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houserautha · 2 days

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Feyd is the type to go on and on about getting his wife/partner pregnant but when it comes to actually raising a child? The dramaaaaaa(and unhealed trauma) Ideally Feyd wants to raise a strong and ruthless warrior worthy of succeeding him when the time comes but like what if the little guy(probably a boy bc the prophecy and all that)just got real unlucky in the genetics lottery all the crazy and bloodthirsty-ness his parents have just skips a generation and he's the most sensitive and shy creature to ever be born on geidi prime the most un-harkonen harkonen Feyd getting frustrated his child doesn't have the strength to pick up a sword without trembling,to shed blood without wincing,to take a life without crying canonically I think he'd just throw the kid in the woods to fend for himself Sparta style and hope they die or return and be "normal" thinks he's been coddled for far too long because he just can't accept his son is so different from him sorry to dump all this on you dude I just had to talk to this to somebody!😭💀

Wait don’t apologize I actually really love this

Feyd would be incredibly insecure about fatherhood. He would struggle to connect with a newborn and swear that his son hates him because he always bursts into tears whenever Feyd picks him up. And as a toddler?? Feyd is already as volatile as a toddler so his son would infuriate him😂 I feel like he would snap and be impatient and frustrated. And maybe because he feels so insecure about his parenting/relationship with his son, he throws himself into work so that he doesn’t have to interact with his son as much

So his son grows up with a pretty explosive, absent father. Now he’s a child, and Feyd shows an interest in him again — it’s time to learn how to fight. Feyd spars with his son until his body is mottled with bruises and snot dries on his upper lip; Feyd is appalled by his son’s “weakness” and so shocked that he lashes out at him. Feyd definitely does not understand how to regulate his emotions or disguise his thoughts.

(Now, feel free to disregard this part because it’s related to TDE) Reader knows what it’s like to have your parents disappointed in you and your capabilities, so she nurtures her son and encourages him to do what he likes. I think it would be especially funny if their son is like naturally very tall and strong but is like Ferdinand and just wants to sit in the sun and read all day😂

So reader allows their son to pursue his interests — reading and politics and academics, which he excels in. He grows into a teenager. Other children his age mock him because he is so unlike any other Harkonnen, tease him that his mother must’ve been unfaithful. Their son, in turn, keeps to himself and doesn’t have any friends.

At this point I think Feyd (sadly) would’ve given up on his son. He would occasionally force him to take up a dagger or throw a punch, claiming that no son of his would be so weak. Now, as much as the son loathes these training sessions and his father’s cruelty, he desperately wants his approval. Which is the only reason he continues to agree to let Feyd push him to the dirt over and over again, to draw blood; to belittle him.

And this would drive a wedge in between Feyd and reader’s relationship. She understands Feyd’s own unresolved trauma and the Harkonnen battle culture, but she doesn’t understand how her husband could be so unkind to their son — who looks like a combination of them both, with Feyd’s plush lips but your distinct Atreides nose, brows always pulled down in concentration over his dark eyes.

“He will never survive here,” Feyd snarls at you one evening, when the conversation naturally drifts to your son as it always does. Feyd is shaking with his heightened emotions. “I just want him to be successful.”

And you push back, “He is successful.“

“His achievements mean nothing to the other Harkonnens. They demand brutality and blood, not his…weakness.”

And maybe as their son turns eighteen (or whatever age Harkonnens are deemed an adult, maybe younger because they don’t live very long lives) Feyd sends their son on the ceremonial journey into the Giedi Prime wilderness. Reader is unable to prevent this. Their son is expected to forge his own way home or perish. Now, their son takes an abnormally long time to return but he does — half dead because he refused to kill any wildlife or steal from others, surviving only on his wit and his knowledge of survival.

Feyd is not impressed.

And maybe this strenuous relationship continues well their son’s adulthood. It’s not until a political rival challenges Feyd that he discovers just how strong his son is. The rival is peaceful and refuses to fight or draw a weapon, and Feyd knows he can’t initiate an attack without suffering the consequences. He entirely has no idea how to handle this. But his son does.

His son knows all about this rival’s culture and history, how to appeal to them, how to navigate their political court and ultimately subdue the threat that they pose. For the first time, Feyd is proud of his son.

And thus begins the turn around of their relationship and Feyd realizing that strength does not always have to be physical. His son is probably in his late twenties/early thirties by now and Feyd takes to teaching his son less aggressive ways to fight — poison and pressure points and defensive measure — and allows his son to teach him about what he knows.

It certainly doesn’t blossom and thrive overnight. They are staunchly opposed to each other’s beliefs but somewhat begrudgingly begin to trust one another and build respect and admiration.

Feyd doesn’t know how to apologize or how to express his guilt over his son’s wasted childhood, but you bet your ass he leaps to his son’s defense whenever he gets the chance and defends him relentlessly.

And, oh, just wait until he becomes a grandfather.

Finally he feels he can rectify his wrongs.

#wow okay there’s a whole history lesson for you #I took this and just fucking ran with it #I actually love this idea so much #and they name their son Brutus #and he is the most gentle spirit #feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #dune #feyd rautha harkonnen #these destined ends

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data-is-my-favorite-android · 1 day

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Thoughts on The Ghoul

So I think all the characters in the Fallout show are spectacular, but I had some thoughts on The Ghoul/Cooper Howard in particular that I just wanted to put down. Owing to his 200+ years of history, he's a downright fascinating, dynamic character, and I can't wait to see what they do with him next.

Anyway, here's my thoughts/character analysis of The Ghoul:

One of the things I found most interesting on my second watch-through of the show was how everything The Ghoul does is motivated by ruthless pragmatism, not cruelty. It can appear like cruelty--sometimes it tips over into cruelty--but cruelty is not the point. The point is always survival. He must survive to find his family. That is his goal and his one guiding tenet. Nothing else matters, everything else is fluid. Whatever it takes to survive.

Getting rid of the three bounty hunters who dug him up? Survival. Two of those guys were already one twitch away from killing him on the spot for being a ghoul, and the other threatened to harm him if he didn't show enough gratitude. Coupled with some of the other things he was saying, it seemed possible he would double-cross or kill The Ghoul the moment it suited him. No doubt The Ghoul has worked with the type before, and knew trouble when he saw it.

In Filly, he only shot people who were shooting at him. Cooper loves dogs, but he stabbed CX-404 because she was actively trying to kill him. On the surface, he healed her for equally pragmatic reasons: she could lead him to Wilzig. But he also seemed to respect, too, that she clung to life despite her debilitating wound. She's not his dog Roosevelt, so he tries to maintain a cold detachment from her (at first), but he has a soft spot for dogs.

He was willing to shoot Lucy in Filly, but he hesitated--which is more than he did for any of the other people threatening his life. Possibly he wouldn't have killed her (she was armed with a non-lethal weapon) until Maximus showed up on the scene and changed the calculus (dispatch the girl and deal with the newer, bigger threat without having to worry about her finding a lethal weapon and killing him with it). He didn't kill Maximus when he had the chance, either. He didn't need to. Maximus had already shown himself to be incompetent with the power armor. It was simple enough to damage the power armor and watch him tuck tail and run.

When he meets Lucy again, he uses her with the same casual, indifferent efficiency as he would any other tool. The point of dunking her in the water was to lure the gulper. It had the unfortunate side effect of also being torturous for Lucy, but the cruelty wasn't the point. Getting the head back was. The head=caps, caps=meds, meds=survival, survival=eventually find family.

We don't know what The Ghoul would have done if they had retrieved the head from the gulper and his medicine hadn't been destroyed. Probably it would have depended on what Lucy did. If she seemed likely to come after him and the head, he probably would have killed her or incapacitated her and left her for dead. If she had explained she needed to trade it with Moldaver for her dad, Hank MacLean, hoooo boy, he would have beelined for Moldaver's with Lucy in tow. Whether Lucy came along as his partner or his captive/extra bargaining chip would also probably depend on Lucy's behavior.

But they lose the head and The Ghoul's medicine is destroyed. The math changes. He can come back for the head, but he needs meds now, which means he needs caps now, and the only thing of value he has on hand is this pampered girl from a fucking vault who seems patently unwilling to do the things that need to be done to survive in the Wasteland anyway, so if she's gonna die, he might as well profit from it. He needs meds to survive. He needs caps for meds. It's simple, brutal math.

While he's hauling her to the Super Duper Mart, though, he does several interesting things that are degrading for Lucy, yes, but are simultaneously teaching her how to survive the Wasteland, testing to see if she'll adapt. First, he mercy kills Roger and butchers him. It's important to note that The Ghoul didn't have to take a detour from his all-important mission to obtain medicine--he could hear it was Roger, he could tell Roger was going feral and didn't have any meds-- but he went anyway to help ease an old friend's passing. And he made sure Roger's last thoughts were pleasant, too.

Then, because this is the Wasteland and the one law is survival, he wastes no time switching gears. There's no waste in the Wasteland, and a fresh dead body presents an opportunity for those willing to seize it. The Ghoul, mind you, has had 200 years to learn that he can't be picky. Ghouls are unwelcome in most "civilized" parts of the Wasteland, barred from the simple comforts and safeties and securities that other people can enjoy if they reach those scattered, precious oases. The Ghoul has had to eat people. It sucks, but it's that or die.

But Lucy doesn't understand that. She arguably doesn't understand what a ghoul even is because nobody's taken the time to tell her. She doesn't know what the last 200 years have been like. She's appalled--and then she has the audacity to voice her disgust. The Ghoul hands her the knife to keep butchering Roger in part to humble her, to drag her down into the dirt with the rest of them, but he's also teaching her a stark reality of the Wasteland. It was a lesson and a skill that he had to learn the hard way. (Interestingly, while nearly everyone in the Wasteland is disgusted by cannibalism, it's also a known thing that happens all the time. The Ghoul and Lucy are in the interesting position of being some of the only people in the Wasteland who were raised in societies where cannibalism truly was unthinkable).

On the walk to the Super Duper Mart, he refuses to give her water. On a pragmatic level, there's no reason to waste water on the equivalent of a dead woman walking--he's leading her to get her organs harvested, after all. (He is pretty petty when he pours out the last drops instead of giving them to her, though). But also, whether he is actively intending to or not, he is teaching her to adapt to Wasteland conditions. The water in his canteen, in fact, was just as irradiated and gross as the standing water from which Lucy ultimately drinks; he refills his canteen from the same rusted-out vessel Lucy drinks from, and likely drew the previous canteen's worth of water from a similarly unpalatable source. This is water in the Wasteland. Drink it or die.

When she runs away shortly after, he lassos her (and, sidenote: can I just add how fucking cool it is that they actually carry through his lasso skills? Like, that is actually an extremely useful skill and the writers utilized it!), which leads to that pivotal scene where she bites his finger off and he takes hers.

This is interesting for multiple reasons. The Ghoul calls her a "little killer" and seems satisfied to see her finally fighting with the same savagery as a Wastelander. This could be either because a) he believes all people have a killer lurking beneath the facade of civility ("I'm you, sweetie. Just give it a little time...") and she's finally found that steely will to survive no matter what it takes, and/or b) he believes she's been faking her doe-eyed, good girl persona. He's the one who first finds Wilzig's body, after all. To him, it looks like Lucy lured the doctor off and ruthlessly chopped off his head before running off with it. Maybe she's just a really good actress, and in biting his finger off, she's let that mask slip.

Either way, he introduces her to another law of the Wasteland: don't dish it if you can't take it. She takes his finger, he takes hers. He doesn't kill her for it, in part because that would be disproportionate, in part because that would be a waste (he probably needs he alive to exchange her for caps). But also, from a practical standpoint, she just bit off his shooting finger. Unbeknownst to her, ghouls can reattach body parts, even ones that are not their own. He's harvesting his replacement from her. If he wanted to be cruel, he had ample opportunity to be cruel here. He could have taken more fingers. He could have hurt her in ways that wouldn't have affected her value to organ harvesters. He could have degraded her and called her all kinds of nasty names. But he doesn't. He's efficient. If anything, he seems almost proud of her for abandoning her hoity-toity principles and fighting back.

He still needs caps. He's feeling the effects of not having his medication. He's still committed to delivering her to the organ harvesters. In his mind, he has no choice. This is about survival. He has to survive to find his family. This is the option he has available to him. This is how he lives to see another day. He brings her to the Super Duper Mart and, drawing deep from that actor's well, he maintains the tough-guy routine long enough to intimidate her inside, then he succumbs.

He's still down when Lucy re-emerges, victorious, and he knows, he knows that he's dead. He tried to kill her, now she'll kill him. It's the smart thing to do, the practical thing to do. Another law of the Wasteland...

But she doesn't do it. She has all the power here, she knows he's a dangerous element, that she would probably be safer if she left him for dead or killed him herself. But she breaks all the rules. She gives him, freely, generously, with supreme dignity and a selfless kindness he had long forgot, an abundance of the thing he needs to survive, the thing he was willing to sell another human being for no questions asked. Just like that.

There's also something to be said here about how resource scarcity (and the removal of that scarcity) affects people. As soon as The Ghoul gains a cache of at least 2 months worth of medicine, it frees him from the basic math of mere survival. He has room to breathe and think long-term (at least by Wasteland standards). He can reflect on the momentous thing that just happened to him, too. As he watches himself on the TV in the Super Duper Mart, watches the man he once was unwillingly (and unwittingly) take the first step onto the path to what he has become, he remembers what it was like being Cooper Howard. Why he, Cooper Howard, hated the "feo, fuerte, y formal" scene so deeply.

