#bed. tucking you in and checking under the bed for monsters

[eat-limes-bitches]

Sanctuary

PAIRING: Female Avenger! Reader x Bucky Barnes

SUMMARY: We all need a safe place to rest, even when some of us don't believe it

WARNINGS: umm, major fluff, Bucky thinking badly of himself

Word Count: 1408

A/N: wow surprise surprise, I'm not dead. I just fell into the hole of no inspiration paired with real-world stuff (gross) but please enjoy this lovely little thing I wrote. First thing I've written in months so sorry if it is not the best.

Enjoy! <3

Divider by Rookthorne

It was nearing three am when Bucky finally walked through the compound doors. He crept silently through the halls, his final destination in mind: his bedroom. Not to sleep, he was still too on edge from the mission he was returning from even to consider sleeping. He just wanted out of his wet clothes from the rain. Upon reaching said destination, Bucky rid himself of the soggy garments and slipped into a pair of grey sweatpants and a random t-shirt he pulled out of his dresser before leaving his room to head to the gym to work off some of the remaining adrenaline. No matter how loud his body screamed at him to rest, he was more fearful of the monsters inside of his head than the aching pain radiating through his body. When he reached the kitchen, he wasn’t planning on stopping until he heard a soft humming which caught his attention. He paused just inside the door frame and looked around for the source of the sound when his eyes landed on Y/n.

Y/n was an enigma to Bucky. Everyone gravitated towards her, something about her presence was enough to soothe the battered souls of the team and it wasn’t uncommon to find her in the lounge with one or all of the Avengers piled up around her in some form or fashion, most nights one of them would be snuggled up in her bed after a rough mission just needing human contact to help ground them, even now, watching her put a bagel in the toaster, with the setting turned up much too high for her preferred toasty-ness, Bucky felt the tension in his shoulders give out just a little, his heart doing little flips as well, but he refused to give in. He didn’t want to taint the sweetness of her aura with the bitterness of his demons. He instead opted to watch as her soft Y/h/c curls swayed around as she rummaged through the refrigerator for a new stick of butter, still humming gently as she did so. 

“I don’t bite, you know. You can come sit down,” She called out to him, not bothering to turn around, causing Bucky to flinch slightly. He hated being caught observing her from afar. His teammates would see the longing looks he gave in her direction, longing to feel the soft safety she provided but refusing himself as some sort of twisted punishment. Bucky slowly crept over to the kitchen counter where the chairs were neatly tucked up under the ledge until he pulled one out to sit on. Only once situated did Y/n turn around and look at him. Her soft eyes traced over his form examining for any injuries.

 As if sensing the reason for her intense gaze, Bucky whispered, “‘M not hurt darlin’.”

She moved her eyes to meet his, checking the validity of his statement. Whatever she found there was enough to confirm his statement and she nodded, cocking her head to one side as she asked, 

“Then why are you not in bed resting? Your body is obviously trying to tell you to rest and you are ignoring it. Why?”

Bucky sighed, refusing to look at her. She had the uncanny ability to read everyone who lived in the compound, but somehow, she read him better than everyone else, knowing exactly what was going on with him without him saying a word. 

“Are you worried about the nightmares?” Y/n questioned, voice no more than a whisper as she ducked her head to catch his gaze with her own. Darting his eyes to catch her gaze before looking away, Bucky nodded. Y/n hummed before returning to the toaster to retrieve her bagel, slathering it with butter when Bucky finally spoke, 

“What are you doing up at this time?” Y/n flashed a smile over her shoulder before replying,

“I knew you were coming home, I had FRIDAY tell me when you arrived so that way I would be around if you needed anything. I know how you get after missions like these, I just wanted to be available.”

Now, Bucky was a sensitive guy, underneath all of the tall, dark, and brooding, was a man who was starved of any sort of affection for over 70 years, and hearing that simple statement from Y/n was enough to break down the little self-control he had to stay away from her. 

“Y-y/n?” He asked, a wobble evident in his voice as he spoke, catching Y/n’s attention immediately.

“Can-” Bucky started to ask before snapping his mouth closed, the thought of ruining her running through his mind before he could finish his question,

 “Actually, never mind.” He mumbled, pushing himself off of the chair and making a bee-line for the exit when Y/n called out after him,

“Wait, Bucky!” He stopped in his tracks, not being able to just ignore her when she said his name so sweetly. He listened as her quiet footsteps got closer until she was standing slightly in front of him, not wanting to stand directly in his way in case he still wanted to leave. 

