – if they sounded as sweet as you tasted. 

Though nothing could prepare him for the reality, which far surpassed fantasy; the pretty little thing you were, bare figure caressed by the lowlight, slowly making your way towards him.

“There you are. I’ve been waiting.”

You offered him a coy smile, cheeks still warm and rosy. An ache rushed between your legs at the sight of him sauntering forward, his well-formed broad physique. Lean, yet muscular – and the soft details of his appearance; the crease of laughter lines, the curl of his lashes. Just the anticipation of it all served enough to make you wet.

“Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting to have you,” he leaned closer, desire coating every syllable.

“You don’t have me yet,” you matched the pulse of his words, emanating a playfulness to goad him on further.

Greedy lips suddenly met yours, and you were pressed against the tree trunk. His palms gripped the back of your thighs, swift dexterity almost catching you off guard. You instantly melted, like a puddle, in his grasp; your soft lips just as eager, skin aching and impatient for his touch. You never realized how sensitive you were, how truly touch-starved until you fought the gasp that escaped your throat.

Astarion didn’t waste a beat, carefully laying you onto the grass below while he drawled slow kisses along the curve of your neck. Fervent yearning permeated from your skin; you wanted more, and he was prepared to give you everything .

He drank in the sight of your arousal, eager to please you yet potently roused from the position he was in: you were such a delectably pretty thing sprawled beneath his weight, completely bare and vulnerable. Wide eyes bashfully beckoning him to just taste you.

“Part those precious legs for me, beautiful.” He directed, his voice less of a growl this time – instead more sweet. Soft. 

You could feel your face heat up further at his words, following his command without hesitation. Tender hands trailed along the soft skin of your thigh, his intense eyes briefly leaving yours to watch his fingers lingered over your folds – you were glistening with slick , fevered arousal.

“Oh my, you’re already so wet for me.”

His voice was almost a whisper now, as a keen excitement rushed through his veins. A twitch pressed against his briefs, his cock already hard and eager especially when his eyes darted towards your rosy. So willing, ready to indulge his every whim. For a moment, he settled in your vulnerability – a sight he didn't expect to see. You were always full of such delicious surprises.

He shook the thought from his mind, allowing a sly smile to return to his lips.

“Who knew you were so needy?”

Your cheeks flushed, timid lips scrambling to form a defensive retort before he slipped two fingers inside. Only a quiet gasp left your mouth as your soaking warmth struggled to adjust, tightening around his digits. You were barely able to comprehend the words he said, instinctively bucking your hips.

“ Astar ..” your breath hitched before you could even finish, when his fingers began a slow pace. Teasingly slow, you would beckon, but there was nothing you could even fathom whispering anymore. Your walls began to clench, eager to receive his unwavering attention.

Hums of pleasure pulsed through your every nerve, rapidly as he fastened the curling pace of his fingers. Every hitched and quiet whimper encouraged him, his palm soaked with your slick. He relished the sight of your round breasts rising and falling feverishly, your heat clenched around him – his cock further hardened, precum no doubt pooling on the fabric of his briefs. 

All you could manage was to focus on the pleasure mounting between your legs, thighs now quivering with anticipation. His thumb slid up to your swollen clit, never breaking pace, to draw teasingly slow circles. He adjusted his weight to lean closer to your face, the sudden attention causing an overwhelming shyness to press your eyes shut. Your thighs trembled more now while his fingers beckoned and lured your pleasure to spur closer and closer.

“Look at me,” he whispered, his voice the gentlest you’ve ever heard. 

He couldn’t place the sensation – of feeling entranced in a sense, when whimpers of pleasure fumbled from your beautiful lips. Astarion almost felt lost, nearly mesmerized, when you kept those pretty eyes trained on his. He could feel his eyes soften at your vulnerable stare, and all at once everything inside him craved to slide into your warmth. To feel you melt into him, to hit every right spot to make you sing, for every sweet prayer cascading from your lips to be for him.

“Mmf..” You were left in a sudden foggy haze, a mix of pleasure and confusion when he abruptly withdrew his fingers. You couldn’t fathom any words to speak, only furrowed your brows in a hazed and disorientated manner.

“I’m sorry, love.” His breathless laugh seemed dazed before the low, heaviness returned to his tone, “You were practically just begging with those lovely eyes of yours.”

He leaned downwards to plant soft, reassuringly delicate pecks across the nape of your neck; each a mantra to affection, leaving a buzz in their wake. Carefully he peeled down his briefs with a wasted moment to rub his eager cock against your slick warmth.

Your moans sounded even sweeter closer to his ear, and a delighted sigh pressed from his lips onto your skin. His throbbing cock was met with some resistance as the length and girth was suffocated by your tightening walls, warm spasms at the sensation being filled. 

A guttural, low moan hummed from his throat. Fuck, you were so perfectly tight.

His cock pulsed at the sudden attention, aching with pleasure and a warm buzz radiating through his skin. He paused for a moment, needing to relish every second it felt to be now pressed so deep inside you. The softness of your skin, delicate cues of pleasure washing over your face, how your warm walls enveloped his cock.

You moaned as he pushed more of his length inside your needy warmth, tears beginning to well up in the corner of your eyes. Pleasure and slight pain blurred, the tip of his cock almost pressed against your soft cervix and a rouse of heat traveling up your spine. 

His hands gripped the globes of your ass to adjust his leverage, slowly but deliberately digging his hips against yours with each thrust. His body was achingly ready, alive with frantic urge. He was incapable of any pretty words to whisper, tangled groans replacing his usual velvet tongue.

As he pounded quicker into your warmth, your pulsating soft walls sucked his cock tighter and deeper with each buckle. He nestled his head into the nape of your neck. Sweat formed on his pale forehead as he wrestled with his restraint, his cock stroking in and out, hitting pleasure points you never knew existed and relishing in your shameless cries – desperate for him.

Soft, warm pleasure unraveled across you in hot waves. If you had the mind, you could only hope that no one could hear you two – the sounds and wet smacks of his skin colliding against yours – but all you could do was turn your pleasured cries and whimpers into soundless gasps.

Your lips parted, hips bucking before your back arched from the ground. Every fiber of your body attempted to get closer to him, and his to you. Of some act of grace, your hand caressed his face, lifting him to face yours.

Oh, how he wanted to melt right there. 

Eager eyes met each other, brows furrowing together into a soft, tender stare. Astarion’s hips began to buck erratically for a moment as he struggled to regain his resolve. Once steadied, he continued to bury deeper into you in every perfect way. You were clenched so tightly, so divinely around him while his name trickled as a whisper from your lips. 

“You – fuck .. “ you couldn’t be bothered to form a proper sentence, every whim of comprehension overwhelmed by new heights of white pleasure. You were lulled into a stupor, and his grip tightened at your garbled pleas.

