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fantasylandloser · 4 months

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Winner

Pairing: Coach!Tashi x fem!Reader x Coach!Art

Warnings: 18+, smut, too filled with shame to proofread, dom!tashi, sub!art, sub!reader, mentions of spanking, tashi is so mean in this, art is basically a prop with minimal lines, idk

*******

Training with Tashi Duncan and her husband was an honor. You knew that. You did your very best to remember that; which was hard to do when she had days like this.

“Are you scared of the fucking ball?” You shake your head, but you know better than that at this point.

“Speak up!” You flinch before you can stop yourself.

“No, I'm not scared of the ball.” You say.

“I would hope not- considering how long you’ve been doing this. That’d surely be a disappointment to your little fan club that you love so much. “ Tashi watched the way your eyebrows tinge only for a moment, at the mention of the onlookers who follow your career closely.

It was no secret that you had a great appreciation for the love that they’d shown you, but it was almost like you were completely unaware of how quickly it would be gone if you weren’t up to par at all times.

From afar Art watched the scene play out. You were the player that Tashi was the hardest on. He was sure it was to do with the fact that you were just like her. Well except for the fact that you lacked confidence in your abilities. Another reason she was hard on you. She wouldn’t see your potential wasted. But you worked hard like her, tennis was the love of your life like her.

He watched as Tashi served to you, intense and laser focused. Then you, playing back with the same intensity and just as passionate. It’s almost magical to watch until you hesitate and miss the ball.

Tashi’s on your ass before the ball can even hit the ground. “What’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you in it?”

You stammer a reply that Art can’t hear. Probably an apology. His feet are moving closer before he can even think of a reason why.

“No, tell me. What’s got you so off your game lately? Because you’re not going to fucking embarrass me at your next matches because you can’t get your head out your ass.”

“Tash lighten up.” He’s ignored which is to be expected. She stares at you intensely awaiting your answer.

“How am I supposed to lighten up when she’s playing like she never held a racket before, huh?” Again she sees the twitch in your eyebrows. Good, you’re angry.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know-” Tashi holds up her hand. She doesn’t want your apology.

“You know what- if you don’t want to tell me what the problem is,” She grabs your phone which has been continuously lighting up since you started. “I’m sure this will.’

You draw in a breath of air in surprise but you make no move to stop her. Your eyes wide at the invasion, but still ever so respectful even when your privacy is being violated.

Almost immediately her eyebrows sprout up. “I thought we agreed on no boyfriends for this reason?” she shakes her head continuing to scroll through your phone as if it were hers. Art draws closer to her in interest, now intrigued about your phone as well,

“He’s not my boyfriend.” You’re embarrassed, your grip on your racket tightening as you get angry at the way she’s shaming you.

“Obviously.” She mutters. She pauses a moment, both her and Art sharing a look and you know they’ve gotten to the most mortifying part.

“Well if something would shake someone’s confidence it would be that.” You cringe, finally going to take your phone back only to be pushed back by Tashi.

“What did we talk about when it came to how you let people talk to you off the court and how it affects your game on the court?” You barely refrain from rolling your eyes.

“I can’t control what other people say” You can’t stop the edge in your voice.

“But you can control what you say. You didn’t even try to stand up for yourself. This-” She shoves the phone at you with a picture of you half naked with the word unfuckable, in the center of the screen. “Is pathetic. “ You look away when she starts scrolling more like you don’t already know the rest of the verbal assault that had been issued towards you, and then a video of your so-called boyfriend with your next opponent and the lewd graphics that came with it.

“What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?” You don’t mean for your response to be so angry. Or for the hot tears that started burning your eyes to fall. But the frustrations of your day had started to take a toll on you. So when you finally snatch your phone back from Tashi and get ready to storm off you miss the pleased look on her face. Art doesn’t though, he almost shakes his head knowing it was her intention to rile you up in the first place.

She raises an eyebrow at him, and just as she expects him to, he wraps his arm around you and pulls you close. The perfect good cop. “It’s okay, kid.” You’re tense in his arms, it reminds him of the times he’s tried to comfort Tashi and she wouldn’t allow it, but after a few moments of him rubbing your back you finally relax. .

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” You start, but Tashi interrupts.

“Apologize for standing up for yourself and I’ll make you run until you pass out.” You wipe your eyes roughly and nod. Stepping away from Art’s hug and trying your best to put your game face back on.

“You got that out of your system now?” You nod again, but after a pointed gaze you speak.

“Yes.”

“Good now let’s talk about how you respond to this kind of bad sportsmanship.”

******

The outfit Tashi has you in, is just barely appropriate, You look focused, despite the whistles you’ve received on your way in. You look a little angry actually.

Art glances at Tashi beside him, who looks all too pleased. “What’d you do?”

“I didn’t have to do anything.” She’s almost bragging. He follows her line of sight to Tashi’s opponent and sees her and your not boyfriend smirking at you.

He wants to ask Tashi if she thinks this will shake your confidence more, but then he looks back at you laser focused as you stretch and he decides not to question it.

The match starts off intense with your serve. Your opponent looks surprised and even though she quickly recovers. Art can tell that this will be a win for you even though he knows Tashi despises that kind of over confident thinking.

As the match continues Tashi is gripping her seat for support. So enthralled in the game and invested in the fearlessness you’re displaying she can barely contain herself.

At one point during a break you’re caught trash talking your opponent. Tashi is sure to get you for it later. Even though the only thing she hears clearly is “enjoy my sloppy seconds” with a saccharine smile on your face. The deduction you receive is definitely worth it.

When you win as expected. Tashi is nearly buzzing and Art can’t hold back his excitement either.

****

“See this is what happens when you’re a winner.” Tashi tells you. She quite literally holding Art’s balls as he fucks into you.

“Winners are fuckable, tell her Art.” He gasps, feeling her squeeze him.

“Fuck-” He breathes. “Did so good.” You spasm around him at the praise, pulling a loud groan from him. “Knew you were gonna win, kid.”

Your whines and whimpers are muffled by Tashi’s hand. “Fuck her faster, she’s gonna come.” Art obeys immediately despite the fact that he is much too close himself. Your eyes roll back at the change of pace.

“There you go.” She squeezes Art’s balls once you start cumming so that he can too. He tries to pull himself out of you before but he can’t and leaves a sticky mess all over your cunt. “Fuck”

Tashi mounts you before you can stop twitching, lining her pussy up with yours, holding your leg over her shoulder. “Now next time I tell you to do something,, you’ll listen to me.” She starts slowly, spreading the mixture of both you and Art’s orgasm on both of you.

“Isn’t that right?” You nodding makes her speed up, giving you that look of disapproval.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, yes, yes I’ll listen to you.”

“Yeah I know you will, because now you know what good girls get.” She continues to grind against you skilfully.

“And next time you don’t listen to me-” You feel your core tense up again. “I will spank you until you cry.” Just like that you’re gone again. The masochistic side of you envisioning the picture that will haunt your fantasies until you get it.

You don’t realize the loud moan you hear is you, until Art is kissing you sloppily to silence your cries. ‘You like that don’t you?” You hear Tashi say. You want to tell her yes but you can’t with Art’s tongue down your throat. You think she knows the answer anyway.

The contrast between the way that Tashi is fucking you so vigorously and the slow kisses Art is giving you puts your head in a spin. On top of that your overstimulated clit is making it hard for you to think at all.

“Coach please-” You beg. “My pussy can’t;” You’re cut off immediately.

“Who knows what's best for you? Me or you?”

“You!” By this time tears are flowing down your face, as you feel another orgasm building all too quickly. Art wipes them, then moves his hands down to pinch your nipples.

“Exactly. Now cum.”

#challengers #tashi duncan #tashi donaldson #art donaldson #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader #tashi x art #tashi x reader #tashi x art x reader #tashi duncan smut #fantasylandloserfic

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cryptfile · 2 months

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⋆౨ৎ˚ ࣪ over the moon [ benedict bridgerton x wife!reader ]

summary — based on a request but went slightly off with it aka when your husband starts to stay up painting till late you start plotting a good plan to make him go to bed with you and actually rest instead.

warnings — pure fluff, since the rumors of sophie being latina sparked, personally went crazy with the information so it’s implied that reader is latina also, mentions of sex (nothing explicit,,, implied as part of a establish relationship).

side notes — English is not my first language, so if you find any mistakes i’m sorry in advance. this is for my latin girlies out here reading in tumblr, working extra hard to translate your works to bring new content to the page, tkm <3 reblogs, comments and likes are much appreciated,,,as brittany broski once said: i'm a benedict bridgerton believer, i'm a benedict bridgerton ally.

You really didn’t know what you were getting into when you accepted Benedict’s marriage proposal.

Nobody told you that loving an artist is a tricky thing, cause while you’re always giving Ben’s new ideas, you hate him at the same time when he’s at the art studio until late, painting as if the absence of light it’s not enough to separate him from the canvas.

God, it just drives you crazy. He lacks of a schedule so he’s able to keep on painting till the rays of light start to appear again in the window he leaves opened all night long, and you’re afraid he’s going to catch a cold if he continues with his bad habits.

It suddenly hits him, that inspiration he ends up being the victim of, kissing you quickly as he escapes so fast you aren’t able to say anything when he disappears leaving you alone, you tolerate it at first, but the second? The third? He's just testing your patience at this point.

Your marriage has never been a troubled one, your husband does not make you mad most of the time and you enjoy being in love, those little things that made your heart skip a beat. You enjoy talking to him at night, spend your day in his art room as he encourages you to keep on writing that mystery book you're so into lately, bickering about how unfair life is for women your age — Hell, woman of all ages.

You love the sound of his laugh when he's careless about everything else, when he admits he doesn't want to go that night's party cause he just wants to stay home and fuck you senseless, his way of seeing art and explain it to you as something totally opposite as what you really think it is.

Thing is, you choose to marry Benedict Bridgerton cause you're indeed, head over heels with him. You've fall for the charming smile and sassy attitude that made you finally settle after years of being called a spinster. He finds the way to intrude the walls of the maze that was your heart and managed to plant a flag in the middle of it when you're confident enough to talk to him, let alone be seen in public after all the rumors you've heard that he was looking for a wife that season.

Even when you try to avoid him, he makes you fall in no time, following you around like a lost puppy, going to your house to spend time with your family, convincing everyone he's desperate to try the food your nana makes, cause you've talked about how good it taste all the time.

It's almost like he tricked you into make you love him, to have you between the brushes dipped in a funny smell water. He has you hooked by the first months and soon after? God, he has no education when he makes you love him, how he obliges you to stain yourself with all the things he was his daily life mixed with yours functioning so well.

It's a thorn nailed in the palm of your hand, those moments of privacy when the moon evolves you and your lover completely that are now being taken away. It's selfish, surely it's something childish so you don't want to say anything to your friends, or even Daphne Basset when she visits you to have an afternoon of tea free from her kids, asking you about how everything's going days before you came up with this great idea.

You can take the matter by your hands, that's why the next time Benedict's painting at midnight your mind works like a machine.

After all the time together you happen to know him more than you know yourself, the things he enjoys what he dislikes the most — So it's not very hard to plot against your husband.

Benedict doesn't seem to hear you when you silently glide through the half-open door, unaware as the light of the candle lights is not enough to illuminate the whole room, the fire he kept close to the canvas he was currently working on. He looks handsome all concentrated. His brows furrowed as he takes the pigments with his bare hands and mix them in his wood palette to get that exact color he was looking for. A shade of pink for a piece he hasn't shown you officially yet.

"What are you doing up so late?" you ask coyly when you are close to him, hearing how his breath hitched for a second before noticing it's you, your hands coming from behind just to intrude in his space close to the easel. He's taller than you, but it doesn't stop you from standing in your tiptoes, pressing your cheek against the crook of his neck as you hugged him.

You cannot hide that you're tired. You lost the track of time when you got out of bed, so when you have your husband close and finally smell that nice and subtle aroma he carries with him, you relax in his back, the sound of his heartbeat loud against your ear.

"You scared me for a second," he says with a grin, muscles relaxing under your touch. "Didn't hear you coming in."

He has dry paint on his neck, so while you're cleaning his skin with one hand, he leans into you, back pressed against your chest seeking for your warmth, that contact he always seems to enjoy, your attention in all the ways he can get it.

“Bed’s cold without you” you say, fingers on his recently trimmed hair. "Done waiting for'you."

He has the nerve to laugh at your words, slowly at first, the sound of it making your skin shiver. He's going to defend his choices, you know it, and you hate how much you enjoy it, the way he always seems to find an excuse making you totally offended as you retort something equally ridiculous.

"Just thirty more minutes I promise," he says pressing a kiss in the palm of your hand he so gently grabs. "If you stay with me like this, can do the work in twenty."

"You can fool anyone else with that Ben, not buying it" to be honest, you're just trying to contradict everything he says, far from what you thought doing first when you plotted against him. "You said the same last week, amor. Not falling for any more lies."

"Not falling huh?" he asks, lowering the wood palette to look at you, his eyes meeting yours when you're so comfortable pressing your chin on his shoulder, looking at the painting he was doing — "You've learned the lesson then?"

"Twenty more minutes mean an hour in Benedict's language," he's the one that's now offended when his mouth opens in disbelief "Turns out I know my husband, and we both know that’s way more than twenty minutes.”

