#this is the only series where no one who mattered died

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request the Obey Me brothers reacting to their s/o sending them selfies of them in skimpy outfits or completely nude?

Obey me Brothers + spicy pics from MC

Lucifer

Another tedious meeting that should have been an email. But Lucifer remained professional and stalwart as ever, so as to not embarrass Lord Diavolo.

The only exception he made was for his cellphone. Keeping it on silent, but on the table, as Lucifer had learned in the past if he didn’t check it at least regularly during these meetings it might be too late from when his brothers’ hijinks might ensure. Vering into calamity past hijinks.

He noticed he had a text from [Y/N] and was surprised as they usually never texted him when he was in these meetings. Respecting his work. If they were texting him, Lucifer assumed it was important and opened the text in a reserved manner so as not to draw attention.

When he saw what the text was, however, he had to grip his phone tight to the point of cracking to maintain that composure.

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me. It seems there is an important matter I must deal with at home. I’ll be back once the matter is taken care of. Thoroughly.”

Mammon

“Mammon-san! Over here!”

“Yes! That’s perfect! Hold that pose!”

“You look amazing Mammon-san!”

The Avatar of Greed grinned roguishly as he was showered with praise. He had to admit, he really was killing this photoshoot.

The photographer took a few more shots before they called for a break and the team moved in to touch him up. Offering him compliments still, along with water. Both of which Mammon drank up. One of the attendants handed him his phone from his dressing room. Giving him a few moments to check it before it was back to work.

He looked at a missed text from [Y/N] and nearly did a spit take of his water. Able to thankfully keep it down, but still coughed in a very un-model like manner at seeing their nearly naked form.

“I uh…I gotta go. We have enough for the magazine right?? Good. Great! Thanks for the opportunity and be sure to call me again!”

Mammon was then out the door fast than anyone could catch him. Including to get his wardrobe outfit off.

“Models….” The photographer muttered as he reset his camera to take shots of the background models in the meantime.

Levi

“On your right! On your right! NO! Your other right!!” Levi shouted into his headset as he tried to lead his team through the maze of undead swarm.

Zombie Zion XX9 had just come out this week and Levi had been grinding non-stop. He barely made time to sleep, much less do anything else, in pursuit of this final battle with the Mother Swarm of zombies (there by defeating the plague and saving the world from the undead at last).

“Guys, we have to get through the door together, otherwise we don’t get the ‘In This Together’ buff! You need to catch up to me! It’s…It’s…ugh! Hold on!” His phone had been buzzing beside him non-stop for the past minute with various texts.

Usually, he would ignore it. But something this persistent typically meant it was important, and what if it was his brothers telling him the house was on fire? He’d have to save his Ruri-chan figures if that was the case.

When he opened the text, Levi’s eyes bugged out and he felt his nose begin to well up with blood as he looked at the picture of [Y/N] in their cosplay panties.

“Levi! Where are you?! We’re getting hammered out here! Levi-!” The connection on his game went dead as the last of his team members died. The screen fading into a black screen of ‘game over’.

“Oh, come on!”

Satan

This anthology that Simeon had recommended to him was thrilling. Truly a masterpiece.

Satan had been absorbed into the new series almost since the first page. Devouring each of the nine books with vigor, much like his little brother did with food. He had forsaken all else, honestly, except reading the past few days. Anxious to find out who the final killer & mastermind behind the protagonist’s plight was, and finally get some answers.

He was nearly at the climax, the big reveal, when his phone started to buzz.

Grumbling that his concentration was broken, Satan picked it up to see who it was. His irksomeness quickly dissolving as he saw [Y/N]’s nearly naked chest in front of him.

He had a choice to make.

Continue reading and get the answers he needed, or put the book down and go to the person clearly in need of him. How was he to choose?

In the end, he put the book down and sprinted off to where [Y/N] was. If the main character could wait 10 years to find out who the killer was, surely Satan could wait a little longer to find out as well.

Asmo

Shopping was one of Asmo’s favorite past times. Going to stores and looking for the perfect item or accessory was like a little treasure hunt to him. Or just perusing the aisles and new merch like one would an art gallery, with the same enthusiasm for beauty. It was a wonderful afternoon. Especially if [Y/N] was with him.

[Y/N] had gone to try on some items that they found while Asmo continued to scan over the racks. His cellphone eventually buzzed, and he fumbled with his iced coffee to get it out of his bag. Seeing a picture of [Y/N] in the dressing room in a super cute bra and panty set with the question :should I get it?:

:OMG yes! 💓🥵🔥🔥: Asmo texted back immediately.

:It looks so good on you! Which dressing room are you in?? I want to see it in person! Should we get matching ones??:

He eventually found [Y/N] and showered them with praise. Insisting that he would buy it for them if they didn’t get it themselves, and offered to buy it in every color as well.

Beel

“98…99…100.”

Beel lifted the weights one final time and put the bar back on the rack. The weights clanking down with a heavy thud with the sheer mass of them. He loved getting a good workout in before he went home.

Heading over to his locker space to get some water and check his phone, Beel saw he had a text from [Y/N]. He opened it and saw the spicy picture they had just sent him. Usually only the 5x Hellfire Spicy noodles were the only spice that could make him drool this much. Clearly he was wrong.

Beel decided to, for once, cut his work out short. He quickly packed his bag and ran home to do some cardio on the way home. Planning to do some more ‘cardio’ when he got there.

He could make up for the missed sets in the morning before school. Since he’d be busy the rest of the night.

Belphie

Belphie yawned and rolled over as he woke up from his nap. His fifth of the day, so it was a pretty short one. Only about an hour this time.

He stretched and rubbed his eyes before reaching for his phone to see what time it was. He was immediately greeted with a text from [Y/N] on the screen. He felt a little bad for missing it while he was a sleep, but by now they had to know that he would get back to them eventually. Belphie opened it and was immediately greeted with something from his dreams.

:Are you still wearing that?: He texted them back.

:Come to my room: He then added. :In the attic. I’m still in bed. So half the work is done😉.:

He waited to hear back from [Y/N] and grinned when he saw them respond with they were on their way.

And his brothers made fun of him for being in bed all the time. With his soft mattress and [Y/N], why would he ever want to leave?

[gwandas]

if SJM won’t break Nessian up can she at least kill Cassian…

[bluebellhairpin]

Cregan Stark X Wife!Reader

Summary: Preparation to leave to Castle Black for the winter months is well under way, and you're reluctant to be left alone in Winterfell. Cregan, having had the same worry, provides what could be a solution. A solution with a name. And fur. (wc. 2.3k>)

Warnings: Reader has she/her pronouns + fem bodied. Pregnancy. Assassination attempt. Unnamed character death. Blood + gore. Cregan wants to be a girl dad. Unedited (lol).

Listening to: 'Wolf at Your Door' by Chole x Halle - "When you're laying in your bed at night, when the air's just a little too quiet, better hope that you're saying your prayers."

Series Masterlist || Masterlist || Ko-Fi || AO3 link

Winterfell was a somber place when the cold rolled down from the north. 

Although only ten men were sent to the wall every winter, everyone left behind knew someone who was sent away. No matter how short of a life you lived, you also always knew someone who died there. Indeed, life on the wall was as harsh as the force it existence kept at bay. 

For you though, the man you lost always returned. The last three winters had you spend upwards of three months without your husband - and in turn rising to take his place as custodian of Winterfell. No matter how busy the role kept you, it never helped you miss Cregan Stark any less. 

With winter approaching once more, each moment with him seemed to not be enough. Yes, the Wall was dangerous, and even Cregan was never guaranteed to return, but this year there was something else that willed you to want him to stay. Something else that made him want to stay too. 

“Each day my resolve seems to crack,” he told you one night, fire cracked in its hearth as you both lay under blankets of fur. His hand rested protectively over your belly. “Already now I can see our babe grow, and I know I’ll not only be missing you but her too.”

“‘Her’?” you hummed, head turning to nose his cheek. “Such a confident tone, my lord.” 

“I am confident.” he replied, turning to press a soft kiss to your lips as his hand idlily rubbed along your stomach. 

“And if you needed an heir at the end of this cold winter, what then?” 

“If my lady wife deems me worthy, we might try for one again.” he said, sedating what could’ve been the start of your mood change with words almost too sweet to be coming from the frosty king in the north. “But that is something we can decide once all three of us are safe together when summer rises.” 

Cregan’s soft words and warm breath on your cheeks made your mind wandered to a time not so far away where you wouldn’t have his heat so close. A time when his comfort was going to be gone. 

“I’m going to miss you.” you said, turning into his hold more, and he let you snuggle into his chest. “This time will feel longer than all the others.”

“I doubt that will be the case for you.” he said, lips moving from their place pressed into your hair. “Winterfell will keep you busy, between that and resting for the babe’s sake, you won’t have time on your hands for much else.” 

“I may not want to rest.”

“You will. The Lord of Winterfell commands it.” 

“The Lord of Winterfell won’t be here, he cannot have a for sure say in what I do or do not do.” You felt him smile into your hair, and you pulled away with a twitch of your own mouth. “What?”

He pulled away a little too, shyly smiling down at where you still laid. He was acting far too coy to be considered normal. 

“I might not be leaving you completely alone.” 

“... Cregan.” you started, sitting up on our elbow. 

“I was going to show you on the morrow, but since you’ve forced my hand -”

“-I? Forcing your hand?”

“- Since you forced my hand,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he slipped out from the bedcovers, “I will be right back.”

“What…” You tried, but your voice tempered out as he swiftly made his way from your bedchambers. 

Sighing, you sat back in your pillows, arms folded, and refraining from pouting. It wasn’t long into your settled position of guessing what in the seven kingdoms your husband was doing before he was back. 

Cregan had clearly gone outside, snow settled on the top of his hair and along the shoulders of the fur cloak he snatched before leaving. In his arms was something squirming. You frowned, eyeing the movement under the cloak as he strode over. 

“What is that?” you asked. 

“A protector for the Lady of Winterfell, as per the orders of her lord husband.” Cregan said, and let the squirming mass break free from his hold onto the bed. 

It was a… pup? No not possible, it was too big. From how it acted it was a few months surely, but it was just so big. Then you thought some more. Could it really be? 

“A direwolf?” 

“Not any direwolf. Yours.” Cregan said, rounding the bed and settling back at your side. “A protector to be at your side when I cannot. I’ve been training him and he follows commands well already. By the time I leave he should be grown to the size of any regular dog - then at least twice that when I return.” 

While he spoke, the pup sniffed around your bed covers, curiously wandering on unsteady feet. You had to admit, he looked gorgeous, all black fur, with green eyes, and you didn’t doubt he would grow to be a fierce thing. But sometimes that wasn’t always good. 

“Cregan, are you sure about this?” you asked. “It’s… he’s a direwolf, not a dog.” 

“I’m sure,” he said, lending his arm out. The pup stepped closer, licking Cregan’s fingers and settling on its belly with its nose on Cregan’s knee. “They’re our house symbol. The direwolf are as Stark as I am, they know who we are, and they can be as loyal as they are fierce. That’s why I wanted to introduce you before I left. He’s going to be yours, loyal to you.” 

His arm wrapped around your shoulder, and like second nature you made yourself comfortable by his side. The pup shifted too, now his nose was itching closer to you, wanting to know who this new person was. 

“I supposed you ought to tell me what I'm going to be calling him then.”

“You can call him anything you like,” Cregan said, “But I’ve been calling him Striker.”

Five months passed, and Cregan was right. You were never without anything to do. 

The babe growing inside you made mornings rough, and you often weren’t seen before noon, especially in the earlier months. The rest of your day was spent catching up on what you’d missed while resting, and then catching up on what you missed while catching up. Then the evenings were spent with Striker. 

He had grown on you, just as he had grown physically. Cregan was still able to lift the wolf when he left, but now you doubted it. He was already well on his way to rivalling a regular wolf in size. Despite how intimidating that might’ve been, you couldn’t be more fond of Striker even if you tried. 

Your belly swelled, and with it so did the direwolf’s protectiveness. Your handmaids were tolerated, your guards struggled to be in the same room, and when the maesters dared tough you Striker had to be sent out of the room. Walks around Winterfell were soon out of the question, at least if you were to bring the direwolf along, since he took to growling at everyone who stood too close. 

Cregan really picked well, Striker surely was serving his purpose, and soon he earned his namesake. 

Word came from Castle Black that Cregan was going to return, that the Winter had been fended off once more. That brought joy foremost to you, but really all in Winterfell knew what that meant, even if Westeros didn’t. It was cause for celebration when they returned. 

It also gave a false sense of security. Winter was gone, and so was the evil - but evil didn’t just come from the north. It could come from anywhere. 

You’d settled into bed for the night, Striker laid beside you, head facing towards the door, and your hand rested on his flank as you looked over one last paper. He growled, and you petted his fur, silently reassuring him that it was just a guard passing outside - but then his head lifted, and turned toward your window. His sudden, still alertness put you on edge. 

He’d been hostile before, but this was aggressive. 

Candle flames flickered, Striker’s fur stood on end beneath your palm, the latch on your window clicked open, creaked open, and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. A cloaked figure slipped into your room, and you couldn’t even bring yourself to cry for help - nor to remember anything Cregan had taught you. But you didn’t have to.

The figure, a man, unsheathed a knife, and with the glint of steel in the candlelight Striker struck. He surged off the bed with a vicious bark and bit into the man’s arm, snarling all the while and all but went to tearing the man to shreds. 

The commotion had people coming in through the door, and the sight had you still rendered motionless and speechless. 

The man’s cloak was torn away, and by now he was pinned to the floor, blood pooling on the stone as he fruitlessly tried to get Striker off him. You barely registered your guard, Gunther, asking you what was happening.

“He came in the window. He had a knife.” was all you could say. You could guess he was saying things to calm you down as he pried your fingers off your bedsheets that covered your swollen belly - he was probably trying to get you out of the room so you didn’t see the mess. It was too late for that. The man was a whimpering, bloodied mess on the floor by now, and no one had yet been brave enough to pry Striker’s jaw off his shoulder. 

Gunther had an arm around you with your hand in his, guiding you away. Others attempted to move closer, either to help the man or take him away - but Striker was still growling. 

“Striker, here.” you called, just finding your voice enough for it to carry over the commotion. The direwolf looked up, and seeing you being led away, he relented, fitting into your side with ease. 

The three of you walked away. Now you were away from the scene you could think again and guess you were going down the hall to another room, one you decided you’d stay in until Cregan returned. 

You looked down at Striker, threading your fingers though the fur at his neck. 

“Good boy.” you said, stroking between his ears. 

“He sure is, my lady.” Gunther said, “Who knows what could’ve happened if he didn’t act so fast.” 

You smiled a little at that, at how right Cregan was in leaving the direwolf for you. He was meant to be company, a protector second - but tonight he proved to be as good, as loyal as any of your guards. He proved to be the real sigil of House Stark - just as Cregan told you he was. 

You reached the door of your new room, and as your hand lifted off Striker’s back you noticed it chill with the cold night air. Turning your palm over, you saw red - and Striker’s nose made home in your fingers, licking away every drop as if it wasn’t ever there to begin with.

A week later, Cregan returned. 

You had been in a foul mood for the past three days, since the maester had put you on strict bed rest because of the babe. Therefore you had been deemed unfit to greet your husband at the gate as he finally came home. In your defense, it definitely seemed like a good reason to be sour. 

So you waited, sat on a chaise, with Striker’s head in your lap pressed to your stomach. 

You could hear a commotion outsider, which only made your face scrunch in annoyance - not just at missing out but also at the pity looked you knew your handmaiden would be giving you. She offered to go fetch Cregan, and you nodded her leave with a wave of your hand. 

“He will be here soon.” you said, cradling Striker’s muzzle in your palms. 

“Indeed he will.” Cregan said. 

“Oh, Lord Stark!” your handmaid said, startled. Your head turned, and you saw him standing in the doorway. 

“Cregan!” you said, grin covering your face - and even after such a long time away, Striker seemed to recognize him, for he didn’t growl, and his tail started thumping against the rug. 

“My love,” he said, shedding his great sword carelessly, and sunk to the floor beside where you sat. You heard your handmaid mumble a goodbye before stepping out and closing the door behind you. “Are you alright?” 

“I couldn’t be better now.” you replied, feeling tears welling in your eyes as you took in your husband's face for the first time in months. He looked tired, older, but as you took his face in your hands his cheeks felt exactly the same as they were when he left. “I missed you so much.” 

“I heard about what happened the other night. I -” he said, mouth hanging open in what could’ve been shock, in his eyes there could’ve been anger. Vengeance would do nothing now, the man was dead, he bled out before anyone could decide to give him mercy - undeserved or otherwise. But as Cregan leant forward to hold you into his arms, his warmth felt like nothing else except fear. “I can’t believe I could’ve lost you.” 

“You didn’t.” you said, taking an arm away from being wrapped around his shoulders to pull his face away from your chest. “You provided the means for me to stay safe long before you left. Striker was better than any guard. He was fearless when I was frozen. I owe him my life, all because of you.” 

Cregan’s face turned soft, and he smiled at you. He leant forward and kissed you. For the first time in too long, his lips move against yours. You felt his jaw move beneath your palm as his fingers grazed your neck and held onto your hip. When he pulled away, he kept your head cradled close to his. 

“I love you.” he said. 

“I love you too.” you replied, and he smiled, pressing another kiss to your lips, then your cheek. 

“Now tell me all about how my little girl is growing.”

[thewittyphantom]

I love the comments on this video about how card game-focused Yu-Gi-Oh’s worldbuilding became over time.

“Ironically, despite Kaiba's attempt to redefine Kaiba Corp as a game company instead of arms manufacturing, he turned Duel Monsters into the world's weapon.”

“Can we take a moment to appreciate how customer friendly Kaiba's products are though? In the finale of GX Jaden dueled Yugi, who was wielding a duel disk that was roughly 10 years behind his own model and they were still compatible”

“This video doesn't even mention the time in GX where Kaiba fired trading cards into space that were designed by children so they could be bombarded by space rays and gain superpowers. The more you follow this series the more you realize that it's also the story where a supervillain successfully reshapes the world in his image, died beloved, successful, unrepentant, and accomplished all his goals,  except for the only one that really mattered: beating someone in a card game.”

“Kaiba didn't just change an entire city's way of doing things, or even the entire world for that matter. He literally changed how villains try to conquer the world. He's so influential that villains are still playing his game.”