“Thaaat’s it,” Astarion practically begged, voice ragged, his eyes never leaving your beautiful face as it twisted with sweet expressions. An eagerness gnawed inside him, to push you to the edge of your pleasures. You were so perfect while you cried his name, taking all of him so well. 

“Come for me, sweet girl –” Hushed and delicate was his tone, only causing you to surrender any inhibition.

Heat wound tightly in your abdomen, lashes wet with the tears trailing down your warm face. Every nerve was wound so tight, finally snapping into a rush of white hot pleasure that left your skin flushed and tingling. You tried to whine out his name, but it spilled out into broken gasps as you reached your fingers to grip his silver curls. 

His hips began to stagger, riding out your pleasure until he could no longer postpone the succumb to pleasure. They lost their rhythm, and a low moan rumbled from his throat as he surrendered to the overwhelming sensation of your tightening walls, pressing into you.

You could feel his cock throbbing in you, as your nerves are slow to fizzle from the glowing buzz, and it swelled. Your slick walls were overstimulated nearly by his desperate, choppy thrusts before a cry escapes his lips – his cum flooded into you, thick and hot. He felt waves of warmth, so real and alive. So helplessly right.

The air was silent, as you both collected your breaths in hurried gasps. Astarion peeled his weight off of you only to roll onto his back, by your side. Your body felt light and completely slack, almost boneless as you sunk into the earth underneath you. Aftershocks of pleasure still rippled throughout your nerves. 

Both of you laid sweaty, flushed, exhausted, lacking the energy to care. You broke the silence with a wobble in your voice.

“Fuck, you came inside me..” you stated the obvious, reeling from pulsing nerves and vision hazy. 

“I’m sure the druids have something that’ll take care of that..” Astarion said breathlessly, extending an arm to wipe the sweat glistening off his forehead. 

He waited for a quiet laugh or a retort, but neither came.

Turning his head, he was met with the vision of your exhausted figure fast asleep. Slowly your chest rose and fell, face at ease – a vulnerability he had only seen when you were in deep sleep, if you weren't tossing and turning.

The quiet sat with him while he attempted to gather his thoughts, his experience. He had seen an entirely different side of you – exposed delicate. Part of his conscience pooled with guilt. 

He had a plan. A nice simple plan. It wasn’t foreign to casually bed strangers, seducing and manipulating them into following his every whim. Hells, this had been routine for two hundred years . The count was lost on how many nights he spent using people like ragdolls, only to be lured back into the hands of Cazador.

Astarion returned his gaze to the stars glistening above, attempting his best at reducing it to the odd circumstances or perhaps he was simply out of practice. 

Regardless – even if it was more than a fluke – he had already fucked things up. The thought felt tainted now, uneasy and riddled with remorse. 

Little did he know that evening, that was the beginning of his plan crumbling apart.

[girlgenius1111]

hard launch

mapi x ingrid x reader. after they confirm their relationship, the public's response makes you feel like maybe you don't belong with ingrid and mapi. an international break complicates the matter, until you're barely speaking to them, and they have to figure out what's wrong; until they have to try to pick up the pieces.

-----

“We don’t like to hide you, amor. We want everyone to know you’re ours. Please?” 

The hope in Mapi’s eyes was too hard to resist, quickly transforming into joy when you nodded your head. Next to you, Ingrid whispered a promise into your ear, that everything would be okay, everything would go perfectly. You weren’t so sure. They didn’t seem to understand your hesitation. Of course they didn’t. They were them. Ingrid and Mapi. They were widely adored, together and separately. 

Your girlfriends could do no wrong. 

Except choose you, apparently. 

It was easy to believe them, that no one would care, when you were safely tucked away in bed with them. Feeling Ingrid’s arms wrapped around your waist and Mapi’s lips press into your forehead. They made you believe them; when they told you that while some may have a negative reaction, the majority of the public would just be happy if they were happy. 

You shouldn’t have believed them. Shouldn’t have trusted them, shouldn’t have given in when they asked you. A small, very hurt part of you wondered if it had been on purpose; a way for them to show you they were too good for you without actually having to say the words. Logical you knew that was ridiculous, but it was hard to use logic when you were scrolling through comment after comment about how awful you were. 

Upon reflection, both of your girlfriend’s would realize the mistake of letting your relationship go public just a few days before you and Ingrid were set to go on national duty. It was a few simple posts, photos that would have previously just included Ingrid and Mapi now including you. You, asleep on Mapi’s shoulder on the plane. You and Ingrid, hand in hand as you walked through the darkened streets of the city. The posts confirmed rumors that had been simmering for months. You remembered so clearly hitting the post button at the same time your girlfriends did. 

They’d smiled at you, dropping their phones onto the table without another thought. Yours was heavy in your hand, though, and it felt like every comment that slid through made it weigh more and more. The comments were worse under your post, of course they were. It was more confusion on your girlfriend’s pages than anything, but mostly vile insults on yours. 

You shouldn’t have read them in the first place, but you were only human. You couldn’t help but scroll through the comments section late at night when you were supposed to be sleeping, search your name on twitter just to see what your new insecurity of the day would be. It was self destructive, yet you couldn’t stop. It ate at you for three days before you left. 

The worst was that they didn’t even notice. Long used to ignoring comments on social media, neither of them saw what was happening, and what it was doing to you. In fact, it may have even been bearable if they’d noticed. If they’d been there to dispel your worries. Instead, they’d remained oblivious, and then you’d all split up for a week. You to England, Ingrid to Norway, Mapi staying at home in Spain. 

You always got a bit anxious before it was time for camp, and any odd behavior on your part was attributed to that, both by your girlfriends, and by you. Because while your brain was screaming for you to show them everything that was being said and beg for them to tell you none of it was true, you refused to be that pathetic. They wanted this so badly, a relationship that wasn’t a secret, and you couldn’t ruin that. 

Maybe, though, you’d already ruined everything anyway. Each of them felt the odd and unusual tension when they kissed you goodbye earlier that afternoon, but neither of them were there to see the tears that fell once you were on the plane, leaving Barcelona. 

If the past 3 days had been almost unbearable, and you’d been with them, you couldn’t imagine what a week of not seeing them would do to you. You weren’t sure you could survive it. 

—

It took Ingrid an embarrassingly long time to realize you were avoiding speaking to her. Mapi, less so. It was the 3rd day of a 7 day break, and the three of you had only facetimed once. Which, in and of itself, wasn’t odd. What was odd, though, was the fact that you’d barely been texting them. You hadn’t spoken to either of your girlfriends unless they’d called you, hadn’t reached out at all. It was unlike you, but even then, both of them just assumed it had been a busy break. 

At least, until Ingrid got a text from Keira. The midfielder was wondering what was going on with you, if the three of you had been in some kind of fight or something, because you were acting completely weird. Barely socializing, looking exhausted no matter how much time you spent alone in your room. It was concerning enough that multiple of your teammates had noticed, and tried to talk to you about it, only to be shut down. 