He loves it. It’s almost a secret, but he loves how you demand his company, the way you don’t fold against anything and you stand for what you believe. He loves how you claim to know him, your lavender smell filling every single space available in the room as he smiles happily in response. He was so unsure of marrying you at first, but now he doesn’t know what his life would look like without you in the picture.

“Ah, I’m guilty as charge” he says, his own hand going to his chest like it saddens him to hear you talk like that. “Thought you wanted me to paint more.”

You've been encouraging him to show his art to more people, a small gallery that displayed his talent, but that’s using your words for his advantage.

“You little bastard, that’s unfair coming from you.”

“Woah woah, you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Kiss you even” you stick your tongue out, and he’s suddenly turning you around to place a kiss in your forehead, making you move in front of him instead — “You wouldn’t even imagine.”

Benedict’s a romantic. A poet at heart, so he doesn’t let any opportunity slip to show his affection, his infinite devotion to you. His heart flutters in his chest and suddenly he’s kissing you, staining your white nightgown with the fresh paint of his hands and not caring about it at the slightest. Kisses you like he missed you, like he didn’t see you the whole day when in reality you’ve spent all day in the same house, baking cookies cause you’ve suffered from a burst of love to the kitchen.

“You’re not convincing me” you say between kisses, hands pressing you closer to him. “I’m not leaving this room without you.”

He chuckles at your words — “Not even ten minutes?”

He’s devastatingly handsome in a way that makes you stare at him, wonder what you did to make him so interested in you, so attracted to the point he has to marry you.

"No Bridgerton. Ni diez minutos." To be honest, the accent just makes him go weak at the spot. It's pathetic, but he cannot help it, his brain melts at the sound of your voice, even if he doesn't understand much of what you're saying. "Let's go to bed."

You know it's a weapon, your lips are on his face, and he forgets about everything else: How he's supposed to continue on working when your lips are kissing every inch of his face? Seems like an impossible task now that his hands are on your waist and all he can notice are your pink lips, how you're looking at him through half-lidded eyes cause you're sleepy, an smile that eclipses the rest.

Benedict's no longer worried of his painting. Hell, he cannot seem to remember what shade of pink he was so invested in finding before, but he don't care at all when he's the one now leaning in, kissing you with fervent love as he traces the outline of your lips, almost asking for permission to invade you before deepening the contact, tangling his fingers in the strands of your hair cause he simply cannot get enough from you.

"Take me to bed then, my beautiful wife."

He does not protest next. He loves every second of it, the slight force, your gentle touch when your guiding him through the cottage you two share in Wiltshire, the goosebumps in his own skin when you managed to get what you want.

You win. It's a war that Benedict never intended to win, a disaster he knew it would end up with the result of him leaving his work half done cause he cannot resist to the idea of being tangled with you in such an intimate way. He sleeps so well with you on his arms, burying his head on your hair as he relaxes beneath the sheets, the contact of your skin enough to make him have the best night sleep.

Can he resist it? He's neck deep. Talked about it with his brothers before, drinking too much as the words slurred together and he admits how you got him wrapped around your finger, so in love he would do anything to please you, let alone have your full attention — They surely made fun of him, but is it his fault? Being so in love with his wife?

"Can't say no to you," he says defeated "You know it."

In the privacy of the room you two share, you're washing his hands with a wet cloth, preventing him from getting the sheets dirty before pulling his linen shirt to the floor. It's so quickly, he don't seem to realize what you're doing until he's already in bed, covered with the thick duvet as he searches for you.

He realizes now he should have listened to you before, cause his back is surely happy now that he's able to rest, the weariness of being standing so many hours now falling over him as his eyes began to close by themselves.

"When are you going to stop working so late?" You ask, pressing your cheek against his chest as you hugged him, getting closer to him even when you stole more than half of the bed in the process. The second son of the Bridgerton family does not say anything about it, but instead, enjoys how needy you are of his touch, how you want him around.

"Inspiration always come late, angel" he tries to defend himself as you rolled your eyes. “Maybe it’s a curse.”

"Then i’m afraid i’ll have to drag you to bed every night," you protest. "Cause i'm not letting you stay all night in that studio, crazy man."

"Miss me too much in bed?"

"Hm, what if I do?"

"Cannot blame you," Benedict admits later, using the only traces of force he has left to caress your hair, fingertips against your scalp in a gentle massage. "I'm always missing you when you're not around."

Your heart skips a beat: How could you not be head over heels with this man? He always find the right words, what to say exactly.

Gently, your face come up to press a soft kiss against his lips, a quick one that’s not enough for Benedict when he makes you stay in the same position as he steals a much longer one.

Life is simple with him by your side, you know it cause you might as well be over the moon when you’re alone with Benedict Bridgerton.

Every. single. day.

my masterlist.

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #benedict x reader #bridgerton x reader #ben x reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #colin bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fluff #cryptfile // bridgerton

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azure-cherie · 10 months

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𝐏𝐀𝐂 : 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅.𝐒.

Hello love's for this reading i channel a love letter from your future spouse , i really have a lack of fs readings and ik I don't do that enough but here's it because I feel so called to do this todayyy. Take what resonates and leave the rest , you can choose multiple . I hope you guys like this and feedbacks are always always appreciated !!!!!

Pile 1 :

Mon Amour ,

The sweet river of my life, the reason I live , the reason I thrive , I've been seeing you in my dreams since past lives and I can't fathom the beauty in your eyes . Ever since we've been together and the day i met you my life has been absolutely the one I dream of . Thank you for always being the shoulder I can learn on thank you i think i don't say it enough, you deserve the world and I'm trying everyday to bring in the world for you . I love the way you make art and love the way you make me your muse if I had the talent you had i probably would sing for you . I love your sweet kisses like candy and i hate every moment i argue so I'm happy to be sorry first kidding I know you're always right kinda bad on my part right , I wanna give you the world and there's so much to be done yet , so much to achieve , so much to heal but i know with you by my side i will heal. So i steal the thunder from heaven to make a souvenir of my love even when i am dead the way i tell you about my love won't be enough.

- yours completely

Pile 2 :

Dear love ,

In my darkest days you're the light I turn to , my heart is so full even when my brain is in shambles because I have you . I'm so in love that I can barely eat so I soak up your sunshine and I'm all fine and better under your holy light . We are a pair and we will make history and all these people that think we're too young too naive will be left in misery, they don't see you like i do, we both see each other . They say love is a big thing but I'd like laundry and taxes with you . Plain bread with you tastes like heaven , even tho I'm a heathen i pray the heavens for you may the paradise we make last forever, may i always keep jewellery in your altar , may things never be forbidden in our diary and in all of the things that are may I know one thing for sure that I don't wanna spend a moment away from you anymore . I burn for you I'm human for you .

- your lover

Pile 3 :

Hey Miss,

Springtime your time my time I look at you my beautiful flower fuller than poppies , more abundant than a lotus , like a burning rose with desire , you set me on fire , yet you cool me like running water how do you do , how do you put me in this state . I wanna love you don't you think it's getting late for even a while to wait , meet me at the garden gate . I don't know much but I know I came into earth to be with you i could be a tree but I'm a human to love you like humans do . How could you know me so well i almost lose myself when I'm with you and that's what I want when I'm with you to be free like a child . I wanna devote all my evenings to make coffee for you and i wanna spend all my breaths being high because I love you so much my thoughts spin out , you're moon herself you grant wishes so please grant mine goddess divine .

- always yours

Pile 4 :

Hey sweetheart,

I've been on a quest to find you , since I was young I've always felt that I was meant for more than just I saw what other couples around me had I knew I needed to be drowned and insane when i like someone , but the way you lift me up gave me all of it together , you're all the bright colours at once , yet you're a mystery , I love that i figure out something beautiful about you each day I know life with you can never be boring, it's always fun always worth living , thank you for holding me when the world discarded me , I know angels are real because i have seen you . Sorry for the times i mess things up , i never want that . we need to be together to explore this world without this bond this earth is mere ground with fire at the core , I wanna love you more . How do I explain this love where do I put all my love for you you're growing into me with each day I place your name in my heart like a sweet melody , i live to love you , I love to love you.

- only yours forever

Thank you so much for reading, have a great day/night ❤️

#god this felt so god #this was the pac i wrote fastest #pac readings #pac tarot #tarot pac #pac reading #pac #pick a card tarot #pick a picture #pick a photo #pick a card reading #pick a card #pick a pile #future spouse pick a card #future spouse reading #future spouse

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hana-no-seiiki · 3 months

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STILL INTO YOU

yandere batfam x cat villain! reader (+extra!!)

synopsis: moments wherein the batfam n co. realize that after all this time they’re still into you

status: unedited.

[AUTHOR’S NOTE:] Super sorry for the lack of fics everyone!! Lately I found out that my DID symptoms have gotten worse and that I’ve experienced a full blackout (and possibly more, I just have no memory of it). So I’ve just been trying to recuperate my mental health for a while with art related stuff. Which, on the positive side of things, means that I’ll be releasing a Webtoon (pilot) around this July!! Hope to see you guys there during the release!!

Can’t count the years on one hand

That we’ve been together

I need the other one to hold you.

Make you feel, make you feel better.

You never realized how much Bruce knew you until you two sat down and had a meal together. Why? You might ask. Well, you were supposed to have a dinner date with Tim today at the manor, but he was unfortunately caught up on a case. You were about to cancel it, maybe cause some chaos in town and then chill with Jason as revenge for your bestie bailing — but Tim insisted you hung out with his father instead.

The pair knew it was the only way for you to (A) Behave and (B) not sleep with Jason for the nth time that week.

Gazing at all your favorite foods displayed upon the excessively extravagant and expensive table you realized that aside from the second youngest, Bruce knew you the most out of everyone in the Batfamily by virtue of his contingencies and overall time as the Batman while you were training to be Catwoman’s successor.

It was so odd, seeing him so calm and not so hostile when you were around. Eerie.

“I’m sorry.”

“Hm?”

“I always saw you as a threat. Treated you like one. But you were just a kid stuck in a situation you didn’t have a hand on. I’m truly sorry. For treating you that way.”

“. . . Isn’t it your job? No hard feelings really. I’d be creeped out if you treated me so nicely — not the food though this is very much welcomed.” You ranted as you stuck a fork into your steak, pointing it at Bruce’s face. Yet, as much as how you were failing to achieve proper etiquette he didn’t seem annoyed more so . . . surprised?

“I hope to see you have dinner here again next week.” His hands stretched to awkwardly pat your head.

“Depends, will I have more of Alfred’s steak again?”

It's not a walk in the park

To love each other.

But when our fingers interlock,

Can't deny, can't deny you're worth it.

Koriand’r wasn’t an idiot. She knew about Dick’s lingering feelings for you.

Perhaps she may be. Considering the fact that she still tried to be in a relationship with him even then.

“Shit. Kitty? Kitty! Wake up you hear me?!”

“. . . I’m. . .” You coughed, groaning at the pain it triggered all throughout your body “ . . . here . .”

You raised your hand, too weak to reach his face you settled with holding his own. Dick squeezed your intertwined hands with a pained expression , and an intimacy unfamiliar to the alien.

But that wasn’t what made Koriand’r finally understand how hopeless their relationship was.

It was the fear in his face. His pretty features morphed into one of horror.

Ah, even after all this time. Dick couldn’t live without you.

Cause after all this time I’m still into you.

I should be over all the butterflies

But i'm into you (I'm in to you)

And baby even on our worst nights

I'm into you (I'm into you)

Let em wonder how we got this far

Cause I don't really need to wonder at all

Yeah after all this time

I'm still into you

Jason spent many, many grueling years under the influence of the LoA. And not once did his body forget the feeling of you.

The butterflies, the heart wrenching pain of being apart from you, and the fleeting, venomous hatred you two shared.

After all, it was your name that escaped his lips the moment he awoke from the dead. Your face the first on his mind. Your voice that he longed to hear again.

He had plenty of time to prepare for this moment. Months? Maybe even years.

“Hey, cool helmet. You a Deadpool fan or . . ?”

But even then, your appearance still made him more nervous than confronting his family once more. More nervous than fighting the villain that ended his life.

“Yikes, awful cut you got there. Need me to patch you up buddy?”

You had grown. He had too, even if it was through some magic, deus ex machina water. Seeing the change in your features, how you shed your youthful look of naïvete and grew into a beautiful/handsome/pretty specimen almost made him break all his plans just to be with you again.

“I know that you’re shy and all but I need words.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here til the vigilantes show up.”

For his revenge’s sake he hopes that you’ll stay for longer.

Recount the night that I first

Met your mother

And on the drive back to my house

I told you that, I told you that I loved ya.

You felt the weight of the world

Fall off your shoulder

And to your favorite song

We sang along to the start of forever

It was one of those nights when you intruded on the Batfam’s nightly patrols. This time your victim was Damian. And strangely, no one else. He explained that the rest were taking a break.

Leaving out the fact that he poisoned them with some self engineered laxatives.

It was relatively calm until a heist suddenly started in one of the banks you wanted to pick off. Damn.

“Hey, I didn’t know you listened to [Favorite Artist(s)]” You eyes widened at the sound of the music playing the background as Joker’s men began to surround you and Robin.