Cooper Howard was a kind, moral, and dignified man who seldom said an unkind word. He was a loving husband who deeply respected his wife and absolutely adored his daughter. Though his naivety, privilege, and ignorance blinded him to the ugly realities of the pre-apocalypse world around him, he valued justice, freedom, and equality. He wanted the characters he played in the movies to reflect that belief in the power of the law and respect the innate humanity of all people, even the villains. And, when he began to see the cracks in the perfect picture of his charmed life, he is driven to know the truth behind the facade. His deep, defining belief in justice and truth would not let him leave it alone.

Cooper Howard learned the truth that Vault-Tec (and by extension, his wife) were willing to drive the world off a cliff, and it destroyed his marriage and deeply affected him. Even then, demoralized and hurt as he was, he found it in himself to be thoughtful and kind to his daughter and the people, both adults and children, at the birthday party he worked the day the bombs dropped. Fundamentally, he was still a kind, moral man. And that kind, moral man found himself in the middle of the most horrific nightmare anyone could ever imagine experiencing: the death of the planet under a rain of atomic bombs. Then he lived through it and had to contend with the harsh realities of surviving on the annihilated landscape left behind. Fortunately for him, he already had several handy skills to carry him through: having formerly been a real cowboy, he knew a thing or two about surviving in tough conditions; having formerly been a soldier, he knew what it took to kill a man and had the experience and fortitude to do it; and finally, having formerly been an actor, he had a built-in psychological coping mechanism to insulate him from the horrors of the things he needed to do to survive.

Cooper Howard used to put on and take off personas for a living. Sure, he played white hats, but he had an intuitive understanding of character and narrative tropes. He played opposite some of the best bad guys in 21st century Hollywood! It wouldn't be hard for him to pull the cloak of acting around himself to do what he initially needed to do to survive. But somewhere along the way, the tough, ruthless persona he adopted stopped being an act and he became his character. He embodied the answer to the question posed by The Man from Deadhorse: what happens when a good man is driven too far?

Cooper Howard adapted to survive. His actions reflect the realities of being a ghoul (again, a people generally reviled by everyone and cast out of safe havens because they are deemed threats). Pragmatic and efficient violence are necessities if a ghoul wants to live long, stay sane, and stay out from under the thumb of would-be enslavers. Still, beneath it all, Cooper Howard is still there, buried deep down beneath the character-persona of The Ghoul.

The Ghoul is drawn to Lucy (platonically, romantically, or some secret third thing), to her goodness and old-world manners just as much as he is disgusted/irritated by them. She's an echo of himself, of Cooper Howard, of who he used to be, and he knows EXACTLY where that gets a person. She's going to get herself killed if she doesn't wise up. With those high-and-mighty, anachronistic principles, that black-and-white worldview, her totally naive misunderstanding of the realities of the Wasteland, she won't last long. And initially he sees her as a pawn, like he was, only good for moving him one step closer to his goal. But then she shows him she can adapt and survive. Not only that, she can be true to her core principles in the process. She can conduct herself with dignity. Lucy reminds him what it was like being the white hat, and shows him that yes, even in this hellscape, there can be heroes. Over 200 yeas, his pragmatism and need to survive sanded away the nuance between Good and Bad. But Lucy makes him reconsider whether maybe there is right and wrong after all, and maybe it actually does matter.

Thus begins his transformation, but the change is not immediate, and this is still the Wasteland. He escapes from The Govermint and goes after Lucy. To do that, he needs to find Moldaver. He tracks down someone who might know where to find her, kills him and accidentally blows a hole through the letter with the key bit of information he needs to find Moldaver. So, he goes to that guy's family to find the man's younger brother, Tommy. When he gets the information he needs, he kills Tommy. He gives Tommy the opportunity to back down, but The Ghoul has a lot of experience and reads Tommy like a book. Tommy is not the kind of kid to let something like this go, and The Ghoul has clearly been burned by leaving vengeful people alive before. Tommy reaches for a gun to shoot The Ghoul, and The Ghoul doesn't hesitate. He blows a hole in the kid. It sucks, but again, this is a decision born from sheer practicality, not love of carnage.

Later, he comes across CX-404 trapped in a Nuka-Cola machine (left there by Thaddeus). The head is lost to both of them now; the dog cannot help The Ghoul with finding it. But he saves her anyway and dubs her Dogmeat. He lets sentimentality get to him for the first time in who knows how long and allows himself to bond with another living being. When he does reach The Observatory (where Moldaver, Lucy, and her dad are), he clearly stashes Dogmeat somewhere to keep her out of harm's way and goes in after Lucy.

After fighting his way through the Brotherhood of Steel, we come to that pivotal scene where Lucy finds out about her father's history. Cooper hangs back to observe and learns that his niggling, hare-brained hunch about Lucy and her last name was correct: she was the daughter of Henry MacLean, a man-out-of-time who presents the first real step in 200 years toward Cooper's ultimate goal: finding his family. (I think it's important to note, however, that he isn't 100% sure of her connection to Hank when follows her to Moldaver's--his reasons for going to the Observatory are either to get information from Moldaver or simply to back Lucy up, should she need help). He lets Hank get away so that he can follow him, and he's willing to follow him alone. But now there's Lucy, who is as wrapped up in this shit as Cooper is (even if she doesn't understand it yet), and he figures they both deserve answers. She's shown that she can adapt to survive, she just needs a teacher. In their first exchange since she left him at the Super Duper Mart, he treats her with new respect and offers her the opportunity to come with him, learn from him, and find out about who she really is and the legacy that has produced her. But perhaps he also knows deep down that he needs to learn from her too. He needs to remember what it was like to be good, to be human. He needs it so he can be it for his daughter when he finds her.

So, yeah, I don't know, it's just interesting how Cooper Howard became essentially lost in method acting a villain to survive the fucking awful conditions he found himself in, but even then he isn't cruel. Like, there are a lot worse things he could have done to Lucy. A LOT WORSE. As far as I can tell, he never looks at or touches her in a creepy, predatory way. Yeah, he drags her around on a leash and cuts her finger off when she bites his off, but that's pretty damn tame for the Wasteland. He secures her with rope, but otherwise is pretty hands off with her. If he objectifies her, it's in an extremely non-sexual way. More of a taking-the-cow-to-market kinda way. Which still sucks, but again, it's not needlessly cruel or wantonly violent, which is pretty impressive given general Wasteland behavior.

He's a damn interesting character, and I'm super stoked to see how he develops--and how he interacts with Lucy going forward.

#fallout show #cooper howard #the ghoul #lucy maclean #long post #character analysis #also #have you guys noticed #Cooper is wearing the same hat shirt and trousers he wore when the bomb dropped??#how has he NOT worn out those clothes after 200 years??#how does he take care of them??#Why does he wear them still?#...do you think it's so that when he does find his daughter #she'll be able to recognize *them* even if she doesn't recognize *him*?

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md-confessions · 3 days

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Trigger Warning for abuse since I am going to be talking about it a lot.

My honest reaction to TSM anon's confessions/posts trying to justify J's treatment of N. (They're so ass)

Ok so uhh... Anyway I'll try to debunk some of the points:

First of all: yes the fuck she is abusive! Search the damn definition on Google or the dictionary, it's exactly what she's doing, like beat for beat.

Let's start with two examples: one from the manor and another from copper-9.

J kicking N in the manor flashback: for context N and V had literally just bumped into each other, made a spark and both were trying to clean up the mess they made, then comes in Ms. Tenth letter of the alphabet with a kick to N's face for like no fucking reason whatsoever.

J stepping on N's chest while he clearly struggles: In the pilot during the scene that introduces the Alphabet squad during J's introduction she has her foot on his chest while saying he's useless, terrible and if she could, she'd kill him herself and N is very clearly struggling to even breath.

Those two very clearly ARE abuse, the second one even has a tinge of verbal abuse!

Ok so TSM tried to justify both these actions by us not knowing the full context.

The context of the kick is that: there is none, that kick was completely unprovoked, so J had absolutely no reason for kicking N aside from him being in her way from the "move it moron" line, and she changes up her attitude completely at Tessa being there, her visor showing those hollow eyes that drones show when worried or scared.

But even if you say "oh but N was in J's way so she kicked him out" but she could have just, you know, MOVED A LITTLE BIT TO THE RIGHT?!?!? And also that does not excuse kicking a person in the face.

Context of the second scene is: THERE IS NONE, ONE AGAIN! The reason that scene exists is to show that A. J is abusive towards N, and B. J is a hypocrite! Let me explain, A is very self explanatory, stepping on someone's chest and verbally abusing them is very clearly well... Abuse and B is to show that even though she calls N useless, N has shown throughout the rest of the series he is a very competent fighter, arguably better than his fellow DDs and also that even though J was pretty much insulting N for being weak, she got killed by a Angsty bisexual 18-year-old with a pen and a Railgun made out of like, scrap.

I don't know how you can genuinely look at those scenes and go "J isn't an abuser" even though yes she fucking is.

Also I dead ass forgot that second post aside from the "why would Cyn put N in the squad if his abuser?" Part, which has a very simple explanation: it wasn't Cyn, it was Mr. Solver of the absolute fabric itself! It used Cyn as a host, Cyn wasn't in control, she prob has been dead for a long ass time.

The solver is sadistic and it likes fucking with the alphabet squad, take V as an example: it allowed V to keep her memories, just to make V's trauma even worse.

The solver thinks it's funny to traumatize people so why wouldn't it think putting a person in the same team as their abuser wouldn't be?

Anyways I've been typing this since 5:30 AM, and now it's 6:50 and I got school so I'll stop here, if you got anything else to add put it in the reblogs ig...

Final note: I haven't been abused myself (not that I remember) so I can't really fully grasp the concept, but still, J's treatment of N is like, the dictionary definition of Abuse, I'm very bad at understanding other people and their emotions and I'm not super great at analysing characters but this shit is so obviously abuse seeing TSM over here trying to say otherwise is giving me a brain aneurysm.

Anyways have a good day/evening/night or whatever time of day it is :D

#md confessions #murder drones #abuse cw #serial designation j #serial designation n #serial designation v #md cyn #the absolute solver

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f4iry-bell · 2 days

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stained shirts and two seats for one [Grayson hawthorne x reader] | part 5

finally!!😭 also last part(?)

It took everything in Grayson to stay away from her but he couldn't take it any longer. He has to see her and apologise again, he would beg until she forgives him. He knocked on her apartment door and mentally revised his monologue— that if she is ready to listen without interrupting. His mentally prepared monologue vanished once she opened the door in her pyjamas.

“What are you doing here?” She asked him with a frown.

“I know you said you wanted space, and I'm glad to give it to you but you need to understand why I did what I did. I understand why you are mad, you have every right to. I didn't respect your privacy. I didn't think how it would look, I had you stalked for my personal selfish reasons. I had to know what kind of person I'm getting myself involved with. I can't afford to make mistakes. Please understand, it was never my intention to hurt you. I would never go too far either.” It wasn't what he prepared mentally but he somehow managed to spit out words.

“You wanted to know if I was a criminal or something?” She asked.

“If we are putting it that way, yes.” He couldn't bring himself to look her in the eyes.

“Look, Grayson. I'd say I understand, it's probably some rich people thing. But I still have to process this, okay?” She raised her eyebrows at the last part.

“I understand. You need time. I'll be on my way. Please don't let everything go.” He begged.

She didn't say anything but when he turned she stopped him. “Wait.”

“What is it?” He asked, ready to do anything she is going to ask him.

“Um, it's nothing. I'm going out with a few friends tonight. A club. I thought you should know.” He didn't know why she him know this.

“You’re allowed to do what you please.” He stated.

“There'll be guys.” She paused for a moment. “My friends wanted me to meet someone because of…”

“I hope you enjoy your time.”

“But I'm not going to.”

Well that was a relief for him.

“I trust you to do the right thing and the thing you want, Arya.”

It would be a deliberate lie if Grayson said he was not bothered by the fact that his girlfriend or whatever they are now is out in a club probably being set up with a random guy by her friends. Grayson can't sleep on a good day let alone a time like this, he was swimming like a mad man in the hotel’s pool and had to stop because his phone rang. He saw her name on the screen and immediately answered it.

“Are you okay?” He asked. It was his first thought.

“Yes! But I miss you, so, so, so much.” Her words slurred.

“How many drinks did you have?” He asked.

“You're an idiot! When I said I'm going to the club you should have said ‘Can I come?’”

“I didn't think you'd want me there.”

“Of course not, but you should have stopped me from coming to this lame hangout.” She scoffs.

“Lame? Why is that?”

“I'm not having the fun my friend promised me.” She said. “What are you doing now?” She asked.

“I was swimming right before you called me.” He told her.

“Are you naked?” She asked in a teasing manner.

“Not fully.”

“Not helping.”

“With what?”

“Come here.” She didn't answer his questions.

“Where?”

“To the club, obviously.”

“Are you sure?”

“Hundred percent.”

He let her hang up the phone and went to his room to get changed. He put on a suit and drove to the club she told him she was at. When he arrived at the club he found her at the bar counter talking about some random things to the bartender.

“Arya.” He called her name from behind.

“Gray!” She turned to him and back to the bartender. “This is the guy I was talking about!” She told the bartender. “Ronnie here asked me to file a restraining order against you.” She giggled.

“I think it's time to go home.” He told her, ignoring the last part.

“What? Why?” She asked with a scowl.

“You're wasted, love.” He gently grabbed her arms and helped her up.

“I called you here to have fun with me!” She whines.