“Something else that is both hilarious and terrifying in 5Ds: the cops play Duel Monsters to catch lawbreakers. In fact, the rules of Duel Monsters are so immutable to the law and order of Neo Domino City that the bikes called Duel Runners are able to remotely hacked by the police to force a duel, and losing that duel shuts down your bike. The rules of Duel Monsters sit above the police in terms of hierarchy, since if they could hack Duel Runners to force a duel, they could probably just shut down your bike remotely. I like to imagine Kaiba is sitting on his capitalist throne saying "If a criminal can beat you in a duel, then what authority do you have to catch them", and just forces the police to adapt to his survival-of-the-duelist world that he made.“

“Without card games, people like dartz would be invincible“

[0silver0dreams0]

Yandere House of the dragon x ModernReborn!Reader

Summarised: (your name) died in a horrific way, but she has been reborn in a new world, where the body she is trapped in is (your name) Targaryen, daughter of Alicent Hightower and Viserys Targaryen, who took her own life after the death of her dear sister Helaena, who was very close to her.

Warning: This story contains descriptions of sexual violence and vulgar language, a small change of ages of the characters to make more sense.

Author's note: English is not my first language, please let me know so I can correct them.

You just want to relax at least one second or two, maybe end that series or read that special book. Being at university was tough but it was even tougher having a job too in a bar, where if a man showed even a minor interest in you will go he would comein you direction, visibly drunk, smelly and disgusting putting money in your uniform and saying obscenities. Some would just go and leave you alone if you were lucky, but others would try to follow you or even try to touch you, but you always managed to get away and escape them. But is seems that this time, you didn't. Now you were pulled into a lonely alley, next to the trash, with an obviously drunk man, with ginger hair, horrible teeth and a foul smell he gave you a ten-dollar tip but now he was trying to take your clothes off. Fighting and fighting, that's the only thing you could do, and the worst of all you just DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. How to getting yourself out of this situation? He was stronger and bigger than you, he had already taken you underwear off under your skirt until he freed one hand to unzip his jeans, so you put your only free hand in his eye, pressing as hard you could and with rage.

"Ahh! bloody bitch!"

When he let you go, you ran as fast you could, but he grabbed your ankle, causing you to hit your head. You felt dizzy, numb, and you couldn't move your body. Plus your vision was lost; you could only see the little mark on the wall, a dragon with more than one head or at least you thought could see.

"Hey! Get up! I'm not playing! GET UP, BITCH!"

You just heard him, you wished, you really wished that you could get up, but you couldn't. You felt water around your head and neck, but you could see now, it was not water, it was blood, your blood. Now it was cold or at least it was for you, and it was catching you, cold, and colder you felt. that bastard haad gone already, leaving you there, alone, cold, and without underwear. Maybe is a good idea to take a nap, isn't it? Maybe in the morning everything will be better, just maybe.

When you wake up, you are in your crib, hungry, and alone, so you did the only thing you could: you cried.

"What is wrong now,dear?" A woman came up, your mother, "You are hungry, right?" your mother look at you with a soft smile, taking out her breast, she gently brushed your hair as you fed.

You are her little baby, her replica. She wasn’t going to use you like she did with your brothers; you would have freedom in this harsh world, she often thought about your future. But one thing was certain: you weren’t going anywhere from her side. Before she could think of anything else. She left you in your crib, your stomach already full. Even though her other sons wasn’t like you, she loved them. It’s just that you were like her—you have her hair, her nose, her cheeks, and even her smile. You only have your big purple eyes, but that didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that you were another piece of her.

Even though she didn’t like to admit it, you were her favourite. And even if she never said it, it was obvious to everyone. She fed you herself; you didn’t have a wet nurse like your siblings. She knew that, apart from Rhaenyra, you were the second favourite of the king, her husband. And then there was your sister Helaena, always watching you with her curious eyes, who was only one year older than you. As for Aegon, well, he would always be Aegon—jealous of all the attention and love you received. Of course, he loved you, but why? Why did you receive so much attention and affection? He felt like he had to beg for even a little, as if he didn’t have a grain of love, as if he wasn’t special.

A while later that night, the doors opened, letting in your dear father, followed by someone behind him—your older sister, Rhaenyra. With a smile on his lips and without greeting anyone, not even his wife, he went straight to your crib.

"How is the little one? It seems she’s resting just fine," he said, touching your cheek lovingly. "Everything is fine; she just needs her space, Your Grace," Alicent responded, her voice tense. "She looks like you, but I can feel the dragon inside her," said Rhaenyra, gazing down at you beside her father. "Yes, but I really need the two of you to go. She’s already asleep, and I don’t want anyone disturbing her and—" before the Queen could finish, Rhaenyra interrupted. "We aren’t making any noise. Just five minutes won’t hurt, being by her side."

"Please, Alicent, she’s just a baby. She doesn’t need space; we can stay here with her," the King responded, a touch of obviousness in his voice. "As you command, Your Grace," Alicent replied.

The only thing Alicent could do in that moment was clench her fists behind her back and bite the inside of her cheek, merely watching as her husband and Rhaenyra hovered over your crib, oblivious to the tension and rage on her face. You stirred lightly in your sleep, unaware of the silent battle above you.

"You’ll see, my Queen, she’ll be like me—like a dragon, big and strong," Rhaenyra said softly, her voice filled with affection as she gazed at you.

Alicent’s eyes narrowed, her frustration growing with each word Rhaenyra spoke about you and herself. How dare she compare herself to my daughter? Alicent thought bitterly. And how dare they act as if they know what’s best for her? You were her child, and you would never be like Rhaenyra, bearing bastards and shaming the name and duty of your house.

"Yes, she’ll be strong. But now, let’s leave her to rest. It’s late, and we don’t want to wake her," the King said, turning to Alicent. "Thank you, my dear. You’ve done well."

Alicent bowed her head, the polite gesture hiding her fury. "Of course, Your Grace."

As they turned to leave, Alicent stood by your crib, just the two of you once more, her mind racing. She would protect you, no matter what. You were her baby.

The next morning Alicent was awaken by the maids, who prepare her for the day, when she came back in her room were you were before, your crib was empty. Scared call one of the maids

"Where's my daughter?!" She asked with anxiety and tension clear in his voice. "I'm not sure, my Queen. I'll find out right away."

While the maid was gone, Alicent’s anxiety grew. She rushed out of the room, determined to find her daughter. Who dared take her baby away from her protection?

She searched everywhere, her worry mounting with each passing moment. It wasn’t until she reached the garden that she finally saw you—her little baby girl—in the arms of Rhaenyra, walking through the garden with her illegitimate sons, as if nothing had happened,as if they had just stolen her baby.

"How dare you?!" Alicent's pace quickened as she moved to take you into her arms. Before she could reach you, Rhaenyra stepped aside, still carrying you, blocking Alicent’s path.

“We were just taking a walk. She looked so bored and alone in her room, so I thought it would be nice for her to get a little sun,” Rhaenyra explained, gently brushing the little bit of hair you had.

“She’s not yours to decide that! She is my dau—” Alicent began, but before she could continue, Viserys cut her off. “Alicent! Stop right now. She is my daughter too, and I think it’s a good idea that she spends time with her sister and nephews.”

Defedent Alicent just look the little smirk that Rhaenyra gave her. Rhaenyra triumphantly thanked her father, and walked away with you and her little toddlers.

How could she protect you when you had been taken from her side so easily? Why did no one listen to her about what she wanted for her baby? Why was everyone so ignorant?

While Rhaenyra was just happy, feeling she had won against Alicent for you, her little sister, she imagined everything would be better if you were her daughter, her little baby. But Alicent always seemed to step in the way. Soon, you and Rhaenyra would be inseparable. Perhaps you could marry one of her sons, and in that way, you would be with her forever. She envisioned herself as your mother, but ultimately, she would be your mother, no matter what—regardless of Alicent’s rants or even your brothers.

Pt. 2 >> (coming soon)

Author's note: (your name) doesn’t know what will happen to everyone or what will happen to her in the other world.

[theragethatisdesire]

aot men as dads - headcanon!! some 18+!!

includes: eren, jean, reiner, & levi

i'm still working on some full-fledged one-shots and parts of my series', but i'm nannying for the summer and have BABY FEVER. please enjoy my little headcanons of my fav aot men as dads <3

DISCLAIMER: some of this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

Eren

ok but eren is such a cringe dad lol

buys himself all of the #1 Dad! merch. he’s got mugs, tshirts, hats, all of it, and all of it went on his credit card.

10000% a girl dad. loves all the little dresses and bows; he puts your daughter’s hair in its first bun, nearly tears up when she points at his matching hairstyle and babbles “like da-da!”

you have to parent eren as much as the children. when you turn the corner into the living room where he’s supposed to be having “quiet time” with your toddler only to find that they’re buried in a pillow fort and eren’s signed his own name in crayon on the wall next to your daughter’s scribblings. “babe, we can just repaint it! she’s being creative.”

loves when you’re pregnant. after your first, eren keeps a calendar on the wall marking off the days until it’s safe for him to fuck you again, fuck a baby right back into you. already has a breeding kink before your first. develops a lactation kink after.

TERRIFIED (and i mean terrified) of hurting your little angel. has absolutely zero concept of “cry it out”; if he hears his baby crying, he’s sprinting into the next room, kissing a nonexistent boo-boo.

refuses to admit it but he has no backbone when it comes to your daughter wanting literally anything. she wants it, she gets it.

favorite thing in the world is matching outfits. favorite. “babe, where’s her green hoodie? i’m wearing mine today for the park!” “of course it matters, we have to match! on that note, where’s yours?”

lets your daughter use his hair to learn how to braid. usually has a few pink hair ties or glittery clips sticking out of it when you come home from a mom’s night out.

really big on your baby getting to see the world. drags you on vacation to any place he can think of, even as you try to explain to him that she can’t form any long term memories yet. “but baby, she’ll have pictures. how many kids in her class can bring a picture of them at the eiffel tower to their first show-and-tell?”

accidentally ruins santa and the tooth fairy for your daughter. cries harder than she does over it.

aggressively vets babysitters. ends up settling for a nursing student in the labor & delivery school who’s the oldest of seven children and probably more knowledgeable about child development than both of you combined, but he’s still suspicious.

wants to watch while you push, watch his baby come into the world. you’ve never seen a sweeter sight than eren in his scrubs, crying while holding your baby girl.

Jean

most people picture eren as being the roughhousing dad, but it’s jean, and i will die on this hill.

freaks out every time he drops your first boy while throwing him around like a ragdoll, but he’ll never stop because “listen!! he’s laughing!”. when it comes to the rest of them, he’s experienced enough now to tell the difference between a real booboo and an imagined one, and he simply brushes their little pants off caringly before shouting “now you tackle me!”

jean’s got no gender preference for your first, or the rest of your little brood for that matter. he raises them exactly the same, regardless: tough.

it takes him awhile to get used to the concept of babies’ minds. you’ve walked in on him having full-blown arguments with your shrieking toddlers several times. “what’s not making sense? if you let your goldfish ‘swim’ in the toilet, it dies, simple as that.”

plays “bad cop” for you because you’re terrible at it, but he’s always having to turn around and snicker into his elbow in the middle of scolding because your babies get the same little throbbing forehead vein as you when they’re mad

wants a big family, and gets it. you practically have to drag him to get his balls snipped after your fourth, him reminding you that “it’s reversible!” the entire way there.

the newborn phase is his favorite. he’s rarely home for any longer than ten minutes without scooping your most recent addition into his arms, squishing their little cheeks and marveling at their gurgling noises.

the kids never give him anxiety, but when you’re pregnant??? jean’s a wreck.

“do your feet still hurt, love?” “what do you mean you have indigestion? that could be the baby coming!” “of course we can’t have sex, what if we poke its little head?”

definitely the dad that’s got a delivery bag and a backup bag and an emergency third backup of the backup bag in his car at all times. the first week of your third trimester, he starts watching you suspiciously for any signs of labor, even though this is your fourth together. you think you’ve got it down by now, you tell him, but he won’t listen.

always gets the kids to work together on little surprises for you. every mother’s day they wake you up with breakfast, every valentines day your dining room table is covered in handmade cards, every birthday your kitchen is coated in flour from jean and four little ones attempting to bake

SO HARD to drag him out for a date night. he wants to bring them everywhere: the fancy restaurant, the couples' get away trip

jean's that dad standing in the bar, watching the game, beer in hand, with an occupied baby carrier strapped to his chest

wants to watch during delivery, but he passed out the first go-round, so now he’s content standing up by your head, trying not to turn white as you squeeze his hand hard enough to break.

talks you into just one more on your fourth’s second birthday. “they’re all so big now. don’t you miss it, babe? my baby in your belly? c’mon…” turns out he reversed that vasectomy without telling you

Reiner

another girl dad. hardcore girl dad.

buys his little princess all number of dresses and barbies, is confused when she’s more interested in the baseballs her classmates have.

accidentally raises the most tomboyish, toughest little girl. still babies her, and she hates it.

cries more than you do on your first date night out when you leave her with your mom. forgets to order his entree at the restaurant because he’s watching the baby monitor app on his phone.

definitely the best at splitting baby duties with you. reiner’s up before you most nights when she wakes, grabbing a bottle and cooing at her lovingly even as she screams. you always try to stay awake to watch him on the baby monitor, though, heart melting as his massive arms rock the tiny bundle back to sleep.

all the neighborhood kids love him because of his size. at every cookout, reiner can’t help on the grill because he’s buried in the grass in a little army of toddlers, led by your daughter, shrieking with joy.

always taking pictures. literally always. unflattering ones when you fall asleep breastfeeding, candids at the zoo, eighteen identical pictures of the lock of hair from her first haircut clogging up his camera roll.

can’t be the bad cop. literally ever. he just can’t say no to his little princess, can’t break her precious little heart by telling her that throwing her food onto the floor is bad.

takes your daughter to mommy & me classes with him

DILF DILF DILF. all the moms in the classes swoon over him and gossip about him when he’s not there; much to your annoyance, reiner never notices, insisting that they’re his “mommy friends”.

always sporting a little bit of glitter on his face or a sticker on his back from your daughter

coming from a fatherless background, reiner nearly kills himself trying to be a constant presence in your daughter’s life (you have to remind him that he has to rest too)

never misses an open house night at school, even if it nearly gets him fired. coaches all of her sports teams. literally almost cries when she makes her first soccer goal. actually does cry when she tells you the boy sitting beside her in class called her his girlfriend. full-blown breakdown on her first day of school, so bad he has to stay home from work.

the absolute BEST through your pregnancy and delivery. always cooking your craving of the week, constant foot and back rubs, stays up all night with you for the three days before the birth when you’re just too swollen and miserable to sleep.

holds your hand through the entire delivery, gets in the doctors’ way when they’re performing checkups because “i’m her father, i need to know what’s going on”

Levi

levi never pictured himself as having children, but when your little surprise arrives, blinking up at levi with his own grey, owlish eyes, levi can’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner.

very easily irritated with anyone asking questions about your home life.

when his coworkers ask for your newborn’s name, levi simply says “child.” are you two trying again? “why the fuck do you need to know?”

super overprotective. your baby waves at someone in the supermarket, and levi’s leaning down to explain (in words your eight-month-old can’t yet understand) stranger danger.

totally one of those parents that goes half-crazy trying to get their child into the top-notch, snobby preschool in town.

“we’re not wasting his intelligence on the public school”

levi grew up with basically nothing, so he goes all out buying the best baby products on the market. $2,500 strollers, researching “best baby toys for development”, the whole nine yards.

100% spends months trying to get your child to make a game out of picking up his own toys after playtime, but it never works.

has a meal plan for your child to “optimize nutrition” that you have to sneak around to give your baby little chocolates and junk snacks.

“why are there pringles in his playtime bag? they have no nutritional value.”

vets anyone that comes around your child, even other children. “no more playtime with that evan kid. he’s always got a cold or something.”

he’s always been a light sleeper, but once you have your child, levi snores beside them watching kids’ cartoons on the tv like you’ve never seen him, even drooling as his head lolls, arm tucked tight around your little one.

learned everything he could about labor and delivery beforehand

you almost killed him in the delivery room as he explained each medical detail of your labor symptoms to “reassure” you. he finally got the hint when you threatened to decapitate him.

he thinks it’s shameful, but watching you be a mother turns. him. on. 

wants to take you right there when he catches you breastfeeding, watches you read a bedtime story, spin your child around laughing. you’re just so naturally good at it and it makes him love you all the more, all that love going straight between his legs.

[starcrossed-lov3rz]

The Vow Spoken Through Time - Part 10

Daemon x Rhaenyra x Wife!Reader

Series: Series Masterlist

Warnings: MDNI, yelling, plot

Tags: marriage, poly relationship, Daemon being hopelessly in love with his wives, Queen!Rhaenyra

Words: 1.2K

Description: Y/N is having a rough morning. She's fired. She's hungover. She's in a stranger's bed. She's waking up in a new world? She's married?!

Rhaenyra and Daemon's day started normal. Waking up next to their darling wife before tending to their duties. The difference? Their wife is speaking in riddles and has no memories of them.

Check out more works in my Masterlist!

“So the witch appeared to you in the godswood and claimed that you are the replacement for our y/n, who apparently died?” Daemon muses. He’s seated across from you, arms folded as he lounges back in the chair. 

You grip the mug of warm tea tighter, nodding.

“Forgive us for being skeptical my love,” Rhaenyra sighs as her hand grips your shoulder. “But if the witch was still within kings landing, the guards would have found her by now.”

Your frown deepens and you feel a twinge of pain begin behind your eyes. A migraine is threatening to begin. It was one thing for you husband and wife to not believe you before today. You thought surely that a witch disappearing before their eyes would be enough to convince them that some things just cannot be explained.

Pulling Rhaenyra’s hand from your shoulder, you squeeze it before dropping the necklace that witch gave you into her palm. “I understand this is difficult, Nyra,” you begin, “but she knew things that I hadn’t even told you and Daemon. This is the necklace my grandmother gave me.”

“Your grandmother has given you many gifts, love.” Daemon argues.

You groan in frustration, pulling the necklace from Nyra’s grip and pointing out the small engraving on the back. To My Dear Y/N 

“Daemon, do you honestly know a single goldsmith that could create this?”

Daemon doesn’t respond, looking at Rhaenyra instead. “My love, can we just move past this? You did not die months ago. You are not from a different reality.”