“Just a casual listener. How did you meet my mother anyhow?” Damian sheathed his katana. Opting to take down his foes by hand to hand combat as he peeled his eyes and ears to listen to you.

Besides he could see that your eyes weren’t on him anyways, so there was no point in showing off.

. . . Not that he was doing that.

“Huh? Well, I know everyone really.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

He sighed, bashing a poor guy’s face with his knees, his hands adding force with a pull — yikes. “I don’t know why I bother with you.”

“She hated me at first. Courtesy of Cat Woman and the Bat being together.” You turned to him, and he ducks.

“Then I lost someone really, really important to me. More than anything in this world. More than this world itself.” Your whip meets a goon behind him. Both of you hear a splat sound as the man falls to the floor. “And while everyone was calling me insane, when everything was breaking down around me. She was the only one who didn’t judge me for . . . the things that I did.”

“She supported me and was there for me no matter what.” You gaze at the blood on your weapon and cringe. “And then I realized your dad was an absolute bastard for leaving her behind. So I took up the mask again and made it my mission to make his life miserable."

"Even after the dinner?"

"Especially. Wanna bet on how long til he snaps?"

"Deal."

And after all this time I’m still into you.

I should be over all the butterflies

But i'm into you (I'm in to you)

And baby even on our worst nights

I'm into you (I'm into you)

Let em wonder how we got this far

Cause I don't really need to wonder at all

Yeah after all this time

I'm still into you

Some things just,

Some things just make sense

And one of those is you and I

Some things just,

Some things just make sense

And even after all this time

Tim honestly didn’t think he had it as bad as his brothers. Sure, he watched your every move and had extensive digital libraries on everything about you, but he did that for everyone. He was more rational; a man that clung unto his senses.

No it wasn’t his actions that made him realize how dangerously important you were to him, it was the way he felt doing so.

After an excessively arduous mission, the first thing he does as he gets back home is to open up his devices and get back to work. Surprise surprise, the stress wouldn’t go away. Not even when he stopped to play some games or catch up on Dungeon Meshi’s last episodes. And that always, always made him relax.

Anxious, his hands subconsciously guide him to that one folder.

Click Click

Dozens if not hundreds of holographic photos, videos and even fan art of you surrounded him.

Tim stares at a video he took when he first found out your identity.

Curling up into a ball with a blanket surrounding him, he slowly drifts off to sleep. Your voice lulling him into his overdue journey to dreamland.

Yeah, he was more rational than the rest. Yet, some things just made sense. Like you being the only thing in this world that manages to make his heart race and anxieties run away.

I'm into You

Baby not a day goes by that

I'm not into you

Jon was a bit dense. But even then he could see the signs of his best friend slowly losing himself to love and infatuation.

He would have been happy,

if it weren’t for the fact that he had a crush on you first.

Being the sweetheart he is, he backed off, respectful of Damian’s feelings (even if the latter wasn’t of his).

I should be over all the butterflies

But i'm into you (I'm in to you)

“Woah, you guys are done already?” Jon landed. As soon as he heard that he’d be able to fight alongside you after what felt like years (it was a couple of weeks), he flew all the way from Metropolis in record time.

If he knew what awaited him he probably wouldn’t have left at all.

“Yeah.” You gave him a thumbs up. Your head laid atop Damian’s lap as the domino masked vigilante ran his hands through your hair. His gloves off to his side.

“C-Cool.”

Jon cried himself to sleep that night.

Even after knowing of Damian’s feelings all this time, he could never stop his own.

And baby even on our worst nights

I'm into you (I'm into you)

Let em wonder how we got this far

Cause I don't really need to wonder at all

Yeah after all this time

I'm still into you

[ NEXT PART : NOBODY GETS ME ]

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writers-hq · 2 years

Text

WHY IS WRITING IS SO FUCKING HARD?

Ten types of fuckery that stop you from writing the thing:

1. Imposter syndrome

You think you're not good enough or everyone else is better than you and you're just winging it AKA ye olde imposter syndrome bullshit. Yeah nah you're fine. No really, you're exactly where you need to be right now, and you'll keep getting better and better so long as you don't stop. Chances are, if you're filled with doubt about your abilities it means you've actually improved to the point where you can really start to understand what makes good writing. It means you know where you wanna end up and goshdarn it you're gonna get there.

Read this: 4 tips to kick imposter syndrome in the face and also genitals

And also this: How to silence the inner critic

2. Fear of rejection and/or failure

Yeah, us too. It fuckin sucks. BUT. Not all rejections are equal. And rejection is a necessary part of the process. Sometimes it takes a rejection to realise that a story isn't ready. Sometimes a rejection is entirely subjective and has ZERO reflection on the quality of your work. But shying away from the very idea of possibly maybe hypothetically getting rejected is only going to hold you back from even trying. And knowing why you got rejected and how to learn from it is one of the most valuable writing skills.

Read this: The different types of rejection (and how to deal with 'em)

Then read this: How to cope with rejection

And also this: Writing lessons from Groundhog Day

3. Not enough planning / too much planning

Leaping into a new story with nothing but a glimmer of an idea is exciting as heck (and can sometimes be a great way to begin) but at some point you're gonna need some sort of outline or plan to keep you on track. HOWEVER. Planning your story to within an inch of its life can also sometimes be a hindrance - leaving you stuck in the hypothetical stage of the process where your story doesn't quite exist yet (and therefore avoiding the prospect of it sucking). The sweet spot is in the middle. Having just enough of a plan to know where tf you're going, but enough freedom and flexibility to let the story lead the way...

Read this: Planning vs pantsing

Then read this: Five plotting techniques

And also this: The perils of overplanning

4. Your WIP just isn't working

Sometimes things just fall flat. Sometimes you work on the same story for yeeeeears and then it just kinda... dies. Sometimes you have the best plans (see above) and the best intentions and things still don't work out. Sometimes it's just time to move on. And sometimes it's not! Sometimes a story can be revived, fixed or changed. Sometimes you just need time. Sometimes YOU'RE the one that's changed and this isn't the story you need to be writing right now. Many variables. Muchly personal. Read the things below for more advice cos this is a big question:

Read this: What to do when your WIP isn't working

And also this: Give it space - how to grow a story in your head

Or how about this? Editing 101

5. You keep deprioritising it

Ah the irony of writing being the thing you love/want to do most of all AND YET the thing you procrastinate over and avoid and shove to the very bottom of your to-do list all the freakin' time. Maybe it's the comodification of art destroying our freedom to create without pressure. Maybe it's late capitalism sucking up all our available time and energy. Maybe it's a lack of self-belief subconsciously telling us our 'little hobby' doesn't really matter. Maybe it's maybelline. Whatever it is, you have the power to reclaim and revalue your writing. To say, "I'm a fucking writer, goddamnit!" and mean it. To ringfence your creative time so nothing and nobody gets to interrupt it. To do that thing you love.

Read this: Prioritise your writing

Read this: How to write in 30 second bursts

6. Shiny Thing Syndrome

You know that feeling when you're just getting stuck into a writing project and then — SQUIRREL! — you get distracted by another, better, more shiny writing project? Or maybe you're deep in the editing phase and your current WIP just isn't feeling very shiny at all and pretty much ANYTHING seems more exciting? Or you simply can't decide which of the many squirrelly writing ideas to actually start? You, fine writerperson, may be suffering from Shiny Thing Syndrome (STS). But fear not! There are a few ways to combat it, depending on the cause, and most of them involve embracing the squirrel-brain and injecting a bit of fun into your writing, like so:

Read this: Shiny thing syndrome - a writer's malady

Aaaand read this: Get excited about your writing again

And also this: Write like a kid

7. Perfectionism/self-sabotage

Look. Writing is scary as shit. What if someone READS it? What if they don't like it? What if they see into your soul and gain a deeper understanding of you through your words? Writing your truth, being vulnerable, smearing your heart juice all over the page? No thank you. But also, that's where the good shit is, so actually yes please. Just make sure you smear responsibly. And rest assured, even the most 'successful' and experienced writers ALSO feel like this sometimes, so you're in good company. It's just part of the art, bruh.

Read this: Why writing is scary (and why that's a good thing)

Read this: Beginning a story - what stops us starting?

And also this: Get out of your own way

8. The dreaded blank page

Oh godddd the blank page. It should be an exciting palimseset of possibility but is somehow also the most terrifying thing known to humankind. You wanna write something but where to start? HOW to start? You type that first line and immediately delete it. You watch the cursor blinking at you—taunting you—until you just give up and shut your laptop again. It's probably tied up with a bunch of things we've already covered so far: perfectionism, imposter syndrome, fear of failure, maybe a lack of planning or faith in your story or whatever. But it doesn't have to be this way. A blank page IS exciting and full of possibility. We just have to get over ourselves and learn to embrace the unknown...

Read this: Don't fear the blank page

And also this: The moaning method

9. Not enough time/energy/motivation/gnuuuughh

Dude, same x 1000. But you don't have to get up at 5am, do hot yoga, drink a kale smoothie and write a thousand words before sunrise to be a Proper Writer. You don't even have to write every day. But what you can do is hack your writing brain and figure out when, where, how, and why you write most effectively. Then tweak your schedule, your habits, and your attitude to ensure you're making the most of your time. Productivity is a big ol' lie but finding the secret to getting in your own personal writing zone is actual MAGIC.

Read this: Maximise your writing time

And also this: Get in the writing zone

And also unto this: The Writers' HQ Guide to Productivity

10. You're just fucken stuck

Got the writing morbs? In need of some literary sudafed? Stuck as a pig in a poke? Writing is a whole puzzle of a process—and to be honest that's what makes it so fun and exciting and addictive, because your writing brain is hardwired to both create AND solve the wordy puzzles within your story. Sometimes the answer is time. Sometimes it's a second opinion or a fresh eye. Sometimes a totally different approach or just a hefty kick up the bum. But whatever the problem, there IS a solution. You just gotta keep going and trust that you'll find it...

Read this: Troubleshoot your writing - why are you stuck?

And also this: Break through the writing blockage

And also also this: Write yourself into a pit (and then dig your way out again)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alright, that's it for today. Now go write, you flithy animals.

(And if we missed anything, stick a question in our ask box or check out the rest of our shit here)

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gay-dorito-dust · 3 months

Note

I hope this is ok

Could I request hcs of Jason Todd with a s/o who enjoys giving him compliments, even when they're asleep?

Jason is soft, undoubtedly soft.

He couldn’t help the smile that grew across his face whenever you told him that he was the most handsome man you’ve ever met in your life.

It makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside that it becomes an addicting feeling that he never wants to go away.

He wasn’t use to someone showering him in adoration and unconditional love as you have done since your first date with him, sure it was something that he had to get use to as it wasn’t something he was willing to accept immediately, but after awhile Jason was practically hanging off of your every word that left your mouth like a fool in love.

You: your so perfect Jason you don’t even know it and it saddens me that you can’t see yourself how I see you because if you did then maybe you wouldn’t be so hard on yourself.’

Jason: 🥰🥺🫶

Day in, day out you would tell Jason exactly how you felt about him no matter what but when one night Jason heard you muttering under your breath, he becomes intrigued as to what you were saying and leant closer to you, only to hear you say;

‘You may think your broken but you are anything but my sweet Jaybirdie.’

And

‘you’re an art piece who’s true message has been misconstrued many times but that never took away from how beautiful you were.’

Needles to say Jason was this close to squeezing you tight in his arms because you were too good for him, way too good for him that made him want to keep you close to him all the more.

Jason didn’t like seeing his own refection in mirrors, it reminded him of how much of him had been taken away and never given back, but you gave him the courage to look himself in the reflective surface after your sweet words a about how you loved the way his face was structured, his jawline, his eyes, his lips, everything you admired about him you had made well known.

You give him the confidence he had been trying to cover up the lack of with sarcastic and witty comebacks and an uncaring attitude. You helped rebuilt him brick by brick to the point where Jason wasn’t ashamed of walking the apartment shitless, his scars boldly on display but he knew you’d give them nothing but love and affection; much Kim you did the rest of him.

You: your scars are just as much apart of you as your arms and legs were, they are just as deserving of love as the rest of you and there’s a lot of you left to love if you let me.

Jason: I’d let you love me for the rest of forever if you wanted sweetheart.

Jason would soon find himself staying up incredibly late just to hear you sleepily praise him with a dopey look upon his face as he brushes a knuckle across your cheek gingerly, knowing that this was the kind of love he had been looking for since he was a goin boy, a love so unconditional that you find yourself again through it; a real and pure love that would stand the rest of time.

And now he finally had it and he had you to thank for loving him for the mess that he was.

#dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x you #dc fanfic #dc comics x reader #dc fic #dc x y/n #dc fanfiction #jason todd imagines #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd fluff #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #red hood x you #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood imagines

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youcancallmeelle · 11 months

Text

She’s got a boyfriend anyway…

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI)

Word count: 7K

Warnings: Semi public sex, Missionary, Cowgirl, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Teasing, Sneaking around, Secret relationship, Brief David mention, Ellie being a menance, Tommy trying to play matchmaker.

Summary: Tommy has been trying to set Joel up for AGES, he’s got other interests.

You and Joel have secretly been seeing each other.