“You need to lay down, you're way too drunk to be out here.” He wrapped his arms around her waist to get a hold on her as he led her out.

“Am I?”

He nodded and helped her to get inside his car and put on her seatbelt. He started diving slowly to her apartment after he gave her a bottle of water. After drinking the water she took out her phone and texted someone.

“Who are you texting?” He asked out of curiosity.

“My other boyfriend.” She grinned playfully.

“Funny.”

“I'm texting my friends letting them know I left.” She informed him. “I made a new friend.”

“Oh?”

“You know him! Ronnie. He doesn't like you.” She said.

“For good reasons.” There was guilt in his voice.

She kept talking about what she told Ronnie until they reached her apartment. Grayson decided it's better to carry her and she didn't fight it. He let her down once they reached her door. She opened the door by herself and let him in as well.

“I'll leave now. Call me if you need anything.” He turned to leave but she stopped him. He turned back to her, instead of saying something she pulled him by his tie to make his head reach her level and gently kissed him.

Grayson was surprised by this. It has been a week since they kissed. Or even be this close. He didn't kiss her back, she is only kissing him because she's intoxicated.

“Kiss me.” She whispered against his lips.

“You're drunk.” He stated.

“So?”

“You don't want to kiss me. And you're drunk, I'm not that kind of man.”

“Just kiss me. Didn't you stalk me? Or had someone stalked me? Shouldn't you be like, I don't know, obsessed with me or something?” She asked out of frustration.

“I am obsessed with you. But I can't let this happen when you're drunk.”

She rolled her eyes and paused for a moment before she spoke. “Why did you do it? Why did you have to do it? Why couldn't you be a normal hot guy? You ruined everything.”

“I know.” He took her hands. “I'll do everything I can to make it better.”

“I know you will. That's the problem.” She groans.

“Why?”

“Because I will forgive you.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No. What will people say? Going back to the guy who professionally stalked you?”

“Who cares what they think?”

“I do.” She looked down. He took her face in his hands.

“It's totally up to you. You can be with me or not. It's your choice.”

She didn't say anything. “Will you stay over tonight?” She asked.

“Whatever you want, love.”

“Liar. You didn't kiss me and let things get heated up.” She reminded him.

“Ask me tomorrow.” He told her with a mischievous smile.

#grayson hawthorne #grayson hawthorne x reader #the inheritance games #the brothers hawthorne #jameson hawthorne #xander hawthorne #avery kylie grambs #nash hawthorne #the hawthorne brothers #avery grambs #the grandest game

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barbiewritesstuff · 19 hours

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Glimpses: True Love's Embrace and True Love's Caress (Part two)

Thank you so so much to @ayselluna and @ladyspacey for requesting a part two. It means so much to me ❤️

Not proofread. Never proofread.

He paces in front of your tent, creating a path in the dirt where his feet dragged. Shadowheart is inside, stitching what she can't heal with Lae’zel’s help. The two of them have gotten close, closer than he expected if their sneaking back from that private clearing was any indication…. He tries to distract himself with that, the gossip, the drama he could create if he told Gale but your voice floats his way and he’s back to thinking about you.

You sound a little hoarse, and you speak barely above a whisper when you tell the girls you’re okay. You lie when they ask what happens, your version of events thankfully matching his own, because he'd been too much of a coward to admit to Gale and Karlach that you were wearing the matching magic rings everyone all but made you swear not to wear, and that Astarion hadn’t noticed until he’d been so lost staring at your perfect breasts that he'd gotten stabbed.

But then, where to start if he told the truth? They’d ask why you would give him the ring, something he wasn't so sure about either. There were multiple possibilities of course, one being that you'd realised he was bloody useless in a fight and decided he was the biggest liability. In order to preserve potions and reviving scrolls, you had casted a warding bond over him. That was the answer he liked best. The one that allowed him to turn the pain, grief and absolute terror bubbling inside him like an unsupervised cauldron into anger.

It wasn’t the correct reason of course, and deep down -- and let’s be honest, not so deep down -- he knew it.

There had been a few nights of passion, a couple of stolen moments of heavy petting when searching for loot or simply when no one was around to look, but these seemed overshadowed by the nights he forwent his meditations in favour of spending your watch by your side, sometimes chatting, sometimes not -- There was never the expectation to entertain you, something which, at first, made him wildly uncomfortable but that he now cherished.

There were the mornings you snuck into his tent to do your makeup in front of the only unbroken mirror in camp. You always tried so hard not to “wake” him, but he’d usually pretend to awaken halfway through you applying powder on your eyes -- Placing the blame on his being up on you was easier to admit he woke up specifically to gaze at you applying creams, powders and lipsticks, but at this point, he figures you know anyway. There’s no need to be subtle with you, no need to steal anything, even moments, when you made it clear through repeated actions that whatever he wanted to take, you would give freely, even your own blood.

There was also the matter of loot. How you stole anything that wasn’t nailed down (and some things that were, in fact, nailed down. You’d stolen the nails too) in order to sell and barter your way towards food, armour, trinkets and Karlach’s ever growing collection of Teddy bears. But as soon as Astarion mentioned he liked something, even if it could be bartered for exactly what they needed at that moment, you would give it to him. He tries to stay quiet now after battles, half so he doesn’t arouse suspicion and half because the last time he spoke up, you gave him the trinket that would have bought you the first meal you’d eaten in nearly three days. And yet, shiny, pretty or even ridiculously ugly things he might like and get a kick out of, keep appearing in his tent -- it used to freak him out, how well you knew him, and it still does sometimes, especially when he admits to himself that this all was meant to be manipulative. He was meant to seduce you to gain favour and protection. Fucking you was his ticket to safety, to salvation. And it did get him that, he guesses, it just wasn’t the safety and salvation he bargained for.

The flaps of the tent part and Shadowheart pops her head out.

“She’s fine to see visitors,” she tells him, “She’s still weak but the noise of your pacing was driving us up the wall.”

“Pardon me for being worried,” he says, dramatically placing a hand over his dead heart in emphasis.

Shadowheart humms sceptically, “Worried she might die, or worried you won’t be able to feed?”

Well, he internally scoffs, at least he still has them fooled.

“Speaking of, you’re on a rat diet until she’s fully healed,” Shadowheart adds as he steps into the tent and she and Lae’zel step out.

He wasn’t even thinking of feeding, even with the blood gushing out of your wound, calling his name with every dwindling heartbeat, he’d fought a surprisingly easy fight against his more feral instincts and brought you back to camp. Nothing but worry for your safety and irrational fury had crossed his mind since your injury.

Irrational fury he was now failing to keep down.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” He whispers through gritted teeth, “You could have died, you absolute fool. Do you think me so incapable of protecting myself?!” He continues, ignoring the fact that you can hear the grief in his voice. The other two can’t, they haven’t spent enough time with him, but you know him inside out.

You stay quiet, much to his absolute fury.

“I am not a child you need to protect, I am perfectly capable of doing this myself,” he adds, grabbing her wrist in his hand, and sliding the ring off your finger. You open your mouth in protest, but he throws the most genuine glare he can muster your way, and you close your mouth again without speaking.

He pockets your ring, and takes off his own, placing both in the inside pocket of his jacket.

Astarion eventually gives you one of them, tucked inside a letter he gives you before the final battle, and that he asks that you keep on you till the end. It’s his own ring, obviously, and he prays it’ll keep you safe even if you're only carrying it.

#fanfic #fanfiction #original fic #baldurs gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 astarion x tav #bg3 astarion x reader #bg3 astarion fic #bg3 fic #bg3 drabble

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lisbonsteresa · 1 year

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they make me so

#tm #the way she immediately goes along with him there's no hesitation and then she immediately puts them in the same boat i want to scream #because there's a way to read this that it's actually too much faith; she trusts him and his methods - weird though they usually are -#maybe too much - the 'one day i'm gonna get fired because of you; that's just how it is' route #(which is like that excellent tag i saw - that lisbon's 'a rebel with the trauma of having to be responsible' -#like she likes breaking the rules and jane breaks them in fun ways (usually) and his rule-breaking gets results #- the 'people might ask why you signed on with me in the first place' bit alsosheskindofinlovewithhimnbd)#but on the other hand there is a bit of 'such little faith' too because yes he gets results but she knows firsthand (and repeatedly)#that he runs the risk of hurting - himself; others; her - while he gets those results #and she's putting them in the same boat she's making them equally responsible for anything that happens #*unequally actually she'd take the brunt of any punishment/backlash as they both know #and you COULD (and i do) see that as her trying (maybe unconsciously) to temper him; to pull him back from going TOO far #whatever you're doing you're not doing alone; remember this is on me now too don't go too far #CAN'T YOU SEE THERE'S PEOPLE WHO CARE ABOUT YOU; WHO NEED YOU #and like does the tempering always work? no; obviously; for multiple reasons #but for her to - on whatever level - think that she would be enough FOR it to work? much to think about #(it's crazy how it's so clear that on some level they both know she's the most important person to him #but they're also just....tucking that fact away until a moment comes when they can actually think fully about what it means #(which would have to be post red john but also they're just avoidant bitches too afraid to look too close i love it)#anyway i'm back at work so i'm back to thinking too much about tv shows that ended 8 years ago it's so cool and stable #(also rigsby just going along with it too lkfasdj i just adore them)#FUCK THE END OF THE EPISODE BARK BARK I FEEL CRAZY #TERESA LISBON YOU'RE SO IMPORTANT TO ME LIKE SHIT

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omarfor-orchestra · 1 year

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I'm so mad I can't sleep

#i want it to be friday already #so i can watch my silly little raiplay show in the morning and my silly little rai1 gabba show in the night #instead of thinking about how these people are supposedly parenting and what the hell do i have to do with it #just remembered i asked my sister to go to naples together when i was planning it and she went 'and what leave the child to my husband?'#'i already asked him to keep the child when we go to the concert' oh what a big sacrifice! three hours with HIS kid!! oh!!!!!!#fucking hell #my mother asked me to let the child sleep with me hell no #you people decided to keep him here when my sister worked night shift for whatever reason #now you deal with it #i fucking wish he would go back to therapy because i think his therapist would tell him to wake the fuck up #but he doesn't! because he's healed! then he can keep the kid for one night even if the day after he has to work. hope this helps.#and they don't understand that all of this disfuncional situation will fall on the kid who's already experiencing consequences #but keep on saying uwu but he works aaalll dayy!!!! as if my sister or my mother didn't #honestly can't take this anymore #and since I don't know how to deal with these feelings I'll simply stop eating bc apparently that's all my body knows to do #not even doing it on purpose #rant

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selfinflictedgunshotwound · 1 year

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that's another thing though, isn't it? because i can go on and on about how he's dating someone who's been a fan of him for years and how fucked up that is and no one will listen but we (meaning the human collective) have just barely learned that some relationship dynamics are fucked up despite the ages of the participants. when one of those vine sauce boys was just having one night stands with his fans people were uproariously angry... and that's not AS bad for various reasons but still bad in a way that is now being ignored. it is never okay to take advantage of your status as a content creator to enter into any type of relation/situationship with someone, especially when you're as popular as He is. however, i'm aware relationships have certain contexts and, as an outsider, you can't and *shouldn't* try to come up with that context that you'll never know for sure... BUT, as i've said a billion times in the last year or so, knowing that someone has been watching you and a fan of you for a majority of your career should AT THE VERY LEAST make you step back and question whether or not to pursue a relationship with them. if at all.

#i can't help but be negative about their relationship not because i am a schizo nutjob but because of all of the information i've found out #about her and her past relationships. I DID NOT HAVE TO DIG DEEP TO FIND THIS INFO BTW i didn't stalk anyone but abt half a year ago a few #anonymous ppl came out and said some very eye-opening shit about her... i did try to inquire further and maybe prod and see if at least one #of them was lying but they never responded. perhaps all of the 3 ppl who had stories abt her were lying and perhaps none of them were #either way idk what they hoped to gain about coming out with their info anyways except for maybe just. finally having a reason to say it?#because they know she's dating a popular content creator idk. like i said you should take that all woth a grain of salt even though #at least SOME of that information has been proven. anyways none of that matters honestly she could be the best person ever who cares #the point i'm trying to make here is that jeremy should be disappointing people by doing this but the percentage of people who were #bothered by this doesn't add up with the current amount of sjw tumblrinas in his audience. i honestly wish all of his old 4chan misogynist #fans came back but that bridge has been burned LMFAOOOO honestly i wish i could just get over him and his stupid bullshit but i can't for #whatever reason. i'm sorry for always going on and on abt it when i half of you still adore him and want me dead everytime i talk abt this #and the other half could not give a single fuck less but. yeah. that's all i have to say really

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luveline · 7 months

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hi, i have a request for hotch if that's okay with you :)

when they're on the jet, yn is smiling a lot at her phone so the team starts to tease her because the think that she has a mysterious boyfriend. and she does, but he's sitting right next to her and he's also wondering who's making her smile like that since it's clearly not him

tysm!

Hotch is trying hard to award you your privacy, but your smile makes it difficult. You're actually squared away from him despite sitting in the seat beside him of your own free will, your phone to your chest, a huge smile curved across your cute mouth. 'Cute mouth', Hotch thinks to himself with derision. He's thoroughly whipped for you. It might not work out.

You've been secretive and strange on your phone for an hour now. With nothing left to do but wait for the jet to touch down, you can watch whatever or text whenever you want. Hotch just wishes it wasn't so distracting. Who are you texting? He feels ill.

"Who's that?"