You were fine, you told them. Nothing was wrong, you were just a bit more stressed than usual. 

None of them believed you, but your answer as to what was wrong remained the same. Finally, Leah instructed Keira to just text one of your girlfriends, and see if they knew anything. If they did, perhaps they could give Keira some answers on how to help you. And if they didn’t… well, there was clearly something very, very wrong. 

The phone call that followed Keira’s text wasn’t very fun for you, or for either of your girlfriends. Mapi had to ring you three times before you picked up, and even then, your face was only half in view of the screen. After you’d exchanged hello’s, you fell silent. It was a heavy silence, one that told both your girlfriend’s very clearly that you weren’t okay. They didn’t know why, but they were going to figure it out if it was the last thing they did. 

After a few more seconds of total silence where they waited for you to say something, Mapi gave in. 

“Amor? How are you?” Mapi wondered. 

“Fine.” You told her. Short answers, make up an excuse for why you have to go in a minute. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. They don’t need to deal with your emotions, just like how they probably don’t want to deal with you. 

“Really? Because Keira told us you’ve been acting kind of weird.” Ingrid said gently. You forced yourself to look away from her wide, concerned eyes. 

Fuck, this was hard. But you couldn’t break down. They didn’t need that. They didn’t need you. 

“Yep. I’m fine.” You replied shortly, shifting again so the camera only showed half your face. 

“Can you let me see you, then?” Ingrid asked. “If nothing is wrong, look at us.” 

With a very forced roll of your eyes, you tilted the screen so that your face was visible. You looked exhausted, which they’d known you would, but they weren’t expecting the completely empty look in your eyes. 

“Amor, are you sure you’re-”

“María, I said I’m fine,” you snapped, digging your nails into the skin of your thigh at the hurt look on your girlfriend’s face. Guilt was all you could feel, suffocating, maddening guilt. 

“Don’t be like that.” Ingrid said sharply. “We’re worried, and we want to help,” 

“I don’t need help. Everything is fine. God, can’t you both just leave me alone? You’re hovering and you’re suffocating me and I’m over it. I’ll talk to you later, I have to go.” 

You hung up before either of them could get a word out, throwing your phone across the room once you’d done so. 

Everyone was right. You weren’t good for them. You weren't good. 

The text you received afterwards only reinforced that. Your phone screen was cracked from the force of your throw, but you could still see what Ingrid had written. 

I don’t know what the issue is, but if you’re upset about something, you need to stop being immature and tell us what’s wrong. We can’t read your mind. You owe me and María an apology.

Mapi hadn’t even bothered to text. 

It was easier than you expected to push them away, which really just reinforced what you’d been convinced of over the past several days. They were better off without you. You tried to convey that in your reply. 

I’m sorry to both of you. You deserve better. Don’t worry about me, please. I’m fine.

You were pretty sure you’d never been less fine in your life. 

—

Neither of your girlfriends liked the sound of your last text. It was self deprecating, and it just didn’t sound like the you they knew. Their frustration began to fall back into worry, and that worry only grew with every day that passed. 

You wouldn’t answer their calls or their texts. None of your teammates could get a single word out of you. 

Mapi almost flew out to you when Keira told her that Sarina was benching you for the friendly you had. The only reason she didn’t was because you were coming home the following day. 

Keira said you weren’t sleeping and barely eating. The coaches and physios and captains had tried to talk to you, but you just kept saying you were fine. 

Neither Mapi nor Ingrid were very sure what they were going to get when you came home to them the next day. No matter how much either of them thought about it, they couldn’t put the pieces together. You’d been fine before you left. Maybe a little weird, but nothing compared to how you were now. 

Ingrid had barely played in her own match, too stressed over you to really focus on training. It was a friendly for her, too, and she’d never cared less about a match in her life. Never wanted something to be over more in her life. 

Mapi was laying on the couch when she figured it out. Snuggling with Bagheera, maybe wearing one of your shirts, and definitely not stalking your instagram. 

She clicked on the comments by accident, but the absolute vitriol caught her eye immediately. She read one comment. Then another. 

She read them until she was crying, herself. Until she finally had to close the app before she broke her phone by throwing it or something, and called Ingrid. 

—

Mapi was always more active on social media over the international break. She must have been really bored to be looking through your instagram, but that was the only explanation for the text you received with only a day to go until you headed back to Barcelona.  

Amor, I think I understand why you’ve been so distant recently. I don’t know how to fix this so far away from you, especially when you won’t answer the phone, but I love you so much. None of those people know you or us. We want you, and that is all that matters. Please don’t be too unkind to yourself. Call me if you can.

Ingrid’s text followed shortly after. 

I talked to María, and I went through the comments. I’m so sorry we didn't notice before now, and I’m so sorry you’ve been dealing with this by yourself. I understand why you’ve been distant, but I wish you’d answer the phone. I love you, so so much. More than you know. 

They still cared, and you didn’t understand why. 

You were nothing, and they were everything, but that’s not how they were acting.

It was incomprehensible, so you didn’t try to comprehend it. You ignored their texts, and knew that once you arrived home tomorrow, there wouldn’t be any more avoidance, for better or for worse. 

—

Your hand shook as you tried to unlock the door, eventually just dropping the keys all together onto the door mat. Swearing under your breath, you set your bag down to grab them, but the door swung open of its own accord. There Mapi stood, her phone in hand like she’d been tracking your location. Just the sight of her had emotion splitting your chest open, tears instantly filling your eyes. 

“Corazón,” she murmured, tugging you in through the door as her free hand grabbed your bag. 

“Hi,” you said meekly, shutting your eyes as Mapi’s hands came up to cup your cheeks, her eyes studying your face closely. The whole time you’d been gone, you hadn’t let yourself cry. Not one tear, no matter how much you’d wanted to. You’d done everything you could to push every emotion away, focus on numbness rather than everything swirling around inside your head. As soon as you saw Mapi, though, that was over. 

You sunk in on yourself, your head dropping until your chin hit your chest, and all you could see was your shoes on the hardwood floor. Tears clouded your vision, and you couldn’t help the quiet sob that slipped past your lips. 

It was a testament to how poor your state of mind had gotten in the last week that as soon as Mapi kissed your cheek, you broke completely, a part of you genuinely shocked that she still cared for you. Still wanted you. She drew you in closer, dropping your bag to the ground and kicking the door shut as she did so. You pressed your face into her shoulder, hands fisting themselves in the fabric of her sweatshirt. 

“I’ve got you, amor. I’m right here.” 

And she was. She was right there. Even though everything seemed to tell you that it should be otherwise, she was still there. She still loved you. The comments she’d evidently discovered hadn’t lifted some veil from her eyes, making her realize how much she despised you, how much better she could do. She touched you in the same gentle way, held you so carefully. She still loved you. She loved you. 