A03

Read below…

Life in Jackson is promising, nearly a year and half here and Joel feels comfortable, no longer itching for a way out of civilisation because he’s just not used to that no more. Ellie is settled too - finally. She’s attending school three days a week, enjoying the new responsibilities that come with being sixteen and the tad bit of freedom it brings. She helps out at the stables, in the kitchen too but she’s not a fan. She likes being in the library most, checking in and out books, tidying shelves, using her art to create eye catching displays aimed at the younger generation of Jackson.

Joel is proud, his heart feels like it could burst out of his chest all the time. Ellie is still full of wit and charisma that comes out in curses and daft puns that make Joel roll his eyes and get her in a headlock until she’s laughing so hard she’s pink in the face.

There’s times when she skips school completely if a male teacher has subbed in, she flinches away if someone comes too close and sometimes if it’s stew night at dinner, she’ll stare blankly into her bowl at the chunks of meat and see a severed ear, she’ll try to swallow but gag instead. These are nights Joel gives her his bread and Tommy will too, then he’ll make her a fruit salad when they get home with a little double cream poured over it.

The nightmares are persistent on these bad days where triggers occur, he finds Ellie in bed screaming and thrashing multiple times a week. She’ll sob and cry hoarsely as he holds her, hushing her gently and resting his cheek on her head. Most of the time she’ll fall back asleep with him beside her, curled into him like she did back at Silver Lake when death was close.

But mostly, everything’s okay.

Joel had been with Tommy every single day this week so far and it was Thursday evening, they’d been focusing on fixing up the bathroom in a house way further down from his, they were getting it ready for a family that had expanded to move in. The floor was rotten and the pipes wrecked, neither of them were particularly fond of plumbing but they sorted it between them. There was still the kitchen to do but that was a job for tomorrow and probably Saturday too but not Sunday, that was his day with Ellie.

Sunday’s were for late breakfasts of bacon and pancakes - before and after the world ended. The only thing that changed was the kid for Joel, he used to serve Sarah indulgent breakfasts on a Sunday and they’d do something together and the tradition was carried on with Ellie and Sarah remained tucked in his heart.

Tired and stiff from working hunched over all day, Joel was enjoying a quiet drink with Tommy. They were tucked away on a small table with two stools, Joel would have preferred something with a back but beggars can’t be choosers; he was grateful for the cold glass of bourbon nearly empty in front of him and the sound of Dire Straits playing over the old speakers.

As always, Tommy is picking and prying into his lack of a love life. Since he’s noticed his older brother being more settled within the community, he’d been trying his hardest to set him up with various women and Tommy Miller was nothing if not persistent.

At this point in the day, Tommy’s voice is almost just white noise.

“Cath is nice.” Tommy pointed out, Joel snorts.

“She’s also gay, Tommy.”

“Oh shit, really? I didn’t know.”

“Clearly. Can we please stop talking about this? It’s the same thing every fuckin’ time I come drinking with you.” Joel begs, Tommy sighs heavily but drops it for now.

Joel takes in the scenery as he sits there, grateful for the moments silence from Tommy. His eyes stray to the left of the table and he listens as you speak to Denton, an older gentleman in his late sixties with a love of horses. He’s quizzing you about the new mare in the stables, he hears you mention checking on her again after your shift because she’s been particularly temperamental since she was brought in from outside but you’ve developed a nice bond with her, she’s slowly becoming more trusting.

It occurs to Joel that everyone likes you - literally everyone, even Ellie and she was a tough nut to crack. You’re sweet, soft spoken yet confident. You’re always helping out where you can; on patrols, stable duty, in the communal garden, sometimes at the school and also here at the bar when Darius needs his shift covered.

You find good things on patrol and give them to Joel or Ellie before taking the rest for the community, so they get first pick of everything.

You’re just the sweetest thing.

Tommy sees you and beckons you with a friendly wave, you mutter a goodbye to Denton and pat his hand.

“Hey.” You hear your name called over the music and you turn as Tommy Miller grabs your attention as you scoop up two glasses and an empty bowl that once held nuts and dried berries from the table two away from his and Joel’s.

“Yes, Miller?” You patter over with your hands occupied, you sneak a look at his older sibling, sparing him a wink as a greeting, he smirks softly back.

“Has Darius got an other fuckin’ music or are we strictly limited to the sounds of 1985 tonight?” He questions and you laugh, shaking your head.

“You don’t like Dire Straits?”

“He doesn’t appreciate good music.” Joel interjects, shaking his head at Tommy.

“I do - but other music. Eminem or even fuckin’ Britney! Anything but this shit.” Tommy groans, tossing his head back.

“Keep talking smack about Dire Straits, Miller - and I’ll snitch to your wife about the fact you’ve switched patrols with Mark twice this week because you were too hungover to go.” You smile sweetly at Tommy, tilting your head.

“Snitches get stitches.” Tommy remarks playfully, not an ounce of malice in his dark brown eyes and your eyebrows rise, you beam back.

“That right? Well, troublesome men get barred for life.”

“Oooooh.” Joel chimes in, looking amusedly between you and his younger brother.

“Touché.” Tommy quips, folding his arms.

“Tell you what, next time I’m in, I’ll have a rummage out back and see if I can find you some Britney. Bless you.” You pinch his cheek as you walk past and he swats your hand, rubbing the spot while Joel laughs.

“You’re pushing your luck giving her lip, I’m not sure if you’re aware but this is the only operational bar in Wyoming.”

“Tell me about it.” He grumbles back, Joel shakes his head once more as the door behind Tommy on the back wall opens.

“Joeeeeeel?!” He hears yelled from close by, he looks up and sees Ellie dragging her sneakers across the floor, scouring the bar for him with her honey coloured eyes eagerly. She spots him within seconds, beaming and practically skipping over to him and Tommy in the corner. “There you are, I looked fucking everywhere for you.” She groans dramatically, throwing her head back. “I wanna go out, I’m bored shitless at home. There’s nothing for me to do and yes - I’ve done my school work.” She quickly adds.

“You done those quadratic equation questions we were going over last night?” He raises his eyebrow.

“Yep. Easy peasy lemon squeezy, though I did ask my teacher because I’m pretty sure you were figuring them out wrong. You were, by the way.” Joel puffs indignantly, rolling his eyes. Ellie spins to Tommy, the soles of her shoes squeaking. “Can I try that?” She’s laser focused on the bourbon swimming between globes of ice in Tommy’s glass.

“What have I said the last twenty times you’ve asked, El?” Tommy’s dark brows are high on his forehead, his mouth is twisted with hidden laughter. Ellie rolls her eyes with annoyance, sloping over to Joel now.

“No.” She huffs, swinging her lanky arms around Joel. She hums and rubs her face into his shoulder bone, resting there for a second before her attentions shifts comically fast. There’s a warmth that spreads through Joel every single time she does this, she’s so casual about it and he’s drawn the conclusion that it’s a teenage thing because Sarah was the same. There’s a sadness that blossoms too, a darkness that twists and anchors in his chest as he thinks of her and who she’d be now. He can’t dwell for too long, not now - he did that for too long.

At one dark point in time, human connection was not key to survival, hence why he always kept Tess at arms length and then referred to Ellie as cargo until one snowy day it became apparent she was no longer cargo when she was frenzied and panting in his arms, splattered with the blood of a predator and gasping like she was taking her last breath. The sound haunted him for a long time, all memories of Sarah hitting him like a freight train. He had to protect Ellie, the minute he drew her in - oh baby girl - and held her tightly, wrapped in his coat and clinging to him just as hard.

Ellie’s his kid now. She’s his. He’s hers. They’re a family. Ellie Williams Miller - that’s how she’s known now. It’s scrawled on her school books. The love he feels for this human tornado in sneakers is unmatched, the one thing he’s ever been truly good at has been restored and it’s a role he knows well; being a father.

Sure, this teenager that he’s raising is the furthest from bubblegum pink and Avril Lavigne she could be, she’s particularly jagged around the edges and does have the temperament of an unsocialised cat that will bite if you get too close.

He looks down at her, rubbing into him like she’s trying to get his smell on her because it’s comforting and she feels safe and feels his heart ready to burst.

Of course the sweet moment of affection is shattered when Ellie yawns directly into his fucking ear because why wouldn’t she?

He grunts when she bears most of her weight on his aching shoulders, leaning easily into him and twisting her small fingers into his flannel.

“So? Can I go or not?” She presses.

“Go where?” He prompts, raising his eyebrow.

“Toni’s from school. Her cat had kittens a few weeks ago and they’re starting to play. Five of them, Joel! That’s a lotta kittens!” Ellie enunciates, brown eyes wide and Joel can’t help the smile that graces his otherwise tired face.

“You mean a litter?” He corrects and Ellie pauses, frowning.

“Huh?”

“A bunch of kittens is a litter, Ellie.” He informs her and she somehow manages to frown even more, she makes a noise like she’s computing the new information.

“Yeah, whatever.” She mumbles, Tommy snorts in amusement. “So I can go see them?” She presses, shifting her weight again and Joel groans louder now, unhooking her arms from his shoulders with a quiet ‘don’t do that, baby’ that’s full of affection.

“Yes but you’re back at nine latest, okay? Nine. I’ll be waiting for you, the minute those street lamps turn on, you’re home.” Joel says, Ellie’s mouthing along to his instructions that he’s been laying out since Summer began and the evenings stretched longer. “Be good.” He speaks more softly now and she nods, he presses a kiss to the side of her head, her eyelashes flutter happily as the warmth blossoms in her too with the security that’s Joel Miller.

“Peesh. I’m always good. Bye Tommy!” She says excitedly, fist bumping him when it’s offered.

“See ya, squirt.” Tommy replies but before he’s even voiced his reply, Ellie’s hurrying away and knocking into a patron while waving to you on the way out of the door so hard it slams. Joel sighs, thinking she’s a literal hurricane.

The door hinge has barely stopped shaking before Tommy starts with the suggestions of suitors once more.

“What about Myleene?” Tommy proposes, Joel shakes his head quickly, downing the remainder of his drink.

“Too young.” He replies.

“She’s twenty five.”

“Too young.” He repeats firmer this time.

“Okay, fine. What about Michelle? She’s what forty? I was talking to her in the cobblers the other day, she’s definitely interested - mentioned something about making you a pie?”

“I’m good.” He grumbles looking down into his empty glass but quickly shifting his gaze to the bar, you’re leaning on your elbows, laughing heartily with a patron.

You look beautiful tonight - just like every other night. Your shoulders are sunkissed, your cheeks a little flushed and skin glowing from the summer humidity. He absorbs the way your hair tumbles down your shoulders and the way the thin straps of your tiered sundress slip down occasionally, only to be tugged back into place with dexterous fingers.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” Tommy jibes, Joel looks over with a firm scowl.

“What?” He asks, Tommy shakes his head.

“You can dream, brother.” Joel rolls his eyes, trying to act nonchalant. “She’s got a boyfriend anyway.” Tommy adds, Joel eyes him with full attention.

“A boyfriend?” He asks, trying to be sure he heard right.

“Yeah, overheard her talking to one of the girls in the garden a few days ago. Didn’t mention no names but she definitely said she was seein’ someone.” Tommy shrugged, Joel hummed with interest. “Anyway, it don’t matter because she’s way out of your league.”

“Thanks.” Joel retorts, sneaking one last look before focusing on the door behind Tommy, the one Ellie had not long barrelled in and out of just moments ago.

He wonders about the kittens she mentioned and gulps as he imagines her taking to one with its big eyes and soft paws, his mind is pulled back to a time in April when he’d come downstairs one morning to a sink full of tad poles she’d ‘rescued’ from birds out of the neighbours pond.

Basically, his girl can’t resist animals she deems too vulnerable to leave.

“Scared Ellie’s gonna come home with one of them kittens?” Tommy wonders, reading Joel’s mind.

“Terrified.”

********************************************

The sun is setting in bursts of burnt orange and marigold by the time he leaves Tommy to his own devices at the bar, he hazards a look around as he makes his way in the complete opposite direction to his and Ellie’s house.

He slinks around the back of the school house, slithering through the gap and walking up the winding path that leads to the stables. He climbs the short fence and hops to the other side, his boots kick up the dust from the dirt path and the crickets chirp beneath the skyline.

With one more look around, he opens to rear door to the stables and slips inside, shutting it softly behind him.

Immediately he hears the horses further down huff and puff, he can make out the swish of their tails hitting the walls as they munch on hay, there’s a neigh that is absolutely Shimmer kicking up a fuss about something.

He slopes around the riding gear and sees you leaning against the wall, hands behing your back. You grin.

“Took your time, cowboy. Was beginning to think you couldn’t take the hint and stood me up.”

“Never, honey.” Joel prowls towards you, ready to grab you. “Missed you.”

“You just saw me.”

“Not the same.” He yanks you close like a man starved, you’d shared company less than 24 hours ago but you greet and leave each other like it’s the last time you’ll ever be together. It’s the apocalypse affect, you know that, he does too

This arrangement had been going on for almost two months now, all started by a late night patrol together where you’d shared more about yourselves in an eight hour shift than both of your time in Jackson combined. There was an instant attraction, it was so easy to talk to one another and that’s what you did every single time you were partnered together and it became the highlight of your day. It started innocently and friendship had bloomed, then before you knew it you were sharing a rum laced thermos of tea with him in the bed of a truck and kissing him with reddened cheeks shortly thereafter. You’d first slept together in the same truck, just as dawn began to break. It was clumsy and quick but you couldn’t get enough of one another. You hadn’t cum but Joel promised next time would be better which lead to the question of next time? You’d been seeing each other most nights since.