The dam finally breaks. As soon as Morgan asks, Emily pipes up, "Yeah, who is it?" as Rossi laughs and declares, "I know that look. Young Y/N's in love."

You side eye Hotch. "Workplace harassment," you say.

"Who is it?" Hotch asks.

You gawp but laugh at his unprofessional questioning, pressing your phone screen tight to your chest. "Hotch, it's–"

"Your not-so-secret boyfriend? Come on, we all know you have one," Morgan says.

"I know you know, you're like sharks," you say, giving them all a great long look.

For weeks now, you've glowed. This overzealous smiling and laughing is the straw that breaks the camel's back. Your nosy coworkers can't hold back their curiosity any longer. Hotch was stupid enough to think that your secretive dates and nights spent curled in on one another might be the reason behind your new hopped up sprightliness, but apparently not.

"So you admit it!" Emily cheers.

"Maybe. But it's not what's happening on my phone."

"Well, what is it?" Spencer asks.

They've leaned in on you, a circle of eager faces. Your sudden decision to admit you —maybe— have a boyfriend is as much as anyone's gotten out of you in weeks. If anyone could tease the truth from you, of course it's Hotch, and so the team looks to their leader pleadingly.

He's not sure he wants to know. "They won't leave you alone otherwise," he says, hoping that his expression shows his leniency. Your secrets are your own if you want to keep them.

You smile at him. Again, he thinks you have a cute mouth, and that he's biassed but you definitely smile sweeter at him than anyone else. You and Hotch know something the others don't, amusement like light behind your irises. "I'll show you," you say smugly, "and only you, Hotch."

"Typical," Morgan murmurs, sitting back on the couch.

Hotch clenches his sweaty palms beneath the table. "Alright."

You lean in against his shoulder. Your phone turns on, and he's taking deep breaths as you click to your photo app, and then an album labelled with a simple, '<3'.

It's photos of him. Most he knows you took, sitting across from you in dark restaurants or kneeling in your apartment putting together a new set of drawers. Your giggles begin in earnest as you swipe through them to a more recent photograph. You couldn't have taken it more than a week ago, when he'd stayed the night with you by accident, too tired to leave. His face is slack in sleep. He realises it's a video when you click a button and the sound of crinkling fabric plays from your speaker. In the video, you unbutton the tight collar of his shirt, stroking his neck briefly with a loving knuckle. The video moves down to frame his arm, his hand clinging to your other one like a sucker.

Hotch looks up from the video and blinks at you. Your hand on his sleeping neck, the sound of your tired laughter —he can't not smile. "Oh. That's…"

"What did you show him?" Morgan asks, his voice coloured with both amusement and frustration. The team echo his question.

"I can't kiss and tell," you say, still tucked up by his side.

"I think it's best if you don't, L/N," Hotch agrees.

He'd lose all credibility.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

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changetyre · 5 months

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Thank you for all of the stories recently! Can you do one where Lando gets tired of you calling him “Little Lando Norris” and decides to show you how big he really is?

L.L.N II Lando Norris ⒽⓌ

SUMMARY: Lando doesn't mind you making fun and playing games just as long as you're aware of the truth...and he'll be more than happy to remind you.

WARNINGS: **18+**

A/N: Got some good news so felt inspired to write again ;) Sorry for the delay.

"Aww poor little Lando." You jokingly patted him on the back. "Better luck next time buddy." you laughed as you walked away leaving him fuming.

Once again you'd beat Lando for 3rd place by merely a few seconds, an ongoing rivalry between you both that had everyone at the edge of their seats.

Ever since karting you and Lando had this heated rivalry, always making the other's life impossible and being each other's biggest competition so it was no surprise when it continued onto Formula 1.

To the outside world, it was incredibly entertaining for everyone to see the rivalry between the two of you. The rude remarks and snarky comments you threw at each other during interviews, the hate between you two only brewing stronger with each race.

But little did people know the way you were able to keep the hate at bay and keep yourselves in check. It had all started as a stupid drunk mistake when you found yourselves fucking in a club bathroom. The memory was hazy but you both remembered enough to know that deep down you liked it.

The next time it was a simple rash decision, you didn't think about it when you found yourself waking up in Lando Norris's room naked his arm across your waist, quickly throwing it off before running back to your room.

It was good. The sex was good, and that was the only reason you kept coming back. That's what you both told each other.

But it had become a frequent occurrence now, almost 5 months of quick and meaningless fucks where you could let out the pent-up tension and anger you had for each other.

But this still didn't take away from the fact that you still loved to piss each other off on track. Secretly you'd grown to love doing it more because you felt the direct consequence of it later.

"Lando, how do you feel about yet another close battle today with your biggest rival on track?" The interviewer asked him.

"Yeah, she just got lucky getting the better line around the next corners, but she knows I'm not one to back down, she knows what's coming for her," Lando smirked loving the double meaning behind his words.

He could see you a few feet from him giving your own interview. He just about heard you when once again you'd referred to him as Little Lando Norris, something you'd taken to recently which just irked him a little more than usual.

He watched you carefully, keeping his eyes on you like a hawke which to everyone else looked like pure hatred but truly it was simply because Lando could see the way Pierre got a little too friendly with you for his liking.

Lando would never admit it to you but he truly couldn't control the jealousy that erupted in his stomach whenever he saw you get too friendly with anyone. Whatever you had might have been meaningless but as far as he was concerned you were still his for now.

"Alright thanks, Lando enjoy your break." Lawrence finalized the interview with Lando outside the McLaren hospitality just as he could see you walking out of the press conference room with Pierre quickly by your side.

He didn't hesitate as he stood up with a quick step towards you. His blood boiling when he heard you laugh at something Pierre said.

"I need to talk to you." Lando stood in front of you making you stop abruptly and bump into his chest.

"Oh look hey speaking of the devil." You smirked.

"Little Lando Norris." Pierre joked but for some reason, Lando didn't find it the least bit amusing coming from him.

"Okay well can't talk now so bye." You were about to move past him but Lando grabbed your arm.

"Wasn't asking." Lando was ready to pull you away with him but was stopped by Pierre who grabbed your other hand.

"I actually just asked her for a drink so-" Pierre was quick to tell Lando.

"So she can't right now." Lando didn't let him finish or you protest before whisking you away.

You were completely taken aback as Lando shamelessly dragged you away from Pierre not caring the way there were several eyes on you as he took you towards the McLaren building.

Your heart pounded in your chest rendering you speechless as he walked you all the way into the building past several staff members before reaching his room where he was quick to shut you both inside.

"Lando what the-" you finally regained your voice as the door closed behind you.

"Shut up." Lando pressed his lip to yours as he pressed you to the wall. You had to push through the rush that invaded your body trying not to give in so easily.

"Lando, what has gotten into you?" You asked breathlessly as Lando began kissing down your neck unbuttoning your jeans and dragging them down

"So it's just Lando now?" was all he said.

"What are you- ah fuck." before you could reply again you cut yourself off when Lando began ruthlessly attacking your clit.

Lando basked in the pleasure he could produce on you loving the way you became putty in his hands behind closed doors despite the way you loved to tease him and take control outside.

Lando's pants suddenly felt painfully tight as he continued his attack on you taking the liberty he unbuckled his pants all while still tasting you before pulling his dick out into his hands to give it a few pumps.

Lando didn't stop, not until you had your first orgasm before finally getting up. "Why don't you return the favor baby?" Lando asked despite knowing he didn't have to since you were on your knees before he could even finish asking.

You prepared yourself knowing the ache you would feel from sucking him off having to open wide to take him into your mouth. Lando's eyes showed the smugness in them at watching the way you always struggled initially to take him never able to take him all down until you'd sucked him off for a while.

Lando groaned as you began moving your head up and down, your hands taking care of what you couldn't fit in your mouth for now.

"Nothing so little about that is there?" Lando asked the pride clear in his voice.

Only now did you understand what this was all about but you didn't care to complain since he'd gotten you all worked up.

"Why don't you make it extremely clear for me." You decided to try to have your own way.

"Gadly baby." Lando pulled you up before picking you up and using the wall to support you in his arms before using one of his hands to line himself up against your whole.

"Please-" You pleaded, Lando loved the way you begged every time he got near you like these.

"you ready?" he asked despite feeling your wetness already drip onto him.

"Yes, please fuck me." You sighed as you grabbed Lando's face to kiss him.

Lando used this distraction to push himself all the way inside you swallowing your yelp. "Shit baby you're so wet," Lando whispered knowing he had to keep semi-quiet because of the remaining staff in the building right now. Although half of him hoped everyone could hear what you were doing and the way he was making you feel right now...make it crystal clear to everyone.

"Ah, fuck Lando go faster." You begged him as Lando pushed in and out of you fully and completely at a brutally slow pace.

"Who's making you feel like this baby?" Lando asked not answering to your pleas just yet.

"You Lan...You are." You could almost cry at the torturous pace he'd set.

"not even fucking Pierre can make you feel like this can he?" His words were laced with disgust and anger which made your stomach flutter.

"No...no just you." You replied kissing Lando once again.

This was enough for Lando as he picked up his pace feeling the way you clenched around him and the way you struggled to keep quiet.

"Fu...so good...shit" You moaned in a whisper as Lando kept thrusting faster and faster into you against the wall.

Lando could cum at the sight of you, watching the way your tits would bounce with each thrust, the way your eyes rolled back, and hearing your uneven breaths as you tried to keep quiet while your orgasm quickly approached, feeling the way you held onto him as if your own skin was begging for more. This was it. This was glory to Lando.

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 #f1smut #smut #f1 one shot #f1 smut #f1fic #formula 1 #changetyre #lando norris #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader #ln4

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cursingtoji · 5 months

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ᥫ᭡ 𝐬𝐨... 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰?

— where satoru comforts you after breaking up with toji

gojo being lowkey yandere, fem reader, toji is the ex, mentions of baby trapping, reader is older, gojo calls her senpai (almost as a mock), classroom smut, fingering, gojo has to wear a condom and he hates it, he’s also a bit pathetic and in love, reader is a bit of bitch. 4k (this was supposed to be drabble idk what happened)

“i know what you’re thinking” gojo’s voice breaks the silence in the classroom where you were supposed to be grading papers but instead has been looking through the window for god knows how long now.

the sudden appearing happens after gojo catches your lost gaze on the field some of his students were training at. he saw your profile looking down at your desk, then after a few minutes you looked through the window until your eyes set on gojo’s protégée and the son of the man that broke your heart.

“but if you keep doing that megumi will get creeped out by you” gojo simply manifested in your classroom as soon as he realized you would stay in trance not even noticing your fellow teacher staring back at you from below.

“whatever, he never liked me anyways” you brush off, then remember what he said before, “and what the hell makes you think you know what i’m thinking?”

“ah, you forgot? i have an eye or six for this sorta thing” he points to his blindfold.

“you saying you can read minds now, you freak?” your relationship with satoru always had that dynamic. toji usually got very annoyed whenever he was in the same room as the two of you, he tried to pull you away or make an excuse for you two to go back to his place. deep down you knew he felt some type of way whenever you and satoru banter like that.

“please you’re so transparent i wonder how megumi haven’t seen it yet, i'm concerned that he might need glasses…”

“just say what you wanna say, satoru.”

gojo, on the other hand, didn’t need an instinct to see how jealous and possessive toji could be when he was around. all that gojo needed to say was one word to trigger the old man.

“every time you see megumi you think about him, don’t you?” he takes a step in your direction while you sink in your chair looking away, “senpai.”

gojo never showed respect for anyone, he was scolded several times by yaga because of it, utahime tried to hit him whenever she could, demanding formal treatment since she was his upperclassmen. but you, for whatever reason he decided, was the only one he used that honorific with.

“he’s his kid, of course i’ll—“

“ever since i heard about your breakup you’ve been acting like everything is fine, except for when you see megumi, then you frown,” gojo extends his index and taps the space between your eyebrows “and your cursed energy increases” he then sits on your desk looking down at you, “don’t tell me megumi had anything to do with why toji—“

“of course not” you stop him, although megumi was never fond of you, you know he’s a good kid and wouldn’t try to get in the way of your relationship with his father. as far as you know, he’s not particularly close to his old man either. actually, anything related to toji — bets, races, you — is automatically disregarded by him.

“then you gotta stop looking at him like he did something, or before you realize your energy towards him will become hostile and i can’t let that happen” gojo’s tone became more severe, it’s one of those rare times where he drops the playful persona in order to get serious. truthfully, megumi did nothing, but you can't unsee toji when you look at him, especially after seeing what your ex-boyfriend used to look like in the old days when he showed you some photos. it never occurred to you before, since you barely saw megumi anyways, you're not his sensei and in your free time you were with toji so there wasn't much time to get to know megumi since they don’t live together since the boy was five. you suppose gojo is right, pushing your hurt feelings away only makes them come out stronger when you see anything that reminds you of toji.

“that’s not gonna happen, i have my energy under control” you cross your arms, feeling exposed under gojo’s gaze even through the mask.

he stays quiet for a second, then his annoying tone is back.

“what did you even see in him anyways? he’s definitely not a good guy.”

“that’s rude, toji is—“

“did you think you could change him or something?”

“i— no, why—“

“from what megumi said he was cheap as fuck so it was definitely not the money” he rubs his chin.

“gojo, i swear—“

“was it the sex?”

you widen your eyes and close your mouth, not having a simple answer for that.

“jackpot” satoru whispers.

“fuck off, satoru” you raise from your seat but he raises too, blocking your way and trapping you against the black board and his body.

“you stayed with that guy for years just for the sex?” he has a mocking tone that makes your blood boil.