Somehow you found yourself being half carried over to the couch, still cradled close to Mapi’s chest. Once she had you comfortably resting with your head in her lap, you tried to speak. 

“I’m sorry,” you cried, looking up with wide eyes at your girlfriend, desperate that she understand that you knew this was your fault, and your fault alone. 

Mapi just shook her head. “No, you have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t realize what was going on sooner, and I’m sorry there has ever been any doubt in your head that I love you.” 

And though it still didn’t make any sense, you turned and buried your face in the fabric of Mapi’s, of your, shirt, and let every feeling that had been trying to strangle you for the last week out.   

Mapi was there through it all, her hands stroking your hair and rubbing your back. Wiping away your tears as she murmured soft, sweet reassurances to you. 

It was still incomprehensible, but you were tired of trying to understand why they loved you still. Why they loved you at all. You were too tired of everything, honestly, and all you seemed to be capable of was sniffling into your girlfriend’s lap, and drifting off into the best sleep you’d had in 7 days. 

—

When Ingrid walked in through the front door, it was completely silent, save for an occasional sniffle. It had been radio silence from Mapi since the time you were due to arrive home, around two hours before her own plane landed. She had no idea what to expect upon her arrival, and the unknown made her stomach twist with anxiety. 

 She leaned down to pet Bagheera quickly, before making her way into the living room. If she thought she was going to find you to be the source of the quiet crying, she was wrong. 

Instead, you were curled up in Mapi’s lap, your head resting on her thigh, as you dozed peacefully. The Spaniard was playing with your hair in one hand, the other reaching up to wipe away her tears. If there was anything Ingrid hated, it was seeing either of you upset; she would get this itching feeling to fix it, no matter what it took. Within a second, Ingrid was crossing the room and sliding onto the sofa next to Mapi, her hand cupping the older woman’s cheek. Mapi inhaled shakily, trying to muster a smile for the Norwegian, but it was a weak attempt. 

“Hi my love.” Ingrid whispered, placing a gentle kiss on Mapi’s slightly damp cheek. 

“Hi.” Mapi whispered back, her voice thick with emotion. 

“Tell me why you’re crying.” Ingrid was pretty sure she had a good idea, but she wanted to hear it from Mapi. 

“She’s… she’s in so much pain, Ingrid. She believes everything everyone is saying about her. I can’t imagine what the last week has been like and I didn’t do anything about it-”

The Norwegian cut her girlfriend off. “Neither of us did. She didn’t tell us. We should have checked in and we should have realized something was off before we left, but she didn’t tell us, María. She didn’t want us to know.” 

Mapi nodded slowly, and Ingrid knew that the Spaniard still blamed herself. Honestly, Ingrid blamed herself, too, and no rational words could fix that. Not when you were laid in front of her, the effects of the past week clear on your face. 

Knowing that there wasn’t anything else she could say, Ingrid wrapped an arm around Mapi’s shoulder, pulling the defender into her. With María’s head on her shoulder, and you sleeping in her lap, Ingrid could almost pretend that everything was fine. 

In the silence, she could pretend that you hadn’t been subjected to astoundingly hateful comments that had made you doubt the entirety of your relationship with them. If she tried really hard, she could pretend everything was fine. 

When the first tear slid down her cheek, though, she knew she wasn’t really convincing herself. Not with Mapi crying on her shoulder, not with you, exhausted, heart battered and bruised next to her. Nothing could erase what had happened, but Ingrid hoped, with everything in her, that it could be repaired. 

—

When you woke, you thought you found yourself just as you’d been when you’d fallen asleep, with the environment around you slightly different. It was lighter, in the apartment, with the smell of something cooking wafting in from the kitchen. You shifted, realizing you weren’t lying on Mapi, anymore. Your head was resting on a pillow, two throw blankets tucked around you meticulously. 

Low voices were audible from the kitchen, and you rose shakily, feeling weak and exhausted from your breakdown, even as you’d just woken. A part of you wanted to just head for the door. Running away would be the easiest option, because you were quite sure that going into that kitchen would bring about conversations you didn’t want to have. If you could have done anything, you would have gone back in time to two weeks ago, when no one knew about the three of you, and no one had anything to say. Back when Mapi and Ingrid had no reason to question your mental health and your very negative view of yourself. It had felt like they were fixing that, slowly but surely. The response to your relationship had destroyed what self confidence you had built back up, and it was so fragile now, you knew you wouldn’t be able to successfully convince them that you were okay. 

But there was love waiting for you in the kitchen, love you didn’t understand but love you craved all the same. And if you walked out the door, you weren’t sure you’d ever find anything like it ever again. 

When you walked into the kitchen, it was to find both of your girlfriends sitting at the counter, both looking at something on Ingrid’s computer. 

Ingrid turned to look at the sound of your footsteps padding into the room, and any fear you had that she was still upset with you melted away at the look on her face. She got up, practically crashing into you with the force of her hug. One arm around your back, the other pressing your face into her shoulder, she held you so tightly, she hoped it would convey to you that she was never letting you go. 

“My love.” She sighed, feeling you sink into her. It was such a relief to have you back in her arms, to know that you were okay and safe, relatively speaking. Ingrid had thought the worry and concern would fade a little at the sight of you, but it didn’t. If anything, it grew. Because you so clearly weren't okay, and she wasn’t quite sure how she’d missed all of this. 

Ingrid and Mapi had discussed it while you were asleep; that for your response to the hatred being spewed your way to be this severe, there had to be some foundation to it already in place. For you to so readily believe that you weren’t worthy of them, that you were destroying their relationship, that you were an awful person, you must have had those thoughts before. They hadn’t known that, hadn’t ever known you to be anything but energetic and smiley and happy and loving. 

You felt arms snake their way around your abdomen, Mapi’s face come to settle against the back of your head. It was a relief to you, too, to keep being reminded that they wanted you, regardless of what the little voice in your head was trying to convince you of. 

They held you like that for a while. Until Ingrid’s arms started to go numb and Mapi’s began to ache from holding you so tightly. Only when you shifted uncomfortably in between them did they finally let go, allowing you to step away from them and rub harshly at your eyes. 

It was just hitting you now, the full force of what you’d put them through. And now that you were with them, again, you felt a little silly for how you’d acted. You were younger than both of them, not by much, but that immaturity was clear in your actions over the past week, and you hated that. You hated that you’d made things worse for them when you’d only been trying to make everything better.  