You stand up, pocketing your necklace as you walk away. Pausing in the doorway, you glance over your shoulder. “I love you both so much, but right now I cannot be around you.” “Y/n-” Daemon stands up to stop you.

“No.” You say, brushing his hand off of your shoulder. “I’m tired of this. I was fine with you not believing me before. But we all saw what happened in the small council chambers. You both saw me disappear in the godswood. You both saw my fucking necklace!”

“Tread carefully,” Rhaenyra says. “Mind your tone, I am still your queen.”

“And I’m your fucking wife!” you hiss. “Or does that only matter when I’m warming your bed and raising our children?!”

“This conversation is over,” Daemon orders. “You are clearly not in the right headspace to have this discussion.”

Daemon’s dismissal is enough to change your mind. Any plans you had to storm out were instantly gone. You stalk up to stand chest to chest with your husband. “You know what? This conversation isn’t over.”

“Y/n, the witch is just messing with your head-”

“No. That witch offered to take me home, and I turned her down.” You say. “I turned her down because I made the mistake of falling in love.” You’re crying, tears streaming down your face. “I fell in love with both of you. I love you, and our kids, and our dragons, and fuck it I even love needlepoint.” 

Rhaenyra and Daemon’s gaze softens. Daemon moves to wrap you in a hug, but you step back.

“If you can’t accept me for who I really am, then maybe this isn’t where I belong.” 

You turn around, walking out of the room. Rhaenyra follows, “where do you think you’re going?”

“Back to my world,” you say, navigating the maze of hallways to try and find the godswood. “The witch told me to return to the godswood if I wanted to leave.”

“You cannot, I forbid it,” Daemon says. He must have followed Rhaenyra. You couldn’t care less. They both could walk right up to the heart tree with you for all you care. 

“Oh you forbid it, do you?” you hiss. 

“Yes!” Daemon grabs your arm, pulling you towards him. 

You try to wrench your arm from his grip, but it’s useless. “So let me get this straight,” you say. “You refuse to believe that other realities are possible, but you forbid me from going to one?”

Daemon’s brows furrow, and his grip loosens for a second. Seeing your window of opportunity, you twist your arm from his grip and bolt out the last set of doors to the godswood. Daemon and Rhaenyra run after you. You’re sure the sight of the Queen and Prince Consort running through the keep is hilarious, but you don’t bother turning around to see.

You pick up your skirts as you run through the godswood, trying to avoid getting them caught on any brush or lower branches.

“Y/n, stop!” Daemon has caught up to you. He reaches over to stop you, but you manage to evade his hands. 

Lower hanging branches scratch at your arms as you duck and weave through the trees. The heart tree comes into sight, and you feel a twinge of sadness. Just hours ago you were planning to forsake your past life for the two people now chasing you through the woods. Your pace slows to a halt as you approach the heart tree. 

“Y/n, think about this,” Rhaenyra pleaded. “Just come back to our rooms and we can talk.”

“Talk?” you ask, bewildered. “Everytime I try to talk about this, you shut me down!” Fuck, where is that witch? She said to come back here if you wanted to go home, but how are you supposed to get home?  You hear a whisper on the wind. The heart tree, lay your hand upon the heart tree. Your hand raises, reaching out to the tree. 

“What are you doin-” Rhaenyra asks. 

The bark beneath your palm begins to glow and soften. Your hand sinks into the tree. This must be the way back. 

“Y/n, get back that is not safe!” 

You ignore Daemon’s plea, and instead reach further into the tree. You can’t feel the other side, but the entire trunk is glowing. Gritting your teeth in determination, you take a step forward into the trunk. Your eyes shut as you walk forward through the tree. 

“Y/n!” You hear Daemon yell and feel his hand at your back. “Do not be afraid, I have you!” He’s trying to pull you out the tree. You feel some force from the other side of the tree drag you. Once Daemon realizes he can’t pull you out, you feel his arms wrap around your waist. 

The force drags your both out the other side. You both stumble out of the tree, falling to the ground as you catch your bearings. 

“Where the hell are we?” Daemon asks, standing to take in his surroundings. He helps you up, dusting off your dress as you gaze around. 

The tree behind you is identical to the heart tree in the keep. But as you look out, you and Daemon are clearly standing in the middle of a city park. The street and cars are visible from your position. 

“We’re in my world now.”

NOTE: Sorry for the long wait! My summer job is over this coming Friday, so I will be able to update more frequently next week! Also very exacting, we managed to stumble from Westeros to Earth! Rhaenyra is probably panicking at home, but Daemon is (probably) gonna love the tourist life. Also, we are totally gonna get smut again (eventually - trust the process lol) ~ Lacie <3

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[millervrse]

A SECOND CHANCE ! joel miller x reader

summary: Joel was sent by Marlene to come find you and bring you to Saint Mary’s. You are the only human aside from Ellie Williams who has been bitten and not turned: You are the only way that a cure can be created where no blood is shed. But to do that, you’ll have to warm up to the hardass that is Joel goddamn Miller.

pairing: joel miller x afab!reader

warnings, notes: EVENTUAL 18+ smut, so minors dni, occurs after the plot of the first tlou, but before joel gets ellie out of saint mary’s, some canon facts are changed for the sake of this story, ENEMIES TO LOVERS! reader has a heavily established backstory that is to be explored throughout the series, game references (tess, the fireflies, sarah, the general plot of the game, etc). implied age gap. reader’s just as tough as joel, if not worse! warnings will change and be updated as the series progresses.

word count: 2.8k+

LYN SPEAKING! alright, hey! i’m lyn, and i’ve had this idea in the back of my mind for close to a year now (yes, a year) and baby FINALLY finished the first installment of this series i plan to work on based on it. i sincerely hope this is well received! if you want to know when i update this series, please let me know, and i will kindly tag you. also, if you have any ideas as to where this story can go, my inbox is wide open! alright now, buckle up and enjoy!

PART I: IMMUNE

“If there’s no way for you to do this where Ellie lives,” Joel said, a dark gruffness to his voice as the words leave his lips. “Then it ain’t happenin’. I swear it.”

Joel Miller and Ellie Williams had been through hell and back to deliver her to the Fireflies. People had died along the way, close to the pair or not, and sacrifices had been made for the greater good. But now, as they stood at the end of the line, Joel realized that there was no greater good, and that they hadn’t been to hell.

Because this was it.

Joel stood defensively before Marlene, the woman who was the reason this was happening in the first place. The Fireflies wanted to make a cure for the virus that had taken their world by surprise twenty years ago. One that would cure the infected of their curse, to bring them back to the human beings that they once were. But to do that, Joel would have to make the biggest sacrifice of them all.

Losing Ellie.

He couldn’t bear to lose a second daughter, not when he had already given his all to have her. To keep her. Not when he had already lost Sarah in his arms all those years ago. No, no, no. Sarah had been unfairly shot, unfairly killed, and Joel was powerless to help her.

That wouldn’t be the case with Ellie.

He stood in front of an unconscious Ellie now, laid out over a bed in the hospital he had delivered her to. He had managed his way in here by narrowly avoiding Firefly personnel. But just as he was about to flee, Marlene and several soldiers behind her had him cornered every which way.

“Joel—“ Marlene did her best. But Joel didn’t want to hear it.

“No,” he barked, gun trained on the brunette. It didn’t matter if this ended in flames. It didn’t matter if he died. If he was doing it for Ellie, then he’d do it again and again, in this life and the next. “If there is no scenario where this little girl survives, it is not, happening.”

There’s a pause, a look of delay in Marlene’s eyes as she looks at Joel. She debated. Should she tell him? Should she reveal a secret she had been holding back since he had taken this assignment nearly a year ago?

This was no time to hang back.

“There’s one.”

That, was the moment in time when Joel Miller learned about you.

A girl, who had also been bitten, and not turned. A girl, whose history Marlene refused to delve too deeply into. A girl, who could be the cure to the cure, where nobody died. 

Where Ellie lived.

“Where do I find her?”

———————————————————————

That’s how he had gotten here.

A noise sounds from behind you as you're readying to go and hunt for food in your house in Vermont, alongside a brief patrol to make sure that no infected were lurking by. You’re quick to tense when the sound fills your ears, grabbing the crossbow that was on the counter near you, the one that you’d thankfully just loaded, and whipping around.

A man who looked much older than you stood in the doorframe. He was tall with tousled hair, a green, wrinkled shirt mirroring his gruff demeanor. Your gaze darkened at the sight. You hadn’t seen a human being in a millennia. Let alone one that you hated to admit, was handsome.

You didn’t let that deter you, however, raising your crossbow higher and aiming it at him.

"You've got five seconds to tell me what you're doing here,” your voice firmly rang out as you drew the bow. Thank God you’d always been a natural at aiming. “Or I'll put one between your eyes.”

The man put his hands up, though his face remained neutral as he stood in place, as if to show he wasn’t afraid of you. “Easy does it,” he rasped, his voice as gruff as he looked. “I’m not here to hurt’cha.”

“Then, leave,” you returned. “This doesn’t have to end in blood. And if you get any fucking closer, I promise you, it will.”

“Well, aren’t you a ray of sunshine,” the man said in jest, causing you to draw your arrow back more, a warning for him to watch his tone. A sigh escaped his lips as his shoulders tensed at the gesture, closing his eyes and opening them to meet yours. “Look. I was sent here to find you. Alright? I just need to talk.”

This wasn’t going to be easy for Joel, was it?

Your aim never wavered as you responded. Your first thought was what the fuck was he talking about, but the curse doesn’t make the cut as you answer. “Sent by who?”

A pause.

“Marlene.”

You tense.

“She said you’d know her.”

Oh, you fucking know her, alright. Who the fuck was this man and how the fuck did he know about you and Marlene? It’s impossible, you think. That was years ago. This man was lying.

Right?

“Marlene?” you scoffed, your voice shaking. “That’s bullshit. I haven’t spoken to Marlene in years, and she sure as hell wouldn’t be sending anyone to find me,” you return, the furrow already present in your eyebrows deepening, eyes drowning in suspicion. “Who are you, really?”

The man doesn’t move, instead keeping his arms raised like he’s some sort of peace offering. “The name’s Joel, Joel Miller, and I swear on my life that what I’m tellin’ you is true,” he said. When he took note of the apprehension in your expression, he lowered his voice, letting it relax into one that was meant to make you feel calm. “I’m not here to hurt you. Alright? Just let me explain.”

It didn’t help.

You wanted to shoot this man already, with every fiber of your being. Your trust issues were rattling like fireworks in your brain, telling you that he was a liar, that he was trying to get you vulnerable, catch you off guard. But against your better judgment, you nodded, hanging fire for him to go on.

"There's a, uh, little girl. Her name's Ellie. About a year ago, Marlene asked me and a friend o’mine to smuggle her out of Boston, where we were, in exchange for some guns. We agreed. But Marlene didn’t tell us why,” Joel began, sighing before going on. “Come to find out, little girl was infected, but the bite was three weeks old.”

A pause.

“She was immune.”

You tense again, like you had been over and over again since Joel had walked into your house. That word, that fucking word. That word that made your blood run cold. Made your head spin. Made horrid memories rush to the front of your brain. 

Immune.

You raised your eyebrows at Joel in disbelief of the three words that had just fled his lips. “That’s impossible,” you said. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” he returned a little too quickly. “I was thinkin’ the same way you are. Ready to kill her right there and then when I found out. Thought Marlene set us up, knew it was only a matter of time before she’d turn and catch us by surprise. But the little girl, Ellie, wasn’t lyin.”

You grimace. A fucking little girl. You didn’t even want to ask how old she was. 

Because if this was going where you thought it was, then your heart was going to ache a whole lot more.

“Our journey had its ups and downs. We had to reroute over and over again. Fireflies can be pretty damn hard to find these days. But we ended up finding out that most of the ones who were remaining, were in Utah, holed up in some medical center. Ready to make a cure.”

Joel was about to go on, keep explaining. But he didn’t have to.

You cut him off.

“I’ve heard this one before,” you laughed, but it wasn’t one of amusement, let alone humorous at all. It was one of disbelief, because how in the fuck had the universe spared you that day, just to bring it back to your feet? A scoff escapes your lips, and you sigh, pushing your tongue into your cheek before answering. “Saint Mary’s, isn’t it?”

Joel furrowed his eyebrows. “How’d-” he said in confusion, wondering if he had accidentally let it slip a few minutes ago in his hasty battle to keep an arrow out of his brain. “How’d you know?”

It’s your turn to be confused. If Marlene had really sent this man all this way to come find you, you figured she wouldn’t have spared him the details on the true nature of your connection, or lack thereof, to Marlene. “Are you kidding me? I’ve lived this,” you say, a bit of  malice behind your words as you raise your bow. “And if you think I’m going to go through that again, you better think fucking twice,” you warned.

Joel scoffed, undeterred by your threatened show of violence. He had seen scarier in his over twenty years in the apocalypse, and he was sure that if you wanted to shoot him, which you were more than capable of doing, you would have done it by now. "Little lady, I am not asking you too, alright? There's more to it."

Your expression doesn’t get any more welcoming, much to Joel’s annoyance. “Then you better get to talking, because I’m dying for an excuse to shoot you. Pun intended.”

Killing a bloater is easier than suppressing an eye roll at your words.

"Look, that girl and her bite, Marlene thinks that the head surgeon over at the Fireflies could fix up a cure. A cure for mankind. But she can’t undergo the surgery alone, not unless, unless—”

You finish for him.

“Not unless she dies.”

Joel nods, his feelings too grim to ask how you know that. He was sure that there’d be lots to uncover about you, that is, if you agreed to come back to Utah alongside him. “Right. And Marlene said, that if I found you, there’s a chance you could undergo the surgery with Ellie. And she’d survive.”

You take his words in, mulling them over in your head. The survivor in you was screaming to not let your feelings take hold. That no matter how desperate this man was for you to come with him, you would have to decline. But your conscious, the moral part of you that somehow persevered no matter how cruel this world had been to you, was bellowing. It wasn’t fair, what was happening to that little girl. It wasn’t fair that she would have to die to fix a world that was arguable beyond fixing.

But then again, what had happened to you was unfair too. And so was this unexpected arrival.

“You’re asking me to leave the comfort of my own home, travel across the damn country, go off with a man I don’t fucking know, all for a goddamn chance?” you asked. There was no violence behind your words this time. Just disbelief, incredulousness. “Who the fuck do you think I am?”

Joel never lowered his hands as he spoke. “Look, I know you’re uncertain, and I would be too. But this girl, Ellie, she—” he paused, doing his best to maintain his composure. “I just can’t lose her, okay? I can’t.”

Now your face relaxes, if only a little bit. You can see the raw and vulnerable look in Joel’s eyes, the gloss to his brown eyes that shines in the dim light of your house. 

“You’ve grown attached to this girl, haven’t you?”

Joel Miller was a tough man. Feelings weren’t in the cards for him. Not since Tess, not since Sarah. And for the love of God, if he could turn them off and never feel again, it’s likely that he would. So for now, he doesn’t tell you how much Ellie really means to him, returning to the cold approach he took on the world before he met her. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I have, not that that matters,” he dismisses. “Point is, lady, if I have to drag you out of here kickin' and screamin', I will. But I ain't leavin' without’cha."

You scoffed. "You don't even know my name."

Well, for some reason, you figured he didn’t. But just then, he said it, proving you wrong in seconds.

 “Ain’t it?”

Don’tfeeldon’tfeeldon’tfeel.

You and this man were more alike than you knew.

Rolling your eyes, you speak up once again, pushing your feelings down into the gutter where they belong. “Let me tell you this, Miller. I gave up the hope a long time ago that there was anyone else out there like me, and so did Marlene. Why in the hell should I believe you?" you ask.

Joel parts his lips to speak, but words don’t come out. You were right. He had given you no reason to believe him, to trust him, and especially not, like you’d said, to leave the comfort of your own home and join him on his quest to save mankind, to save Ellie, if she was actually fucking real.

There’s a brief pause before he answers. "I don't know how else I can convince you. I can't, to be honest. But Ellie, she needs you. I can't let her die."

You paused for a second, allowing his words to sink in. God, you were apprehensive, but he, he was adamant. And the look in his eyes was tearing your survivalist ideologies to the ground.

"Saint Mary’s ain't close,” you say.

Joel’s eyes light up. It’s not a yes, but it’s hope. "I know,” he says. “I've got a car."

"A car?" you asked in shock. What more did this man have up his sleeve? You hadn't seen a working car in years. They weren’t easy to come by, and even if they were, gas was a major aspect of why nobody had cars anymore. Marlene and the Fireflies used to always have them, but because it’d been so long since you’d last seen her or a Firefly in general, you couldn't actually remember the last time you'd driven one.

"Yeah, it's a means of gettin’ around, kind of like-" Joel began. Annoyedly, you cut him off.

Did you really look that young?

"I know what a car is,” you said in annoyance. “Haven't seen one in years. You really have one?"

Joel decided to ignore your offended response, though it was hard to suppress a smirk at just how offended you’d gotten. "Yeah, I do. I told you, I'm not lyin'. Not about the car, not about Marlene, and not about Ellie. I promise.”

Promise.

You had it engraved in your brain that the word promise was a synonym for lie. It was just a kinder, less harsh way of putting it. But regardless, they were bullshit. Promises weren’t real. This wasn’t real. Joel wasn’t real.

You want to pinch your arm to make sure. Then you realize you’ve never had dreams this vivid.

You hated your face for the way it relaxed. You hated the fact that you could hear the genuineness in his tone, the converse of lies in his gruff demeanor. You hated the way your crossbow unconsciously lowered.

And you were going to hate Joel Miller for sure.

“You try anything, Miller—” you bark.

Joel’s eyes light up once again, and he can’t help the small smile that takes the corners of his lips. "You’ll put one between my eyes, I know. And I won’t, I promise.” 

“So are you comin’ or what?”

"Not so fast," you said quickly, shaking your head. "Give me some time to pack, mull it over a little more. You owe me that."

Joel wanted to protest, just a little bit. But he refrained, nodded, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes, ma’am.”

Your eyes remained watchful, fixed on Joel as you walked backwards to the top floor.

There, in your bedroom, you think over what just happened. Were you really going to do this? Were you really going to risk the life you had created, all for a chance? Who the fuck were you right now, and what had you done with the tough woman you had always been?

You were about to let your morals cloud your judgment, traveling far and wide to save a little girl you didn’t know, alongside a man you were sure you were going to hate. You were about to throw away all you’d become, all you’d ever wanted to be since what went down with the Fireflies all those years ago. With Marlene.