Any chance you got, you were together. Nobody knew about you both, hence why Tommy was incessantly trying to hook Joel up with other women around town and jealousy burned as you listened in on their one sided conversations in the bar whenever you were covering for Darius.

You’d left the bar shortly before Joel had, waving farewell to him and Tommy, coming straight up here to check on the mare just as you’d told Denton. This was a usual spot to meet Joel, it wasn’t your first rodeo in the stables with him. It was the one place you could be alone after a certain time.

“Were you hiding from me, honey? Hmm?” He growls playfully, pulling you to him even though you were barely a millimetre away in the first place. You hum in response, so utterly lost in him. You’re nuzzling his throat, fisting his shirt, desperate for his attention. “God, you look so good today.” He murmurs, mouth finding yours. You moan softly, standing on your tip toes and kissing him in a way that makes his lungs and loins burn alike. His grey tinged moustache prickles your upper lip beautifully, his beard feels familiar beneath your soft hands.

He’s crowding you and guiding you backwards, kissing you hotly in a sense that makes your cunt throb eagerly. You moan into his mouth when he nips your bottom lip, squeezing the left cheek of your ass.

You love when he’s like this - playful and easy. He feels lightyears younger around you, it’s like the heaviness dissipates the moment he’s in your company. He loses himself in the way you smell, the way your hair feels when his fingers are entwined between the sun kissed strands, the way in which your eyes sparkle with mischief.

It’s easy to pull him towards the back of the stable, where the bales of hay were stacked created a nice wall of privacy. You’d been in here a couple of times with him, having gone as far to stash a flannel blanket in one of the cupboards to lay down as to protect you both from the cold floor and the prickle of loose hay.

Once behind the hay and seated on a bale with you in his lap, strong hands are moving the thin straps of your sundress down your shoulders, you momentarily break away from his mouth to aid the removal of your dress to your waist where Joel roughly bunches it up so that your underwear is now on show and so are your tits.

His eyes light up at your bare chest, like he hasn’t seen your breasts countless times before. One thing among many that you first noticed was that Joel Miller is a tit man through and through. His rough and work toughened hands cup them both gently before his tongue swirls around your left nipple.

“Joel.” You murmur, arching into him, rolling your hips into his. He’s hard already, age not affecting him like that in the slightest. He’s a hot blooded male, every single inch a man and that warms you to your core. You grab his hand, bringing it to the top of your panties and he slides it in without hesitation.

“Christ.” He curses, exploring your lips with his fingertips, gliding through the dewy wetness gathered there and coming back up for a split second to drag it over your clit roughly. You whimper, bucking into his hand. “Mmm, babydoll.” Joel huffs against your cheek in a hot pant, repeating the action.

“Need you so badly, Joel. Almost got started without you.” You confess.

“Fuck. You can’t- don’t say shit like that, honey.” He growls lowly, unbelievably hard beneath you. His fingers explore again, you aid his explorations by canting your hips just so.

Joel is eager to get things moving, he’s hard and frustrated, he has a beautiful woman in his lap and the perfect setting. He pulls his hand from your underwear, looking down to see the shine of you on him. He loses his mind when you take his hand and lead it to your mouth, sucking the tips of his index and middle finger as he watches with eyes blown wide; they look black instead of the earthy brown that sometimes melts into caramel or runny honey.

The minute you hum like a content cat, he has you lifted off his lap and braced against him. You squeal at the sudden shift, the ceiling looking closer than the floor but then he gently lays you back on the blanket and settles between your legs.

“Hey, who was Tommy trying to set you up with?” You blurt, Joel pauses.

“Cath.”

“She’s gay.” You frown.

“Michelle too.” He adds before diving down into your chest, pressing your breasts together, mouthing at the swell.

“I’m not sure you’re Michelle’s type, she’s a cougar apparently.” You remark, Joel ignores you in favour of sucking your nipples until they feel raw. “Why Michelle? I don’t understand why Tommy thinks she’s a good match for you.” You don’t know why this is coming up now, your mouth seems to have a mind of its own, the jealousy settling like lead in your stomach.

“He said she wants to make me a pie.” Joel pipes up, the confession half muffled.

“What kind of pie?” You ask, pulling his face from your tits. Joel groans frustratedly, looking up at you with eyes dark and deadly.

“I don’t know. Why does that even matter?”

“A cream pie probably.” You snarl under your breath, the jealousy swirling in the pit of your stomach like a rattled viper.

Joel laughs, shaking his head and coaxing your mouth back to his. “Gross.” He murmurs, kissing you softly and squeezing your hips as if to guide you back. “You know I only like your cream pies.” He jokes, this time you break into a smile.

“Now whose gross?” You snort, tugging his plain grey undershirt over his head and to the side. You run your palms over his chest and down to his softer stomach, digging your nails in as they drag a long his skin. Goosebumps erupt all over him.

Joel is softer in his older age but strong too, years of walking different terrain, heavy lifting and fighting have made him lean also.

You hum contentedly, tracing over those familiar scars that have been made in the 20 years since the world imploded.

“He said you were out of my league.” Joel suddenly admits, resting his hands on your spread knees. You frown up at him. “Tommy said you were out of my league.”

“Tell Tommy he doesn’t know shit.” You retort with an eye roll, grabbing Joel by his belt and yanking him forward. “I like you, Joel. Fuck what anyone else thinks, it’s not anyone’s business who we choose to be with.” You say softly now, kissing your way up his chin to his lips. “I like you.” You affirm again, Joel kisses you tenderly, weaving his hand into your hair as you moan quietly.

“Well, I like you too.” He says, kissing you with so much passion yet so much tenderness all at the same time as you fumble to unbuckle his belt. You yank it apart, tugging open the button and prying the worn denim apart with the hiss of his zipper.

He barely lets you wrap a hand around him over his boxers before he has both your wrists pinned above your head, you make a sad whine but all disappointment quickly dissipates when he shuffles down the length of your torso and yanks your underwear down so fast you feel the material leave a friction burn. He grabs your thighs and then manoeuvres your legs by the backs of your knees, you like where this seems to be going.

Your spine curves against the hard floor when his mouth makes that first contact, he starts slow with a lick up the length of you, then he lightly suckles your lips and gently licks over the hood of your clitoris.

“Joel.” You murmur, twisting the blanket beneath your fingertips, scrunching it and bitting down on your lower lip as he continues his gentle assault on your clit, the rubber toes of your hi tops dig into his ribs almost painfully.

His thumb comes up to gently push the hood of your clit back, the sensation of his tongue directly stimulating the nerve causes you to gasp and wind one hand down into his hair, you tug and he groans against you.

You’re transported back to one of the first times you’d been intimate together after sleeping together in the truck.

For some reason, it had shocked you that Joel Miller ate pussy like a champ. The first time he’d gone down on you - behind the bar just after you’d blown him - you’d prepared yourself for dissatisfaction and disappointment, only it never came. Joel had licked into you with such ferocity and precision that you’d almost keened over.

He’d made you cum so quickly that you’d barely had time to process the first swipe of his tongue on your clitoris and the climax that followed minutes later.

He’d looked up at you, moustache and beard slick with his eyes wide; ‘I forgot how much I enjoyed doing that’ he’d panted while you squeaked back in shock.

Now, as you live in the moment, you feel that tingle of pleasure building but you don’t want to cum without him inside of you. As much as it pains you, you tug on his hair, urging him back up.

“Wanna cum with you.” You pant when he looks up with dazed brown eyes, frowning a little. He seems to accept that and sits up, shucking his jeans and boxers down over his ass with the help of your clumsy hands. “Lay back.” You demand, he does so and you move to take his place.

You throw your legs over his and settle above his lap, he’s got one arm behind his head and watches as you take him in your first and tease yourself with the flushed tip of him. He breathes in sharply through his nose as you do it again before notching him at the site of your heat, you steady yourself and begin to sink down.

“Fuck me.” Joel sighs, closing his eyes briefly because he’s so sure he’s in heaven. The sensation of your wet heat surrounding him never gets old, he’d forgotten how much he loved sex before meeting you.

“You’re so big, Joel.” You whimper, stroking his ego deliciously and he hates to be such a guy but the compliment goes straight to his dick.

“Fuck, honey. Take what you want, I’m yours - just fuck me.” He begs as you slowly begin to move, your nails scrape across his torso as you fall into an easy rhythm of rolling your hips into his. “You’re so fucking perfect, baby.” He babbles, looking up and admiring the curve of your back and the way your tits bounce as you ride him.

“Mmm.” You whine, picking up the pace and throwing your head back which exposes your jugular and Joel just wants to sink his teeth into you because you truly look good enough to eat.

“Come here, babydoll.” He urges, pulling you down so you’re chest to chest. Your peer at him with pretty doe eyes, your lashes flutter as they shut to kiss him deeply, your tongue swipes his and you taste the tang of yourself on him. You moan louder when he manages to plant his boots on the floor and thrust up into you roughly, tangling his hand in your hair to keep you pressed against him.

It’s so hot in the stables, you’re both sticky and warm. But with your pretty moans and keens filling the air, Joel manages to easily forget the irritation from the heat.

You push against his chest to sit up and Joel grabs your hips, guiding you easily and you feel yourself getting close but you can’t achieve orgasm through penetration alone.

You brace one hand on his thigh behind you, tipping your head back as the pleasure becomes almost too much to handle. Your hips roll in an easy rhythm, his cock head hitting your G spot perfectly and you whine when the hand on your left hip moves ever so slightly until Joel was able to thumb your clit. He knows you so well.

“Oh f - fuck. You feel so good, you’re so good - fuck.” You babble, your hips moving faster.

“Jesus christ.” Joel huffs, throwing his head back against the hard floor, biting his bottom lip hard to stave off his orgasm. You feel so good wrapped around him; wet and snug, like crushed velvet.

He knows he can’t stay like this, he’s too close to finishing and he can sense you’re not quite there yet despite being edged so he makes the conscious decision to hold you and flip you both over with a nimbleness he didn’t know he possessed in his older age.

You stutter out a choked moan, arching into his strong hands. You drag your nails down his toned back, leaving a little spatter of blood in the red tracks.

Joel hisses when your nails puncture the skin on the globes of his ass, somehow trying to pull him closer and push him away at the same time.

“Where?” He asks, nodding downwards as he fights off his climax.

“Inside.” You reply without hesitation. You’d counted your cycle days, marking in a blank notebook the day number and your symptoms, pretty accurately guessing your fertile window and probable ovulation day by cervical mucus alone. You were four days from your period being due, it was safe.

“You sure?” He hesitates, brow furrowed hard with concentration, he’s a stroke away from finishing. He knows better than most people to not trust the pull out method and he knows the importance of contraception but he still ended up a Dad before he hit his mid twenties. Pushing sixty he’s still playing a dangerous game but so far, neither of you had gotten burnt.

“Yeah.” You gasp, fingers on your clit rubbing faster. You groan suddenly and twist into him, making pretty little whimpers and purring. He groans too, thrusting in hard once, twice and then three times. You feel his cock stiffen and twitch, then the pulse of subtle warmth of his cum spreading inside and aiming for your cervix. He works himself through it, you push in return as the aftershocks slow to a flat line.

Joel heaves a breath, resting on his forearms as you lazily kiss his neck in satisfaction and rapture. You sit there for a minute, basking in the afterglow until Joel grows too stiff and has to withdraw from you slowly, kneeling up between your legs to pull his boxers and jeans back up but he leaves them unbuttoned and his belt loose.

You don’t miss the primal look in his eyes when they drift to between your legs, he can see his cum leaking and the pearlescent finish it leaves on your lips. His cock twitches, perhaps if he was younger he could go for another round but alas, he settles next to you on the blanket, pulling you to his chest and cushioning your head with a strong bicep.

“I think that might have been the best time yet.” You pant breathlessly, looking up at the ceiling and seeing the evening sky through the cracks of wood.

“Maybe one day we can do it in an actual bed, I’m not sure how much more of these places my back can take.” Joel jokes, you giggle and turn into him, listening to the rapid pace of his heartbeat as it settles, a perfect mirror of your own.

“Not bad for an old timer.” You tease, giggling when he growls and squeezes your hip.

“Was patrol okay today?” Joel questions you, you nod lazily against him. “You come across anything?” Now you speak, leaning up to peer down at him.

“A couple of runners. We shot them in that abandoned gas station near the entrance to the offices off the trail. I think they were probably people passing through, one was infected on the journey and turned, then bit the other.” Joel hums, rubbing your lower back and hip. “I have some things for Ellie I found, by the way. I’ll drop them over tomorrow. Nothing crazy, just some things I thought she needed.” You say between kisses down Joel’s chest and sternum, your delicate fingers tracing out old battle scars.

“What like?” He asks, catching your hand as it reaches his happy trail, bringing it to his lips instead where he presses tender kisses to your fingertips.