“You know, you yourself, as much as anyone else in this universe deserve love and affection, even if you think don’t. I know that’s hard to accept right now, there’s a lot of turmoil going on in that noggin of yours,” she said softly, taking a few steps closer to him as she continued,

“but I need you to know that and to know that I am here. I am always here for you. Now, if you want to ask your question you can, and if you still want to leave you can as well. I just needed to make sure you knew that.”

She smiled at him, a smile he had never seen before. It was soft, bright, and warm in ways that he had never seen before that made him realize this smile was just for him, and only for him. For some reason, that knowledge made him brave and with a deep breath, he asked to question he was afraid to,

“D-do you think that you can let me sleep with you tonight?” His voice was so soft that if Y/n’s complete attention wasn’t on him, she may not have heard him. She smiled that special smile at him as she extended her hand for him to take,

“Of course, c'mon then, let’s get you to bed. You need some solid sleep,” she murmured as she led him towards her room. 

Y/n pushed the door open and walked through, letting Bucky enter in his own time, not wanting to overwhelm him. Slowly, Bucky crept into the room, the smell of lavender, mint, and cedar invading his senses as he approached the bed. Y/n smiled at him before pushing the grey sheets back and climbing in, motioning for him to do the same. Once underneath the soft sheets, Y/n turned to face him.

 “How do you want to do this?” She asked, “Do you want me to touch you?” In the dim light, Bucky could see a soft flush on her cheeks, as she continued to explain herself, realizing that the word choice was a little provocative. “I-I mean like, some people like to cuddle others just like knowing someone else is there I don’t mind either way, I just didn’t want you to think-” 

Bucky chuckled softly and reached over and pulled Y/n closer to him so that he could lay his head on her chest, listening to her steady heartbeat. Y/n froze slightly before completely melting and moving her hands to his hair, running through the soft chestnut strands. 

“So you’re a cuddler. Got it.” She murmured, smiling as Bucky snuggled deeper into her embrace, arms still wound around her frame to keep her close. Bucky began to grow drowsy, between Y/n’s gentle finger in his hair and the soft song she began humming again, sleep was not far from wrapping Bucky in its soft embrace.

“Thank you,” Bucky muttered, his voice muffled by the fabric of Y/n’s old university t-shirt.

Y/n smiled and pressed a kiss to the crown of Bucky’s head. “Of course, now get some rest, you need it.” With a final squeeze, Bucky began to drift off to sleep. Maybe, this was the exact sanctuary he needed.

#bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader fluff #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky×reader #bucky fanfic #james bucky buchanan barnes #winter soldier

[ghouljams]

I'm such a sucker for odd little guys, I need to see the changeling babies being little freaks. Teeny cryptids, if you will.

Ainsley develops the ability to mimic voices, but they are never quite right. It comes out warbled and the pitches fluctuate. Imagine waking up in the middle of the night to your child saying "mommy i threw up" in the distorted voice of a person you've never heard before.

When Karma starts getting her little hunt cravings (think of it like when a baby starts teething), she'll try catching any little animal she can get her hands on. Love and Ghost take her to the park only to find she's trapped a half-alive squirrel in her thorns, the small mammal letting out wheezing breaths and thrashing as much as it can with the way the stems pierce its lungs and snap its little limbs.

König's little monster just gets the zoomies, I don't have any ideas for him lol

-maus🐭

Lets do some baby fic with our little monsters and their daddy monsters! I love the fae-bies so much, they're horrific

Ainsley(Keegan's first born):

The overlapping voices make you sit bolt upright in bed, you knock Keegan off of you with how quickly you sit up and look around for the intruder. He groans and rolls over to bury his face in the pillow. This glowing eyes next to your bed repeat the strange amalgamation of sound, little beads of starlight looking up at you as they tell you, "Momma, I frew up." You stare at your child, your sleep addled brain attempting to understand how they're making that noise with their mouth. They repeat their plaintive cry in a different voice, big wet tears rolling down their face. You're quick to shush them and scoop them up into your arms.

"It's ok sweetheart," You hum, kissing their cheek, "Momma will take care of it." Keegan manages to pull himself to wakefulness in the time it takes you to strip the toddler bed and turn on the sink. You watch him yawn, replacing pillow covers and smoothing his hands over sheets, tucking in corners with military precision. You wipe off you baby's face with a warm cloth, and help them change into fresh pjs. They make little chirping sounds, showing off the way their new imitations with bird calls, then barks, and finally, by doing a perfect impression of their favorite grocer.