“I’m so sorry.” You croaked, desperate for them to know that your intention hadn’t been to hurt them, that you were just reacting in the way you best knew how. They both began speaking at the same time, trying to tell you that you didn’t need to be sorry, but you didn’t let them get very far. “No, I am. I put you guys through hell and that wasn’t fair of me. I should have just talked to you, I know that. I just- I don’t… I’m not-”

Ingrid interrupted you, reaching forward to grab your hand in hers, an almost painfully sympathetic look on her face. “It’s okay. We both understand that you were struggling, and that your first instinct was to shut down. I don’t really understand why, if we’ve made you feel like you can’t come to us with things that are upsetting you-” 

At this, you shook your head rapidly back and forth. This wasn’t their fault, they had to know that.

“-we want to talk more, but we want to show you something first.” Ingrid finished, tugging on your hand until you followed her over to her computer. There was a document pulled up, one they had clearly been pouring over when you’d walked in. Both of them stood behind you anxiously as you read, not sure if their idea was going to make this worse or better. 

When you turned to them with tears once again pooling in your eyes, they feared they’d made it worse. 

When you flung your arms around both of them, a soft thank you falling from your lips, they knew they’d made it better. 

It had been Mapi’s idea to craft a statement, one that she’d checked with her agent and the club’s PR people about. Everyone had been on board, so she’d got to writing, as soon as she’d gotten the okay from Ingrid as well. She’d never post it without your consent, but she hoped that it would alleviate some of your worries. 

It was quick and to the point, and you could see where Ingrid had vetoed some of Mapi’s run-on sentences. The two of them expressed their disgust with the way people had been treating you in the past week. They had really only ever been on the receiving end of love from the fans, and this was not what they had been anticipating. You were an important part of their relationship, of their lives. You deserved respect, and they wouldn’t tolerate anything else. Their priority was each other, and you. It should have all been things you already knew, but you were crying like you hadn’t known how important you were to them. 

They let everything sink in, let you calm down for almost 20 minutes before they started the conversation you’d been dreading. They watched carefully as you settled yourself in the armchair in the living room, leaving the couch for both of them. The distance you were creating made them nervous, and Ingrid couldn’t help but lean forward and rest her hand on your knee. You seemed to relax a little, even giving the Norwegian a tiny smile in response. 

Mapi was, again, the one to break the silence. “Amor, I don’t really understand. Why didn’t you come to us with this? We would have stopped it as soon as we knew.” 

It felt oddly like a therapy session, with both of them staring at you from the couch, the spotlight very clearly fixated on you as you began to speak. 

“At first, I didn’t want to be dramatic. And then the comments started to get to me and I was afraid that if I brought it up…”

“What?” Ingrid asked softly, bracing herself for whatever you were about to say. 

You looked away from them, chewing on your lip. “I was afraid you’d agree with the comments and break up with me. I was afraid you were just with me because you didn’t know how to end it. I was just really scared you wouldn’t love me anymore.” 

You kept your eyes fixed on the rug underneath you, even when Ingrid grabbed your hand and pulled on it, eventually pulling so hard you gave in and got up, settling in between the two of them on the sofa. Gentle fingers grabbed your chin, tilting your head up, forcing you to look at Mapi. 

“How could we not love you?” She asked incredulously. Her disbelief settled something in you, and you wanted nothing more than to bury your face in her shirt and let yourself relax, but you knew you had to help them understand. 

“I’m not good enough for either of you. I’ve never understood why you want me, and-” 

“Stop.” Ingrid cut in, shifting so that she could look you in the eye. “How long have you been feeling like this? Longer than just since the comments?” 

You nodded slowly, feeling your cheeks heat up. You knew they didn’t like you keeping things from them, and this was something rather important. “Since the beginning. I love you both, but I’ve never understood why you love me.” 

Both of them were completely silent for a moment, long enough for you to get nervous. “It’s okay, really. I’ve always been like this.” 

“Unkind to yourself?” Mapi asked quietly. 

You turned your attention back to her. “Realistic.” 

She scoffed, taking a few calming deep breaths. “That is not realistic. Not at all. We tell you we love you and you don’t believe us?”

“No, María, I believed you, I just didn’t get why. It never made sense to me because you are both so perfect.” 

Ingrid squeezed your hand, pulling your attention back to her. You wished they’d sit in front of you or something, so you didn’t have to turn back and forth like you were watching a tennis match. 

“The way you think about yourself is ridiculous. If we are perfect, so are you.” Ingrid said, her hand cupping your face, thumb tracing over your cheekbone. “You aren’t tricking us into loving you. We just love you. We aren’t going to change our minds about that.” 

She kissed your lips gently, and you hadn’t realized how much you’d missed her kisses, her touch, until that moment. Mapi’s voice in your ear stopped you from leaning forward and capturing Ingrid in another kiss. 

“I know this isn’t something you can change overnight, how you think about yourself. But I want you to try, okay? I want you to really try for me.” 

You nodded, shutting your eyes tightly. You could try. For them, even if you weren’t sure you deserved it. 

“I will.” You promised. “If you both promise that you won’t stay with me if you stop loving me. That if I’m not what you want anymore, you’ll-”

“We won’t ever stop loving you. There is no we without you, love. There is just us.” Ingrid told you, her green eyes boring into yours, making it hard to come up with a response. 

“We choose what’s best for us. And we choose you. You are good enough, mi amor.” Mapi promised. Her whisper in your ear sent a shiver down your spine, the words filling you with the sensation of being loved. So much love, you weren’t sure what to do with it all.

“You are good.” Ingrid emphasized, her lips pressing repeated kisses onto your temple. “You are good, and we love you so much.” 

It didn’t feel as incomprehensible anymore. 

“We want you to love you too. Whatever it takes to convince you that you are good and loved, amor, we’ll do it. Okay?” 

You nodded, turning to press a kiss to Mapi’s lips. Ingrid buried her face in your neck, and you wondered how you’d ever considered walking out the door. You belonged here, with them. They chose you, and that was all that mattered. 

—

i have no confidence that this is good BUT🤞 i hope you all like this one. it was a labor of love... i think i like it?? who knows.

normally bailey builds up my confidence before i post a fic but she's on a very well deserved fun super cool trip and i don't want to interrupt her so please tell me this doesn't suck! lie if you must!

love to you all 🥰🫶🏻

[also as always, tell me if you find any typos 😇]

[togglesbloggle]

For the Reverse Unpopular Opinion meme, Lamarckism!

(This is an excellent ask.)

Lamarck got done a bit dirty by the textbooks, as one so often is. He's billed as the guy who articulated an evolutionary theory of inherited characteristics, inevitably set up as an opponent made of straw for Darwin to knock down. The example I recall my own teachers using in grade school was the idea that a giraffe would strain to reach the highest branches of a tree, and as a result, its offspring would be born with slightly longer necks. Ha-ha-ha, isn't-that-silly, isn't natural selection so much more sensible?

But the thing is, this wasn't his idea, not even close. People have been running with ideas like that since antiquity at least. What Lamarck did was to systematize that claim, in the context of a wider and much more interesting theory.