“no! and that’s none of your goddamn business.”

“and you’ve broken up, what? two months ago? you’ve been all this time without sex?” you raise your hand ready to slap his face or punch his nose but he sees your movements faster and catches your wrist, “don’t be like that senpai, your energy is getting hostile again” he takes all the time in the world lowering his blindfold and letting his hair fall down while staring at you with those freaking blue eyes, “although, on second thought i think that might be mmm… sexual frustration? it’s a color i never seen in you before” he grabs your wrist firmly.

“you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“oh but i do, senpai. i’m just wondering how you haven’t downloaded a dating app or tried to rub one off yet” gojo knows exactly which buttons to press to make you wanna stab him, or worst, make you wanna fuck him.

gojo gets closer to your face, so close you can smell his aftershave, and just the realization that it’s a different scent from the one you were so used to makes your heart ache and your clit throb.

“or did you?” he’s fast, gojo catches your phone on top of the table putting it right in front of your face to unlock then moving away from you to check it, “definitely no dating apps” you yell his name and try to snatch your phone back but he puts infinity on and you can’t reach him, “browser history?”

“satoru, you have no right, gimme that” your face is hot with shame.

“nothing either, well i suppose your camera roll…”

“no!”

“aha” he deactivates the invisible shield and right when you think you can retrieve your phone he turns you around, holding your arms behind your back and pressing your back against his chest, “is that what you use to get off?” he puts the phone in front of you, it’s opened in the gallery, more specifically in a part filled with lewd videos and photos.

“not bad, you could make some cash outta this” gojo puts his chin on your shoulder, playing a video which clearly was filmed by toji, his dick is getting in and out of you from behind, he gets a close look with the phone, his glistening dick shining under the flashlight while your pussy stretches to accommodate him. you press your legs together remembering the feeling, you’re not even struggling to get out of gojo’s hold by the time the video ends.

“you don’t need to get off by yourself, you know?” he smells your hair and kisses your ear, “it’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

“that was forever ago” you reply, at the time you thought satoru was going to use that against you, just wait for an opportunity to drop that bomb on toji’s lap and proudly say he fucked his girlfriend before, but whatever image you had of him back then was proved wrong since no one knows about your little escape with gojo till this very day.

“and wasn’t it good? huh?” he presses, sucking the spot on your neck that has you throwing your head back.

“yeah, it was” you confess, too sensible from the light touches to rethink your answers.

“see? i can make you feel good so you don’t become a little monster” he trails his hand on your thigh, pushing your skirt up until he finds your underwear, playing with the hem to tease you then pressing a finger on your clit.

“so charitable of you” you mumble sarcastically.

“i would gladly do this favor to you” he replies in the same tone, “even though you still own me.”

“for what?!” you close your legs around his hand turning your head around to look him in the face, not even considering a world where satoru did you any favors.

“for raising your boyfriend’s son? you really think you would’ve had a sex life with an eight year old summoning pets around the house?” he raises an eyebrow.

“don’t pretend like you did that out of the goodness in your heart, if megumi didn’t have the ten shadows you wouldn’t have bat an eye if toji sold him to the zenin’s or whomever.”

“you sound just like him” gojo’s eyes get darker, now he has your clit slowly rolling between his thumb and index over your underwear.

“besides— hng i came in the picture years after you took megumi… so don’t blame me” you wiggle your ass on his crotch.

“a ‘thank you my favourite kohai’ wouldn’t hurt” you sincerely laugh at that, never thinking of satoru as your underclassmen since that fucking minx is everyone’s exception on their cursed technique due to how powerful he is, so him being below you somehow was never a posibility, at least not strength wide.

satoru pushes your underwear to the side, rubbing the wetness all over your pussy and teasing your entrance.

“five years” you murmur as he inserts a finger then pulls it back to join his middle one too and go back in.

“hm?” satoru gets quieter, after talking so much and having so many things to say you’re surprised he stayed silent for a whole minute.

“last time you fucked me, it was five years ago” you get comfortable on his hold, his leg is between yours, serving as support for you to lean on while he scissors you.

“that long huh…” he sounds… sad? no, maybe nostalgic.

“crazy, right? so much has—“ you sigh when he curls his fingers, “changed.”

satoru take a long sniff of your hair, keeping a pleasing rhythm with his hand, it feels like giving someone a massage. he could go crazy and have you stripped out of your uniform a while ago, fucked you on your desk and left after marking your body and giving your ass a mean slap.

he could still do that, but whatever feeling bloomed in his chest has him enjoying this moment with you in his hold, stroking your insides and smelling your shampoo while discreetly rocking his hips on your behind for some relief.

he almost feels sleepy, the relaxed state has his mind going other places. he thinks of a world where he can tease you under your uniform every other day, you would tell him the school is no such a place for that then the day ends and you go home with him, holding hands, and finally when you arrive home he gets to finish what he started. then, he cooks whatever quick meal he can find the ingredients for since he knows you don't like to cook, afterwards you fall asleep on his lap on the couch as he strokes your hair, your belly is full, your heart is warm, you feel loved and he feels—

“toru~” he comes out of the trance he fell at when you call for him, he thinks for a second you were calling his name cause you felt he was off, but in reality you were calling him cause you are getting close, “right there” your breathy moans makes gojo smile and kiss your temple.

“where? here?” he pretends to not know, when the truth is he never actually forgot after your first time together, “right here, senpai?”

“y-yeah” you throw your head back, shutting your eyes to give in to the orgasm. gojo looks down at your pretty face, he feels the urge to kiss you right now, but he wants you to ask for it first. your walls clench around his fingers, he strokes that spot sweetly, like he's caressing a pet.

which is an ironic comparison since he’s the one that would gladly accept being your pet.

when you open your eyes gojo is staring at you silently through half lid eyes, it is truly a shame that he keeps those hidden for so long.

“desk, now” you demand needly.

“yes ma'am” gojo picks you up easily, moving the papers on top of the table to the floor.

you immediately go for his belt, choosing not to comment on the wet spot on his pants.

you feel a pressure on your chin as he guides your head up to look at him.

“ask me” he pleads.

“for what?”

“for a kiss” you smile, looking at his lips and how inviting they look. you ponder if you should tease him for it, since he's been teasing you with words a lot today, but then you chose to comply, despite going through your phone without our permission and claiming your frustration comes from lack of dick, he's actually being good to you.

“gimme a kiss” you raise your chin higher, he gazes at your lips and eyes, looking for something other than lust, yet he gives in, sealing your lips with his trying to keep his mind away from thinking of the man that had your lips previous to him. and how dumb that motherfucker is to let you go.

gojo's lips are soft, he starts gently which feels foreign to you, but it doesn't take long before his hand presses your lower back, pulling you closer until his cock hits your clothed cunt. the warmth he feels is enough to relish the passion in him, he kisses you harder, tongue intruding your mouth like he's trying to devour you.

the wet kiss also awakens your urge for him, you pull his cock from his underwear in the tiny space between his and your crotch, the second it's out it's already against your folds, the leaking tip hot against your skin.

“nuh-uh you better have a rubber” you push your knee onto gojo’s pelvis when he starts to rub himself on you to spread your wetness on his shaft.

“did you make toji wear one too?” he raises a questionable eyebrow at you, willing to bet all his heritage on the answer.

“he had to earn that privilege” you reach for gojo’s wallet, not failing to notice the black cards and considerable amount of cash, “i don’t know what you do after 6 so…” you take the packs, ripping it open yourself and rolling on him. with a face and body like his you doubt gojo spends most nights by himself.

“unbelievable…”

“satoru” you warn stroking him slowly, “can i get another kiss?” you bat your lashes. gojo comes closer, his nose even touches yours, then you feel his hands on your waist, turning you around till your elbows and chest are against the table and your skirt is being flipped over, underwear pushed down.

“you have to earn it, senpai” he spits the words against your ear as he pushes his dick into you. until a few moments ago, satoru was composed, happy to accept whatever crumbles you chose to give him. you managed to trigger him by saying toji still had something he couldn't have.

he's still gonna go through this — that's how whipped he is for you — though now he’ll be less gentle.

his cockhead hits your spot, nothing accidental of course, satoru knows your spots like the back of his hand. you whine and arch your back, satoru pouts realizing he won't get to suck some hickeys on the skin of your back and shoulder, not now at least, but the night is young.

“c'mon satoru, don't be like that” you look over your shoulder, licking your lips at the sight of him sweaty, flushed and frowny.

the sound of his name in your voice makes him want to cum on the spot, he dips his head on your neck sighing, not stopping thrusting your behind. he wanted to feel you so badly, why the fuck did you make him wear a condom? he's clean, of course he is, he's gojo satoru for heaven's sake! even viruses are afraid of him.

or was it something else you feared?

“hey… you on the pill?” he lifts his head slightly, his voice still muffled by the material of your dress.

“you’re not fucking me raw, satoru.”

“just wondering… you said you didnt wear a condom with him, so what kept you from getting knocked up?” he wiggles his hand between you and the surface of your table till hes palming your belly.

“you keep bringing toji up a lot, obsessed much?” you tease him, avoiding the answer, gojo pinches your clit.

“please, he wishes. now tell me. iud? implant? injections?” you push him away turning around then pulling him back.

“okay, you clearly had sex ed classes, now shut up and fuck me right” gojo takes your leg and places on his shoulder, you bite your fist to contain your moan, the new position makes easier for him to nudge your clit with his pelvis.

“i could be fucking you better, you know how?” he bites the skin of your leg, not harshly but enough to make you yelp, he smiles, giving a particular hard thrust that makes your eyes roll.

“condom stay on, satoru, i can’t risk getting preg—“ you slap your mouth. satoru stops.

“you’re not… on anything?”

“listen you can’t tell anyone about this, okay?” you cover your face, “i had a pregnancy scare a few years ago so… gosh why am i even telling you this…”

“go on” gojo massages your thigh.

“toji got a vasectomy. birth control wasn’t working for me anymore and it was only a matter of time before— well it doesn't matter. you can see why you have to use it right?” you place your elbows on the table, sitting up enough to see the look on his face, it’s not what your expected to see.

satoru looks like a child that just found out where his parents keep all the sweets. he’s grinning, dick throbbing.

“yeah, i see now” he bends, holding your neck and kissing you, he makes the kiss feel like a ‘thank you for trusting me’ but if this was a cartoon his shadow would have horns and a pointy tail.

all he can think now is exactly how to make you his, he can sweet talk you into allowing him to hit it raw, promising to pull it out, then… whoopsie.

the new discovery gives him a different kind of stamina.

“don’t worry, your secret is safe with me” he kisses your cheek after leaving you breathless.

he plunges in and out, a rhythm that has you seeing stars. gojo craves you so much, he’s quite bothered by all the clothes and the need to keep it down, otherwise he would have torn your dress apart and have you screaming by now.

“fuck— keep doing that” you run your nails on his undercut, gojo mewls and take your other leg, pushing it further to go deeper. he sees the white ring around his cock, getting high on the sigh of it combined with your pussy illuminated by the natural light coming from the window behind him.

he wonders if toji ever fucked you in a classroom like this, then he shakes his head, not allowing the image to form in his mind, instead he focus on you, and how your pretty face contorts as your orgasm approaches once again.

“so fucking pretty” he whispers quietly.

you attempt to lower your legs. feeling it’s gonna be too much.

“nuh-uh keep them here” he pushes back, “so tight” he closes his eyes.

you’re a moaning mess at this point, almost forgetting where you are.

“that’s right, let it go baby” your legs shake as your orgasm hits you, satoru can see the shape of your cursed energy peaking then getting softer.

he fucks you a little more, trying not to think about the condom trapping his dream of knocking you up.

god, you would look so fucking gorgeous carrying his baby, all round up for him to showcase around. he would do anything for you, you wouldn’t have to lift a finger.

if only…

“fuck“ he fucks his load — into the condom unfortunately.

after the initial high goes away he starts to hear his students asking where he went and why he’s taking so long, “wait here, i’ll take you home.”

“you don’t have to” you smile, poking his cheek.

“oh i do, i’m not done with you” he takes your hand from his nape and gives it a kiss before pulling out and throwing that despicable rubber into the bin, making a mental note to empty that bin outside where the evidence of what happened between two teachers is not so easily discoverable.

you sit up adjusting your dress and looking around, “did you see my…”

“nope” gojo leaves the classroom pushing the material of your panties further into his pocket.

gojo had the weekend of his dreams, he convinced you to stay in his place that night and the next one too, he rubbed your sore legs after you came so much you were spasming then made you breakfast, it almost made him believe of a happy ending for the two of you.

a dream that was shattered when, a few days later you returned from a mission and stood by the entrance of the school kissing… toji.

gojo watches the scene from above, a frown on his face.

“yeah i was surprised too” he almost forgot that megumi was with him, “thought she finally created some sense” he confesses.

gojo doesn’t say anything, he watches silently as you tiptoe to kiss toji, the fucker doesn’t even hold you right, he keeps his hand in his pockets and lets you with all the effort.

“meet you in the classroom in five” gojo disappears from megumi’s sight.

on your way to report your mission to yaga you see satoru leaning against a tree. you say his name in a surprised manner, not having prepared what to tell him beforehand.

“listen, i— hm… i thought you should know that toji and i are back, so—”

“did you tell him?” his arms are crossed.

“about… us? of course not.”

“why? don’t you think he should know?” you hear the challenge in his tone.

“no, and you’re not gonna say a word to him either” you step closer to him, trying to look intimidating which can be difficult due to the height difference, “may i remind you that between the three of us there’s a teen boy who would not appreciate the drama.”