They seem to have a fondness for the strange overlapping chatter that they can conjure. You have to settle them down back in bed, and get them to stop talking, before you can get any medicine in them. You've never heard your child talk so much, but you suppose they take after their father. It's almost sweet, the way Keegan whistles back to them, responding bird calls with his own, and sending Riley to lick the little monster's face when they start barking.

You give your own half hearted chirp as Keegan pulls you back to bed, your brain too tired to parse what that could mean, lulled only by the way Keegan tucks you in under the blankets and kisses your forehead. "That's good Angel," He hums, settling in to cuddle again, "you're a natural."

Karma/Carmila(Ghost's first born):

Your baby toddles off into a bush and disappears. She's there one moment, her little hands and perfect curls pushing against the leaves as she chases after a chipmunk, and the next she's gone. You stand up from where you'd been lounging on the blanket and nearly kick Simon in your rush to go... you don't know, try and pull your infant from a bush? You can hear her excited squealing, her delighted coos, you just can't see her. It doesn't take much panic from you to inspire Simon to come over and check what's happening.

He grumbles something under his breath and moves you out of the way to shove his arm into the bush. He frowns, and pushes in further until the leaves and branches are up to his shoulder. After a moment of fishing around he pulls your daughter free. She blinks down at the bush, and bounces against Simon's hold. Her little fingers grab and wiggle towards the bush as she babbles. The branches twist and reach towards her and Simon bats them away.

"Bloody hell," He swears, holding your baby up and out of the way as he digs his other arm into the bush. You don't particularly like the way he's scruffed your baby, but you're more preoccupied by the deep red that drips off her fingers, and stains her sweet little mouth. Simon fishes the chipmunk out of the tangle with a grimace and hands its bloodied corpse to Carmilla who squeals like she's been given her favorite toy. She squeezes it with her little hands and you watch with disgust as she digs the few teeth she has into its furry flesh.

You don't hesitate grabbing her from Simon's hold, or wrestling the vermin away from her. You grimace at how warm and wet it is, and toss it back into the bush. You're sure he sees nothing wrong with what your baby is eating, Carmilla hiccups like she's about to start wailing, neither of them have any standards. "Simon," He hums, watching you with a bored sort of "this is the way fae are" expression, "get the baby something with less disease in it please."

"Oh," He raises a brow, you can see amusement slowly creeping over his face, "that's what you're mad about." He sniffs, looking around the park as you try to settle your infant. "Right, gimme ten, I'll be back with somethin' decent."

Ten minutes later you're sitting on a nice blanket enjoying a sunny day and some light reading while your husband supervises your infant child's gnawing on what appears to be a human liver.

König's little monster(as yet unnamed):

You have all the books, you read all the advice, and you are still woefully unprepared. You knew your child would be fae, assumed he would be like his father, but all of that means nothing when you're actually parenting. You watch your baby on a blanket on the floor, his little spines and fluffy furry hair all sticking out at odd angles. You reach down and scratch his head, and he purrs, his little arms and legs swimming against the blanket. He pushes a ball towards König and König pushes it back. Every time the little monster's tail poofs up, the little triangle help up high and wiggling with each movement.

König tosses the ball back and forth between his hands and the baby bounces on his stomach. "Is daddy teasing you?" You reach down to scratch the baby's head again, and the little one turns his attention to you. His tiny fingers reach for your hand and you slide off the couch to bundle the infant in your arms and kiss his little cheek. He turns his head to gum at your cheek, babbling with attempts to mimic the kissing noises you make.

"Am not," König assures you, tucking the ball into his son's grasping hands when the baby turns his attention back to his father. You roll your eyes and kiss the baby's cheek again before passing him off to König. You wouldn't have thought König was good with the baby, but the way the infant leans his head against König's shoulder, his little fingers tight in König's shirt, makes you think otherwise. König turns his head to sniff the baby, big hands cradling him as you brush your hands against your pants.

"He needs a bath after dinner, smells like the woods," You pull your phone free to feign nonchalance, "you wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

König, for his part, doesn't look at you and changes the subject. "He is too small to take hunting," He coos at the baby, "no, you wouldn't catch anything without teeth."