“Pyjamas, underwear and some toiletries. Oh! And get this, a new casette tape for her walkman.”

“What tape?”

“Teardrops.” You grin.

“Womack and Womack? She’s gonna love that.” Joel says, laying back and smiling at the ceiling of the stables, humming the song in his head. “Fuck, I haven’t heard that song in - jesus - years.” He’s frowning, contemplating lost time, the whole concept of time evades him, it never used to at the start but now? It’s one big jumble, his time is defined by events and not a calendar.

“She still playing that one you got her on repeat?” You wonder.

“Yeah.”

“What was it again?”

“Bowie. Heroes.” Joel replies.

“Nice.” You nod.

As you lie there together in an easy silence, content to be together in the quiet solace of the stables, Joel’s mind wanders back to his earlier conversation with his younger brother:

“Hey, er - Tommy actually said something else earlier.” Joel winces at how awkward he sounds and you huff loudly, ready to hear what other dumbass thing he’s said. “He said he heard you say you have a boyfriend or that you were seein’ someone.”

You sit up, frowning down at Joel.

“Okay…” You reply hesitantly, uneasy now. “Am I not seeing you?” You frown.

“No - no! It’s… that came out wrong. I just meant - “ Joel grumbles, covering his face momentarily while you try to will your stomach from not sinking. “I don’t know, I just wanted to know if you meant me.”

“Seriously, Joel? This conversation is going so well.” You say dryly, utterly unimpressed.

“No! Oh my god! I can’t do this.” He groans, realising his mistake. “I’m sorry, that came out so wrong.” Joel apologises, you snort.

“Look Joel, I was talking to Mrs Patterson in the garden and she was telling me about her late husband, saying how lovely he was and how men just aren’t like that anymore. She asked if I’d found anyone and I let it slip that I was seeing someone, I didn’t mention any names and I can totally understand why you’re freaked when we haven’t even had that conversation ourselves. I shouldn’t have assumed this was anything more than sex, I’m sorry.” You annunciate, warm in the cheeks.

“You want to just have sex?” Joel is sat up now, matching your frazzled expression.

“If that’s what you want.” You shrug, taking an interest in your cuticles. A large hand lays over yours, squeezing. You shift your focus to his knuckles instead, tracing out the scars.

“Honey, look at me.” He urges softly, you hesitantly meet his eyes. “I think somewhere we’ve miscommunicated.”

“How so?” You press.

“Look… it’s been a long time since I’ve done this, I’m a little rusty. I’m sorry if I haven’t been clear about what we are or what I want us to be, I kinda just assumed you knew and yeah, that’s real shitty of me.” He says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I wanna be exclusive with you, honey. I mean, I have Ellie to think about so we’ll need to go slow just so I can ease her into the change. Is that okay?” He whispers, pressing his forehead to yours.

“That’s more than okay, Joel. I completely understand, I don’t want to spook Ellie either.” You confirm, Joel let’s out a relieved sigh.

“Good - good, okay. We’ll figure it out, baby.” He assures you, nuzzling his nose against yours and kissing you softly.

It’s easy to lose yourself in Joel Miller, you’re swept up in the gruff voice and strong arms, the softness beneath his outer shell reserved for those closest to him.

You’re kissing him back in earnest, he’s reclining to lay back down with you on top of him and you’re sure this could lead to round two or at least head from either one of you, maybe even both.

However, the moment is spoiled when you hear voices creeping closer to the stables. You both stiffen and wait, looking at each other with eyes opened wide.

The voices are getting closer and you decipher it’s two sets, it’s not made clear who it is until they’re walking behind the stables and you can see their shadows slink between the thin gaps in the planks.

It’s Ellie and Tommy.

You and Joel scramble, you yank your dress back over your breasts and pull the hem of it over your ass. Your panties are on the floor and you narrowly dodge Joel’s elbow as he hastily buckles his jeans back up just in time for the door around the corner to open with a shriek of the hinges.

“What if he’s gone out on patrol without telling me? Or maybe he’s swapped with someone and gone hunting? I know I’m back way earlier than he said but he said he’d be home! Do you think he’s left the gate? What if he’s hurt? What if - “ Ellie begins to ramble and Tommy sighs.

“Kiddo, stop worrying. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere, let’s look at the whiteboard and see if his name’s on there. I highly doubt he’s swapped shifts and he wouldn’t leave without telling you, he’s gotta be around here some…” Tommy’s reassurance comes to a stop when he round the corner of the hay bale wall and abruptly stops, staring at you and Joel with as much shock as you return.

Ellie slams into his back and he wobbles but his gaze never falters.

“What the fuck, man!” Ellie exclaims, shoving Tommy and stepping around his statue like form but also freezing too.

You look between them both, trying to formulate an excuse but Joel shoving his t-shirt on, the fact your clothes are crumpled and there’s absolutely hay in your tousled hair says it all.

Your panties are shoved behind your back out of view.

“Well I’ll be damned, you’re the guy she’s seein’!.” Tommy snorts, looking between you both. Joel growls, yanking on his flannel while Ellie manually retrieves her jaw from the floor.

“What the fuck is this?” She asks, looking between you and Joel. “You have a girlfriend? What the fuck, dude? You didn’t say anything!” She fumes, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Look, it’s complicated and new.” He says, which placates her slightly. She stares at you again and you see the betrayal hidden behind a scowl, she looks at Joel again.

“Fine. I guess this isn’t that bad, it could be worse - we could of caught you with Esther.”

“That’s true.” Tommy nods, pointing at Ellie, she nods back.

“Esther?” You question, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, Tommy’s neighbour, she totally fancies Joel.” Ellie tells you. “You should fight her.”

“No, she doesn’t and stop shit stirring.” Joel warns Ellie, she hides a smirk which tells you she’s winding Joel up.

“I could take Esther.” You say, playing along, Ellie’s eyes brighten with mischief.

“Nobody’s fighting no one.” Joel settles, you’re all silent for a millisecond and then Tommy throws in his two cence.

“You could take Esther.” He agrees.

“Enough about Esther, please!” Joel begs, beside himself.

“This is fucking embarrassing, Joel. What the fuck do you expect us to do? It’s awkward!” Ellie complains, Tommy nods in agreement, you do too.

“Yeah? Try being where we’re stood, kid.” He retorts.

Ellie kinda has to resist the urge to throw up in her mouth because Joel has sex which is so horrifying that she almost can’t bare to look at him but she’s equally happy for him and utterly disgusted, she swallows back a retch.

“Fine, whatever. I’m very happy for you and my da - Joel.” Ellie bursts and corrects herself at the last minute, you don’t miss the hitch in Joel’s breathing but this is not the time for that discussion. “I’m willing to negotiate a price for the emotional damage you’ve both caused me by lying to me, sneaking around and also having sex in front of my horse.” She lists.

“My horse too!” Tommy adds.

“And Tommy’s horse too, Crash and Shimmer didn’t want to see your bare ass.” Ellie continues and for some reason Joel knows exactly where this is going, so he braces himself.

“Name your price.” He bites, Ellie looks at him with a levelling glare, it’s getting hard not to laugh when you see Tommy observing like he’s watching a mafia deal go down.

“A kitten.” Ellie reveals.

He fucking knew it.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller #the last of us fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal fanfiction

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lookingformoondrop · 11 months

Note

Hiiii! Thanks for writing for tcoal! If you have time can I get a yandere Andrew x reader? Thanks :)

Sure thing~ Once again, it seems highly unlikely that Ashley would let this obsession slide, so for the sake of the story, she's been bliped. Happy (late) Halloween! <3

Yandere! Andrew GravesxReader

TW: Yandere themes, possession, obsession, murder, implied kidnapping, intimidation, stalking, Andrew has a foul mouth (Y/N too), not proofread

♡1,438 WORDS♡

Andrew Graves has a mask.

It's a very well crafted mask that's used to blend in with his peers, his friends, his girlfriends, his parents, and even himself.

It covers the dark parts of Andrew that even himself is too terrified to look at.

For if you look into the abyss, it looks back at you.

But when he met you, swinging back and forth at the playground swing, he could've sworn he heard something crack.

You were beautiful.

As he watched you, with the breeze blowing at your cute overalls and baggy shirt, god, so pretty.

Your smile could open the gates of the heavens. Your laugh could make rainbows last, your tears would be prettier than diamonds, and you in his cage would bring him closer to your hell.

He couldn't help but imagine you as some sort of art. Something valuable that wasn't ever to be touched by another person. Only seen by him, just him.

His mask cracked the more he looked at you.

That day started a life-long obsession.

He would venture to that park a few more times after that, until eventually introducing himself to you. Naive you, who believed him to be a kind and stoic person.

You weren't wrong, but it was your fault for thinking that's all it was.

Even if Andrew never admitted it to himself, the thought of you being his and ONLY his made his heart flutter.

How when you breathed, when you walked, when you spoke, when you laughed, it would all belong to him.

Those thoughts kept him awake at night, even if a light blush would always dust his cheeks.

As time went on, he learned that his dakmfk thoughts that he pushed to the back of his mind would only resurface when a man talked to you. Even a father-figure was enough to put him in a foul mood.

Andrew didn't say anything, but hearing his name come out of your mouth made his blood boil.

"Andy? Are you okay? You've been glaring at the ground even since we walked past Mr. Mancho."

"Why do you even like him? He's so...weird," Mr. Mancho was an innocent looking math teacher, one that always smiled at the students. And yet, Andrew hated the fact he smiled at Y/N...he didn't like that very much.

"Weird? He's been pretty nice to me...," You scratched your chin in deep thought, "do you not like Mr. Mancho?"

Andrew looked up at your doe eyes and heard something crack again,

"...he keeps looking at my things."

Andrew justified his growing hatred.

Even as you shrugged away his weird moods whenever you talked to cousins, friends, and teachers, Andrew never lacked as your friend.

Through every obstacle, he'd be there to help you jump over them. Although he'd complain about jumping in the first place, he'd never leave you.

He'd care about your issues, he'd care for your wounds, and he'd listen to your problems.

Especially when you were bullied.

The keyword here is 'were'.

While in school, a boy had groped you. When confronting him about what happened, his friend group laughed at you, claiming that you were just making shit up for attention.

This had made you cry when you got home.

Something that Andrew instantly knew about...somehow.

"Jesus Y/N, what happened?"

"S- Some boy touched me, and- h-he then said I was just making it up for attention! My friends all believed him a-and I," you broke down in sobs as your day was retold to your best friend.

As you continued to share your day with Andrew, he remained completely silent.

Several times throughout the call, you'd check if he was even still on. Still, when you called out for him, he'd answer with praise for trying to stand up for yourself, no matter what they had said to you.

You didn't know it then, but Andrew was squeezing his pack of cigarettes so hard that by the time he had gotten off the phone with you, they were all broken.

The next week, when you came to school, authorities were there questioning all the students. When they came to you, it was explained that the boy who groped you was killed and stuffed into his parent's basement freezer. Along with his friends, who all mysterious died in the forest, with some sort of satanic pentagon painted beneath their bodies.

You told the police you knew nothing, and all your friends who had doubted you came to you in an instant with apologies.

When you had told Andrew everything that happened he had only said,

"How strange."

As the years went on and you grew older, your friendship with Andrew always stayed strong.

Andrew would never say it, but when he kissed your cheek or patted your head, he was screaming,'I love you.'

But his dark thoughts, the ones he kept far back in his mind, would only double.

"Andy! Guess what happened today?"

"Hah?" Andrew turned his head from his spot on the couch.

"This cute boy at my job said he would love to take me out to dinner sometime!" You smiled brightly at the sly possibility that your bad streak with love would finally be over.

Every guy that ever walked into your life promptly bolted for the door the moment you opened it.

Andrew always told you that those guys just didn't appreciate you enough and that someone who bolted just like that was a quitter. Ashley?

But even then, you never gave up. Despite the long list of guys who ghosted you randomly.

"Oh...you said no, right? "

"What?" You walked over to Andrew from the door of the apartment. "Why would I say no...?"

Andrew looked at you with a dark shadow over his face, "Y/N, there are millions of creeps and perverts that are going to ask you out. They're only leering at you for your body."

You frowned at this notion,

"When you go to your next shift, tell him you don't want to anymore." Andrew thought for a moment and then shook his head.

"What's wrong?"

Andrew looked at your confused eyes.

"Just realized I have to get up early tomorrow to take out the trash."

When you went back to work the next day, he had quit just as suddenly.

Sad and upset over the millionth guy that ghosted and dumped you, you'd sulk to Andrew. Who would always make you warm cup of tea.

"Dumbass, you just keep picking quitters. It's not because of you."

"But Andy, I haven't had a boyfriend in years! At this point I'll die alone, probably with you right there to bury me with my hundreds of cats."

Andrew laughed at that and reached his arm around your shoulder.

"Just wait a little longer Y/N, I'm sure there's some jackass out there waiting for you."

"Yeah, right." You smiled at Andrew, "You're the only jackass I know, though. "

You leaned your head on Andrew's shoulder and began to fall to sleep rather quickly.

"The only...jackass...in my life... Andy, I'm sleepy."

Andrew took a sip of his tea and placed the cup far away from your drink.

"Rest Y/N. When you wake up, you'll have me right there besides you."