God fucking damnit.

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

if you made it to the end of this, i really hope you liked it! please consider leaving a reblog, as they help my work immensely <3 kisses!

[starryevermore]

the house of snow (1) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board | ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his.

chapter summary: your parents are convinced that you will marry the king by the end of the social season. and so, too, it seems does coriolanus snow.  

word count: 2,764 

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later 

chapter warnings?: no use of y/n, you cannot stand coryo, not proofread

Coriolanus Snow’s rise to the throne was something you never expected to come to fruition. When you were younger, you remembered your peers talking about how Snow wanted to one day rule Panem. At the time, you thought it was just another wild dream of a child. Something a child would say when an adult asks what they wish to be when they grow up. “A pirate!” one might exclaim. Or, perhaps, “A painter!” The sort of thing that a sensible parent would shrug off and not dedicate anymore thought to. The Snow family, as it turned out, was not particularly sensible. 

When the Former King Ravinstill died without warning, the throne was left vacant. Everyone knew that the old man had little life left in him. Yet, despite his age, he had a tendency to power through. No one thought he would have lived as long as he did, but he had. So, the Electors had not yet begun considering his replacement. No one had been prepared enough to seek candidacy. No one, except Coriolanus Snow. A few other eligible persons put forth their names, but no one garnered support quite like the young man. From a prominent family, the son of a general, had served briefly himself, intelligent, and had the financial backing of the Plinth family? There was no version of history where Snow could lose. 

Within weeks of Ravinstill’s death, Snow was crowned King. 

You did not care for politics, so you knew little of his reign. But your father seemed pleased, talking often and loudly about how the young Snow would restore Panem to its former glory. You weren’t so sure of that. Though you did not interact with him often in your younger years, you remembered Snow as someone who was self-serving. Who would pretend to care if only it could further his own interests. He very well might let all of Panem burn if it meant he could gain from it. But your father was quite pleased with Snow as King and, when word began to spread that Snow would be seeking a bride this next social season, your father pushed hard for you to woo the King. 

“If you wish to serve your family well, my little dove, you will convince the King to marry you,” your father told you the moment he heard the news. 

You all but scoffed. “I hardly think I am the sort of woman he wishes to marry. A man like him would want someone meek, someone who would not challenge his authority. We hardly ever agreed on the schoolyard, and for that reason, he never considered me a friend. How could he ever see me as a wife?”

Your father’s eyes narrowed at you. “It is your responsibility, then, to make yourself small so that he may choose you.”

“I would rather die than sacrifice my ideals, Papa,” you said. “Why can I not vie for any other’s attention? I know Lord Plinth quite well. I’ve always enjoyed his company. It would be easy to win his heart and have our family set for life. Certainly easier than winning over the King.”

He sneered, “The only thing the Plinth family is good for is their money. I want to be respected. We would be little more than social pariahs if you wed the Plinth boy.”

“I shall not marry the King—”

Your mother stepped in before you could say something you might come to regret. She placed a hand on your arm, directing your attention to her. “Never mind that now. There is still time before the season begins for minds to be changed.”

“I shall not change my mind, Mama.”

She looked over at your father, who was the perfect picture of irate. She looked back to you. “Perhaps, but perhaps not. Let us go clear our minds, yes? We should go order new gowns at the modiste before everyone else floods her with demands.”

“You cannot distract me with fashion.”

“But you would do well to pretend that I have.”

Your efforts to convince your parents that you would not, under any circumstance whatsoever, marry Coriolanus Snow did not do anything for you. Despite your best efforts, you now stood in the palace for the King’s Ball, wearing the most beautiful powder blue gown fresh from the modiste, trying and failing to hide from your mother, so that you might delay her forcing you onto Snow. For now, though, she had been distracted by a conversation with Lady Dovecote about…whatever mothers talked about. Surely some scheme that would end with either you or Clemensia as Snow’s betrothed. You rolled your eyes at the thought. 

A familiar voice said your name. When you turned, you were greeted by the sight of Sejanus Plinth, holding two glasses of lemonade. He handed one to you, remarking, “I never knew you to be one to hide from the crowd.”

“I shall hide from the crowd when my mama is convinced I shall become Queen by the end of the season.”

“Ah.” Sejanus took a drink and laughed. “Strange, isn’t it? Seeing everyone we grew up with vying for Coryo’s attention.”

Coryo? Oh, yes. That was the nickname those close to Snow would call him. You had forgotten that the two were friends. Hmm, perhaps you could use that information the next time your parents try to force a connection with Snow. Something about how getting close to his friend might make him interested in you. “That it is. It seems as though everyone has lost their minds just for a glimpse of the crown.”

Sejanus laughed again. Then he looked at you a little more seriously, and said, “If I am honest, I am surprised you are not among those fighting for Coryo’s attention.”

Your brows pinched together. “You think I am interested in climbing the social ladder? Lord Plinth, you should know me well enough that I care more for a love match than gaining a title.”

“No, no. That is not what I meant. I remember in school that you and Coryo always had a sort of connection. Truthfully, I thought one of you might have acted on it sooner when you entered society.”

“The only connection we had was that of hatred. We despised each other.”

Sejanus shook his head, his curls bouncing. “I do not think that was true for Coryo. He liked that you challenged him. He has never been the sort of person who liked people who switch their position when the tide seems to turn. He likes people who are firm in their convictions.”

You laughed. “He’s told you this?”

“Not in so many words. But you have to wonder why he always sought you out.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps he is crueler than we all think.”

Sejanus moved to protest, but another beat him to it. “Or perhaps you judge without truly knowing.”

You froze. Oh, how you had hoped that you could have avoided him tonight! Damn Sejanus and his friendship with Snow. So much for him being your safe haven during these balls. You might as well have lit a beacon leading straight to you. Alas, you did not want Snow to see the hatred you had brewing for him. Even if you did not like the man, you would be a social pariah if you made such feelings known to him. So, you painted on a smile as you turned to look at Snow. “Or perhaps I made an educated guess supported by the evidence of past interactions.”

Snow snorted, turning his gaze to Sejanus. “Always so quick with a response, she is.”

Sejanus glanced at you, a knowing look in his eyes. If you were a mindreader, you could imagine him gloating in his mind about how he was right, that this was a sign that Snow cared for you in some way. But you only knew it to be yet another indicator that you and Snow could never, ever, get along. “Her wit has never dulled.”

“Should we see, then, if her dance skills are still equally sharp?”

Sejanus looked at you again, a brilliant smile on his face. Oh, how you wished to wipe that look off. This was not proof of anything. This did not prove his point. “I could not think of anything better.”

Damn you, Sejanus Plinth. Damn you. 

Snow held his arm out for you to take. You stared at it, not moving. “In order to dance with a lady, you must ask her. I do not recall you asking me anything.”

Snow glanced just beyond you. When you turned your head to follow his gaze, you saw your mother and Lady Dovecote watching the interaction carefully. As you looked back at Snow, he said, “Your mother would be disappointed if you did not dance with me.”

“It is amazing you became King when you are so lacking in manners.” But you knew your mother—the entirety of the ton, perhaps—would consider you insane to turn the King down so openly. So you took his arm and let him lead you onto the dance floor. 

He snorted. “You are the only person who speaks so freely to me.”

“Ah, so this is one last dance before my execution? How kind. Perhaps I was wrong about your cruelty.”

“There is much you are wrong about,” Snow said. You had reached the dance floor. The crowd parted around you, allowing you and Snow to take the middle of the floor. You faced him, allowing his hand to fall to you waist. You placed one hand on his shoulder, and let him take the other in his free hand. “It would be far too much of a shame to take your life.”

“Such a kind and gentle king.”

“Only for those who deserve it.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw your mother miming for you to smile. You fought the urge to sneer instead. Even if you would rather do anything else than be courted by Coriolanus Snow, acting out would not do you any favors. If you had any hope in finding a love match, you had to at least be cordial to him. So you smiled as prettily as you could. But you couldn’t help yourself from saying, “Then perhaps you should go see a physician. You seem to have lost your mind.”

To your surprise, Snow laughed. The sound almost scared you. When was the last time you heard Snow laugh? An actual laugh, at that. None of his snorts of derision or half-hearted chuckles when he was trying to charm someone. Had you ever heard him laugh before? You tried to wrack your brain, but you could not recall anything. In school, he had always been so serious—focused more on using the tools available to him to climb the social ladder rather than being a kid like everyone else. Though, you supposed, Snow was a far cry from everyone else. 

The music began to play, and Snow spun you around the dance floor. As you turned, you locked eyes with Sejanus. He wore a large grin on his face, seemingly sure that you and Snow were making nice. Why else would he have laughed at something you said? You wished you could yell out to Sejanus, tell him that he was dead wrong. 

“What is it that people say? Something about love driving people mad?”

This time, you did roll your eyes. “Oh, come off it. You and I both know perfectly well that you do not care for me. I hardly understand why you’re even entertaining this nonsense, if for no other reason than to torture me.”

Snow considered you. After a long moment of silence, he said, “I seek a bride who will produce me an heir. There are few women here who meet my standards. A woman of good breeding, from a respectable family, and intelligent enough to keep up with me. Someone who will be a good Queen and a good mother.”

“Someone that you can control.” You scoff. “You truly must see a physician, Your Majesty, if you think that I will fall in line with whatever you ask of me.”

His lips curled into a grin. Your stomach churned. “Not yet.”

The next morning, your mother promptly reported that you had danced with Coriolanus Snow not once, not twice, but three times to your father. To say he had been pleased was something of an understatement. He was certain that Snow would soon be reaching out to discuss a proposal. It did not matter how much you tried to downplay the situation—explain that he was only dancing with you for some other reason than him wishing to marry you. Your parents minds were made up. By the end of the season, you were to be Queen of Panem. 

“It’s just the nerves,” your mother dismissed as you sat in the drawing room, waiting for any suitor to call on you. “You will be more than confident once you are wed.”

You ground your teeth together. “I do not wish to marry Coriolanus Snow. I would marry anyone else. I would let you or Papa pick anyone else in the ton and I would not let out a single complaint. I cannot marry that man.”

Something just beyond you caught your mother’s attention. Your father, you supposed. “You should not say such things—” she began to say. Of course. Of course she would say that. 

“Why not? It is true. I would be miserable with him. I would rather die than be his bride, bear his children. Frankly, forcing me to marry him may as well be a death sentence.”

“Dear, you do not truly mean that—”

“And you must not know me at all if you think I am not being completely, and utterly, truthful right now. Coriolanus Snow is the last man I would ever wish to marry.”

Your mother leaned in close to you, hissing, “Stop talking right now, young lady.”

A frown settled on your face. Why was she so bothered about you speaking so freely? There was no one in the room but you, her, and a maid. Perhaps she was concerned about the maid spreading gossip with other maids and that slowly enveloping the ton. It wasn’t a non-possibility, to be sure. But why was she acting so…scandalized by your words? 

Unless…

You turned your head toward the entrance of the room. There should Coriolanus Snow, dressed in a dark red suit, holding a bouquet of white roses. Your mouth went dry. Oh, why does he keep showing up when you least expect it? “The butler typically announces when a guest has arrived,” you said. 

You couldn’t read his face. A part of you wondered if you had offended him. You didn’t particularly care about offending him, but you also knew that such an act could have dire consequences on you marrying anyone else. “He was going to, but I wanted my arrival to be a surprise.” He took a step closer to you, holding out the roses. “I just had these freshly picked from my garden.”

A part of you wanted to smack the roses out of his hands, but you had already embarrassed your mother enough in front of Snow. You took the roses, yet couldn’t stop yourself from saying, “I cannot believe a man like you could grow something so beautiful.”

Your mother let out a loud—obviously fake—laugh. “Oh, isn’t she just funny? She always says the silliest things.”

Snow chuckled. He smiled at your mother—the sort of smile that your stomach twist into knots. Like he knew something no one else did, and he was reveling in that. “It is one of her more…charming traits.” He turned his attention back to you. “As lovely as this is, I came to ask if you would like to promenade with me in the square.”

Oh, Snow. Why was he so good at backing you into corners? You took a breath and passed the bouquet to the maid so she could put them in a vase. “That would be nothing short of a delight.”

He held out his arm for you to take. You slipped your hand around his bicep, your nails digging in. If he felt any pain, he didn’t show it. Instead, he leaned down so that you could only hear him whisper, “It seems like you fall in line much easier than you would like to believe.”

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 13.5 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter sort of contains mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: curses, anxiety attacks, mentions of jungkook trying to unalive himself during the summer, mentions of therapy, explicit content: implied sex

☆word count: 4k

☆a/n: my baby jungkook realizing he was dumb not to tell OC about gabrielle :((( hope you guys enjoy this one!!

☆series masterpost

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Jungkook has been sitting in his car for thirty minutes, looking at the apartment where his love for you grew and died. 

Though he’s been making progress with his therapist, seeing it feels like maybe he’s drowning, and he hasn’t been able to get out of the car despite the fact that he needs to go to the bathroom. He pulls at his piercings, thinking about you. Are you at home, or are you out and about? He thinks you’re probably working, as Taehyung mentioned in passing that you finish work late on Fridays, yet Jungkook isn’t able to move.

Especially not as every treacherous emotion he has for you comes back to haunt him, squeezing his heart in his chest.

He’s been doing better. He’s been trying to cut himself some slack, and to build a healthy distance between him and his family. Though it’s hard, Lisa has helped, and Jungkook will forever be thankful for her friendship.

For her being there on that July night when he almost ended things.

Jungkook sighs, running a hand through his hair. He knows he has to go in - he’d rather not stay in his car and let the engine run while being parked for any longer. Not that he can’t afford the gas - he just thinks it’s a waste and bad for the environment, so he forces himself to turn off the engine.

It takes him a few more minutes to gather the courage to go in, and he waits until he’s literally starting to sweat his ass off before finally opening the door and stepping out of the car. A warm breeze welcomes him, ruffling his hair, and he shuts the door behind him, locking the car over his shoulder as he walks towards the apartment. 

He stops at the bottom of the stairs, taking a deep breath to calm down the anxiety that’s threatening to overtake him. He reminds himself that it’s just you - no matter the distance between the two of you, you’re the only person that he’s ever felt understood him like you did.

Not even Lisa gets him like you do.

Yet he doesn’t want the ache and the pain again, not when he’s barely made it out this summer. So climbing the stairs takes everything in him, as does opening the door. But then it’s like the apartment is a quiet haven, and he steps in, the cool air a stark relief from the summer heat outside. He shuts the door, cutting off the scream of a cicada in the distance, and then he’s back in the space where you fell in love, remembering every little moment he spent with you without knowing he was about to lose you.

He feels at peace. He doesn’t know why, or how, but he feels at peace for probably the first time this summer.

“Hello!”

The peace threatens to crumble, your voice echoing in Jungkook’s mind as a short silence follows. He holds on to the peace, refuses to let it go, and then you speak again.

“Do you need any help?”

He does. He needs you, again, always, yet he knows it’s over. Knows he has to prepare himself for your presence in his line of vision - you appear a few seconds later, stopping in the doorway to the kitchen.

You’re beautiful. Your hair is longer, your skin sun-kissed, and your cheeks have a slight pink dust to them that reminds him of how much he used to love teasing you, just so that he can see that blush. Your eyes widen, yet they aren’t as pained as they’d been the last time he’d seen you.

Like maybe the time apart has healed you, too.

Jungkook takes in the sight of you, lets his heart try to rise to panic in his chest. But he doesn’t listen to the panic, only breathes in and out until the wave has passed. 

“Y/n,” he says, murmurs, and he hates that he wanted to call you peach, like your real name feels wrong in his mouth somehow.

“Jungkook,” you reply.

Your voice… His memory did not do it justice at all, and the pain comes crashing back, a tsunami that almost makes Jungkook stumble back. But he holds on strong, a rock against the wave.

He nods once, taking off his shoes if only so that you can’t see the pain in his eyes anymore. You don’t move, and he feels your gaze on him the whole time, so much so that, when he straightens, he can’t help but ask, “How are you?”

Your gaze widens a little more, if that’s possible. “I’m okay.” You nod once. “How are you?”

Good. Bad. Horrible. I’ve missed you. I’m so sorry.

All answers he can’t give you, so he settles on, “I’m chill.”

He needs to go. Needs to not be looking at you anymore lest he does something stupid, like run up to you and hold on to you. He’d never let you go, and the sadness that slowly invades your gaze breaks him too much, like suddenly the ending came back to your mind.

Came back to his too, and the guilt chokes his lungs, so much so that he starts walking to his room.

But then he stops, catching sight of something familiar on the kitchen table, and the pain recedes, replaced by the peace that welcomed him home. 

You’re eating Buldak noodles. You, who couldn’t stand heat last semester, are eating the noodles he used to make for you. It warms his chest, reminds him that not everything ended then, and he smiles softly.

“Want something to eat?” you ask.

It hurts. Far more than it should - he doesn’t deserve your kindness. And even though he wants to, even though he wishes he could pick up the pieces of you and him, he forces himself to say, “Thanks, but I gotta unpack.”

And then he walks the rest of the way to his room, his heart rate skyrocketing in his chest - he thinks he might go into cardiac arrest. He turns the knob, pushes the door open, yet he can’t move. He’s frozen there, feeling your eyes on him, wishing he could turn around and tell you that he spent every day this summer wishing he could rewind time and save you both the heartbreak. But he’s a coward, and he can’t say it, so he finishes walking into his room and closes the door behind himself.

He leans against it as panic wins once again, and he slowly slides to the ground, trying to focus on his breathing. On the grounding techniques his therapist taught him, and a few minutes later, he’s able to dampen his panic, his anxiety, until he’s able to breathe normally again.

If that’s how this semester is going to be, he has no clue how he’ll survive.

*****

Jungkook is nervous. He doesn’t know why he suggested to hang out with Lisa while everyone is going to a party at some frat he does not care about.

Actually, he does know why. His therapist suggested that he should try talking to other people, and he hasn’t been able to approach anyone, his feelings for you still as strong as ever, so Lisa it is.

She’s sweet. She’s been there for him through hell this summer, and some part of him feels like he owes her something. So when she asked if that was a date, Jungkook said they could try this one time and see where it goes. Lisa seemed unsure - she’s started talking to Mingyu more, and though they haven’t hung out just the two of them yet, Jungkook thinks it might be coming soon.