Lamarck was born in to an era where natural philosophy was slowly giving way to Baconian science in the modern sense- that strange, eighteenth century, the one caught in an uneasy tension between Newton the alchemist and Darwin the naturalist. This is the century of Ben Franklin and his key and his kite, and the awed discovery that this "electricity" business was somehow involved in living organisms- the discovery that paved the way for Shelley's Frankenstein. This was the era when alchemy was fighting its last desperate battles with chemistry, when the division between 'organic' and 'inorganic' chemistry was fundamental- the first synthesis of organic molecules in the laboratory wouldn't occur until 1828, the year before Lamarck's death. We do not have atoms, not yet. Mendel and genetics are still more than a century away; we won't even have cells for another half-century or more.

Lamarck stepped in to that strange moment. I don't think he was a bold revolutionary, really, or had much interest in being one. He was profoundly interested in the structure and relationships between species, and when we're not using him as a punching bag in grade schools, some people manage to remember that he was a banging good taxonomist, and made real progress in the classification of invertebrates. He started life believing in the total immutability of species, but later was convinced that evolution really was occurring- not because somebody taught him in the classroom, or because it was the accepted wisdom of the time, but through deep, continued exposure to nature itself. He was convinced by the evidence of his senses.

(Mostly snails.)

His problem was complexity. When he'd been working as a botanist, he had this neat little idea to order organisms by complexity, starting with the grubbiest, saddest little seaweed or fern, up through lovely flowering plants. This was not an evolutionary theory, just an organizing structure; essentially, just a sort of museum display. But when he was asked to do the same thing with invertebrates, he realized rather quickly that this task had problems. A linear sorting from simple to complex seemed embarrassingly artificial, because it elided too many different kinds of complexity, and ignored obvious similarities and shared characteristics.

When he went back to the drawing board, he found better organizing schema; you'd recognize them today. There were hierarchies, nested identities. Simple forms with only basic, shared anatomical patterns, each functioning as a sort of superset implying more complex groups within it, defined additively by the addition of new organs or structures in the body. He'd made a taxonomic tree.

Even more shockingly, he realized something deep and true in what he was looking at: this wasn't just an abstract mapping of invertebrates to a conceptual diagram of their structures. This was a map in time. Complexities in invertebrates- in all organisms!- must have been accumulating in simpler forms, such that the most complicated organisms were also the youngest.

This is the essential revolution of Lamarckian evolution, not the inherited characteristics thing. His theory, in its full accounting, is actually quite elaborate. Summarized slightly less badly than it is in your grade school classroom (though still pretty badly, I'm by no means an expert on this stuff), it looks something like this:

As we all know, animals and plants are sometimes generated ex nihilo in different places, like maggots spontaneously appearing in middens. However, the spontaneous generation of life is much weaker than we have supposed; it can only result in the most basic, simple organisms (e.g. polyps). All the dizzying complexity we see in the world around us must have happened iteratively, in a sequence over time that operated on inheritance between one organism and its descendants.

As we all know, living things are dynamic in relation to inorganic matter, and this vital power includes an occasional tendency to gain in complexity. However, this tendency is not a spiritual or supernatural effect; it's a function of natural, material processes working over time. Probably this has something to do with fluids such as 'heat' and 'electricity' which are known to concentrate in living tissues. When features appear spontaneously in an organism, that should be understood as an intrinsic propensity of the organism itself, rather than being caused by the environment or by a divine entity. There is a specific, definite, and historically contingent pattern in which new features can appear in existing organisms.

As we all know, using different tissue groups more causes them to be expressed more in your descendants, and disuse weakens them in the same way. However, this is not a major feature in the development of new organic complexity, since it could only move 'laterally' on the complexity ladder and will never create new organs or tissue groups. At most, you might see lineages move from ape-like to human-like or vice versa, or between different types of birds or something; it's an adaptive tendency that helps organisms thrive in different environments. In species will less sophisticated neural systems, this will be even less flexible, because they can't supplement it with willpower the way that complex vertebrates can.

Lamarck isn't messing around here; this is a real, genuinely interesting model of the world. And what I think I'm prepared to argue here is that Lamarck's biggest errors aren't his. He has his own blind spots and mistakes, certainly. The focus on complexity is... fraught, at a minimum. But again and again, what really bites him in the ass is just his failure to break with his inherited assumptions enough. The parts of this that are actually Lamarckian, that is, are the ideas of Lamarck, are very clearly groping towards a recognizable kind of proto-evolutionary theory in a way that we recognize.

What makes Lamarck a punching bag in grade-school classes today is the same thing that made it interesting; it's that it was the best and most scientific explanation of biological complexity available at the time. It was the theory to beat, the one that had edged out all the other competitors and emerged as the most useful framework of the era. And precisely none of that complexity makes it in to our textbooks; they use "Lamarckianism" to refer to arguments made by freaking Aristotle, and which Lamarck himself accepted but de-emphasized as subordinate processes. What's even worse, Darwin didn't reject this mechanism either. Darwin was totally on board with the idea as a possible adaptive tendency; he just didn't particularly need it for his theory.

Lamarck had nothing. Not genetics, not chromosomes, not cells, not atomic theory. Geology was a hot new thing! Heat was a liquid! What Lamarck had was snails. And on the basis of snails, Lamarck deduced a profound theory of complexity emerging over time, of the biosphere as a(n al)chemical process rather than a divine pageant, of gradual adaptation punctuated by rapid innovation. That's incredible.

There's a lot of falsehood in the Lamarckian theory of evolution, and it never managed to entirely throw off the sloppy magical thinking of what came before. But his achievement was to approach biology and taxonomy with a profound scientific curiosity, and to improve and clarify our thinking about those subjects so dramatically that a theory of biology could finally, triumphantly, be proven wrong. Lamarck is falsifiable. That is a victory of the highest order.

[artist-issues]

Let’s talk about this Mufasa movie.

No. Let’s not. Let’s just talk about Mufasa. This is going to be long because he’s a really good character and The Lion King is a really good movie.

Mufasa’s whole point, as a character, is to foil Simba. He’ s not just the stereotypical “great dad role model” character, or the “wise mentor who is ripped away” character.

He, as a character, is in the story because he is “Who Simba Really Is.”

Simba is our young protagonist. The whole point of Simba in the story is to start out “not yet grown into who he really is,” so that the story can teach him how to “grow into who he really is.”

So the audience needs to know “who is Simba and who is Simba supposed to be?” right at the beginning. Which is great, because all kids are trying to figure out the same question about themselves. So it’s relatable. But anyway, the storytellers make Mufasa the answer.