“look at you, using fushiguro as an scapegoat” he smiles at the look of anger forming on your features, “it’s fine, i’m just a bit surprised at how quick you were to go back to him, that’s all.”

“let’s be real, satoru. it’s not like you were going to take me on a date or anything” gojo pulls you by your wrist, your body hits his, the sudden proximity has your eyes widening, anyone could see you and take the wrong conclusion. i mean, it wouldn’t be wrong but you didn’t want any conclusions to be taken for that matter.

“this is not going to be the last time and i don’t give a damn if you’re dating him or married or widowed.”

“satoru!” you shout his name in a whisper, immediately rejecting the idea of becoming a widow.

“you can tell toji or not, i don’t mind fighting him” he pushes himself out of the tree and past you. megumi is grown now, of course he still needs a lot of coaching regarding his skills, but emotionally speaking, he’s been a grown up since he was six.

before going to his classroom as promised, he teleports himself to yours, picking up the bouquet he left at your desk then teleporting to the fountain across the campus where he rips the paper that holds the flowers together and lets it all fall into the water.

satoru watches it for a moment, hurt but still decided to go through with his plan.

he wonders what would you tell toji if you got pregnant, maybe you could convince him the child is his, a miracle. then when the kid comes out with white hair and blue eyes you’ll have no choice other than be with him, the father of your child, the man who truly loves you. gojo satoru.

#there’s no part 2 leave me alone #divider by @cafekitsune #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #toji x reader

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steddiealltheway · 11 months

Text

It's a random Wednesday night, and Steve is hanging out with Eddie Munson. Not that that's exactly a weird thing anymore since the world went to shit and Eddie had this whole "you saved my life and I'm going to annoy you for the rest of yours to show my gratitude" type of thing going on. (And yes, he had said those exact words so many times that Steve had memorized them).

But tonight, they kind of just... sit. Not that Steve is complaining. He hates being alone, and always has, so just having someone next to him is nice.

He glances over at Eddie whose eyes are shut, so Steve allows himself to really look.

He had always prided himself in knowing he was comfortable enough in his masculinity to notice when men were attractive. And Eddie certainly was very very attractive. And strangely... pretty.

He has those nice big eyes that make Steve wonder if it makes girls feel all tingly when Eddie looks at them. If they notice the way he's not afraid to make eye contact and lean into it until it feels like he's got their soul on display and memorized it.

He wonders if the girls stare at his full lips and if their hearts flutter when he runs his tongue over his top lip. If they feel all warm and flushed when they imagine what it would be like to feel their lips against his.

Steve nearly groans at the thought for some reason. He wonders if Eddie would kiss a girl gently as if she were fragile or if he would be rough and enthusiastic with the same energy he usually has buzzing around him whenever he walks into a room. He wonders if the girl would run her hand through his hair, and if it's as soft as it looks or if her fingers would get tangled and pull-

"You've gotta stop looking at me like that," Eddie says, startling Steve out of his thoughts as he notices his eyes are now open and on him.

He takes a moment to collect himself and process what he just said. "Like what?"

Eddie looks at him and turns his head away, and Steve tries not to get lost in his profile and the slope of his nose-

Eddie sighs and shakes his head, muttering something like I guess now is the time under his breath, and Steve has no idea what that means. "I mean," Eddie starts and glances at Steve nervously, "You have to stop looking at me with that Harrington look. The one that charms all those girls out of their pants."

Steve scoffs, "I don't have a look."

"You do," Eddie insists as his hand comes up to fiddle with his rings.

Steve looks at Eddie's hands and pulls his eyes away before his thoughts run a mile a minute. "Okay, so maybe I do, but why can't I look at you like that?" As soon as Steve asks, he knows it's a stupid question, but he hopes Eddie gets what he means.

Eddie raises his eyebrows at him and shakes his head. His mouth opens and closes and he groans, leaning over to grab his beer and chug half of it in one go. Steve tries not to look at the tendons in his neck as he swallows.

"Because I'm not those girls," Eddie says as he puts his can back down, "But I certainly think like them."

Steve tilts his head a little and knows that Robin would laugh at him for doing the golden retriever look as she puts it, but he's confused. He guesses by Eddie's sigh that the metalhead can tell he needs more explanation.

Eddie's knees come up to his chest as he turns towards Steve. "Just don't... punch me, okay?"

Steve nods and wonders what that means.

Eddie takes a deep breath and his damn tongue worries his top lip, and it's almost so distracting that Steve almost doesn't hear him say, "I'm gay."

It takes Steve a while to process, and he feels like for some reason his whole view of Eddie changes but... in an exciting way. Almost anticipatory. But he's also still so Eddie that Steve just kind of shrugs.

Apparently, his reaction is a little too late because Eddie is rambling as if he needs to defend himself as he explains, "At first I thought I was maybe bisexual or something, and I held out hope that maybe some girl would come along and I would be wooed or whatever, but then I realized all these crushes I had on girls were kind of just friend crushes and I didn't want to kiss them but-"

"What's bisexual?" Steve asks and continues, "Like what does that mean?"

"It's when a person like girls and boys," Eddie explains and continues on.

But Steve hears nothing else Eddie rambles on about because all that's happening in his head is little flashes of memories of all these men he's found attractive, and how he thought it was normal for men to feel all fluttery when they see another attractive man. Especially one like Eddie who makes Steve feel like his heart is about to rip out of his chest, but he just thought that's how Eddie makes people feel... especially girls.

Or maybe especially guys. Especially guys like Steve.

Shit. Holy shit.

"Steve?" Eddie asks gently, "Are you okay?"

Steve glances back at Eddie and looks at him. Like really really looks at him. And then he focuses on how he feels.

Like maybe... maybe the girls he always wonders about... maybe they're him. Maybe he wants to know what it's like to kiss Eddie and run his hands through his hair. Maybe he's...

"There's that look again," Eddie teases lightly but Steve can see the thin veil of terror he's trying to hide in his features.

"What was that word again?" Steve asks sounding more breathless than he realized he was.

Eddie furrows his brow and shakes his head.

"The bi... the bicycle type word," Steve explains hoping that'll work well enough since he can't properly say the definition right now.

"Bisexual?" Eddie tries.

Steve nods and mumbles, "Bisexual." It feels... weird. But it feels right. But it also feels almost shameful? And how the hell did he not realize this until now?

"Steve," Eddie says and lays his hand over Steve's. His rings are cold against Steve's hand.

"Eddie, what if?" Steve takes a deep breath and tries again, "What if that was me?"

Eddie stares at him for a moment and just nods slowly looking deeply lost in thought until he suddenly clears his throat and asks, "Have you ever felt... attracted to a man or wanted to kiss one?"

Steve can't help but have his eyes flicker down to Eddie's lips. "Yes," he says without thinking too hard about it.

Eddie's eyes flicker to Steve's lips as he practically whispers, "I told you, you got to stop with that look."

"Is it working?" Steve asks as he leans in.

He doesn't expect the hand to his chest as he's shoved back lightly but firmly. "You just figured out what bisexuality is, you can't just..." Eddie's hands flap about as he gestures between them.

"Says who?" Steve asks and Eddie just gestures more and mumbles some incoherent phrases. Steve gently grabs his hands and holds them still. "Eddie, I really want to kiss you."

Eddie's eyes widen as he mutters out, "The speed at which you're bypassing this gay panic is alarmingly fast."

"Bisexual panic," Steve corrects trying the word out again to make sure he got it right plus to tease Eddie who huffs. "If you don't want to kiss me, you can just say it," Steve says, thinking that's maybe the problem.

Eddie shakes his head and rambles out, "I've wanted to kiss you since you ripped that damn bat's head off, Christ." He flails back and runs his hands over his face before turning back to Steve and inching closer to him. "Just... promise you won't punch me if you hate this?"

"Promise," Steve says with a wide smile as he cups Eddie's face.

"Holy shit, I'm about to kiss Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington is about to kiss m-"

"Eddie?"

Eddie hums in response.

"I'm gonna kiss you now," Steve says, trying not to laugh as Eddie seems to be panicking about this way more than he is.

Eddie nods and leans forward along with Steve.

Their lips meet and Steve can't help but smile slightly against his lips as Eddie treats him like Steve had half imagined - sweet and gentle as if Steve were the most fragile thing in the world. Then, the kiss shifts as Eddie's lips move roughly against his, using that same frantic, manic energy he always has as his hands come up to tug Steve's hair.

Steve groans and realizes he can do that too, and Eddie's hair is just as soft as he imagined, but then Eddie's pulling away and Steve is chasing after his lips before he notices the look Eddie is giving him. Is this okay?

"Definitely bisexual," Steve announces before pulling Eddie back in and kissing him again.

He's going to have a field day telling Robin later.

AO3 Link :)

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie ficlet

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amara-scott · 4 months

Text

Imagine Mattheo and Theodore fighting over you constantly.

P.1

Reader x Mattheo Riddle / Reader x Theodore Nott

"The picknick was a good idea, I have to admit." I say, dropping another grape into my mouth, a full mouth turned into a smile. I sneak another one out of the basket Theo is carrying.

I glance over at Theo and he nods, grinning. He winks. "I know, Carina. I always have the best ideas, you should know that by now." I roll my eyes in amusement at his cocky statement.

As if on cue, I see a brown mop of curls rounding the corner, making me sigh. Great. Just great.

"Hey, what a surprise." Mattheo says, not seeming too happy as his eyes land on Theodore beside me. Mattheo shuffles something inside his jacket, flashing white, which I only catch a glimpse of. But I can't even question what it was before these two begin staring each other down.

An undeniably painful pause is the only thing holding me back from just turning around to run away. It's scaring me to even move a muscle. If these two don't sort out whatever is bugging them, I won't hesitate and avoid them both. I really did try to help them befriend each other once more. Their inner rivalry didn't get unnoticed by the rest of our friend group either. What has gotten into them these past few weeks?

"(Y/N), let's get going." Theo's free hand wraps around my wrist, not even glancing at me once while talking. He turns and tries to pull me with him, but not before Mattheo steps up, pushing Theo.

I stumble with him, still being in the grasp of Theo's strong hand. He let go and I take a step back.

"Excuse me?!" I get out before straightening up, rearranging my cloak. My glare hits Mattheo, but he is fixed on the boy in front of him as they now nearly graze noses. If I didn't know these two, I'd say one of them would be a Gryffindor. That would make sense at least. This is worse than Draco and Harry.

"Where do you think you're taking her, huh?" He grits out, and I can't say a word, too stunned I am being dragged into this ongoing fight now.

"Stop it, both of you!" I yell, but neither of them are backing down, making it really hard not to just ask a Professor to break them off. I glance around, only a few students hushing past, not daring to spare a look.

"We are going somewhere that is none of your concern, Riddle."

"Yeah? I don't think so, Nott."

"Why don't you fuck off and shag one of your whores, mind your own damn business!"

I had never seen either of them so worked up, which certainly was scary to look at. I try once more, "boys, come on, this is ridiculous." I gulp as they still don't look at me. My heart starts racing, and I try to find a way out that won't result in broken noses or wands at each other throats. What is going on with these two?!

"Come on, (Y/N)." Theo says again, making me debate what I should do. Pick a side? I don't want to be the reason one is more mad or disappointed by what I do.

"No." I mumble, feeling my eyes sting as I blink. I gulp once more, Theo's eyes finding my form a few feet behind Mattheo. His face relaxes as he looks at me.

"See? She doesn't want you, Nott." I can only make out the corner of Mattheo's lips as they curl up into a grin. Which doesn't help my situation.

"I'm not picking a side here, Matt, you are both acting extremely childish over – over, who knows what!" I turn and storm off, ignoring Matt and Theo yelling my name.

These idiots took it too far now. I won't speak a word – won't spare them another glance. Ugh, boys!

___

"-and he pushed Theo! Like a little kid! What is going on with these two?" I sat across from Pansy, piercing my fork into my piece of chocolate cake over and over again until it went mushy and the appetite left me. I sigh, my fork dropping onto the table, and I bury my face into my hands.

"You know them. They will get over it. Theo probably stole Matt's last fudge fly. They're boys, just like you said." She mumbles and keeps chewing on her dessert, eyes scanning the next page of her Witch Weekly magazine.

"I hope you're right." I mutter under my breath.

"Hey you two-" Draco joins us at the table, sitting down next to Pansy, Enzo settles beside me, I send him a brief smile.

"What's pestering you, (Y/N)? Or should I ask – who's pestering you?" He snickers and earns a stare from Pansy, making him shut up.

"Wait – do you know something, Draco?" I ask him and squint my eyes at him. He obviously does, as he stutters for a word, shaking his head. His cheeks slightly pink.

"Enzo, what is going on? Where are the others?" I turn to him, he sighs but shakes his head, sending me a small and sorry smile.

"I promised not to tell anyone. Especially not you, love." I grow irritated with the lot and push myself up, sending another glare at Draco, he would be easier to break. I take out my wand, holding it by my side and start boring holes into his head. He tries to avoid my deathly stare. But then he makes the mistake of connecting his eyes with mine.

"If you won't tell me right now where they are, I will personally make sure to have you grow a second nose every day, for the rest of the year – you will smell things you wish you didn't –"

"– come on, (Y/N), we promised –"

"– In the library, in the far back corner on the second level –" Draco squeaks, making Enzo glare at him in shock.

"We promised, Draco!"