So maybe that, more than anything, is the reason why he asked Lisa, and not someone else. Because he knows that, despite the fact that she used to have feelings for him, it’s been morphing into friendship more than anything now, so he doesn’t have to worry about it.

Still, he worries. Still, he’s nervous. Because it’s not you, and though Lisa is a good friend, he doesn’t feel like he can fully be himself when it comes to her. Not like he could be with you, and though his therapist said he shouldn’t compare, he can’t help himself.

No one is ever going to compare to you.

Jungkook breathes in and out, wipes his hands on his pants, and then Lisa is arriving, and he remembers that she’s just a friend. That he has nothing to worry about when it comes to her.

When she asks him if she can kiss him, Jungkook doesn’t find it in him to say no. She kisses him all wrong, yet it’s been months. It’s been months and he should be moving on - you clearly have been. Your absence in the apartment, in his life, is proof of it. So he kisses Lisa back, tries to tell himself that it makes his heart race in his chest like kissing you does.

He hasn’t had sex since you, and it shows. He’s messy, unpracticed, and halfway through he realizes that he wants you. He wants to be with you, wants to hold you. Lisa notices his unease, notices he can’t stay hard, and she cups his cheeks and says, “We can stop, JK.”

He could cry. He could cry as he pulls out, and says, “I’m sorry.”

She smiles gently. “It’s okay, Jungkook. Don’t apologize, I get it.”

She gets up, throws his t-shirt on and Jungkook hates the way that it looks on her - it looked a lot better on you. While she goes to the bathroom, he tries to keep his panic at bay, to remind himself that he did nothing wrong tonight.

That no matter how much he loves you, he has to at least try and move on.

But then the impossible happens. The front door opens, and before you even speak, Jungkook knows it’s you. He hates it - hates that you had to come here tonight, to witness his weakness, and he quickly puts a pair of grey sweatpants on before walking out of his room.

You’re out of breath, yet you’re as beautiful as ever. Even more so, if only because you’re here, in the apartment where you belong, so close to him he could touch you with just a few steps forward.

“Y/n?” Jungkook lets out.

You were bent over, and you straighten, trying to catch your breath. Your eyes are shining with emotion, and Jungkook breaks. He breaks again, always - he doesn’t deserve you looking at him like this right now.

“Jungkook,” you say in between two heaving breaths.

Frowning, Jungkook scans your features. He tries to understand why you’re here tonight, why you’re looking at him like maybe he hung the stars in your night sky. You’re smiling, and he looks at that too, lets it remind him of why he fell in love with you in the first place.

“Shit,” you let out. “Jungkook.”

“Yes?”

You start laughing, and Jungkook is far too confused. It’s like he stepped in an absurd movie, and he’s not in on the joke. Especially not as he knows Lisa is bound to step out of the bathroom eventually.

“She told me,” you say.

He cocks an eyebrow. “What?”

“Gabrielle told me everything.” 

You’re blinking back tears, and Jungkook keeps on shattering. Because now that the truth is out you’re back, and he realizes maybe he should have listened to Gabrielle. Maybe he should have told you, if only for you not to be here tonight.

“Kook?”

It’s the heartbreak in the nickname. Jungkook’s heart stops beating in his chest, and he feels like someone’s banging on his skull, telling him how stupid he is.

“Y/n, I…” he trails off. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

He sees the moment you realize. You look down, see Lisa’s shoes, and you freeze. You fully freeze, and it looks like you’re not even breathing anymore. Lisa chooses this moment to step out of the bathroom, and it takes you a few seconds before glancing at her.

“Oh.”

There is so much pain in that word alone that Jungkook wants to die. He reckons, he should have died that night just so that he could avoid this heartbreak for you. And he hates himself so, so much for inviting Lisa over tonight. For not waiting just a little longer.

What would have happened if Lisa wasn’t here tonight?

“Hey, Y/n,” Lisa says awkwardly, her eyes darting to Jungkook. “I didn’t know you were here.”

For a moment, Jungkook wants to scream at her. To tell her that she should have just stayed in the bathroom, should have just climbed out the window. But he’s mute, unable to form a single syllable.

“I live here,” you reply.

Lisa senses the pain in your voice. She clearly does, because she looks uncomfortable as all hell, like she wants to disappear through the floor. 

“I’m sorry, I…” she trails off. “I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight.”

There’s an awkward silence - Jungkook is convinced he can hear your heart breaking, though that might just be his. Then you say, “No worries.”

You take a deep breath, and Jungkook looks at your profile. Tries to commit you to memory, because he knows you’re going to leave again. He still can’t speak - he wants to beg you to stay, but there’s a lump in his throat and water in his lungs, and all he can do is watch you.

You pat your pockets, tears pooling in your gaze. “I think I forgot my keys at the party.”

When you meet Jungkook’s gaze, he sees a mirror in your eyes. Sees himself breaking, sees you breaking, and he wants it all to stop. He wants to forget the pain, wants to be able to tell you he loves you and that he’s sorry. But he feels like words wouldn’t be enough, not right now, and he remains silent.

Not that he could speak anyway.

“How did you…” Lisa trails off, but she doesn’t finish.

You turn around then, walking back outside and shutting the door carefully behind you. Jungkook just stays there, unable to move, not when he’s breaking all over again. He wants to run after you, but all he can do is take a shuddering breath in, right as a tear rolls down his cheek.

“Shit.”

Lisa crosses the space between the two of them. “Go sit on your bed.”

Jungkook tries to breathe, but his throat constricts, and black dots flash in his vision.

“Fuck.”

“Jungkook, deep breaths,” Lisa says, and she tugs on his hand to pull him to his bed. 

“I can’t…” he trails, trying to breathe, but it’s like he’s breathing pure nitrogen. “I can’t breathe.”

He sits on his bed, and Lisa stands next to him. “What colour is the light?”

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t fucking know - did he truly lose you again? He’s dumb, stupid, foolish. An asshole and everything in between.

He’s a fucking coward.

“Jungkook, what colour is the light?” Lisa says again.

“I don’t know…”

“You do,” she insists, and the firm inflection of her tone makes Jungkook look up at her. “You do, Jungkook, just tell me.”

He glances at the ceiling. “Red.”

Lisa nods encouragingly. “Now, tell me one thing you can touch.”

He frowns, though his hands drop to the cover of his bed. “My bed.”

“Yes.” She glances around. “Something you can smell?”

The frown deepens. “I can’t really smell anything, my nose is blocked.”

She offers him a small smile, and Jungkook looks at it curiously. And then he realizes he can breathe again, and oxygen rushes to his lungs.

“Holy shit,” he curses. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Lisa says. “I got you.”

She sits next to him, and there’s a silence while Jungkook contemplates his throbbing heart. He wonders if you’re aching too - he hopes you don’t have anxiety attacks like he does. Though, to be fair, this is the first he’s had in a few weeks.

He takes a deep breath, and then he glances at Lisa. “What am I supposed to do?”

Though the anxiety has passed, his eyes fill with tears, and Lisa watches him carefully for a few seconds. There’s a flash of hurt in her gaze, but Jungkook thinks he might have imagined it.

“Talk to her,” she says. “Text her that you want to talk to her.”

“She saw you…” Jungkook whispers.

Lisa sighs. “She did.”

“How am I supposed to justify that?”

Lisa doesn’t reply right away, and Jungkook holds her gaze. He sees it - the hurt flashes so bright he can’t say he imagines it, and he gulps.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he apologizes.

“Listen, Jungkook,” Lisa carefully says. “I… I’m happy I’ve been there for you in the last few months. But tonight… I think we both agree it was a mistake. And I wish I could help you still, but I think right now I also need to think about myself.” She looks away, and silver lines her gaze. “I’ve always known we weren’t going to happen. You just took me by surprise by asking to hang out tonight. But I think it’s best if I take my distance from you.”

Guilt - new guilt - crushes Jungkook, and all he can do is nod his head. And he agrees with her anyway.

He wouldn’t be able to hang out with her anymore.

“So I don’t know how you can justify that to Y/n,” she adds. “I really don’t know, but I think you guys need to talk.” She meets Jungkook’s gaze, smiling sadly. “And I really hope things go well for the two of you.”

“Liz…” 

She offers him a single, small nod. “It’s okay, JK. I just want you to be happy.” She chuckles, and then she wipes at her eyes. “I’m sorry I’m telling you this now.”

“No, don’t be,” Jungkook immediately reassures her. “I…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, not really knowing what he was going to say.

“We can still be friends,” she says. “I don’t want to lose your friendship.”

Jungkook nods. “Okay. Yes, of course we can still be friends.”

Lisa smiles again before looking down at herself. “Well, I better get dressed.”

All Jungkook can do is nod again, and he watches as she picks up her clothes and then heads to the bathroom. 

In the meantime, Jungkook grabs his phone and goes to the messages. He finds your conversation, clicks on it, and prepares to type a message.

But he can’t figure out what to say. He just stares at his phone, panic threatening to overcome his senses again, and then he shuts it off, tossing it to the side as Lisa walks out of the bathroom.

Even a little later, when Lisa has left to head home, Jungkook still doesn’t know what to say. So he texts his therapist, asks if they can have an appointment tomorrow, and then he puts some anime on, hoping that it’ll chase the heartbreak from his chest.

It doesn’t, and he falls asleep to the sound of Tanjiro fighting a demon, only to be woken up when Ariane and Taehyung come back home in the middle of the night.

Read chapter 13 here!

☆☆☆☆☆

:((((( i promise the angst is slowly getting resolved! even if it doesn't seem like it rn :')

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate

[coddda]

Light's relationship with his father is such a heartbreaking multi-faceted tragedy to me I hate it so so so much.

Soichiro loves his son so much, and while he's certainly not a perfect father I know that he cares deeply about Light. He wants to prove Light's innocence so badly but he can't let go of the underlying doubt that he might really be Kira and it gnaws at him. He does not know that from the very beginning he was being used by Light, whether it was to obtain information about the investigation, or to get to L, or to strengthen the foundations of his own lie that he wasn't Kira, this entire time he was simply another resource. He'll hang onto this doubt for years, even after L is dead, even if he doesn't express it in the latter half of the series, until he himself is on his deathbed, with what he believes to be undeniable proof that Light isn't Kira. (It's a lie, of course.) He dies happy, but it's on the foundations of blissful ignorance. His own son brought him here, brought him to the point where he had to sacrifice half of his own remaining life span, to his own death march, and was still trying to use him even now to kill someone else, but he doesn't know that. Soichiro said that what was evil was the power to kill others, and that whoever used it was cursed. Light was that cursed man, of course, and he tried to bring that curse onto Soichiro too by making him kill in his last moments. Soichiro was happy regardless, because he didn't know. He'll never know. (In the manga/anime at least. More on that later).

Light loves his father but it's not enough to turn him away from the terrible decisions he's made, if anything it only fuels them. His idea of "justice" is a twisted model of what he parroted from Soichiro, and he uses his father as another pawn (and a powerful one at that) in his plans. If he can prove that Kira is justice then perhaps his father will no longer call Kira, and therefore Light, evil, so he just needs to ensure that Kira becomes justice, right? It's Light's own actions that land his own father in the hospital for a stress-induced heart attack and yet he says only a few minutes later that he's the happiest he's ever been in his entire life. Even after Soichiro denounces Kira by calling him evil, even after he calls the Death Note's power evil, even after he unknowingly tells Light that he is cursed. When Soichiro dies Light is too deep in his own plans to actually properly process the fact that his own father is dying past what it means for his goals, but at the same time he still cares enough that after the fact he'll genuinely cry, only to brush it all away later. (Personally, I don't have a single doubt in my mind that Light's crying in that scene was genuine and I Will die on this hill). Soichiro had unknowingly denounced Light one last time just before his death, openly relieved that he "wasn't Kira after all", which also reveals that he has had doubts about Light this entire time, even after L died. By the time he's caught at the Yellow Box Warehouse Light will have denounced his father too, seeing him as someone who was made to be a fool, someone who was naive, even, too earnest for his own good. He won't realize that part of this description of his father might have applied to Light himself, back when this all started. Light takes after his father so much in so many ways already, so why not in this way too?

Ough. And honestly the other adaptations never miss out on this tragedy either, and I love them for that. (spoilers for the musical and 2006 live action movies I guess?)

In the musical we see Soichiro express his doubts and conflicts about who to believe, Light or L, if the son he raised really is a murderer, if everything he knows about him is just a lie. Like, there's an entire song about this, and you can tell how torn he is about it all, how badly he wants Light to be innocent but about how he also needs to face the truth no matter what it is, but at the end of it all he doesn't even get the answers he wants. At the end of the musical the only thing he finds is two corpses, Light's and L's, with no answers. No last words, no closure, only dead ends and a dead son and a grieving daughter. It's so awful I hate it here.

And the live action movie is fucking Insane. Like, wow. Okay. (Spoiler for the ending of Death Note The Last Name I guess) In the 2006 movies/novels Light writes Soichiro's name in the Death Note himself, and it's such an inconcievable move that it leaves even Misa shocked; Light tries to make Soichiro give him the Death Note for the last part of his plans, seeing his death as a "necessary sacrifice" (insert tangent essay about why I think 2006 live action movie Light is actually the most "coldhearted" Light Yagami, despite how infamous anime Light is). It doesn't work, and Soichiro does end up finding out that Light is Kira this time, and they have a confrontation, but he doesn't even sound truly hateful towards Light for it. He Never seems to outright hate Light for it, even after Light calls the whole confrontation a waste of time and instead tries to continue killing with the piece of the notebook in his watch, even after he tries to get Ryuk to kill everyone. When Ryuk inevitably writes Light's name and he collapses, Soichiro still reaches out for him and holds onto him as he's dying. Light literally dies in Soichiro's arms, still looking for the validation that he was right, that this wasn't all for nothing, that he was doing the good thing, trying to make Soichiro understand that he was trying to enact justice based on what he learned from him in the first place. Soichiro not only learns but sees for himself what his son has become, and Light dies in his arms leaving no closure for either of them. Soichiro will announce Light's death in L Change the WorLd on the news without saying his name, saying instead that it is only Kira who is dead, even though he and Light are one in the same. Sachiko and Sayu will never get to know the full truth about what happened to Light, instead Soichiro will lie and instead tell them: "Light was killed by Kira."

And then holy Shit the jdrama. If I write about it here this post is gonna literally double in length and also I don't really wanna spoil it but. Man. Man. If you watched it you know. Holy Shit dude I Cried.

It's the fact that, canonically, Soichiro will die oblivious to what Light has done, but even in the instances where he does find out, it doesn't make it any better, and it doesn't make him love Light any less, it just gives him more to grieve.

It's the fact that there isn't a single universe where Light doesn't use his father for his own gain, whether to gain information, or to try and control him with the Death Note, or make him write in the Death Note himself, and not a single time will he realize just how far he's strayed from Soichiro's ideals, and not a single time will he not forsake him for it by the end of the story.

It's the fact that, despite everything, Light will always refers to Soichiro as "dad/my dad" (informal) rather than "father/my father", even after he has been "denounced" (and this is true in every language that Death Note has been translated in, as far as I could find. Man, isn't that so cool! :) <- Through tears).

Anyways that's what I've been thinking of how's your guys' days going

[notjustjavierpena]

His

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: This has been on hiatus since July. I have finally decided to finish up another chapter. I have no idea where this is going but I am just going with it at this point. They’re fun! Enjoy part 4 of mean!joel ❤️💖

Summary: After Joel kisses you, something shifts. You find out a hard truth and take matters into your own hands.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, a mishmash of feelings, dubcon-ish themes, a hint of sub!joel (?!!!!?!!??) but he is not happy about it, a hint of edging, handjobs, degradation, humiliation, riding, unprotected piv, slapping, dirty talk, empty threats

Word count: 3.6k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48179338/chapters/135617983

His

Something shifts after Joel kisses you and leaves. Especially because he did it in a way that made it seem like he was bolting out of a burning building, leaving you inside for the walls to come tumbling down around you. You hardly blame him for reacting like he did that night; he is the most emotionally unavailable man you have ever had the (dis)pleasure of meeting, and you doubt that he even has the vocabulary to put words to why he fled your bed like it was the scene of a crime. It isn’t like you’re going to ask him though, not even despite being curious about his reasoning and intentions. 

For you, it is not a mystery what the shift is. The arrangement between the two of you used to be anticipation, fury, and lust. Now it’s a gentle tug at your heartstrings when you catch a glimpse of him in the streets and he doesn’t look your way, knowing you should not want him in the way you do. 

How you want him is harder to pinpoint. It’s not wedding bells, it’s not children padding around on the wooden floor of your home, it’s not doing laundry for him and watching him do the dishes after sharing a meal. It’s something less complicated than love. You don’t want him to love you, but you wouldn’t mind being his only and his favorite. 

Though irony would have it that it turns out you are indeed not his only source of whatever fucked up thing the two of you exchange once in a while. 

During a short break from a late-night meeting of your patrol group (Joel had decided last week to switch to another), one of the newcomers to Jackson snickers girlishly as she tells the rest of you about how Joel Miller had made her come four times last weekend. It makes something uncomfortable swirl in your stomach, makes it drop as you feel foolish about thinking you were special. Additionally, it takes all the willpower in you to not blurt out that he had made you come seven times during one of the nights you’d spent together.

To your surprise, It isn’t that he has slept with someone else that hits you. It’s the little piece of information that your new patrol member lets slip with a giggle. 

“Such a gentleman,” she says, basking in the attention of the circle of women standing around her. Their collective sigh makes you wonder what they’d say if you let them know that Joel forced you to suck him off the first time you were together. A part of you suspect that she is lying as she continues, “They don’t make ‘em like that anymore, girls. He was just so attentive and sweet.” 

After the meeting, you feel like you’re about to suffocate if you don’t leave the building quickly. The tightening in your chest makes your heart feel caged, desperate to come out into the open and bleed all over the place from making its way past your ribs. Desperately, you push past anyone who does not jump out of your way immediately. 

Once outside, you find a quiet spot behind the community center where people only come to be alone. You rest your forehead against the side of the building, breathing deeply in through your nose and exhaling shakily as you suppress the tears that threaten to roll down your face. 

“Fuck,” you say bitterly as a droplet still manages to escape from the corner of your eye. You wipe it away with a quick swipe of your hand as if to hide the evidence from the world and yourself, “Fuckfuckfuck. What the fuck are you crying over him about?”

However, the single tear seems to have opened the floodgates because you find yourself properly crying a few seconds later. It is ridiculous, you know this, but you cannot help the shaky breaths that leave your mouth as your cheeks stain with tears. 