"Andy?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you, you're my best friend."

Andrew patted your hair as you drifted off to a drug-induced slumber.

"Yes, I'm your best friend," Andrew stared off to the distance as he thought about it.

"Soon, your only friend," He nodded at that statement, "Yes, the only friend you'll ever need."

His mask, although long forgotten, had finally cracked open.

You were his. Like a forbidden piece of art, it belonged to him. He was your painter, and as the painter, he declared you to be covered up. Only his retinas were allowed to peer at you.

It's your fault he went through all this effort to keep you safe. He's obligated as the painter to keep his art safe from dirty influences.

He's mildly disappointed in you whenever you speak to another man, but it's okay. It's his job after all to stalk the said man and hack his tongue off for even going to speak to you.

No matter how many guys he has to threaten, no matter how many people he's had to hack at, no matter how many people he's had to kidnap, it wasn't his fault.

It's yours.

All the blame is on his sweet, naive, poor, Y/N.

Still as innocent the day he found you at the playground.

"Still mine..." He mumbled as he stared at your sleeping face.

"Only mine."

Thanks for the ask!<3

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thefanficmonster · 4 months

Text

Beautiful Things

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader (Female)

Warnings: SPOILERS for Bridgerton S3 part 1, Minor Period-typical sexism

Genre: Romance, Rivals to Lovers, Fluff

Summary: They're both brilliant, and brilliantly stubborn. What a pair they'd make.

Benedict tends to thread through life without as much as a worried crease on his features. There are very few matters he doesn't take to lightheartedly. That being said, it came as quite the surprise the sharp current of uncertainty that ran down his spine when he found himself standing in front of the monstrosity of a building that is the Royal Academy of Arts on his first day in attendance.

It took him and his charm less than a week to woo and work his way through the crowd of ambitious up-and-coming artists. He's always been an easy person to converse and unwind with. That aura around him naturally draws people to him like a magnet. It is a miracle the man hasn't been hunted down by a debutant already.

Not for a lack of trying, of course. The young ladies of the ton, especially the ones who have been freshy introduced into society have had their sights set on him since he himself made his way into the rhythm of the ton.

Nothing's ever fulfilled him, though.

Being the child of a marriage filled with love that has extended long past the death of his late father, he holds love to a high standard. A standard no one has even come close to reaching.

Watching his siblings find that very sort of love his parents had is a bittersweet sight to observe. It leaves him filled with joy on the behalf of his beloved siblings and it gives him a sense of hope that eventually he too might find what they managed to obtain - not without obstacles, though.

On the other edge of the sword, however, is the never ceasing worry that the problem might be his. That his lack of seriousness bordering into blatant avoidance of the ladies of the ton is to blame for his unmarried status. Perhaps it may be his overly romanticized view of love which he'd like to believe isn't the case. He's seen love of that caliber blossom time and time again in his own home. There's no reason to believe that his turn won't eventually come.

That his standard won't eventually be reached.

Speaking of standards on a lighter note, this painting he's currently standing in front of is disappointing even his lowest requirements for a decent painting.

It is absolutely atrocious, he voices his distaste only briefly and only mentally, never one to voice such critique unless it is cushioned by a smile and a quick-to-follow lighthearted remark.

"It is absolutely atrocious." There is a sharp edge to the voice that does opt to voice the very same thought out loud with far less regard for the negative attention it might garner.

Turning his head to the side, Benedict can't help the smile that immediately tugs at the corners of his mouth.

There, a mere meter from him, stands the ever so cutthroat, no-nonsense, ambitious beast of a woman that is Miss Y/N L/N. A smile rarely grazes her features, her eyes are always icy with an emotion bordering into boredom and a stature that screams authority.

And bloody hell does Benedict enjoy himself in her company.

She is the only student in The Academy he hasn't yet swayed, nor does he believe that he ever will. There are too many walls around her for him to even attempt to start breaking them down. He believes he'll sooner die of old age than succeed in reaching whatever human emotions she might exhibit around people she doesn't dislike.

When it comes to expressing distaste, however, she's not at all hesitant to share it.

"Oh, show the piece some mercy, Miss L/N. It deserves the grace of at least a spec of your kindness." Apart from perfecting his art, one of Benedict's favorite hobbies these past seven months would most certainly be pulling on Y/N's strings. Although it hasn't helped him form anything close to a friendship with her, it has aided him on the mission to get to know her better despite her being a sealed envelope of a person.

"I unfortunately do not possess plenty of it, therefore I can not be generous with it." She barely spares him a look as she speaks. That has been the case for half a year with no progress.

Still, he's willing to weld at the wax until he can pluck and read the letter inside. It is, after all, the bare minimum. He'd at the very least like to make her time at The Academy slightly more enjoyable. Being the only woman in the arts department, she's been rather ostracized which is typically the best case scenario. On the far worse end of the spectrum are the manner-less and, quite frankly, brainless 'gentlemen' who vary from not being able to keep it in their trousers to putting down her and her art which far surpasses their own.

If only they had that aforementioned missing brain intact, they'd see they're not even a quarter of the artist Y/N is.

That is one of the few things Benedict does not shy away from proclaiming with his whole chest. Although well aware that Miss L/N can handle herself gracefully and sharply as always, he never misses an opportunity to put the filthy men in The Academy in their place.

"I believe you possess far more kindness than you let on. Though, I understand completely why you'd rather not show it. None of these lovely gentlemen are deserving of it." The inflection of his tone on those two specific words wins him a scoff from her tightly pressed together lips.

A small win. Baby steps.

"I hope you are factoring yourself in when you use general terms of such sort. I have no evidence you are any better than them." She says, subtly motioning to the crowd of self-titled art experts around the venue where their final works have been displayed for renowned artists to come and rate in precisely half an hour.

Benedict had recognized her painting the second he stepped foot in the ballroom like gallery of The Academy. Needless to say, it put the rest to shame. Even his own, he has no problem admitting that. The emotions relayed in the painting, each brushstroke, every color, every line - they pulled him in the second he laid eyes on it.

And no, he most certainly is not biased. He's a very objective man when it comes to art. It might be considered a conflict of interest, though, because to him she is art.

"Believe me, my lady, I would hate nothing more than to boast myself but I still do believe I stand out from this pleasant crowd. For, as I was told, mine was the only painting you gave a stellar review for."

Professor Hedingale, although a man in his late fifties with a rather intimidating exterior and a permanent frown etched into his forehead, is a major gossip. He has taken a great favor to Benedict for his warm nature and shared love of observing drama as it unfolds. That being said, it took him a total of three seconds before he informed his student of Miss L/N's surprising review. She had not given the other paintings as much as a second glance, opting to say nothing rather than tarnish them the way they honestly deserved.

Had he not been paying such close attention to each line of her face, he could've missed it. Luckily for him, he did not. That brief fleeting moment of surprise widening Y/N's did not manage to go by unnoticed.

"I have a very high standard for beauty and would never stoop so low as to give a biased and unjust review. If I find something abhorrent, I say so. If I find something beautiful, I'd never not compliment it the way it deserves." Benedict almost flinches when she turns to face him, establishing intense and quite entrancing eye contact. "I am not mean, Bridgerton. I am simply honest."

Words burn dry on his tongue, his breath dissipating in his lungs. Had she still not been facing him, he could have come up with a timely response. But something about her gaze being so focused on him has turned his brain to a pile of pebbles. Not a single thought is passing through his head other than a fact he's long established. In fact, he came to learn it the very first at The Academy. Every day since it has only been confirmed time and time again.

She's absolutely enamoring.

The moment dissolves with the loud bang of the grand doors to the gallery being pulled open, allowing in the crowd of world renowned artists that now hold the students' futures in their gloved hands.

Benedict is not surprised by the fact that all these critical artists are men. He's grateful no artist's name has been listed by the displayed paintings, otherwise Y/N would have no chance at winning their favor. Not objectively anyway. At least one would have undermined her because, although talented artists, that doesn't exclude them from being close-minded fools. And at least one would try to butter her up for a potential courtship.

Yeah, that's not happening

Upon getting a better look, he finds himself pleasantly surprised by a head of long blonde hair, undoubtedly belonging to a woman. A woman whose work he's become very familiar with knowing Y/N is quite an admirer of hers.

"Eleanor Easton." The name comes out almost breathlessly, barely getting past Y/N's lips.

Turning his attention back to her, he's rather shocked to see what the nerves have done to her. She's shaking like a leaf, all the confidence she typically exhibits has drained from her body into a puddle on the tiled floor.

"You should go talk to her, express your admiration for her work." It is more an attempt at vexing her than a suggestion but it's in no way bad advice. Even though Lady Eleanor doesn't look like she'd take kindly to the gesture, it would be a noble attempt.

"Are you mad?!" Y/N whisper-yells, her eyes wide in panic as she spreads open the hand-held fan she's carrying to provide a soft breeze to her extremely heated face. "I could never possibly do such a thing!"

"Why could you not? It w....oh, she's looking right at us....." Benedict has barely finished his sentence before he feels a gust of wind rush past him in a blur of sparkling fabric, lace and silk.

For a solid second or two, he's torn on what to do. Although his initial intention was to vex her, he's now worried she might actually be dissolving in a nervous frenzy and he can't let her tarnish months of work because of some jitters. He too would be a wreck of similar caliber if any of the artists he idolizes were to show up and he too would prefer someone snap him out of it.

So, he follows her out the wooden doors that lead to a maze of intertwined halls, the walls of which are immaculately hand painted. For a moment, he panics, worried he won't be able to find her on time in the chaos of intertwining hallways and painting rooms. But then, he remembers that he indeed knows her better than he thought.

He finds her exactly where he thought he would - standing in front of the wall painting he often finds her looking at in awe. She's never explicitly stated so, but he knows it's her favorite.

To say Y/N is not happy when she spots him would be an understatement, "Oh. for heaven's sake, can I not get a moment without you pestering me?"

He takes her words with an eye roll, "No. I am bringing you back in that gallery. You are going to stand tall and remain collected when they announce your painting to be the equivalent of the Diamond of the season. Do you understand?" He surprises himself with the tone of seriousness his voice has taken on.

See? He can be serious when he wants to be.

She lets out a frustrated sigh, vigorously waving the red fan in her hand in a pointless attempt to collect herself, "Bridgerton..." She closes her eyes for a second as to not spit everything she'd very much like to say. Still, she is a lady, though. "I am asking you to leave my sight in the next five seconds, for you are getting on my nerves."

With two long strides, Benedict minimizes the distance between them, passing the social boundary for respectful space and bordering onto a scandal if someone were to see them. He doesn't care, though. Most romances he's witnessed, if not all, began with a scandal.

Now it's his turn.

"Oh, is that so? Am I getting on your nerves, Y/N?"

"You're getting on my nerves, Benedict-" Her words come to a sharp end when he swipes the fan from her hand, halting the consistent motion. That seems to have been her last straw of composure, seeing as how the hand that formerly held said fan is now clenched in a tight fist and her eyes are squeezing shut. "You pesky, vex...-"

How rude of Benedict to interrupt the lady yet again, is it not? This time he does so by busying her lips with his own. He braced himself for a potential slap on the cheek before even leaning in but the impact never comes.

What he did not prepare himself for was her rather welcoming response, allowing herself to momentarily forget everything else and melt into the rhythm of the kiss. Melt into him. Her arms instinctively wrap around his neck while his hold her waist, fearful of her dissipating like a dream before his eyes.

It pains him that he has to end a moment of such culmination. A moment that the seven months they've known each other inevitably led to. However, they can always pick up this conversation later. For now, Y/N has credits to earn and a painting to be prized.

So, against his instincts, he pulls away.

"This isn't over." He says, his lungs catching up on minutes worth of air they didn't properly receive, "But for now, we have other matters at hand." With a tilt of his head, he motions down the hall - a clear insinuation.

With a similarly disappointed expression and an even more disappointed sigh, Y/N brings herself to nod. She reaches out to retrieve the fan from him which gives him the opportunity to sneak one more quick kiss just as a door opens further down the hall, rudely tearing them apart from one another.

Smacking him lightly with her fan, Miss L/N can't suppress the laugh that Benedict's smug prideful expression provoked from her. She accepts the arm he's offered her and allows him to lead her back the way they came from.

"What you said about beauty and how it should never go uncomplimented..."

"Yes?"

"Oh, nothing. I just wanted to say you're ravishing."

Another laugh breaks the illusion of her icy demeanor, "Why, thank you, Mister Bridgerton. Your painting was quite easy on the eyes as well. Professor Hedingale did not lie. I must say I'm impressed."

"Although I will accept the compliment, I'll have you know there's plenty you are yet to see. This is nothing. Prepare yourself to be truly impressed."

Giving his arm a subtle squeeze, she flashes him one last smile before they enter the gallery once more, "Doubtful."

That's the thing about rivalry, dear reader, it brings out the good, the bad and the beautiful.

The rest is best kept behind a close door, if you know what this author is alluding to.

#bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict x reader #benedict x you #benedict smut #polin

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tangibletechnomancy · 5 months

Text

The reason I took interest in AI as an art medium is that I've always been interested in experimenting with novel and unconventional art media - I started incorporating power tools into a lot of my physical processes younger than most people were even allowed to breathe near them, and I took to digital art like a duck to water when it was the big, relatively new, controversial thing too, so really this just seems like the logical next step. More than that, it's exciting - it's not every day that we just invent an entirely new never-before-seen art medium! I have always been one to go fucking wild for that shit.