"I don't care, I know she'll do it. I don't want a nose on my bum one morning! She knows how to get into our dorm." Draco snarls and glares at the table as I hurry off. Pansy only smirking and eating her second dessert in peace.

"Go get them!" She calls out without looking up and I wave her off, pushing past a few people on my way. My heart is racing and I don't know if I want to even meet these idiots. I promised myself to ignore them. Well that didn't take long for me to break.

I round the corner and walk into the library. My racing thoughts made this quiet place unbearable as I heard every damn thought of mine. But just as I take the last couple steps on the stairwell, I am met with hushed shouting.

"– how about you're both idiots? I really am hungry and if you two make me miss dinner, you won't sleep another night –" I hear Blaise taunting. I glance between a few books on the shelf, making out three heads. There they are. Blaise sits by the window, I could see his face clear as day. Theo sat sideways, eyes turned to the table in between them both. Mattheo on the other hand stands, pacing back and forth. He stops, just as my breath.

"Theo simply has to admit that he went behind my back. He took away the only thing that really mattered –"

"The only thing that mattered? The only thing that mattered to you was to simply get laid! Like always – just pick a different girl!" Theo stands up too now, Mattheo stepping up to his figure.

Blaise suddenly steps between them, hands on either chest and looks back and forth. "Hey, boys, you truly think we haven't had these lines already tonight? You're both ridiculous."

So this is about a girl? Is this about –

"Well, (Y/N) would never pick someone like you."

Shit.

"Like me? You're one to talk, Nott – stealing her from me, right after I told you I liked her. I trusted you, you are supposed to be my fucking best mate!" Their hushed voices are not so hushed anymore and I glance down to Miss Pince's desk. She narrows her eyes, scanning the upper level.

Blaise is struggling to hold Mattheo back now, Theo's lips curling into a smirk. I lean closer, my eyes still wide. How do they both like – me? Is this a stupid prank?

WHACK!

I was obviously leaning onto the shelf a bit too much as a book fell to the ground. Their heads turn to me and I could now clearly see all of them through the opening. I give them a weak smile and wave. "Hey –"

"(Y/N)?" Theo asks, stepping forward, around the shelf. I meet him half way, Mattheo’s eyes as hard as stone. My mouth feels dry while I try to think of what to say. I shrug and try to smile. My eyes land on Blaise who seems relieved, sighing as he walks up to me and wraps an arm around my shoulder, glancing between Theo and Matt.

“Maybe you’re the best to talk to them right now.” He pats my shoulder and turns to leave, I turn my head, wanting to tell him to stay, my heart racing. Blaise stops, glancing back at me. “Good luck.” He smirks and skips down the staircase. I really don’t want to turn back around so I take my time, gulping as I focus on both their shoe pairs instead of any eyes. Theo steps up slowly. “Carina, what did you hear?” My eyes shoot up at his question and Matt huffs, falling back into a cushioned arm chair.

“Obviously she heard it all. Otherwise she would be smacking our heads by now.” He mumbles at the end, his head held high as he’s glaring down at his knees, his hands squeezing the soft armrests. His sharp jaw clenching every now and then.

“I- I really-“ I take a deep breath shaking my head. “- don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” Theo sends me a small encouraging smile. Matt’s head rolls back as he groans out.

“Oh please, stop that stupid emphasizing scheme!” Matt stands back up and joins us, glaring at Theo in disgust. Theo just rolls his eyes, turning to him.

“Just because you’re cold-hearted and only care about yourself doesn’t mean everyone has to-“

“-oh I only care about myself? You’re one to talk, fucking backstabber-“

“-Me? You are-“

“Hey!” I yell out, them both turning to me as they are once again almost choking each other. I ignore a few shushes thrown our way. Mattheo’s eyes soften as I look directly at him. His lips part and in his eyes I see that he’s struggling to hold back from saying what’s on his mind. “Matt-“ I get out, holding back my own emotional rollercoaster.

“I- I can’t-“ He stammers, rushing past me and running down the stairs, leaving. I walk up to the railing, my hands closing around the cold wood while I am looking after him.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” My head snaps around, Theo’s sad eyes glossy. He looks down, stepping closer and stops a foot from me. His eyes wandering back up, like he’s taking one last good look at me. Taking me in.

“It’s always been him.” He continues.

———

For part two choose your ending:

Mattheo (coming soon)

Theodore (coming soon)

#imagine #imagines #harry potter #harry potter imagine #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle x reader #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott imagine #slytherin #slytherin boys

1K notes · View notes

kneelingshadowsalome · 11 months

Note

Hi !!!! I’m sorry if this is bothering you and if so you can totally ignore this but…

I’ve been thinking about how Ghost would react to reader gradually pulling away from him because she gained some weight and is self conscious and ashamed and doesn’t want to be seen by him, so sculpted and beautiful… but of course he’s feeling low because he wants to be close to reader and so he asks and she finally explains it to him (ready to be broken up with…)…. And I’d love to read your take on it !

You can make it female or gender neauteal I don’t really care !!!! Thank you anyway ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Wildflowers Grow in Ruins

(Ghost x F!Reader, word count: 5 k)

Summary: Reader tries to break up with Ghost because she thinks she's not good enough for him.

Tags/warnings: FLUFF, soft sensual smut 🔞, hurt/comfort, light angst, Jealous!Ghost, Soft!Ghost, self-loathing & self-body shaming. Good girl talk/praise kink. Reader is female and wears a skirt for smut plot purposes.

A/N: I hope you like this take & I hope you don't mind that I tweaked this request just a little bit!) Also: JFC I'm wordy. The "I need to explain why they're fucking!" meme comes to mind every time I write anything.

Wars are exhausting.

You know fighting for something can empower people. Fighting against something usually just depletes your strength.

But waging a war against yourself…

Now that is pure hell.

It started somewhere in your youth. You thought adulthood would take it away; that reason and tolerance would take it away. You were supposed to feel more confident in yourself, more positive about life. And for a moment, you thought you might just succeed.

But standing beside a god of war is no easy feat.

He came into your life like a walking myth, swept you away, and you only laughed as you went. It was fun at first. He was supposed to be your savior, the solution to all your problems. If a man like him found you attractive, perhaps it was the world that was crooked and not you.

But then you got soft: you started to gain pounds. Meanwhile, he became even more magnificent. It reminded you that it had all been just a dream.

Perhaps it was his eyes that seemed to worship you, that seemed to look past your every flaw. Perhaps it was the hands which never seemed to get enough of your skin. Whatever it was, it was too much. And at the same time, never enough.

The day has finally come to let him go.

You think yourself heroic. It's like it should be: it's only right that you finally release him to someone better than you.

But inside, the noble feelings twist and turn and curl around your throat and stuff your stomach full of ice - the kind they fill glasses of mojito with. The drink you'll always remember him by because he teased you about it: that you wanted an ice-cold summer drink even in the middle of winter.

Now you feel cold all over, and wish he could warm you like he used to.

You would forsake all the mojitos of the world to keep him. You would renounce the whole drink if it came to that; if you could make him yours.

But he's not yours. He never was: he was just on loan to give you a taste of what it would be like to have a man like him. That taste should be more than enough for a lifetime. You should feel grateful.

So why is it so hard to let go?

The key on the front door turns, and your heart shoots up your throat: you're supposed to settle this thing once and for all. You're supposed to let go of him today.

And still, when he arrives, you can't find the courage to say what you need to say. The words are stuck in your throat, but tears are not. He should already be a memory, but you find yourself suffocating on memories as you cry. You've learned to do even that in silence, like the rest of your suffering.

You take a few deep breaths, wipe the tears away, shove the rest of them down your throat – you save them for later, later, when he's far away and you can finally curl up and cry your heart out without no one there to look. Fucking later.

Good.

Great.

You put your heaviest armor on. It protects weak and soft flesh because you can't meet him all bare. Then you step forward with the knowledge that you’re a thoroughly wounded guerrilla while he is a seasoned, well-rested veteran. The fight is nowhere near even, but it's ok. You are not meant to be in the presence of immortals anyway.

The man looks at you warily as you finally enter the room. That haunted look has followed you for some time now as the distance between you has grown.

It should be easy, what is about to come, because he hasn't touched you in weeks. You haven't wanted him to.

Or you have… But it's not easy to have his hands on you when your body is only a vessel you hate. How can you even think about pleasure when all you think about is how it must feel for him to caress something as awful as this?

The man is a vision, and he settles for a peasant. It should be against the law, but it's not… so you figured a some time ago that you should simply find the strength and grace to do ii: do what's right.

"I need to talk to you."

Your voice comes out neutral, and it makes you more confident, if only for a second or two.

He lifts his chin: already knows what's coming, because he's not stupid. You've been shutting down for weeks, and he hasn't done much about it. But when the thunder rolls in, he doesn't flee. Probably because he fears nothing.

"Go ahead then," he says, equally as neutral, equally as icy. Got his armor on, too.

This should be easy…

It's really not, so you decide to rip the band-aid off in one yank.

"I think we should go separate ways."

The following inhale from across the room pierces the air like a bullet. You can hear his breaths gain depth and speed all the way to where you're standing.

"Ok."

It doesn't look or sound like he's ok. If anything, he looks like he's trying to process the sudden storm.

"Ok…" His eyes are on the floor as he rubs the back of his neck. Then he starts to pace around the little kitchenette you've shared for almost six months, just before you started gaining weight.

He stops to look out the window, then turns to you, and the hurt in his stare comes through like a thousand needles pushing through skin.

"Is it because of my work?"

"No."

"What is it then?"

Your breaths are getting out of hand, too. He looks like a lost, tired creature in an abandoned animal shelter for a moment, and it breaks your heart. It squeezes the organ inside a flaming fist until it shatters like it has never been nothing more than ice.

Your lip starts to tremble, and he notices, as per usual. Nothing escapes this man, except perhaps the true reason for your anguish.

"Hey. Hey."

He comes to you and hugs you like it's the only thing that matters: to comfort you when he sees you're about to cry, no matter how crushed he's feeling himself. The sudden warmth, the intimacy after weeks and weeks of pain is knee-buckling.

"Is there anything I can do to change your mind?"

His voice is soft, so soft… The tears rush forth now; there's no way of stopping them. What the hell can you even say to a question like that? That you wish he could grab a magic wand and turn you into someone gorgeous, the woman he deserves?

His embrace feels good, kind of. It also feels smothering because your self-hate makes you want to disappear from existence entirely. His eyes are equal to physical touch, a probing scan that sees every little flaw, not to talk about massive faults, the ones which make you feel like you're simply disgusting. His touch only reminds you how you must feel like to him: soft, too soft, weak.

And he must hate weakness.

"What do you need me to do? I'll do anything," he tries with a parched throat, then swallows.

It's fucking horrible. This isn't going at all like you had imagined.

"It's not about you," you struggle out of his hold, and he lets you go with reluctance. You have to basically fight your way out of a bone and steel prison. Why would he even want to hold a pathetic woman who's on the brink of ugly crying on top of everything?

"What do you mean?"

He's slightly breathless – and restless as fuck. He's usually so calm; nothing can get to him, nothing can rattle the tower of raw strength. Now you've not only pierced some invisible armor; you can hear pieces of it falling on the floor.

"Have you found someone else?"

What the…

"No." You put as much weight on that word as you possibly can. To imagine that he thinks you are cheating… Fucking cheating on someone like him. "Jesus Christ…"

He takes a deep breath and sighs deeply, sighs out relief, perhaps. Then his razor-sharp stare fixes on you again, and you can see the fear turning into something akin to concern. You suspect you have to tell him the truth, otherwise he will dig it out of you.

"I'm just…"

Jesus, this is just humiliating.

"I'm just not your type."

"What the hell are you talking about," he mutters, the impending fury giving way to momentary surprise.

He gets intense sometimes. This time, the ferocity is born of barely concealed distress. He's broad and magnificent, even in despair. He’s just so fucking fine… The perfect man, someone you had never even imagined yourself with. Pulled down to the world of puny mortals, evidently stressing about losing one.

Losing you.

"If you have someone new, you can just bloody well tell me."

"It's not that. You don't understand–"

"Try me."

"I just…" A tear escapes down your face as you finally break for him. "I'm fat. Okay? And ugly. And–"

"Stop right there."

The look on his face is just… It's priceless, you suppose.

"Bloody fucking hell…"

He looks at the floor, then runs his fingers through the short cut hair on top of his head. You've yanked those blonde strands more times than you can count, nearly every time he's been between your legs, and you miss it – you long for it, like fallen angels long for heaven.

And if there was a time this man was rendered speechless, you would say you were witnessing that moment right now. His brows knit together, then he looks up at you again with blaring disbelief.

"You're serious?"

"Yes."

"This is the reason you wanna break up?"

Ugh.

"Yes?"

His voice grows rougher with every question until it resembles thunder, and you suspect this is the commanding tone his soldiers are used to hearing.

But you're not: it's gravelly, harsh, and betrays the feeling of having been insulted. You feel even more devastated with yourself – it appears you can do nothing right.

"Where has this… idea even come to your head?"

"I don't know."

"And you never thought to ask my opinion?"

"Would you please stop yelling," you whisper and blink back some putrid tears. His mouth is snapped shut, his head pulls back just a little as he realizes what he's done.

"Sorry," he says with a half-whisper, and you catch the strain in his throat. You've never seen him cry, but now his voice is suddenly thin and frail. "I'm sorry."

He takes a step, then another, places fingertips on the counter as if to take the faintest support.

"Can I touch you?"

You don't really want him to do that, but you feel pity for the man. He's trying to find a way through this mess, and you want to help him.