Joel is not anything special. Joel is rude and arrogant, bordering on narcissistic and psychotic. You’re not even sure if he can smile, if he’s funny, or if he’s capable of not ruining things when touching them. He sure has ruined you, ruined both your nights and days because they’re spent wondering about him. 

Then again, surely he must know this because he looks at you from across the room the way he does. He must know what he is doing to you, and it makes you fucking furious because how did he ever think that he had the right to pursue you? Make you want him? And, to top all of it off, how does he think he has the right to not appreciate you? 

Rage slowly builds in your chest. Your heartbeat is threatening to make you pass out with how fast it is going, but you ground yourself by taking a few deep breaths that eventually stop your tears as well. 

I’ll fucking show him, you think, and it’s the white-hot fury in you that is talking.

You stalk across the streets of Jackson, earning a few concerned glances but no warning words. It’s a relief that you look angry enough for people not to bother you, because you wouldn’t be able to articulate your reasons for wanting to implode with how furious you are. 

Your legs take you all the way to Joel’s house. You stomp angrily up the porch’s stairs, but it’s only when you burst Joel’s front door open that you realize that you actually haven’t been in his home before. It’s also only then that you realize that you have no idea what you’re going to do now that you are here, too angry and out of your damn mind to explore the many pictures on the walls, the wooden carved figures on the shelves and… is that a guitar? 

You mentally shake yourself.

“Focus on the task at hand,” you say quietly with exasperation, and then the search for your betrayer begins.

You walk through the house with determination, but you soon realize that he is nowhere to be found downstairs. It doesn’t surprise you that he hasn’t locked his door (nobody in Jackson does), but you still feel disappointed that you can’t make a big dramatic scene of throwing a plate in the kitchen or a cushion in the living room. You feel slightly like a rage-filled balloon that’s slowly losing air. 

So you decide to go upstairs whilst still clinging to your rage, planning on waiting in his bedroom for his return but realizing that Joel is already in and sleeping in his bed. It’s late enough, you suppose, and you know he has a series of hard labor tasks on certain days.

You try your hardest not to feel too intoxicated by the smell of him on the sheets, need your head clear as you slowly start to undress right in front of his sleeping form. He looks so peaceful and so unlike his usual stoic self, and so vulnerable that the opportunity is too great to miss. 

You freeze the times he stirs slightly but he never wakes up, and soon, you are down to your underpants and nothing more and you are so wet with the anticipation of both sex and power in the room, even more with Joel being so unaware of it.

The bed creaks as you crawl onto it. You manage to straddle Joel before he wakes up fully, immediately lifting his arms to grab you and defend himself but when he realizes it’s your body on top of his, he falters.

“What’re ya doin’ here?” His voice is filled with sleep but he is nowhere near panic as you had hoped. 

You lean down over him and grab at his chin with the hand that’s not holding you up. You smile down at him but Joel is already staring down at your chest as you hover above him. You shake his head slightly, “Eyes up here, you bastard.”

“Shouldn’t look so pretty then,” he retorts. 

“Heard you were screwing around with that new bimbo. I thought you liked a challenge,” you tighten the grip on Joel’s jaw, push him back into the mattress, and catch the way he is connecting the dots in his head but the time it takes him makes you realize that there has been more than her. You growl, still hovering over him, and leaning down to ghost your lips over his whilst your eyes roam over his face, “It’s a damn fucking privilege to be breathing the same air as me.” 

“Cute,” he says quietly and brattishly. 

You push down briefly before letting go. Your eyes look down at his lips but you don’t kiss him like you want to, don’t want to give in when it would seem so vulnerable to give in to that temptation. 

Instead, you reach up to hold your palm in front of his mouth. You smile innocently, “Lick it.”

“What?” He chuckles in disbelief.

“Go on. Do as I say.”

Joel lets out his tongue and wets his lips. He gives in faster than you have anticipated, licks a long stripe from the start of your wrist to the middle of your palm, and coats your hand in disgusting, hot, and dirty saliva. 

“Did she do that?” You ask. You feel behind yourself to slide a hand down into Joel’s jeans and then past the waistband of his underwear, “Put you in your place because she knows how disgusting you are?” 

Joel is already half-hard as you take him in your slicked palm, and his cock comes alive fully not a moment later. He gasps into the bedroom but still looks cocky as ever, “Which of ‘em?”

“Fuck you,” you stroke him slowly and his breaths come out in small puffs that hardly make him seem calm and composed. You realize how much you’ve needed, craved, to put your hands on him. 

“That can be arranged,” he says, trying to catch a glimpse of what you are doing to him. He starts to move, makes an effort to flip you around but you catch him before he can follow through. You tighten your grip around his cock, squeezing him around the base until he gasps softly. 

“No one but me,” you say, “Okay?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, sweetheart, what is this?” He rolls his eyes and moans when you stroke him once and then twice. 

“Are you going to behave?” You ask with a harsh grip again. You let your lips touch briefly now. 

“What?” Joel looks slightly disgusted. 

“I asked,” you begin and now you start to stroke him properly, mimicking what you have seen him do to himself when he has wanted to come on your face, “Are you going to behave, Joel?”

“No,” he teases. 

“Don’t make me ask once more, baby,” you move your hand up and down quickly, almost forcing him to near orgasm before you squeeze around the base to edge him. He hisses, neck blushing with how his heartbeat must be on overdrive. 

“Fuck,” he groans, throbbing in your hand, and with his snark, you almost just want to spend hours tracing the vein along his length with your fingertip, “Whaddaya want? You want me to be your little boyfriend or somethin’? Don’t be dumb, it don’t suit ya.”

“Listen,” you say, scooting back slightly and leaving a stain of your slick on the bottom of his t-shirt, “I’ll stick your big cock in me right now and let you come in me if you say I’m your only girl. You’ll never need another pussy than this.” 

He says your name as you straighten on top of him again but you let him know it doesn’t mean anything to you. Your free hand reaches to pull your panties to the side, and then you hold his cock in place as you slide down onto it and let it stretch you by bottoming out inside of you. You try your best to look motionless but he has a girth that stings.

“Say it,” you demand, slightly out of breath at the feeling of sitting on his thighs now. 

Joel is silent. He stares up at you, looking as if he has won because he is already inside of you but when you don’t hear an answer, you start lifting yourself off of him again. Joel grabs your hips in protest, holds you down, “No.”

“Then say it,” you reply, “Now.”

“You’re my girl,” he moans helplessly as you reward him with a roll of your hips. You make a noise as well, something closer to a tiny cry for him but you aren’t going to give in just like that.

“The only?” You inquire when you regain your composure. 

“My only girl, even if she’s a fuckin’ pain in the ass,” he groans. You flex your thighs to grip him around the middle and then you squeeze his length, letting your walls clamp down and it sends his eyes rolling backward. He bucks up his hips and you moan. 

However, you still have more to say and do. You don’t move yet, “I don’t believe you.”

Joel rolls his eyes, his grip on your hips tightening but he still doesn’t force you to ride him, “Jesus Christ, what the fuck now?”

“I think you’re a liar,” you inform him, trying to ignore how much every instinct in your body is telling you to use his dick for yourself. You squeeze around him again, “I think you’ll say anything to get pussy.”

“No one’s got a pussy like yours, sweetheart. You think I don’t know that?” He bares his teeth like an aggressive, cornered dog and he groans at the feeling of your soft, wet walls, “You’re like fuckin’ cocaine. Need more each time or I’ll never recover.”

“Don’t go finishing in me, Joel,” you scold. 

“I ain’t gonna,” he bites back, “I do have some self-control.”

“With the way you’ve been whoring around?” You tut, experimentally rocking your hips forward to feel him slip almost all the way out of your cunt. You move back to let him bury himself deep once more and whine, “Riiight.”

“Watch it, we’re only doin’ this because I allow it. I could break ya spine like a fuckin’ toothpick,” he breathes, hands going up along your thighs until he lets them glide up your back as if he is going to make truth of his threat, “Don’t forget who has the upper hand here.”

You relish in his rough hands on your lower back and finally start up a pace to ride him properly, not caring about how your thighs start to burn as you seek out pleasure. It’s a fun contrast to what Joel has just told you because his eyes glaze over in a way that shows you that he wouldn’t even know how to snap you in half if he wanted to. 

His breath has quickened, each intake and exhale becoming airy, whilst he holds your soft sides in his calloused grip. You rest your palms on top of his forearms, undulating your hips until his eyes roll back. He seems like he might lose his mind this time around, so submissive in his own way now that what you are doing to him has hit him by surprise. 

He shamelessly groans your name. Its roughness spurs you on, making you lean forward a little further to give him more. You ride him as if your life depends on it until something burns delicious in your belly and his pelvic bone grinds into your clit. 

Your first proper moan leaves you, high and squeaky. The angle has you baring your teeth, your breathing shaking, from how his cockhead stabs at your front wall repeatedly. You start spitting filth to not sound pathetic even further, “Fuck, Joel, your big cock is enough to make a girl lose her sanity. Makes my eyes wanna roll back.”

But Joel says nothing as he seems pissed off by what you have made of him. Instead, he breathes hard through his nose and occasionally lets a moan fall from his mouth. It pisses you off too. He had such a smart mouth just moments ago, and now he has resorted to being spiteful. 

You make a rash decision then. You move steadily on his cock, rhythm not faltering once, whilst reaching down to his face with your dominant hand. You smack his cheek hard enough to make a point and a noise, eyes narrowed, “Snap out of your ego tripping.”

Joel responds not with words but by curling his hand around your wrist and yanking it away, and then he takes hold of your smaller body once again and starts snapping his hips upwards, crashing them into yours until you nearly topple off of him after crying out. He tightens his hands on your body whilst you hold his forearm with one hand and have the other firmly planted on his chest, and suddenly you are working together towards a crescendo. 

“Give it to me!” You yell with your eyes screwed shut from the pressure against your clit and g-spot. Joel is swearing and his chest is glistening with sweat but he gives in to your command, making you bounce in his lap until he throws his head back and yells with you. 

“Fuck, honey,” he grits out, “Gonna make me come inside ya tight pussy.”

“Oh, it talks?” You quip, trying to hold back a pathetic string of cries but to no avail. Joel smooths his hands up to cup your body just below your breasts, digging his thumbs into your rib cage. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he retorts. 

“I’m gonna come,” you say instead and furrow your brow. 

“Yeah?” He mocks but then his face goes slack and you feel him twitch inside of you, impossibly close to the edge too, “Fuuuck, I can feel ya. Choke my cock real good, Doll.”

You come hard, unable to catch your breath as you keep moving back and forth on his length. Your whole pussy pulses, tight walls gripping him even further. The fingers holding onto his forearm make little indents and your nails on the other hand scratch into his chest until red lines form. And you cry. Oh, you cry and cry for him whilst singing his name.

The clenching of your cunt around his dick makes him reach his own point of no return a moment after. He does a sharp intake of breath and when he exhales even sharper, a groan follows, and his cock releases come inside of you. 

You use your last bit of energy to ride him through it. Your delirious mind, hazy with pleasure, makes your mouth run as you slowly drag your hips to match each twitch of his length, “See? She can’t love you like I do. Is that really what you want, Joel?” 

Joel pants underneath you. He tenses up when he hears those words but instead of pulling away, he grabs the back of your neck and pulls you down, “What the fuck did you just say?”

Your eyes widen slightly at the realization. In your chest, your pulse beats rapidly, “Just ‘cause I said it, doesn’t mean that I meant it.”

Joel tightens his grip briefly but then lets go. He sighs, then reaches up to rub his forehead in frustration, “I don’t have the strength.” 

“What’s so bad about it?” You ask, figuring that you might as well jump into the conversation now that you’ve been stupid enough to start it. 

“Don’t,” he warns, letting out a noise as he moves to pull out of you. Your panties move back into place, causing you to shiver.

“Please,” you know it is weak of you.

Joel says your name, mimicking the tone of a parent who is tired of hearing their child pestering them about something. He finds your eyes but doesn’t say anything else. 

“Just let me try something,” you continue and earn a raised brow. He stops trying to move. You swallow thickly but decide to be brave. 

Carefully, you curl your fingers into Joel’s chest hair and reach for his cheek with your other hand. You close the distance between the two of you, finding his mouth with your own and kissing him with a lot less vigor compared to what you have just done.

Underneath your palm on Joel’s chest, you can feel him exhale in something resembling relief. He doesn’t fight the kiss, no, instead he moves his arms and holds your waist. He kisses you back with closed eyes and soft hands, and you try not to ruin it by becoming eager. 

A few moments pass. When you finally pull away, he looks like a deer in the headlights of a car but you talk before he can, “Go to sleep. It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything; I can see you’re exhausted.”

You move off of him to lie down at his side instead. Besides you, Joel closes his eyes without hesitation as if he needs to escape any conversation but when his breathing slows down further and you realize that he is drifting off, he looks mostly like a tamed beast. 

Ever so gently, you run a hand over his hair. He shifts only a little bit, so you do it again and suddenly you’re stroking the salt and pepper curls repeatedly.

To think that he had been ready to fight if someone touched him just half an hour ago. You continue for a few minutes before leaving the bed, heading for his bathroom to get cleaned up, and when you return again, he doesn’t react this time either.

The next day, you’re back in the same patrol group. 

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[morverenmaybewrites]

The Pizza Delivery Girl's Survival Guide to Gotham City Update

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Newest chapter

AO3 Link

Summary:

People who lived outside of Gotham City would most often think of it in terms of its heroes and villains. About Batman and Robin, Joker and Harley Quinn.

People who actually live in Gotham City would only think of one thing: surviving.

Who cares about the people in costumes when your house has been bombed for the fifth time, or your wife has been taken hostage just because she worked in a bank?

Or, in your case, when you have to make regular deliveries to places where even Batman feared to tread?

Because let's face it. In a world full of superheroes and costumed villains, the real heroes are the ones who make sure that people get their pizzas in forty-five minutes or less.

Chapter Preview:

You paused on the bridge that hung high above the Burrow, and for the first time in your life, you felt a terror was so great that it made your throat close.

Gotham City had never looked so beautiful. From such a height, the burning neon lights looked like stars. 

But above your head, the sky looked pitch black. It made you think of the bodies that would sometimes wash up on Gotham Bay’s shores, black and bloated with rot. It made you think of  the shadows of inmates in the asylum, their voices like the skittering of insects, rising and falling as you passed them by.

It made you think of the night Timothy Young died, and you wondered that if, back then, there had been light enough that he saw the shadow of a monster fall over him. 

You wondered if he had time to understand what was happening, before he started against the concrete below. And then decided decided that it didn’t matter: you would understand If Francine Langstrom came for you, you would know. 

You would understand what was happening to you before you hit the ground. 

Your skull splitting open, the pink-grey ropes of your brain scattering on the concrete. And the thousand pictures that follow. Your death turned into a spectacle and a profit.

Just like Tim Young’s.

The thought made you freeze. You were standing in front of one of the many wooden bridges that connected the rooftops of abandoned buildings. The Burrow’s infamous floating night market. Set up by dusk and torn down by dawn, only to rise up again the next night, the floating night market was one of the Burrow’s main attractions. A bustling collection of kiosks made out of cheap plywood and tarpaulin, it was said that you could find anything there, so long as you didn’t ask too many questions: cheap phones, likely stolen from someone off the street, fake licenses, a sample of Bane’s Venom for impatient bodybuilders. It was set high up in the air, amidst the rooftops of many abandoned buildings, connected by a series of rickety wooden bridges.

But now the rooftops were empty. The bridges were falling apart, its wooden planks dangling precariously from their ropes. The empty kiosks had been left to rot in the constant rain. You could even see some of the abandoned merchandise, left behind  in people’s haste to pack up: an old, broken phone, children’s toys hanging forlornly on strings, obviously meant to be prizes in a game, now swelling with rainwater. Mold grew on their cotton bodies like new fur. 

Timothy Young’s death had transformed the Burrows’ floating night market into a ghost town. The thought made you feel a little lonely, picking through the bones of a dead market, looking to find a monster. 

Francine, The voice in your head sounded like Professor Langstrom’s. Her name is Francine Langstrom. 

The buzz of static cut through your thoughts as cleanly as a falling blade. And then Jason’s voice was in your ear.

“Last chance to back out of this.” 

His voice was rough, even taking into account the poor connection and the voice modulators he used. Maybe he was scared, too. The thought eased you somewhat, to know that you were not alone. 

Even through the poor connection, you could hear the strain in his voice. You cast a glance at the direction where he was supposed to be, tried to look for even a hint of him: the faint glow of his helmet, the hulking figure of his silhouette. But you found no sign of him. Still, knowing that he was there made you feel better. 

You raised a hand and hoped that he would not see the way your fingers trembled.  

And waved. 

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[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch. 11]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Words: 4.3k

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

You are folding laundry when Minnie gets up and starts waddling towards you, dragging Scooby behind her. You tell yourself you cannot be jealous of a stuffed animal, but Pig was what you gave her in the hospital, and you want him to be the favorite. But Scooby is really soft, so you'll admit defeat.

She comes up to your bed and climbs up. She crawls to the middle, then sits, laying Scooby beside her, “Hi, Mommy.”

You smile down at her, curious what type of visit this will be, “Hi, sweetie.”

She grabs one of her shirts from the pile of clothes and begins to try and fold it, making you huff in laughter. You let her help because she is making it into a square and that's all you really need. She purses her lips and you wait for whatever question you know is coming.

“Where is your Mommy?”

That slams into you in a way you do not expect and you have to clear your throat before answering, “Mommy’s…mommy and um…daddy, your grandparents, aren't alive anymore. They died a long time ago.”

Minnie takes this in, lips still pursed. She grabs another shirt and starts to fold it carefully. You wonder where this is coming from - you knew it would come eventually but you are curious about the trigger. But you aren't going to push. You want her to be able to come to you with these and any questions.

After about a minute, she gets up and crawls to you, reaching out to be held. You quickly scoop her up.

“Did my Daddy die, too?” 

Oh, this is it then. You've practiced this speech in your head a million times, you just didn't think it would be so soon.

You turn so you can sit on the bed and set your daughter on your lap, tucking some hair behind her ear as you speak, “No, he didn't die. I just lost him for a little while.”

Minnie screws up her nose and you don't know if it's from confusion or from judgment, “you lost him?”