"König," You press, he hums, "don't take the baby to the woods," Another hum as he toys with the baby's fingers, "he hasn't even had his shots yet, stop taking him into the fucking woods."

"You're not supposed to curse around the baby," König tells you, and you nearly crack your jaw biting your tongue on the words you want to toss back at him.

"Stop taking the baby into the forest or I will divorce you," You try. That gets König's attention long enough for him to break a smile and turn his staring back to the baby.

"No you won't," He assures you, and you sigh.

You won't.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #x oc #cod x oc #simon ghost riley x reader #1fae1 #ghost x reader #könig x reader #könig cod #könig mw2 #keegan p russ #keegan russ x reader #fae!ghost #fae!keegan #fae!König #oc: ainsley #oc: carmilla #oc: love #oc: liebling #oc: angel #they're good kids #but they are also terrors for anyone who isn't their parents

[myosotisa]

Steve Harrington reacting to an unconventional introduction to your shy cat 😺

‖ pre-face: you have been dating for a couple of weeks and he has yet to meet your cat. he knows you have one but has accepted that they will hide whenever he comes over, and doesn't want to push it and force them out of hiding. tonight is the first time he is sleeping over at your place.

‖ Eddie's Version

Whatever higher being that chose to sculpt Steve Harrington out of the finest marble into the shape of a Roman God with constellations of moles and freckles painted across his skin should really be providing you financial compensation for the hazard it poses to your health.

Part of you is convinced you've already slipped off into a dream when he dips back into your bedroom with two glasses of water in hand. He's shirtless, because of course he is, and you shamelessly allow your eyes to trail from the tuff of curly hair on his chest and down to where a similarly shaded happy trail dips into the waistband of his low-hung sweatpants.

"Hand delivery of a nice, cold glass of water to the prettiest girl I've ever seen," he holds one of the glasses toward you, the other lifting to his lips as you take it. You are once again distracted by the strong muscle of his bicep as it curls the glass toward his mouth, the rhythmic rise and fall of his Adams apple while he drinks, and the sheen of moisture on his pink lips as he lowers the glass with an overdone sigh of contentment.

You are absolutely floored with the desire to eat him alive.

But truly, someone should make him pay for the crimes against humanity that is his existence when he looks this fucking good. And you have just the thing in mind.

"Hey baby?" You call sweetly, putting a soft whine on the edge of the 'y' just to make his ears turn pink when he looks down at you tucked under the blankets on your bed.

"Yes honey?" He answers just as sweetly despite the way the blush travels from his ears and across his strong cheekbones, how weak he is for you evident in his dopey smile.

"I think I heard something under the bed," you tell him with an exaggerated pout, bringing your blankets up to your chin just to ratchet up the pathetic effect. "Could you check it for me, please?"

His head tilts with a playful smile, looking entirely too amused at your request. "Of course I can. What good is a big, strong boyfriend if you can't ask him to check for monsters under your bed?"

And you don't miss the way he flexes his arms when he says that he's big and strong, eyebrows wiggling at you in a tease. You press the back of your hand to your forehead, dipping back to lean against your headboard as you sigh, "I'm already swooning. You're so brave."

"Anything for my girl," he replies with a wink, hiking up the legs of his sweatpants as he drops into a kneel, and half of you is concerned the stitches will snap from how it stretches around the firmness of his thigh.

Bastard.

"Let's see here..." He ducks his head to look underneath the bedframe, a smile still in place as he anticipates finding nothing there. Your anticipation is much greater as you await the inevitable discover of what waits beneath.

He inhales in what looks to be a preparation to speak when it cuts off with a surprised yelp, falling backwards onto his ass as his wide eyes stare at the shadows beneath your bed. Your giggles are instantaneous, watching in absolute joy as he turns bright red from chest to scalp at the same time your cat goes scurrying out the door.

"Baby!" He admonishes in a whine, lips drooping in a frown. "You made me scare them!"

You crawl over to the edge of the bed closest to where he is still leaning on his hands on the floor, knees bent haphazardly. "I'm sorry, I just couldn't resist the opportunity."

And while there is a certain gleam to his eye that lets you know he's not actually mad, his pout remains as he turns over onto his hands and knees to look back under the bed for them.

"They already ran away, Steve," you inform him with a pitying smile, "off into the great wide apartment." He's back on his feet and out the door again before you can say another word. "Steve? Baby? Where are you going?"