On a simple level, you can answer the question, “who is this Simba guy?” right off the bat in the movie with “the son of the King.” There’s the setting. There’s the set-up. There’s the title of the movie. That’s why the very first lion you’re introduced to in the movie is Mufasa, and it’s not a shot of a baby lion cub. It could have been. Lots of movies open with a shot of their main character. Encanto, for one.

Not The Lion King. The Lion King starts with, “you can’t know who Simba is without Mufasa, so Mufasa gets shown first.”

So okay, Mufasa is a King. Good to know. That’s obvious from the big rock he’s standing on and the way all the animals are coming toward him. But from there, they quickly establish a few more things about Mufasa. He smiles at this little bird that bows to him. He hugs the shaman-monkey. He goes from “big solemn lion” to “good and benevolent” immediately.

And then as it goes on, you learn more about Mufasa. He’s not an idiot; he knows Scar is up to no good, and he is very direct about it. He is not a naive dupe, trusting a schemer blindly. It’s more complicated than that. He is a better leader and a better guy than that. Mufasa knows Scar is his brother, and in a snappy little interaction with Zazu, storytellers make it clear that he worries about Scar; he knows he has good reason to worry, but hasn’t decided to give up on his brother.

Additionally, he is merciful to other dark creatures too. He beats the tar out of hyenas but doesn’t kill them. He rescues Zazu from Scar’s mouth. He scolds Simba but he does that, and more, to teach him. So what Mufasa is teaching us, according to what I just showed you the story says, is that A Good King, A Good Man (Lion, whatever) Is:

Authoritative - Makes decrees and makes decisions and yes, tells others what to do. Creates the structure his people live in.

Kind/Humble - Shows the same level of casual friendship to a revered shaman-recluse as he does a little self-important majordomo. (Humble because he’s not afraid to admit when he’s afraid if it’ll help his son.)

Teaches - Takes time out of the day to pass on what he’s learned to someone who is going to take his place—he’s not hoarding his own position or gatekeeping his life-experience-expertise. He’s not finding his identity in how he has this wealth of information that causes people to need him; he gives it away freely, purposefully.

Protects - Is willing to endanger himself and go to the trouble of defending creatures that are weaker than himself.

Shows Mercy - See Scar and the hyenas, who deserve death, but he doesn’t give it to them.

Prioritizes Family - The time he’s taking out of the day is for his son. And he follows up with his recluse of a brother instead of going, “that’s Scar, I know he don’t care about nobody but himself, his loss, not my problem.” And he extends trust to that brother, which is really just an example of gift-giving to a family member who’s done nothing to keep that trust.

Has Faith - Mufasa makes a point of not answering Simba’s question about “Will you always be there for me,” with just himself. He could’ve. Many parents do. Many parents are tempted to, to show their love. “Yes. You’ll always have me. I’ll always be there to answer your questions; I’ll always protect you, I’ll always be what you can count on, you’ll always find a need fulfilled in me.” But Mufasa doesn’t take that bait. He gives Simba an answer that is not “himself-based.” Not selfish. “Look at the stars.” I don’t care what ya’ll say. Mufasa has faith in something outside of himself. He says “and so will I,” but that’s after contextualizing himself within “something bigger than us.” (And oh my gosh, he doesn’t even answer with, “let me give you a lesson you’ll need for your whole life.” He doesn’t even take credit for this faith, for himself. He gives his own father the credit.)

And really, all of those traits can be summarized with the phrase: Lives His Life Sacrificially For Others.

That’s what a leader, a good father, a king, a good man, does. And pay attention: That is what Simba is supposed to be. Simba is supposed to be Mufasa. That’s who Simba really is, that’s where he’s supposed to go. There is a “real you.” But you have to agree with it and accept it, even though your natural bent is to give in to the illusion that you “don’t have to be that, you can choose who you are.”

Yeah, sure, in a sense you can reject Who You Really Are. You can spend your whole life playing pretend, like you’re not That. But you’ll be doing just that: playing pretend. Unfulfilled. Dissatisfied. Running from the misery that is the natural response to your silly game of pretend. Insisting that “there is no misery, this is what I want.”

Okay. Sure it is.

I’ll save Simba for another post.

The point is, Mufasa is a template for who Simba Really Is. Look at those traits. When it’s Simba’s turn to exemplify those traits, does he?

Act I: Is he authoritative? He tells characters what to. And he makes his own decisions—sometimes for good, sometimes bad. For example, he won’t let Zazu deter him from going to the elephant graveyard, so that’s a bad decision, but he does choose to go back and help Nala instead of running to save himself. Authoritative and protective. But it’s all misplaced because he doesn’t “Live His Life Sacrificially For Others.”

Act 2: He’s not. Timon and Pumbaa tell him to do something and he goes along with it. Timon and Pumbaa claim an ancient tradition and his father’s lesson is stupid and Simba goes along with that. He’s no longer making decisions of his own accord, for anything but his own comfort.

The idea is, in Act 1, you see Simba has the same traits as Mufasa, budding inside of him. But they’re all misdirected, and they’re all twisted, because they’re missing one key ingredient: he’s supposed to use those traits in the context of “Live His Life Sacrificially For Others.” Simba doesn’t want to do that. Simba wants to do whatever he wants.

Sure, there’s a part of him that combines that motive with “I want to be like my dad.” But that part dies on the vine and turns sour when his father dies saving him.

So then in Act 2, not only is Simba clinging to “I’m going to live life all my way,” but he’s changed what that means by pushing the nugget of “I want to be like my dad/I WANT TO BE WHO I REALLY AM” completely away. Because it’s too hard, and he’s got shame tangled up in it.

And worse—he starts doing basically the opposite of all of Mufasa’s traits, all of the traits that make him Who He Really Is. He’s not prioritizing family—he’s abandoning them. He’s not protecting others—he runs from the idea of going back to help Nala. (tiny glimmer of it still being inside him because he does try to protect Pumbaa from her.) Kind and humble? No. It’s unkind to tell your best friend you won’t help her because you’re afraid. Humble, no, because humility is thinking of yourself less, not thinking less of yourself.

Ask the question. When Simba’s living in the jungle with Timon and Pumbaa, is he exemplifying any of the traits of Who He Really Is? Or is he doing his best to bury that?

But then after Mufasa reminds him of who he Really Is, and Rafiki shows him how to get his past out of the way so he can accept it, Simba goes back. Into Act 3 we go

Now. Does Simba exemplify Mufasa’s traits? Does Simba start becoming Who He Really Is? There’s not a lot of time left in the movie. Look at the traits, see if he does.

Authoritative? Yep, comes up with the plan to break in and get to Scar, doesn’t back down from the confrontation.

Kind and Humble? Yeah, he willingly admits the truth (he thought it was true) that makes him look bad to give his mom closure. He’s kind to Nala and to Timon and Pumbaa, admits his mistakes, when they come to help him. Hugs the old shaman who cracked him in the skull with a stick—just like Mufasa hugged Rafiki to show us kindness and humility at the beginning of the movie.