Which is, ironically, a huge part of why I almost reflexively recoil at how it's used in the corporate world: because the world of business, particularly the entertainment industry, has what often seems like less than zero interest in appreciating it as a novel medium.

And I often wonder how much less that would be the case - and, by extension, how much less vitriolic the discussion around it would be, and how many fewer well-meaning people would be falling for reactionary mythologies about where exactly the problems lie - if it hadn't reached the point of...at least an illusion of commercial viability, at exactly the moment it did.

See, the groundwork was laid in 2020, back during covid lockdowns, when we saw a massive spike in people relying on TV, games, books, movies, etc. to compensate for the lack of outdoor, physical, social entertainment. This was, seemingly, wonderful for the whole industry - but under late-stage capitalism, it was as much of a curse as it was a gift. When industries are run by people whose sole brain process is "line-go-up", tiny factors like "we're not going to be in lockdown forever" don't matter. CEOs got dollar signs in their eyes. Shareholders demanded not only perpetual growth, but perpetual growth at this rate or better. Even though everyone with an ounce of common sense was screaming "this is an aberration, this is not sustainable" - it didn't matter. The business bros refused to believe it. This was their new normal, they were determined to prove -

And they, predictably, failed to prove it.

So now the business bros are in a pickle. They're beholden to the shareholders to do everything within their power to maintain the infinite growth they promised, in a world with finite resources. In fact, by precedent, they're beholden to this by law. Fiduciary duty has been interpreted in court to mean that, given the choice between offering a better product and ensuring maximum returns for shareholders, the latter MUST be a higher priority; reinvesting too much in the business instead of trying to make the share value increase as much as possible, as fast as possible, can result in a lawsuit - that a board member or CEO can lose, and have lost before - because it's not acting in the best interest of shareholders. If that unsustainable explosive growth was promised forever, all the more so.

And now, 2-3-4 years on, that impossibility hangs like a sword of Damocles over the heads of these media company CEOs. The market is fully saturated; the number of new potential customers left to onboard is negligible. Some companies began trying to "solve" this "problem" by violating consumer privacy and charging per household member, which (also predictably) backfired because those of us who live in reality and not statsland were not exactly thrilled about the concept of being told we couldn't watch TV with our own families. Shareholders are getting antsy, because their (however predictably impossible) infinite lockdown-level profits...aren't coming, and someone's gotta make up for that, right? So they had already started enshittifying, making excuses for layoffs, for cutting employee pay, for duty creep, for increasing crunch, for lean-staffing, for tightening turnarounds-

And that was when we got the first iterations of AI image generation that were actually somewhat useful for things like rapid first drafts, moodboards, and conceptualizing.

Lo! A savior! It might as well have been the digital messiah to the business bros, and their eyes turned back into dollar signs. More than that, they were being promised that this...both was, and wasn't art at the same time. It was good enough for their final product, or if not it would be within a year or two, but it required no skill whatsoever to make! Soon, you could fire ALL your creatives and just have Susan from accounting write your scripts and make your concept art with all the effort that it takes to get lunch from a Star Trek replicator!

This is every bit as much bullshit as the promise of infinite lockdown-level growth, of course, but with shareholders clamoring for the money they were recklessly promised, executives are looking for anything, even the slightest glimmer of a new possibility, that just might work as a life raft from this sinking ship.

So where are we now? Well, we're exiting the "fucking around" phase and entering "finding out". According to anecdotes I've read, companies are, allegedly, already hiring prompt engineers (or "prompters" - can't give them a job title that implies there's skill or thought involved, now can we, that just might imply they deserve enough money to survive!)...and most of them not only lack the skill to manually post-process their works, but don't even know how (or perhaps aren't given access) to fully use the software they specialize in, being blissfully unaware of (or perhaps not able/allowed to use) features such as inpainting or img2img. It has been observed many times that LLMs are being used to flood once-reputable information outlets with hallucinated garbage. I can verify - as can nearly everyone who was online in the aftermath of the Glasgow Willy Wonka Dashcon Experience - that the results are often outright comically bad.

To anyone who was paying attention to anything other than please-line-go-up-faster-please-line-go-please (or buying so heavily into reactionary mythologies about why AI can be dangerous in industry that they bought the tech companies' false promises too and just thought it was a bad thing), this was entirely predictable. Unfortunately for everyone in the blast radius, common sense has never been an executive's strong suit when so much money is on the line.

Much like CGI before it, what we have here is a whole new medium that is seldom being treated as a new medium with its own unique strengths, but more often being used as a replacement for more expensive labor, no matter how bad the result may be - nor, for that matter, how unjust it may be that the labor is so much cheaper.

And it's all because of timing. It's all because it came about in the perfect moment to look like a life raft in a moment of late-stage capitalist panic. Any port in a storm, after all - even if that port is a non-Euclidean labyrinth of soggy, rotten botshit garbage.

Any port in a storm, right? ...right?

All images generated using Simple Stable, under the Code of Ethics of Are We Art Yet?

#ai art #generated art #generated artwork #essays #about ai #worth a whole 'nother essay is how the tech side exists in a state that is both thriving and floundering at the same time #because the money theyre operating with is in schrodinger's box #at the same time it exists and it doesnt #theyre highly valued but usually operating at a loss #that is another MASSIVE can of worms and deserves its own deep dive

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lexluvsmegs · 6 months

Text

Bet you could do better…

[Choso Kamo x fem!reader]

Synopsis ౨ৎ - After a recent break up, you search for comfort in the form of your long term best friend Choso. But what happens when he finds out the reason you weren’t all that into your ex is because he couldn’t make you finish?

Warnings ౨ৎ - smut ⭒ oral (f receiving) ⭒ Choso is basically so in love with you ⭒ dry humping ⭒ Choso cums untouched ⭒ a lil bit of fingering

Word count ౨ৎ - 1583

(18+ please if you’re a minor do not interact!)

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You weren’t upset, per se, however you did find yourself fed up with the lack of manors in which men possess. You’re sat on your sofa, glass of wine in hand and your handsome friend to your left. You had known Choso for quite some time now. He was extremely shy in the earlier stages of your friendship: flushing at any physical contact, stuttering over his words when you asked any questions, his voice ever so breathless during late night calls… But he had grown since then - well, except for the last point - and found himself to be more comfortable and open in your presence. You could even call him your best friend.

So who better to call than said best friend when you’re down in the dumps over your most recent break up. You had always been open with Choso with almost every aspect of your life. Except one. You see, ever since you met Choso you’ve harboured a small crush on the man. Can you really blame yourself? However, you made a promise that you wouldn’t do anything to ruin the beautiful bond created between the two of you. So that was that.

You decided to invite Choso round for a drink. Of course Choso was down, and so here he is now, sat on your sofa nursing a beer in one hand and fiddling the string of his sweatpants with the other. He wasn’t wearing anything extravagant, but the compression shirt he was sporting did little to hide his mouth watering muscles. You’re surprised you didn’t jump his dick when he walked in. You had some serious self restraint.

Choso makes a humming noise, breaking the silence, as he turns to you, asking if you want a refill of your wine. You shake your impure thoughts and gladly accept, scooting closer to his figure feeling the warmth radiate off of him. “So.. how you feeling?” He asks apprehensively. You appreciate his concern but aren’t too sure you want to remember the man who you foolishly went out with. “Fine. Don’t even know why I gave him a chance” you laugh slightly, feeling the ever so familiar tipsy side effects of your drink. Choso stared at you, almost in a trance, as if he was deep in thought. He gives you a look you can’t quite decipher. “Why do you say that? I thought you found him attractive?” You take another sip then turn to face him. “He couldn’t satisfy me” it was blunt. Blunt enough to cause a deep red to coat the tips of Choso’s pierced ears at the sexual implication.

He clears his throat. Was that too much? But before your thoughts can spiral, he takes a quick glance down to your lips before returning his gaze to your own and replies “oh yeah? In what way?” His voice was low and shaky, unsure of the words coming from his mouth. The eye contact you’re both holding is intense, it causes you to subtly rub your legs together for any sort of relief. “Uh, he couldn’t make me finish” you finally choke out after the initial shock of his boldness wore off. The tension was thick. You knew he could feel it too as you saw him subtly shift his free hand to hide his crotch. Oh. You swallowed thickly. Could Choso really see you that way? You can only hope. You drag your sight away from his lap and back to meet his own, already staring at you like you were the only person to ever exist. Choso always looked at you like you were fine art, but this time it felt slightly different.

You don’t know what came over you. You were trying to fill the silence you swear but the alcohol really messed you up when you blurted out “I bet you could make me finish” it was a whisper but still loud enough for Choso to hear every word. Fuck, you’ve definitely taken it too far now. You open your mouth to apologise, but Choso cuts you off with a short“Please.”You didn’t have to wonder what he was begging for for long as he soon follows up with “Please, let me make you finish.” He looks so pathetic pleading like this and it makes you so unbelievably wet. You don’t offer a reply as you place your drink down and grab his face, pulling him down to meet you in a desperate kiss. He follows suit in hastily planting his drink down on the nearest surface and grabs your hips returning the same heat to the kiss. You open your mouth granting him access as he slips his tongue inside, tasting the bitter wine left behind.

You’re getting handsy, throwing a leg over to straddle Choso, hands moving to grip his hair as he lets out an angelic whine. God, you can’t get enough of this man. He starts bucking his hips up as you feel the outline of his cock rutting against your clothed cunt. You soon break apart from the kiss both parties moaning at the stimulation. “Fuck, you’re so pretty. Wanted this for so long. Y’dont know how many nights I’ve fantasised about this very moment” it comes out rushed, but fuck, that turned you on even more. Choso got off to you. Pride swells in your chest at the realisation and you decide to reward him by licking and sucking your way down his neck, making sure to focus on the one spot that caught his breath.

“P-please take this off, wanna see those pretty tits” who knew Choso had such a dirty mouth. You follow his request, bringing the top above your head and shimmying out of your shorts. He’s in awe, basically drooling at the sight of your plush breasts. You giggle at his reaction. “Now you’ve gotta take stuff off. Only fair” you tease his already flustered self as he scrambles to get fully undressed. He’s beautiful. Sculpted by the gods. His abs are so defined, making you want to ride them, and his pecs are big enough to bite. Now the only thing separating your wet cunt from his throbbing cock is the thin fabric of your panties. Your wetness is seeping through causing a slick sound to form as you grind down on his now bare dick.

Choso fumbles to remove your bra and watches as your tits fall free from the restraint. He wastes no time in taking one of your nipples into his mouth sucking at it as if he expects milk to pour out. This has you moaning and squirming as you drag your nails down his chest causing marks to form. He soon removes his mouth and replaces it with his fingers to keep the stimulation as he pants a “can I eat you out?” the pleasure has you speechless as you can only manage a nod at his request. He lays you down on your back, your limbs splayed lazily over the span of the couch. You’re impatiently awaiting Choso’s next move as he watches over you, he finally removes your panties and stares in awe at the view in front of him. “You are so beautiful” his words make you flush. “J-just hurry up” you reply, slightly embarrassed at your exposure. He lays down, coming face to face with your glistening cunt as he continues to mumble about how lucky he is and how pretty you are. When he finally takes an experimental lick you both let out desperate moans. “God, you taste so good. So sweet f’me” he spreads you open with both hands and takes your clit between his lips, sloppily lapping at your pussy causing you to clamp your legs around his head. Fuck, does he eat pussy like a champ. He’s got you squirming from the intense pleasure, his tongue teasing your entrance before going back towards your clit.

Choso can’t control himself, the sight before him is too hot to handle. He slowly starts to grind his dick against the fabric of your sofa. It’s so messy with the pre-cum spilling from his cock. He’s just as messy though, moaning shamelessly into your pretty, wet cunt with your juices all over his face as he chases his own release. It’s all getting too much as you grab onto Choso’s hair for dear life, practically humping his face, his nose bumping your clit. He can’t get enough of your taste, he think he may have just become an addict as nothing sweet could ever compare to the taste of you. Choso’s whines get more desperate and so do yours. “Fuck! Choso, gonna make me cum.” A pornographic moan leaves him at this statement, showing he was the same. Choso suddenly adds a finger, curling it up to hit the spot that made your toes curl. That was your breaking point as your orgasm came crashing down. However, Choso didn’t stop, lapping up your release as he finally comes to his own panting like a needy dog.

You both take some time to calm down from your highs and soon find yourself sat back on Choso’s lap. “Guess I was right then” you smirk, kissing him as a form of gratitude. He looks so cute like this, so fucked out and you’ve not even touched him properly. “Now it’s my turn to return the favour” you say with a giggle as you slowly make your own way down.

It’s gonna be a long night.

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PLEASE DO NOT Copy, Translate, Re-Upload, or Steal ANY of my work.

Thank You, Beautiful People!

#choso kamo #choso x reader #jjk choso #choso my beloved #choso smut #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso x you #choso x female reader #choso x y/n #choso kamo x reader #choso fluff #choso kamo x you #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk fanfic

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