"I have to find them so I can apologize," he calls back to you, flicking on lights as he goes through the apartment. "I don't want them to be even more scared of me than they already are."

Your heart burns with warmth at the intention, your boyfriend's bleeding heart striking you like a cupid's arrow through the chest. You hop off the bed and trail after him, peeking around the corner to see him flat on the ground of your living room to look beneath the couch.

"I don't think you're going to find them," you warn with nothing but adoration as you approach him.

"I will look all night if I have to."

And so you spend the better part of an hour trailing your handsome boyfriend around your apartment as he searches every nook and cranny for the scared feline, getting more and more upset as the time ticks on.

When he finally discovers them, tucked behind the washing machine, he keeps a safe distance as he coos and murmurs apologies to the creature in the shadows.

"Your mom is so mean to us, isn't she buddy? So cruel to play a joke like that on us. It's a good thing she's so pretty and funny and kind or else I would whisk you away to my place where you could hide and rest to your hearts content and never be disturbed."

And while your shy cat shows little to no reaction to his reassurances, you basically melt into a puddle and seep into the cracks of the floorboards as he talks sweetly and respectfully to your faithful and skittish pet.

#steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington blurbs #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #myos ideas #myo4harrington

[rosemaze-reveries]

Hi there!! Can I req a Matthias x reader where the reader is very nice yet shy, and Matthias fell for their kindness but is afraid to confess cause he might lose them(who's the first and only person to show him genuine care)?

(But he's also bad at hiding his feelings)

Or maybe a scenario where he has a difficult time sleeping and finds himself impulsively knocking on your door— regretful of his actions but he can't back out now that you're standing in front of the open door, curious from the unexpected visit.

He's a new char so I hardly find any fics about him and I'm desperate💔 you can change the scenario!! I'm really just desperate uehdhsishd(⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

hi anon i LOVED these ideas! i tried to combine both of them into one, i hope it satisfies what you wanted!! ♡

falling slowly 🪡

Matthias isn’t one to act on impulse.

He’ll let his thoughts fester aimlessly inside him, hoping the darker among them someday fizzle out. He’ll watch precious chances fly past him, fearing the consequences of a risk taken too rashly. A missed opportunity is better than another tragedy. A guarded mind is better than a broken heart. But some restless nights drive him to desperation, and tonight that leads him to you.

He stands outside your bedroom door, arms stiff against his sides. He’s passed by this room countless times before, as the two of you occasionally walk each other back to your rooms. But never has he come here on his own, never without explicit permission.

He gingerly raises his hand, letting it hover above your doorframe. All of a sudden, he loses his words. What would he say? I can’t sleep, I need you to check for monsters under my bed? I need you to stay with me until I fall asleep? I need you to tuck me in? What a baby. He can already picture the look you’d send him: a smile that’s trying too hard to be polite, a shabby effort at concealing the judgment within. You wouldn’t turn him down directly, even though he knows you’d want to. Kindhearted people love to dance in circles before saying anything that might offend. He’s all too familiar with this game. Normally, your kindness is something he loves about you, but all he can do now is curse it under his breath. If only you were crueler to him, like most people are, then he wouldn’t have let his hopes inflate his head. He would’ve known never to even consider stopping by your room. He would’ve known to avoid this situation altogether.

His fingers close into a fist, and it’s then he realizes he’s quivering slightly. Louis wouldn’t have a problem in this scenario. That thought piques Matthias most. His “factory defect” has locked him in place yet again, and all he can do is swallow down the reminder of his incompetence. It’s just a door, for God’s sake.

He flexes his fingers one last time, glancing around as if worried someone might catch him. Then he strikes his fist. It’s a clumsy motion, rattling your door on its hinges, and his heart leaps to his throat. A courteous knock would have three raps or so, not the jarring thud! he made — nobody in their right mind would imagine that’s a welcome visitor, right? Especially not at this snake’s pit of a manor. He prays desperately for you to ignore that ever happened. In your position, he’d pretend to be asleep, maybe double-check that the door is properly locked. Surely you’d do the same.

Surely...?

“It’s open!” greets your voice from inside, entirely unconcerned.

Matthias holds his breath. Why are you leaving your door unlocked at this hour? But he tucks that thought away while he stares down at the doorknob. This is it — he’s trapped. If he turns around now, you’ll be left with unresolved fears of someone lurking around your room at night. Nothing could entice him to do that to you. And if you ever found out it was him? It’d be too late for apologies, and definitely not forgiveness. Right, so he has to answer.