You nod, offering her a soft sad smile, “I lost him. You know how sometimes, when we go to the park, you meet other kids and spend all day playing together, but then you don't see them again for a long time?” She nods and you continue on, “You just lost them for a bit. They aren't gone - you just don't know where they are and eventually, they will find their way back to you. That is what happened to your Daddy and I. We were at the same place and became friends, but then we lost each other.”

Mouse puts her fist into her mouth, and you know she's thinking hard. You hope she understands. You've read so many different forums and articles on the subject and just want to tell your daughter the truth in a way she computes. 

Finally, she looks up at you, dragging her fingers out of her mouth and letting them fall into her lap, “did you find him?” 

Your lips twitch into a smile and you nod. Her eyes get wider, and she practically begins to vibrate with excitement. You begin to gently rub her back, wanting her to feel all of your love, “I did. I found your Daddy. Do you want to know who it is?”

“Mister Matt?” Her voice is so hopeful that your heart swells to the point you can feel it in your throat. 

You nod, your cheeks beginning to hurt from your smiling, “Mister Matt.”

She throws her arms around your neck and squeezes you so tightly that for a moment you can't breathe. You hug her back, rocking her in your arms. You never expected to have this conversation like this - you've not really had discussions about family with her yet, but you suppose that doesn't matter now. Your daughter knows the truth and you can feel her smiling against your neck. Tears of joy are gathering in the corners of your eyes, and you fight to keep them from escaping. 

You don't know how long you stay there, holding and rocking Mouse, but eventually she pulls back to look you in the face, “does Mister Matt wanna be my Daddy?”

You cup her face and bring her close to start peppering kisses all over, “Yes, yes, he does. He wants to be your Daddy very much. Do you want him to be your Daddy?”

She nods enthusiastically, “I want him to be my Daddy! Please thank you!”

You pull her into a tight hug again and she dissolves into giggles. You don't know if she fully understands but you know this is the first step in her getting it, and you want it to be a good moment. You kiss her forehead, then decide this is a good opportunity to practice talking about feelings.

“How does Mister Matt being your Daddy make you feel?”

She stays nestled against you. You let her think and after a few moments, she whispers, like it's a secret between the two of you, “it makes me happy.”

“It makes you happy?” You confirm. 

She nods, before adding, “He has a happy heart. We make him happy. He makes you happy.”

You take in her observation and realize it's true. You find yourself smiling more when you are around Matt - mostly from watching him and Minnie interact. They are the sweetest pair. And you don't need Minnie or Matt's hearing to know how happy Matt is to be around Minnie. His entire being screams it. 

“He does make me happy,” you agree. “And it makes me happy he is your Daddy. And hey, Mouse. Look at me?” She pulls back and looks at you with wide eyes and you make sure you hold eye contact, “Our next Big Girl Talk will be about how things will change now that you have a Daddy, okay?” She nods eagerly, a serious look coming across her face. Telling her in advance about what you will be talking about helps with her comprehending it is a serious topic. 

You take a moment to look her over, noting in all the ways she looks like her father before leaning in to kiss her cheek again. “I love you, Mouse.”

“I love you, too, Mommy,” she replies, all smiles and sunshine. She mimics you by placing a sloppy kiss on your cheek with a big ‘mwah’ added for good measure, then she hugs herself to you again. You wrap her up in your arms, content to just hold her. It doesn't last long - she's still a wiggly toddler and she eventually wiggles away from you. She crawls back onto the bed, grabbing Scooby before dramatically flopping over.

“Can we has pizza for lunch?” 

You guess life changing news time is over now and you are back to your regularly scheduled day. You hum at her question, thinking pizza sounds perfect for lunch. “Do you want to make it or do you want to go by Tiny’s?”

“Make it!” 

You laugh and your wallet thanks your daughter's desire to make things from scratch. Luckily for you, you already have pre-made pizza dough. You just have to add toppings and bake it. 

“Okay, we can make pizza for lunch,” you tell Minnie, and she responds by making Scooby cheer, pushing his arms up into the air and waving them around. You smile at her excitement; glad everything is going so well. You know this would not be as easy if Minnie didn't absolutely adore Matt. You can't imagine how things would have gone if she started asking these questions months ago. 

You pull yourself away from your thoughts to focus back on folding laundry. Mouse rolls back up into sitting and snatches up something from the pile to help you. It takes her a full thirty seconds before she dives into make pretend and you both work as she narrates your adventures of tidying up before the big princess ball.

-----

You check in with Matt to make sure you are disrupting anything before you and Mouse start towards his office. Your sweet little girl wanted to bring her new Daddy lunch and Matt had not said no to the offer of homemade pizza. You hadn't hinted that the truth had been revealed to Minnie - you kind of want it to be a surprise for him and you want to be able to see his reaction in person. 

Your daughter is undeniably excited. She's swinging her arms as you walk, and every other step is a bounce. You are trying your hardest to not laugh at her antics and she has picked up on that and it has become a game. When you pause at the crosswalk, you look down and she sticks her tongue out at you. When you return the gesture, she gasps, then squeals with joy. You wrinkle up your nose at her, pulling a funny face to keep up the positive energy. 

She bunny hops across the street and keeps at it until you are in front of the building holding Nelson, Murdock, and Page. She seems to recognize she's been here before, pausing to look up at the building before hurrying up the stairs. You follow her inside and she keeps a hold of your hand as you go up to the right floor. 

This time, you let her knock on the door - you don't want to walk in on anything awkward again - and a moment later, it swings open to reveal Karen. Mouse practically teleports behind you, obviously not expecting someone other than Matt to answer. The blonde smiles warmly at you, a twinkle in her eye.

“Pizza delivery?” you say, hoping it will lighten the mood and Minnie will be less afraid of the woman in front of her. 

Karen steps aside with a laugh and you usher Mouse inside, “I heard it was homemade.”

You flush over the idea of Matt talking about you to his friends, but you had offered to bring his law partners lunch as well. “Uh, yes. It's just cheese, nothing fancy,” you tell her, hoping to not get her hopes up over it being fantastic pizza. Cooking for yourself and a toddler is far different from cooking for adults, and you are suddenly very aware of how high their expectations may be.

“No one in their right mind complains about pizza, let alone homemade pizza,” a voice says from your left and you turn to see Foggy and Matt in the conference room, both sitting at the table and gathering up remnants of their work. 

“Your cooking is amazing, don't sell yourself short,” Matt adds, his smile causing your heart to pound in your chest. The praise makes you a little dizzy and you tell yourself to stop acting like a school girl - he's probably just being polite. 

“He lorded that lasa-”

Foggy’s joking is cut off by the sudden pitter-patter of feet and the absolute toddler screech of, “DADDY!” 

Minnie is halfway to Matt before you even realize she's left your side. You hurry after her, Karen right behind you, and you make it in time to see Mouse crash right into Matt's legs. He looks completely dumbfounded - eyes wide behind his red lenses and lips parted in surprise - and your daughter uses his shocked state to scale him. She throws her arms around his neck and hugs him as tight as her little body will allow.

Matt returns the hug with just as much force once he realizes what's going on, burying his face into her hair. His shoulders start to shake, and you can just barely hear him confirm for her, “Yeah, baby. I'm your Daddy. I'm your Daddy.”

You can't help but let the tears fall this time, covering your mouth so you don't disturb the sweet moment. Movement in the corner of your eyes lets you know Karen is also covering her mouth and crying. You are pretty sure Mouse is the only one not crying. 

Your little one can only stand being crushed for so long and she pulls away from Matt but stays standing on his lap. She places her hands on his cheeks and you don't know if she's trying to keep balance or mimicking a gesture you frequently do with her. 

You can see Matt's tears from across the room and your heart twists. How long has he wanted this? How long have you wanted this? You want to hold them both and never let go - just so you can keep this feeling of overwhelming love forever.

Minnie breaks the symphony of sniffles, declaring, “Mommy said she lost you.”

Matt gives a wet laugh, his smile so bright and full of adoration for his daughter, “she did? She won't lose me again. I promise. I'm not going anywhere.”

You have to keep yourself from sobbing at his words. Too many emotions stir at his promise, and you have to remind yourself he's talking to Minnie and not you. As much as you want to hear the words yourself, to have someone say they'll never leave you - you know it isn't in the cards for you. You wrap your arms around yourself and watch Minnie search Matt's face.

She pats his cheeks with both hands, telling her father in a serious tone, “you have to stay close. Or Mommy will put you on a leash.”

It takes a moment for you to realize she's referring to her tethered backpack, but the damage is already done.

“You don't want her to put you on a leash, do you Matt?” Foggy asks, not missing a beat and not at all sounding like a crying mess despite being one.

Karen lets out a scandalized “Foggy!” while you bury your face into your hands, wishing the floor would swallow you up.

Matt doesn't even get to respond to the tease - Minnie whips her head around and her eyes get wide as she seems to realize other people are in the room. You can see the wheels turning in her mind before she crashes herself back into Matt's arms with a giggle, “Froggy!”

Matt doesn't seem to mind being used as a jungle gym and wraps himself around Minnie to hold her close. He kisses the top of her head and chokes out, “Yeah, that's Foggy, and that over there is Karen. Do you remember - I told you about them?” Your little one hides her face against his neck with a nod. You see her jaw move as she mumbles something to Matt, but you are too far away to hear but whatever it is, Matt gives a pleased laugh, “Yeah, his hair is too short to braid.”

Foggy scoffs at this reveal, “That is nonsense. My hair is long enough to braid!” He looks at you and Karen for confirmation, “Is my hair long enough to braid?”

“I mean,” Karen says, wiping away her tears with a smile, “They'd be pretty small. It would certainly be a fashion choice.”

“It's longer than Matt's hair,” he argues, a pout forming on his lips - but you can tell it's playful. 

Minnie peeks away from the crook of her father's neck to peer at Foggy. She eyes him before declaring, “Too short!”

“Looks like you've been overruled, Fog,” Matt says, resting his cheek against the top of Minnie’s head, happy to let her hide against him. He's stopped crying, but his voice is still a little wet. “You’ll have to go with another style.”

“Liberty spikes?” Your mouth offers before your brain catches up. 

Foggy and Karen both look at you and you fear they think you are insane. The familiar pounding starts in your chest and your mouth feels dry, but before panic can see in, Foggy shakes his head, throwing his arms up as he speaks.

“Do you know how much product those need? It's like a can of Got2B per day and I promised myself ‘never again’.” 

“When did you have liberty spikes?” Karen asks. She moves to sit at the table with Matt and Foggy and you quickly follow, not wanting to be the only one standing.

“High school was a weird and wonderful time,” is the reply and you try to picture this sweet friendly lawyer with a punk aesthetic. It doesn't really work, but the image makes you smile. 

“Daddy can do puffs,” Minnie mumbles across the table to Foggy and you are proud of her for being so brave, “and Mommy…. Mommy makes Moon Buns. She can make you extra pretty.”

Foggy grins at you, waggling his eyebrows, “Well, if she can make me extra pretty…”

Karen swats at Foggy's arm, “how about you keep your hair as it is - we don't need Marci coming after us.”

“Please, she appreciates my daring sense of fashion,” he scoffs.

Matt hums, then stage whispers to Minnie, “Mouse, can you tell Daddy what Foggy is wearing?”

Minnie turns slowly to look at the man in question. Her fist goes up to her mouth and she leans heavily into Matt as she examines him. The blonde man stands up and takes a few steps back, so his outfit is on full view. He even does a slow spin.

“He looks like Barbar,” she decides, and you snort with laughter because you one hundred percent see it. He's in a gray three-piece suit but his tie is a dark green. 

“I…I don't know who that is,” Foggy says, a somewhat panicked look on his face. He turns to you, “What does that mean? Is that a good thing or have I just been roasted by a toddler?”

“The elephant?” Matt questions, brows knitting together behind his glasses. You wonder if he read the books when he was a kid, before he lost his eyesight, or if he's been doing his research.

“He wears a three-piece suit,” you clarify, letting yourself start to relax as conversation flows. “He's very fancy.”

“Aren't those books banned?” Karen asks. She doesn't sound judgmental - just like she's clarifying the reference. 

You shrug and smile towards your daughter, “they made a new show a few years ago.” 

“I still don't know if this is a good thing.”

“You look…handsomes,” Minnie mumbles before turning back to tuck herself under Matt's chin. You read her body language easily - she isn't scared or upset at the interaction. She's just shy. You can see her hidden little smile.

“Oh, you are so his kid,” Foggy whispers, “That was smooth.”

You feel your cheeks heat up and you look down at your lap. Matt certainly is smooth. It is like he can't help himself, as far as you have seen. He's just naturally charming - and your daughter is sweet as can be. You are a lot more clumsy.

The man beside you chuckles and out of the corner of your eye you see him rub Minnie’s arms. With a slight cockiness in his voice, he asks, “Mouse, can you tell Daddy what Foggy had for breakfast?”

You can feel the shift in the air - Karen's interest in your daughter's assessment is practically vibrating off her.

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth, your anxiety spiking at the question. You trust Matt, but you don't know these people. You've only just learned what your daughter can do and already it is being shared.

But, you have no doubts about your daughter’s ability to answer the question. Matt had spent his entire day off playing ‘what's that smell?’ and ‘what's that sound?’ with Mouse and she just wanted to show off for him. Plus, she just likes to answer questions.

Still, she stays against his chest and for a moment you are worried she might just be too shy to answer, but then she starts to whisper.

“Froggy ate a banana. And coffees.”

Matt nuzzles into her hair with a smile, looking proud as can be, “Anything else?”

Your little one sways back and forth, clearly thinking over the question. Her little fist stays against her mouth as she adds, “Cookies.”

She gets a little chuckle from her father, and he kisses her hair before explaining, “That's close. When there are cookies and banana smells for breakfast, that usually means a banana muffin.” He tilts his head towards his best friend, “Right, Fog?”

Foggy nods as he sits down, pulling a face as he does, “Right, a banana nut muffin and coffee. I'm so glad there are two of you to know that now. You are going to give me a complex.”

You can see Minnie screw up her face in thought, then she turns around in Matt's arms to properly look at Foggy again. 

“Froggies can't have people food,” she advises. “Froggies eat bugs.”

“I'm not…my name is Foggy, not Froggy. I'm a people.”

You wonder how many times this will happen and decide that while the back and forth happens, you should start setting up lunch. From your purse, you start to pull out the tupperware containing pizza.

“Froggy.”

“Foggy. Fog-gy. Not Froggy. Buddy, help me out here.”

“This is out of my control,” Matt hums. He looks like he is having the time of his life and his smile is infectious. You look up to see Foggy looking at you, silently pleading, but you can tell it's all an act. If it was actually bothering him, you would correct Minnie. 

Instead, you simply add, “Ribbit ribbit.” 

There's a dramatic groan of “but I don't even like flies!”

“Froggy! Frog!” is Mouse’s adamant response. You are grateful Matt's friends want to engage with your daughter instead of just ignoring her. You know he thinks of them as his family, and you want a good relationship with them.

“I don't know, I think I like Froggy. It's better than Franklin,” Karen says with amusement in her eye. She leans forward and asks Minnie, “Did you bring a bug pizza for him?”

Minnie shakes her head, eyes going big at the idea of a bug pizza. 

“Okay, if I am a frog, what is she?” Foggy asks, accepting his fate as he points at Karen. 

All eyes turn to her, and the blonde woman straightens up and smiles brightly at your daughter. 

“A princess,” Minnie decides after a brief examination, “of Froggyland. Princess of Froggyland.” 

Karen absolutely grins at the assessment while the newly assigned amphibian looks scandalized. “The Princess of Froggyland? She rules over me? I reject the monarchy - I'm staging a rebellion.”

“Long live the Queen,” Matt teases and both you and Minnie laugh. 

“Excuse you, I'm a princess, not a queen. Yet.”

“Who rules over Froggyland?” You ask Minnie as you pass out the pizza. You get a chorus of ‘thank you’s as your daughter considers her options.

“Jimmy Cricket,” is the final decree. 

“A bug rules over Froggyland?”

“I mean, the physical embodiment of a good conscience would be a good king, right?” Matt theorizes. 

“All kings are unethical,” counters his law partner and Karen must sense a debate coming, as she puts her foot down.

“No politics while eating.”

“I didn't start this, your highness,” Foggy playfully bickers. As they start going back and forth again, you look over to the pair beside you.

Matt helps Minnie sit down in his lap and once she is secure, he goes to open his pizza. He's ducked his head so he can whisper to her as he does - you can see his lips moving but once again, you can't hear the words. You wonder if it is about the food, but part of you honestly doesn't care what it is. You are just happy that all of this is happening. 

You are happy your daughter knows the truth about who her father is and that she seems excited over it. You are happy you get to see them bond and you are happy to see Minnie be so social. You can already see the hints that this dramatic life change is going to be good for her, and that doesn't even include the new information you learned about her senses.

You scoot your chair a little closer to Matt's, preparing to bring Minnie over to your lap so he can eat. Before you can reach for her, Matt places his hand on your knee. You try to not turn into a blushing mess as he starts to rub little circles with his thumb - this isn't what you intended to happen and it's far too embarrassing to push his hand away.

Not that you want to push it away. The touch is awkward on your end, but only because you are so unused to being touched. It isn't unwanted. In fact, it's a little comforting, even though it is sending all sorts of mixed signals to your brain, heart, and cunt. You try to ignore the latter - those thoughts have no place in this moment. 

At least that is what you tell yourself until Matt turns his head towards you and gives you the softest smile. Your brain, heart, and cunt all clench before doing all sorts of flips inside of you. He mouths ‘thank you’ to you and the only thing you can think to do is wrap your hand around his and squeeze. He turns his palm up and laces your fingers together and it does nothing to soothe your pounding heart, but you don't think you mind. 

You squeeze his hand again and your entire being explodes with love when Minnie realizes Matt is looking at you and turns her head to beam up at you.

“Love you, Mommy.”

“Love you, too, baby.”

She tilts her head back so she can see Matt and in the softest voice says, “Love you, Daddy.”

You're pretty sure Matt starts crying again as he responds, “I love you, too, Minnie. I love you so so much.”

tags:

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@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt  @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium 

@

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[casdeans-pie]

If I could pitch season 16 of Supernatural:

Dean wakes up and it turns out that everything from 15x18 was an Empty Nightmare because he actually grabbed Cas just before he got taken, so got pulled in too.

Sam and Jack have been trying to get them both out for 5 years.