"Yes," you whisper, and he immediately comes and takes you in his arms again. Hot tears disappear into his shirt, and you sniff a few times. He feels so good, so safe, even when you're about to lose him. His hold tightens around you, and the kitchen is silent; the whole world is silent. You don't know if you're being put to a grave or if you're in a deaf womb, waiting to be reborn.

"Now I don't know who's said this shite to you but ugly is the last fucking thing I'd call you," he declares above you. As if it was some bully whose fault it is that you were this way, a bully he could deal with with his fists or a gun. If only things were that easy…

"Have I said or done something? To make you feel this way?"

Then the blade is turned against himself. The man desperately searches for a culprit so he can deal with them.

"No," is the only thing you can say because it's true: he has never done a thing to make you feel like you weren't good enough; quite the contrary. But then again, he doesn't have to. It's enough that he exists and resembles a god.

"Then why do you think you're not my type?"

"Because you're so perfect," you hear yourself wail, no, cry into that shirt that smells of sweet safety and familiar musk – his scent, another thing you have missed like it's the only way to heaven.

"That for sure ain't true."

"But it is."

He seems to have the utmost difficulty in grasping what the issue here is. You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head with a rusty, laborious creak.

"Can't believe you wanna break up because of this," he finally says. You've chipped his pride, the ego that lives off of pleasing the ones he loves: the few chosen ones who he wants to give his whole life to.

"To me, you're perfect," he then says, and you simply… You stop breathing. "You're like… my dream woman. Ever thought about that?"

It can't be true, even if you vehemently, desperately want it to be. You reach out to his words like they're precious food after years of famine. Like they're sun and spring rain after being buried in the cold, dark soil whole winter.

"No…?"

"Never occurred to you that I might find you fucking beautiful?"

"Stop," you whisper, because it's too much to take in. He sounds so serious, so sincere.

"No, I don't think I will."

He pulls back a little and cups your face. Brushes away a tear, looks at you with so much love that it physically hurts; you feel like it's a lance that slowly drives through your heart.

"How about I kiss every part I love about you?"

You let out a soft little whimper. Fuck, that you want him to…

It would also be uncomfortable as hell. To try and let him love you and your body, which you have grown to loathe.

"It's gonna take all night, though. Wanna be as thorough as possible."

"Simon–"

"Love. I want you. Thought I'd made it pretty clear, but apparently I haven't. If you only knew how much–"

He sighs deeply. The man is frustrated with his shortcomings, thinks that this is all his fault. You cry a tear or two just for the sake of how absurd it all is.

"I don't want you to go. I fucking love you. Everything about you."

For the second time this afternoon, your lower lip starts to tremble as if this was some stupid, romantic movie. He can be so soft when he wants to, more romantic than the soft-spoken gentlemen in Jane Austen's novels. It doesn't even require any effort: underneath the cynical surface, there's fiery emotion, so powerful and raw that it almost bleeds out of him. Fuck… Does he even know what he's doing to you?

"I love you too," you whisper back, and the warmth that starts to bloom in his eyes is an entire sun on its own. It's hope, and you believe him, almost believe him.

"Then I'd say it's a bloody bad idea to break up."

You chuckle while few more tears push through to the surface.

"Simon…" You sigh and look back up at him, your armor falling to the floor too. "I feel like a wreck."

You allow him to see the pain, all of it. His breath is sharp as it hits him, but he still doesn't waver.

"Then let me help you."

The arms around you gain more strength, and you're crushed against a chest made of power. He tries to turn shit to gold, and threatens to succeed. You allow yourself to soften in his hold. How good it feels to be supported – no, loved.

"You don't even let me touch you anymore."

It's a filed complaint, but also heart-rending, soul-wrenching longing. You have evaded him for weeks now – hell, this shit began months ago and has escalated gradually, stealthily, until the moments together were a rarity, the space between you was full of frost; and not the crispy, happy summer drink kind.

"I thought you'd found someone else. Could've found out if that was the case in minutes, but honestly, I didn't wanna know."

Oh my God…

Has he lived with a growing suspicion and dread all these months?

That would explain why he has avoided you too…

He has allowed you to go to your supposed lover, has given you space to be alone and without too much attention. The man has shielded himself from pain.

Jesus fucking Christ.

"I'm so sorry," you say with a strained little breath. "I swear it's nothing like that. I just… I feel like a mess."

"Never seen such a gorgeous mess."

He speaks on your skin, the kiss on your forehead feels like an absolution.

Then you notice it's not only his words which try to assure you. He's growing harder by the minute against your stomach, just from a simple hug. Just from being pressed against you like this, after weeks of dry, bitter longing.

"Miss your taste," he murmurs to your skin, his voice like sand wrapped in burning velvet. "The sounds you make when you want it hard."

Oh God–

"Miss your smile when we go to shower after."

"Hmh…"

"Don't wanna live without that smile."

You don't have to.

God, you don't have to…

"How about we make a deal," he draws fingers down your chin, coaxing you to look up at him. His eyes are stripped from the cold distance that greeted you just moments ago: now they are filled with warmth that spreads to your chest and belly and bones. You drink him in like summertide.

"You come to me every time you feel bad and I'll make you feel good. Alright?"

"...Ok."

He tilts his head a little to the side, not entirely satisfied with your shy little answer.

"Come on. Make me believe it."

"It's a deal," you say with more grit to it, even if you're nearly crying again, this time from relief.

"That's my girl."

Oh fuck…

He knows exactly what strings to pull, the good girl talk being one of the things that instantly makes your legs feel like jelly.

And why does he always have to use that voice when he calls you a good girl or his girl, that sultry smoke that makes you want to swoon until he catches you and carries you to bed?

The man seems to be a mind reader as well, because he sweeps you off your feet and does exactly that: carries you to your bed which has mainly seen silent tears and painful sleep last months.

"Poor thing doesn't even know how lovely she is."

He sounds amused in the face of your darkness: sees it in full and still doesn't fear at all. He's ready to battle your demons for you, and you feel like shaking: from his touch and that voice, from the stress and loneliness that starts to release as he lays you down on the bed.

He looks so different from the man that has haunted this place for the past months, the complete opposite of the reserved soldier retreating into the shadows.

He moves to kiss you, and it's been – what? Weeks since your last kiss? And even that was only a quick peck, nothing like this… Wet, and desperate; a devouring. It makes you clench around nothingness, and you finally surrender.

No one can fake such fervor.

You try to accept it: accept the fact that even if you hate yourself, he does not. For some reason, he adores you. His breaths hit your face hot and urgent, and he can't keep his hands to himself anymore. They wander over your waist and hips, they even risk to steal a feel of your breasts, and then he groans in your mouth.

"I've missed you. Fuck, I've missed you..."

You taste notes of burning leaves; tobacco, his only weakness. You fantasize on the thought that you might be another weakness, too.

"Remember when I fucked you in my office?"

"I've missed you too," you utter softly in between the kisses that threaten to turn into a sloppy mess. "So much..."

He smiles at that, and it makes you weak, even when lying down like this.

"Yeah…?"

"You were so loud I had to put a hand over your mouth."

His voice is thick as he laughs a short chuckle. Your inner walls clench again at the sound, you throb among the warm syrup surrounding you.

"Never seen you so wet. Almost dripped all over my gear."

"It's that stupid mask you wear," you hear yourself breathe like you've just been underwater. Feel yourself throb some more, feel a burning sensation in the nether areas from the scorched desert turning wet again. You want him so much that it actually hurts down there.

"Knew you'd like it. That's why I kept it on."

If this man keeps talking, your underwear is going to be utterly ruined. And of course he does; of course he continues to pour more love in your ear.

"Everyone looked at you like you were a queen," he grunts in your ear, sounding almost… pissed.

"Don't be ridiculous," you try to form sensible words. It's only a faint breath, really, but he huffs at your modesty.

"You don't have eyes in the back of your head, love."

Wow… He is a bit pissed.

Had they checked your ass out when you visited him?

It was the first and, what you thought, the last time you got to visit him at his workplace… but you never would have guessed the reason for him not asking you to visit again would be jealousy.

"Don't worry. I put those fuckers in their place after you left."

Whoa.

Ok…

First, he had fucked you senseless in his office – a highly inappropriate move for a man in his position – then got jealous because some soldiers had checked you out as you left with his cum practically dripping from your cunt.

You put yourself in his shoes for a moment: he's had to live with thoughts of you running to some other man's arms when he's not home, and then watch you waltz around his workplace after making what was supposed to be the last effort to make him love you… When he has loved and adored you this whole time, has watched the sway of your ass with the rest of those home-deprived, horny soldiers, thinking you had fallen out of love and were on your way to go see some other guy.

Had he invited you there to try and win you back, too? By showing himself to you in all his puffed up, masculine glory? A desperate man in a skull mask, hoping to get love from you…

There's so many misunderstandings; they rip your throat. A sob escapes, and he stops his caress.

"Love… Tell me to stop if you–"

"No. No, I don't want you to stop."

Your request comes out with such demand that he hesitates only a second or two. Then he moves on top of you and tugs your skirt up. You don't even have time to realize what is happening before he has worked himself out of his pants.

He's hard and heavy between your legs, and your eyes go wide as you realize he's not going to bother to take your briefs off. He just slides a hand under the skirt and draws the fabric aside, and the fat tip of him is pushed in the middle almost clumsily. It's hot, and slips down to your opening with ease.

Oh f–

"Been jerking off to you nearly every night at the base," he says just before he pushes himself in.

"Uh–...."

Your thighs spread wide as he fills you slowly, inch after inch. The sound that leaves him is starved: a dry, painful sigh. He's been waiting for this for god knows how long, and you're just as hungry to take him in. He seems endless, the way he finally works himself fully inside, spreading you even wider as the thickening base of his cock reaches its end.

"Thought you were getting railed by someone else while I only get to fuck my hand."

"Oh god…"

There's really nothing else to say as his balls press against you, heavy and taut. He's not going to last long.

"Yeah. Imagine that," he admits, breathless like you.

You look at him with what must be the most helpless stare of longing in your eyes. Then he moves, and you want to grip him to keep him inside. The first thrusts are divine, they're pure heaven, and your head sinks deep into the pillow as you try to get enough air, try to not scream from pleasure already. Somehow, all you are able to utter is a desperate little whisper.

"Simon–"

His cock is good enough to bring tears to your eyes. You're starving too, you're pulling him in with fierce hunger, and he groans, then nearly falls forward, his weight pressing against you, swallowing you, until you feel like you're an idiot for thinking that you're too big. The thickness of his chest rubs against you as he makes love to you with passion that echoes the first times you did this.

"Just wanna adore you, love." He's panting desperate somewhere above you. A god and a man, both furious and gentle. "I wanna adore you. Just like this."

You answer him with what must be those sounds he told you about, the sounds you make when you want it hard.

You want him to fuck you, to wreck you after weeks of loneliness and hate. To love you until you break into a million pieces.

"Simon," you whisper. "...Love me."

He halts, huffs in your neck. It's almost a sob. There's so much emotion and desperation in the air that it could be scooped up and sold in the streets.

"Always," he rasps in your ear, then moves to kiss you again. "Always."

The promise echoes around you, it coats your lips as he loves you with all he has. It's been so long, and he feels so good that you nails dig into his shirt, his shoulder, you try to hold onto him even though he's the wave that rocks you.

"You feel that?" He goes deep; he's out of breath and desperate, even more desperate than you. "That's love. You feel it, yeah?"

"Yes," you sob in his shoulder, tears trying to escape your waterline as you're going dumb from the pure sensation, the sensuality of it all.

"That's it, love. That's a good girl," he turns to your neck and gruffs in your ear as you whimper and moan. "Always such a good girl."

Shit…

"I, I'm gonna…"

Your legs wrap around his middle, your muscles twitch and your hands reach and grab – they claw and yank and tug everything they can: his back, shoulders, shirt, something sturdy to keep you from drowning in a glorious orgasm.

He laughs in your neck and continues to grind you through your climax even when you're shattering, sighing, moaning, writhing under him. He just laughs, the man who never laughs: from witnessing you respond to him calling you a good girl.

Fucking bastard…

Lovable, infuriating bastard who knows you to your core.

You're an overstimulated heap by the time he comes as well, not long after you, but long enough to make you feel like you're only a tender bunch of nerves. Your legs have fallen to the side, he has open access to take what he needs: you, your love, all of it.

His whole middle goes tense as he cums, he groans and swears somewhere deep into your neck, rolls his hips over and over again like it's a must that his balls press against you with every thrust that shoot his load.

Then he falls slack, nearly collapses on top of you, reminding you of what it feels like to be small under a giant like him. You're throbbing together, you're full and fulfilled, and he is still lodged deep inside you, panting and broken in a sweat.

"Jesus Christ…"

He sounds dazed.

Relieved.

"Should've done this weeks ago."

You laugh at seeing him so done – a man in love, torn by jealous yearning, finally taking what's his. You stroke his neck, his back – it's so good to have him finally there… So close, with no barriers in between.

"I should've talked to you weeks ago..."

"Yeah. You should have."

"Are you going to punish me?" You giggle a little – the flirt is light and frees your heart further from its recent jail. He moves to look at you with all the tenderness there is. It's too much... His love is too much. But you won't run from it anymore.

"Nah. Think I'm gonna spoil you some more."

He spoils you right away with a kiss. You surrender to his treatment with happiness: happy tears, even.

The medicine to your anguish has been the exact opposite to what you had first tried, what you had originally thought. The true remedy for your sickness is mercy. Perhaps some spoiling…

And love.

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