Slowly, he cracks it open a fraction, afraid of peering anywhere but the ground.

“You can come in,” you urge. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to. Footsteps shuffle around inside, then the door fully swings open. “Oh, hi Matthias! What’s up?”

He only meets your face briefly, at your bright and curious eyes, before his gaze flicks back downward.

“Uh… sorry to bother you, I just…” He awkwardly grasps at his elbows, struggling to string together his intentions. “…I need you.”

. . . . .

There it is. His secret is out. He didn’t mean to let it slip, but that single phrase had been bouncing endlessly around his mind, as if they were the only words he knew. It’s the one thing he can confidently admit: he needs you. He doesn’t expect you to reciprocate. In fact, he’s certain you don’t. Nobody in their right mind would. That’s why he never ventured to say these words before. So when you respond to him with patient silence, as if waiting for him to continue, the entirety of his body freezes over. Maybe only a few seconds pass in reality, but that’s more than enough time for Matthias to fill the gaps. It’s a no — he knows it’s a no.

Your head tips slightly. “Sure, what do you need?”

The whirlwind in his mind slows to a halt. He remembers how he used to cough up excuses on the spot when trying to avoid you—sometimes you’d invite him for a meal or game of cards together, and he had convinced himself those were pity invites so he tended to reject them upfront. It stings less to avoid someone altogether than to endure feeling ‘tolerated’ instead of ‘wanted.’ But now he’s wracking his brain for an excuse to stay.

“I—I just wanted to see you.” It’s not a lie, but for some reason it feels like one.

“Me?” A look of surprise flashes on your face, warmth blooming across your chest. That might be the most forward thing you’ve ever heard from him. Stepping closer, you reach for his forearm, peering up into his face to better examine his strained features. Your free hand reaches up to brush aside the limp strands of hair shrouding his face. “Did something happen? It’s almost midnight—I mean, I don’t mind, it’s just so unexpected…”

The strength falls from Matthias’ shoulders. Out of relief, maybe. Or maybe it’s to brace himself for one last leap of faith.

“Can I stay with you…?” His voice is barely audible. You search his lone eye, staring back at you in its perfect hollowness. At some point, that blank stare has become a comforting sight for you. Your hand trails from his arm to spread across his shoulder. He remains motionless.

“Okay,” you say, softly. “Always.”

As you move to wrap both arms around his neck, you notice his body tense, and his brows furrow, subtly, in a clear attempt not to let you notice. The strain on his face catches you off-guard.

“Wh-What? What’s wrong?” Immediately, you pull back to search his expression.

“N-No, nothing—keep going.”

This time, it’s Matthias who draws you close. His arms weave their way around your waist, pulling you tightly against him. His face burrows into your shoulder, and it’s then you understand the weight of his visit, of his need for you. All you can do is lift a tender hand to ruffle his hair, feeling his pounding heart ease in your arms.

#matthias' self sabotage saga continues #i adore this guy #identity v #idv x reader #matthias czernin #matthias czernin x reader #idv imagines #identity v x reader #idv puppeteer #puppeteer x reader

[netherfeildren]

Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .4

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Mutual masturbation; Come eating; Angst; Vague mention of abortion; Discussions of child neglect; Discussions of unwanted pregnancy

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Some of this is so… phew… idk what came over me or how i come up with some of this shit. sorry (but not really). Joel’s a little nasty in this beware

Art is by Denis Sarazhin.

Word Count: 7.7K

Read on AO3

.4

A single person is missing for you, and the whole world is empty.

Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

To think that despite his momentary acquiescence to your need for space, he was not, afterwards, made into a raving, snarling beast prowling its cage after having tasted you, would be fallacy – because that was what he was calling it in his mind, for now. Not yet ready to accept it within himself as a full blown rejection, so yes, for now, space, time.

He returns home with Sarah after the lakehouse – Eva gone off with her girlfriends on an extension of the weekend, wanting to draw out the farewell to summer just a little longer – to their routine of lunches and snacks and daycare and evenings playing mermaids and dinosaurs in the little pool in the backyard that he’d gotten for her at HEB. He tries to be good, to remain calm, controlled, but it’s just short of impossible. He feels as though he still has the taste of you on the surface of his tongue, the sounds of your moans ringing in his ears at all hours of the day, in bed at night, hard and aching and alone, wanting you. This turns out to be a different type of hell to the one he’s usually used to, that of monotony and loneliness and resentment. No, this is burning and painful, a type of fire that whips through his arteries and chars his bones and leaves him dizzy and disoriented.