Teaches? We don’t really see an opportunity for him to do that yet at this point in the story and his life, give me a break.

But protects? You bet. That’s why he’s there for the confrontation in the first place. Shows mercy?

Yep.

Because he’s not like Scar. He knows who he is. THE POINT.

And when he runs in for the big confrontation, he doesn’t immediately leap on Scar and rip him to pieces. Even though the storytellers make sure to show us he clearly wants to.

Instead, he runs up to his mother to see if she’s all right and show her that he is. And again, he tells her the truth because that’s what she needs even if it’s not what she wants, and he’s learned not to run from what he’s “done.” And faith in something bigger than himself?

Yeah. His father’s voice comes through the clouds just before he decides to roar and claim his title. Through the clouds. Because that whole “we’re a part of something bigger, something more important than ourselves,” was always what he was missing. He was just thinking about himself.

And all of this is because Mufasa is the example of Who Simba Really Is: Lives His Life Sacrificially For Others. That’s Mufasa.

That’s Mufasa, in the story of The Lion King. That’s his purpose as a character, that’s who he is.

So now if you make a movie that’s just about him, what you should be doing is showing how he got there. How he accepted who he Really Is instead of choosing who he wants to be, on his own. And you should make his father, and learning humility, an enormous part of that. Because self-sacrifice is such a pillar of his character. It’s the whole thing.

What you should certainly not be doing is telling a story that ends with finding self-worth or a kid who makes a name for himself. I repeat: if the Mufasa live action movie ends with Mufasa doing anything that revolves around self, they got him wrong and they set him up nonsensically for the next movie.

He should have to decide whether or not he wants to believe his own father, because of that one line, “let me tell you something my father told me.” That shows that he accepted his father’s lesson. And what was his father’s lesson about? Faith. In something BIGGER THAN YOURSELF. So then Mufasa grows up to be a character who lives his life sacrificially for others, and you can trace the roots back to that: “I learned a lesson about something bigger than myself from someone who was not myself, and I humbly believed and accepted that lesson.”

I mean jeez, the line is: “LOOK AT THE STARS.” Whenever you feel alone. Whenever you’re wrapped up in who you are and who you’re not and failure and the idea of what you want to be, knock it off. Quit looking at yourself and look at something bigger than you. And then you’ll get “Understanding of Who You Really Are”—no matter what mistakes you’ve made, no matter how you’ve failed, no matter what your circumstances are—thrown in.

…Of course, the Lion King remake ruined him anyway by having the point be “I’m not worthless.” And that was never the point. But whatever. I’m rambling now. You get the idea.

Mufasa is exactly what he needs to be for the original The Lion King. He’s exactly what he needs to be for Simba’s story. Mufasa is awesome.

[lovedrruunk]

'Girl next door જ⁀➴♡ Prologue

In which Joel plays cupid in order to help a hopeless Ellie win over the cute girl next door.

Series Masterlist!

"Ain't lesbians s'pposed to date girls?"

not proof read :P

[silly awkward Ellie Williams x fem reader!]

"How 'bout the Johnson's daughter? I heard she was um... sapphic... Is that the right term...?"

"God you're so bad at this!"

Ellie rolled her eyes as she continued to play with her food at the dinner table. For the past couple of weeks, Joel had been slowly encouraging Ellie to 'put herself out there,' whatever that meant. And so with the recent news of her two best friends becoming a thing, he'd only gotten more relentless. It's not like she didn't want a girlfriend; it was just complicated and definitely a lot harder than Joel thought it was. Jackson was a small town, and finding someone who clicked with her, who understood her, felt almost impossible.

"I'm just saying Ellie" he continued "She's smart, she's nice, and from what I heard she likes girls. Seems like a good match to me."

Ellie sighed stabbing a piece of broccoli with her fork. "It's not that simple Joel. You can't just put two lesbians in a room together and expect fireworks."

There was a short silence before Ellie looked up to see Joel furrowing his eyebrows looking at the wall behind her seemingly lost.

"Oh my god, Joel!"

"I mean c'mon are ya sure?" He said defensively. "That is how it usually seems to go."

"Ok- well- not all the time! Anyway that's not the point... Besides, she's barely gay. She only kisses girls as a party trick." Ellie murmurs looking back down at her food.

"Off the list." He mutters to himself just as quietly as he continues to eat.

"Not that I am endorsing this but just who else is on this 'list'?"

"Tracy, Mai, Cat, Y/N, Monet-"

"Y/N?"

"Y/N."

"There's no way she's into girls." She says unimpressed.

"You seen her?"

Ellie was silent for a while as she imagined the girl in her head. Yeah no way. 'She's too perfect to be gay.' 'That sounds bad Ellie you can't say that.' You were just so... you. When Joel and Ellie had first arrived in Jackson you had been the first one to introduce her to the others your age. You showed her kindness and helped her get situated into her new life. She would remember how you would often invite her over for dinner with your family, making her feel welcome in a town where she initially felt like an outsider. You'd help her with chores, tell her about the best spots in Jackson as well as who to look out for and who to trust. But after the first couple of months, you two had slowly fallen out. Ellie had Dina and Jesse, and you had your own friends. But, of course, with you being next door neighbors the two of you would still interact from time to time. Ellie’s positive view of you never changed, you were still the sweet girl who had helped her years ago. She remembered the times you’d both sit on her porch, talking about dreams and plans for a future that always seemed so uncertain to her yet you were always so sure of it. All your hopes for the future, the places you wanted to visit, the things you wanted to study, Ellie had wondered if you still had all the same goals. And all this to say; you are not gay. If this was just a way to convince herself that she'd never have a chance or if it was a way to get Joel to back off, she didn't know or care.

"Gone quiet. You fond of her?" He said with an accusing smile.

"Nope." She stands abruptly, handling her plate before walking over to the kitchen to place it in the sink. "Thanks for dinner. I'm going to bed, goodnight."

"Goodnight." He replied watching her as she scurried up the stairs with a knowing smile.

Ellie laid in bed that night, staring at the ceiling. As much as she hated to admit it, Joel was right. She couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to talk to you more, to get to know you all over again. Maybe there was a chance, however small, that you would feel the same fondness towards her as she felt for you. But that was a problem for tomorrow.

. . .

Thanks 4 reading u all! Notes r appreciated! :3

Next chapter! (chapter 1)

Authors note!!! chat is this shocking? wdym u thought this was an Overwatch blog whaaat wdym idk what that is... FIRST SERIES U GUYS lets hope it doesn't end up discontinued ermmm if it does whoopsy. I am physically unable to post something more than 600 words so each chapter will kinda be one shot style! I was tired of all the serious modern AU smutty ellie fics (as good as they are!) i needed something silly so i had to take matters into my own hands im afraid