Jack still got the God Powers but he's whimsical with them and retains his personality. He wants to try and preserve human free will. But also helps in small ways where he can. (and still pops into the bunker for a bowl of cereal from time to time)

Sam is the 'new Bobby' in the MOL bunker - sending out hunters and knowing all the lore about all the monsters. (Also he practices witchcraft on the side)

No blurry wife - Sam and Eileen are engaged - and no Dean Jr. But! they are considering having a kid soon. And! They can get married now that Dean and Cas are back!

Dean and Cas heartfelt reunion!!! Clinging hug!!!! Never let me go again!!!! We're not talking about the confession but we both want to!!!!! etc etc

Cas is still an angel and Jack offers to make him an archangel !! Cas feels like he should say yes out of obligation (even if he doesn't want to leave) but Dean actually FINALLY asks him. to stay? (Cas immediately declines Jack's offer)

Dean struggles with the memories of his Empty Nightmare. (It was just SO bad. But also he tries to describe Old Man Sam and his bad hair and that cheers him up.)

The original Death is back because he never really died, he just didn't want to be involved in all the Winchester shenanigans. But he's back now that all the world-ending chaos is over. (Tessa is also back as his second-in-command)

Billie is the new ruler over the Empty, and it's a place of eternal rest now. Very peaceful. Meg is there and she's having a great time relaxing.

Crowley comes back as a human for a second chance. He's still kind of an ass but he's lovable with it.

Lots of reunions and cameos. It's magic you can bring all sorts of characters back to life - a lot of them died unfairly in the first place. Bring them all back!

Dean! and! Cas! Kiss!

I want all the genres of kiss. Confused. Desperate. Relieved. Passionate. Tender.

The season is all very character focused and character driven and ties up any loose ends the show had left.

The drama comes from internal character struggles and with Dean and Cas figuring out where they fit into this 5 years on world now. (The answer is together doing whatever they want to and Dean comes to the realisation he wants to retire, but he struggles with reconciling that he wants to retire and Sam doesn't and they have to go on different paths now).

The series ends with the big Sam/Eileen wedding and it's just a huge party and gathering of all the cameos you can possibly think of. Friends, family, frenemies, some beloved characters who only appeared in one episode... they're all there.

Dean proposes to Cas by taking the loop from Baby's keys out of his pocket and getting down on one knee and using it like a ring stand-in (it's way too big but it's symbolic and cheesy and sweet and it doesn't matter)

Of course he says yes.

The end.

[silkscream]

CHAPTER 3: TOO SOFT TO CHEW

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

There’s a nasty thought in the back of his mind that festers every time he thinks about how much his skin longs to be in contact with yours. That someday, this fact will come back to bite him in the ass, that maybe he’s letting his guard down too much.

But that’s a problem for another day.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: smut (18+ mdni), bratty satoru, big angst, angry sex, oral sex (m receiving)

ੈ✩ wc: 3.3k

ੈ✩ a/n: i kind of hate how short this chapter is but it's a primer for the hell that breaks loose in later chapters. hope yall are enjoying kiss kiss kiss

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

September, 2008

The way Satoru wants you makes your head spin. Your encounters are irregular and almost always in secret. Satoru likes to show you different spots around town, secret havens where he doesn’t have to worry about getting interrupted. This is what he tells you – he doesn’t want to waste a minute with you. You believe him.

It gets unnerving when he begins to take you while you’re both in school. Sometimes in a single-stall bathroom, once in a supply closet. Every time, he makes you cum, and after you’re both spent, you walk back to class together without a word. He doesn’t touch you otherwise.

It contrasts the clingy Satoru that you get at home. He’s touchy, annoyingly so, as if he can’t stand to not be tethered to you for more than two minutes. He is infinitely suffocating and you are too infatuated to care.

When he’s entangled with you in his bed, you ask him a question that guts him.

“Do you think staying like this is a good idea?”

“What do you mean?” Satoru mumbles sleepily. “You wanna get out of bed?”

“No, I mean, this,” you make a vague gesture, “I just… figure that when we go off to different colleges it’ll be harder. To, um, hang out.”

“Huh? What college are you going to?”

You know he doesn’t mean it rudely, like the thought of you investing in higher education was something implausible. You think that maybe he hadn’t thought that far into the future when it came to the two of you together. It makes you ache regardless.

You tell him about the university you got into that was able to give you a scholarship. He looks at you like you have three heads.

“Don’t you want to go to Jujutsu Tech with me?” he asks. 

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you have a technique.”

There’s an awkward silence between you. The air shifts. He pulls you a bit closer, has his hand cupping your jaw. 

“Satoru– I’m not going to be a sorcerer–”

“Why not?” he yawns. “You could get in, easily. Especially if I have anything to do with it. And Shoko could teach you a thing or two—”

“Who said I wanted to become a sorcerer?” you blurt.

Satoru looks at you in disbelief with a hint of betrayal behind his eyes. As if what you say is preposterous, unheard of. Because where would you be if not by his side?

He argues with you about this. It makes your blood warm. The thought of having to follow him around. Forever stuck in his shadow. He was already blessed by heavenly bodies, Six Eyes and all. You were nothing.

You could never compare to the inherent invincibility of his cursed technique. No one truly could. Knowing how late your technique manifested makes you feel even more inferior. With your status in the world, a maid’s daughter, there was no point in becoming a pawn in the Jujutsu world. How would you make a career? How could you ever be strong enough to save anyone? And if you died, you’d only leave behind your mother. 

The wedge between you deepens after that. You realize how far away you are from Satoru on paper despite him aching for your touch, close enough to you right now as his breath licks your face.

There’s no resolution. It snowballs into something worse. This looming threat is above your heads now, a slap of reality about how different the two of you are. You realize it would be convenient for Satoru if the thing between the two of you ended. It wouldn’t matter to him – he had everything. He always would. You only had your heart and your dignity. 

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Satoru sighs against your temple. “We’ll figure it out. I really do think you should come to Jujutsu Tech.”

He shuts you up with his mouth, with his hands circling your thighs like he always does, the way you always let him.

November, 2008

You’re getting better at your technique. You think you could do just fine if Satoru wasn’t constantly breathing down your neck about it. Especially when he does stupid things to challenge your ability – absentmindedly burning himself on a lighter when he hits a joint, sucking in bruises into your skin that turn dark purple. You’re able to heal it all, but he knows you’re capable of more.

“C’mon. Hit me again.”

“You won’t even let me hit you!”

“Maybe you aren’t trying hard enough. I even let my Infinity down for you.”

Truthfully, Satoru lets his Infinity down for you all the time. It’s as easy as breathing to be around you, and he knows you don’t have the capacity to harm him. There’s a nasty thought in the back of his mind that festers every time he thinks about how much his skin longs to be in contact with yours. That someday, this fact will come back to bite him in the ass, that maybe he’s letting his guard down too much.

But that’s a problem for another day.

You groan in frustration. Satoru’s had you in his backyard for at least two hours, attempting basic combat with cursed energy. Despite claiming that he wants to train you to at least be able to fend for yourself, you think he just enjoys playing with you like a dog. 

“Why are we even doing this?” you complain.

“Even if you don’t end up a big-shot sorcerer, I feel like you should still be able to exorcise a curse,” he shrugs. You’re winded and Satoru looks more than fine. Even after all the athletics, he doesn’t have a hair out of place or a wrinkle in his T-shirt. 

“But my technique is for healing.”

“You have incredible cursed energy output, though,” Satoru says. “It’s why I could never believe you were just a Window.”

The flicker of Satoru’s cursed energy brightens, you notice. You blink and see a dark figure emerge from the side of the house. One with fox-like eyes and a warm smile.

“Satoru! What have you done to our girl?” Suguru bellows. He holds a bag of daifuku in hand, giving you one without asking before Satoru grabs the package greedily. 

“You know I like roughing her up,” Satoru shrugs. “She’s a big girl, she needs to be able to scare away creepy men, y’know?”

“Like who, you? You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not here, dumbass,” you chastise. 

“You could never get rid of me, Twigs.” He grins despite the cheekful of mochi. You and Suguru share a look of distaste. 

Satoru agrees to a snack break, if only to eat most of the daifuku while you make tea for the three of you. Suguru helps you prepare and clean up. It surprises you.

“Thank you, Geto-san.”

He tells you to call him by his first name and you try to convince yourself it’s nothing.

For some reason, Satoru is more rambunctious than usual. He almost always is whenever Suguru is around as if he’s waiting impatiently for something to happen. Waspish. Suguru often calls him a little brat. It’s nothing you could ever say to him, not in a way that has the same meaning. He’s the only one who can tame the beast. Satoru sees Suguru as his other half. Where one goes, the other follows. 

In the grass, they are an ouroboros of limbs as they brawl. Milky flesh flushed pink, gruff grunts and giggles. You imagine yourself between the two boys. You wonder about the taste of Suguru’s skin. If Satoru knows. You wouldn’t be surprised if he did. 

You watch them in awe. Two godlings entwined. 

It’s not enough to want to be in between them — and you know better, because you will never be them. 

“Tap out, Sugu,” Satoru whines. “I’m bored. Let’s train Twigs again.”

“She clearly doesn’t want to,” Suguru remarks, pushing Satoru off like a pest. He wipes the sweat off his forehead with his shirt, exposing his abdomen underneath. You feel like you should look away. “You like sitting in the audience, right, princess?”

Satoru grins at your reaction to princess. You hope the idea of calling you that himself doesn’t get into his head. 

“C’mon, Suguru. Throw her one of your curses. Maybe something without too many legs. She hates those.”

“Absolutely not,” you interject, crossing your arms.

“Okay, then heal me,” Suguru chuckles. He shows you a scratch on his forearm. “This motherfucker fights like a cat.”

“Acts like one, too,” you grumble. “A very annoying one that always wants attention.”

You heal him within seconds and he’s good as new. He holds your hand after, just for a moment. When you blink towards Satoru’s direction, he drops it. 

“You staying for dinner?” Satoru asks. He doesn’t look at you. He isn’t asking you. His gaze is on Suguru instead. 

“Nah, I promised Shoko I’d help her get decorations for the party on Friday,” Suguru answers. He turns to you. “You’re coming, right?”

“Uh—”

“To Shoko’s birthday party. I thought she invited you.”

“I wouldn’t know,” you shrug. Satoru is quiet, pretending to be distracted by his phone. “Satoru?”

“Oh, huh?” He looks up, feigning oblivion. “Yeah. You should come.” 

Maybe he’d forgotten to tell you about it. You swear he has some form of ADHD from how scatterbrained he is. 

Then again, you think about all the time you spend with Satoru. You’re always alone with him, with Suguru as an occasional buffer when he wants to be. The thought of Satoru’s arm around you at a party excites you. Would he hold your hand? Would he introduce you to other people?

“It’ll be, uh, here,” he mutters. “At nine.”

Oh.

“The theme is Scorpio, so wear something hot and dark,” Suguru winks. 

“A sexy little number with a bunch of legs and a stinger, too,” Satoru quips.

satoru: skip next period with me

satoru: wanna kiss u

One thing you’ve known about Satoru since he was a child is that he is annoying when he doesn’t get attention. 

You keep to yourself during the school day, not bothering to see him for lunch in the courtyard like you do every other day. You ignore his texts. You don’t look at him in class.

It’s the same behavior towards him from the last semester. But that was before he started fucking you. When he sears his gaze into your head during class and you don’t even bother to look up, he feels fucking insane. Of course, he won’t rest until he corners you.

He finds you later under a tree, cradled by roots. You look so peaceful that he almost feels bad about interrupting you, but he’s been bereft of your attention all day.

“You done giving me the silent treatment yet?” His voice booms above you. He tilts his head at you coyly. Hands shoved in his front pockets. 

You squint up at him from your position, startled by his arrival. You’re attempting to read your book in the grass, which isn’t half-dead yet. You don’t say anything as he sits besides you and fiddles with a clementine in his large hands. He peels the skin and feeds you a slice. 

“Wow,” Satoru scoffs, only mildly affronted. “So you’ll take my snacks but not text me back.”

“You offered,” you shrug. 

You let him kiss your neck, feather-soft as he pushes your hair to your back. You stay still and continue to read, despite his distractions. You try to blame the shiver down your spine on the cool gust of wind that passes and not Satoru’s tongue on your skin. He’s obnoxious when he indulges, especially when it comes to you.

“Are you mad at me?” he whines in your ear. Teeth on your earlobe.

“No.”

“Yes, you are,” he grins. “That’s why you’ve been ignoring me all day. What is it, baby? Wanna sit on my face about it?”

You roll your eyes, even though heat flashes in your center at his vulgar words. Satoru never took you seriously, even when you were kids. It seemed that he wasn’t going to start even now that you’re intimate together.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the party?” you ask. 

He looks at you and raises a brow, casually slipping another clementine slice into his mouth. He shrugs.

“Slipped my mind, I guess.”

“You’re hosting it, Satoru. You didn’t think to tell me?”

“I’m sorry. I just assumed you’d be there anyway since it’s at my house. It didn’t occur to me that you needed a formal invitation.”

It’s ironic. Because of all people, you would understand what it’s like to be separate from others, and he knew that. You never belonged anywhere, therefore you could never assume you were welcome. You were only at the Gojo residence because his family allowed you to be. You’re around Satoru all the time because he lets you. 

While Satoru has had his fair share of teenage hedonism, with Suguru and Shoko, you were never a part of it despite your proximity to his family. He always prefers you alone.

It stings. You wonder if he knows or if he’s just careless. You assume Satoru has never had to care about anyone other than himself, anyway. 

Unfortunately, he’s good at soothing your wounds.

You try to resist him, but it ends with you wrestling him to the ground when he tries to touch your thigh. His arms are pinned above his head and he groans when you grind against him. Already, he’s half-hard.

“Look at you,” Satoru whistles. “Brave girl.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me. You know how.”

You glare at him. You know that he’s taunting you to get what he wants. You also know that trying to resist him makes his dick even harder. 

He squirms in your grasp for a second, chuckling as you struggle with him. He can overpower you, easily. He’s arrogant enough to, but he’s enjoying your irritability at the moment. 

His laugh makes you tick, makes you claw at the front of his slacks and unzip them to palm his hard cock. You slide down his briefs to swirl your tongue along his slit, tasting salt.

“Jesus,” Satoru moans, surprised.

You’ve barely started, but it’s easy for you to work your hand up and down his shaft because of how wet he already is. It would fill your chest with pride if you weren’t so pissed off with him. 

You choke on his length when he bucks his hips up. He mumbles an apology when he feels your hand grip his hip. His grunts spur you on, as do his praises, the growl of his words arousing you. Satoru tries to grab a fistful of your hair but you swat him away.

“Fuck,” he groans. “I can’t believe – shit – you’re sucking me off in public. What’s gotten into you?”

“You talk too much,” you mutter, sliding him out of your mouth and replacing it with your hands. You feel him twitch in your palms. He’s writhing – a young god underneath you. For once, you feel a little powerful.

“You little slut,” he hisses. “Fucked you so many times that I’ve completely defiled you.”

“God, I might just sit on your face to get you to shut the fuck up.”

He moans at that. He could flip you over and fuck you senseless with how strong he is, but he doesn’t care to. When your mouth latches onto his cock again, he doesn’t care about anything except your tongue.

When you squeeze the base of him tightly, Satoru fucking whines.

“Fuck, fuck– I’m so close. Wait, stop–”

He pulls at your hair but you continue, sloppily lapping at him with your hot tongue, making him shudder. 

“Baby, wanna be inside you–”

Too damn bad.

You can tell how close he is because of his inability to speak. Instead, it’s heavy breaths, chest rising and falling as he grips your hair harder than before. The sound of his groans makes your cunt ache. 

“Oh, fuck–”

And then you let go of him. 

He stares at you in disbelief. Something surges inside him – a flame. It isn’t exactly anger. Perhaps something more devious. He really wants to ruin you now. 

Your mouth is red and raw. You blink at Satoru, half-expecting him to lash out. In his own way, he does, with his tongue down your throat and his hand around your neck. There’s a flash around you. When you open your eyes, you’re in his bed. 

You whine when he tugs your blouse down roughly, his teeth biting into your shoulder hard. Canines breaking skin. You’re all red for him, flushed and dripping. 

“Satoru!”

“Payback,” he mutters, before pushing you onto your side. His cock is still hard. It throbs against you as he slides it in between your thighs. He can feel you through your panties, how wet you are for him.

“I’m not mad at you for edging me,” he murmurs into your ear. He grips your hair like before, forcing your neck to stretch, all exposed for him. “Did you know I used to dream about you sucking me off outside like that? On school grounds?”

“You’re such a fucking pervert,” you rasp.

“Me?” he laughs. It feels unkind. “You’re the one who was gagging on my cock after ignoring me all day. How is that any sort of punishment?”

“Because I didn’t let you cum.” You grit your teeth.

“So mean,” he taunts. You squeal when he reaches underneath your skirt and presses a finger onto your sensitive clit, pinching. “I’ll make you cum. Might not let you stop cumming.”

He slides your panties to the side and fucks you with your back to his chest. Satoru intends to keep his promise, but he can’t exactly do that when he’s so fucking close. Your edging him had him riled up, a fever with aching limbs.

He splits you open like this. Deeper than usual, curiously, despite this being a recurrent position of yours. Satoru thinks about you ass up and face down, whining into the mattress. For now, he likes spooning you. It’s lazy and rough at the same time.

He holds out like he means to – makes you cum on his cock twice before he spills himself onto the backs of your thighs. You don’t let him kiss you once during it, your last form of protest. He settles himself by biting at your neck like a wolf taking a lamb. He eats your cunt for a while, too, licking up your sweetness down to the last drop until you’re begging him to stop.

When you both lay there in silence, Satoru thinks it’s odd how quiet you are. He thought that he fucked the attitude out of you by now, but when he turns his head to meet yours, you’re staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks.

He means the sex, so you shake your head. You aren’t sure what to make of the gaping cavern inside of your chest after it, though—still feeling separate from him despite being intertwined. 

“You could do anything you wanted to me and I think I’d let you.”

He’s quiet. He hates that hearing it turns him on because this isn’t pillow talk. He isn’t sure what it is.

“You like that, don’t you?” you ask softly. You turn to face him now, your eyes dim. 

He does. He wants to possess you, hold you in the palm of his hand so no one else can. So no one else will. But he doesn’t answer you, only swallows the lump in his throat.

“I like you,” Satoru breathes. He wants to keep you. He’s selfish like that.

“I like you, too, Satoru,” you say. 

You sound almost dejected. He doesn’t pry.