He’s never experienced something like this before. Not in his entire life. 

It is not easy, per se, but productive, to lose himself in his work, and the start of Sarah’s school year. She’s in a 3K program for the fall, her first time going to a real school, and the work and preparation and pure fucking anxiety induced at the thought of his baby going to such a big school is overwhelming. No small feat to accomplish all on his own. 

But at night, after he’s worked himself into the ground all day, and read Sarah her bedtime story, at least three times, sometimes up to seven, but never passing ten, that was their very strict rule, and tucked her in and checked the closet and under the bed and behind the door for monsters, when he’s finally found himself alone and quiet and with a spare, but infinitely painful moment to think of you, he lets you in, in full force.

He pulls his shirt up over the back of his head, tossing it into the hamper as he passes his closet into his restroom, undoes his belt and jeans, pulling his contraband from the pocket, to push them off as he reaches to turn on the shower. 

As he lets the water heat up, he pauses to look at himself in the mirror. Tall, long frame, still pleasing to a woman, he’d imagine. Well, he hopes so. He’s still strong, his shoulders broad, his chest built from the long hours of hauling and climbing and exhaustive physical labor. There are a few grays threaded through the dark curls at his temples. Sprouting, just in the last year, to remind him that he’s getting older. One of his buddies had told him that eventually everything went gray, everything. That weirded the fuck out of him, to be honest.  He hates the thought of you seeing that, thinking of him as old. You’re so much younger than him. So pretty. Too pretty. His middle has gone slightly softer since hitting forty, but only slightly. There’s no helping that. And the small creases at the corners of his eyes… shit, he’s getting old. But his cock is still long and thick, and he’ll give that to you as much as you’ll let him. If you ever let him. All the time if he can. All he has to do is find a way to see you again, to convince you to let him see you again.

He feels a small bitter ribbon of self consciousness curl through his stomach as he takes himself in. He doesn’t want you to think of him as some old man. Some old, sleazy man who’d seen you and been so fucking desperate for you, he hadn’t cared that he was married, that you’re too young for him, that he has a family, and responsibilities and a life, like some pathetic fucking pervert. You’re just so lovely, so soft and pretty and you smell so good, always. And he’s been so alone for so fucking long. He is lonely. And you, you’d looked at him, you’d seen him, you’d wanted him back just as fiercely as he’d wanted you, even if just for a moment. How was he ever supposed to be strong enough to resist that? And further than your wanting, you’re good and kind and smart and so fucking funny and adorable. Joel could be strong when he needed to be, but he could also be weak, and he thinks that you, perhaps, have the power to make him weaker than anything else. 

What do you do when you meet a woman, have a child, get married, and then find the person who you could very well fall, probably, very deeply in love with?

Because yes, even now, he is emotionally aware enough to recognize that. More than anything, he can recognize that he has, as of yet, never been in love, but that you present the great, great possibility for that. And yes, it’s too soon, and maybe nonsensical or crazy or what have you, but Joel has always been a man that’s known himself well. When he knows, he knows, and when he chooses, he chooses, and he is very close to knowing and choosing you. 

He looks down at your panties laying on the bathroom counter – the ones he’d stolen. After you’d slipped them off, too wet from your come, from him making you come – they’re his now. 

He runs his thumb and forefinger along the silk lace at the edge. They’re a pretty, soft blue. He loves the color blue now. It will, forevermore, be his favorite color after this. The cut in the back is high, he knows the soft flesh of your ass was left mostly uncovered by them, he remembers he felt it when you rode his thigh. He wishes he could have seen it. He hopes he’ll have another chance to see it. 

If he thinks about it hard enough, he can imagine that the middle gusset is still damp from you. He brings them to his face, presses them to his nose and inhales deeply. The scent: still faintly musky, but also, slightly sweet. He sticks his tongue out to taste the fabric, and a violent shiver passes through him. He has to clutch at the countertop to hold himself upright. His cock is fully erect and leaking now. 

He has to taste you. He has to get the chance to. He’ll die if he doesn’t. He’s sure of it.

He brings the soft lace down to his aching erection. He doesn’t care if he’s disgusting. He doesn’t care about anything. All he wants is to feel you. To temper this fire churning in his blood. He can’t remember the last time his body felt like this, the last time he wanted something this fucking badly he felt like he’d die if he didn’t have it. Maybe never – he doesn’t think he’s ever felt like this. He wraps your panties around his hard length and starts to jack himself off. Strong, tight strokes from base to tip with the tiny, blue silk sliding along his fevered skin. The sound of your orgasm, the look in your eyes as you humped his thigh, ground your little clit on him and soaked his denim. He should’ve touched you more when he had the chance. He wants to fuck you so badly, wants to sink into the tight, wet clutch of your cunt and fuck you full of his come. Mark you. Brand himself into your skin so that you’re never without him. He wants you to smell like him. He wants to feel the wet gush he felt on his jeans on his cock and dripping down his balls, and Jesus fucking Christ, he comes at that. Long, thick ropes of white spend, spitting from his swollen tip at the thought of your pussy coming around him, a desperate whimper escaping in the quiet loneliness of his restroom.  

-

He thinks of you constantly, what seems like every moment of the day, in the weeks that follow. As much as he tries to keep a straight head on, he can’t. He craves you, dreams of you, fucks his hand to the memory of you coming for him, spilling his seed over and over again in the shower at the remembered look in your eyes and the sounds you made for him. He can’t help himself. 

Outside of that, everything else in his life is bleak and slow and… and he doesn’t know what else to call it, except for sad and wanting. Lonely. To have touched something so alive, so beautiful and sweet and perfect, and then be forced to return to the barren landscape that is his life in everything outside of his daughter, it’s jarringly difficult to do. He wants to be strong, to do what you asked of him, but it had been so long since he’d really wanted something for himself. Couldn’t remember what the last thing had been, really, and so to now have something to desire, something to want and think of, it makes him weak and fills his head with all kinds of excuses to see you, to call you – he’d forced Tommy to steal your number for him out of Gerri’s phone – to go to your work and wait for you to come out, just so he can catch a single glimpse of you.

He restrains himself from that, though. He forces himself to focus his mind on other things, Sarah and school and playdates, and he works himself like a dog, taking on more contracts than he ever has before. He doesn’t give himself any time to rest, any time to think, and in the few moments that he does, when he stares at your number on the screen of his phone, imagining what it is he’d say to you if he called, if you answered, what the sound of your voice would be like saying hello to him, saying his name, or in the moments when he fucks himself raw and spent and sad, those are the moments when he feels weakest, when he feels most alone, when he’s almost overwhelmed with wanting. 

-

He only lasts a measly three weeks after the lake house before he’s outside of the elementary school, one late Wednesday afternoon during the second week of the new school year. The sky is dark and angry, on the verge of a downpour, and he’s been waiting, agitated and anxious, for about half an hour, before you finally come out the double doors. 

The lightest sprinkling of rain is starting up, and he jumps out of his truck’s cab, jacket in hand, to approach you. He says your name softly as he comes up on your side while you’re distracted, digging in your purse for something.

You jump slightly at the sound of his voice and turn your wide, worried eyes on him, “Joel–” your voice, soft and breathy, so sweet, “Is everything okay? What are you doing here? Is Sarah okay?”

He holds his hands up in what he hopes is an appeasing, non-threatening gesture, he doesn’t want you nervous. Fucking Christ, asking for Sarah with that look of worry in your eyes, “Everything’s fine, sweetheart,” how in the fuck is he supposed to not be obsessed with you? “I was just – I was just hoping we could talk, is all.”

You look around at the sparsely filled parking lot, as if searching for witnesses, or perhaps, an escape, but then you turn back to him and pause to take him in. He watches the sweep of your eyes down his body, and then back up, stopping to search for something in his eyes. Whatever you find there must give you the answer you need because you nod your head once, “Alright, we can talk,” you say softly.

“My truck? Can we drive for a bit? I’ll bring you back.” You nod again, and he drapes his jacket over your shoulders to protect you from the drizzle as he leads you to his truck. “S’bout to come down hard,” he murmurs as he opens the passenger door for you, taking your wrist in his hold to help you up into the truck. He can’t help himself, he reaches for your seatbelt and buckles you in himself – is filled with an obscenely embarrassing fizz of pleasure at the gesture of it. 

You’re looking at him with the most concerned little frown marring the soft spot between your delicate brows, “Are you okay?” your voice slow and unsure, and then more of him being unable to help himself, to keep his hands to himself, because he reaches up and gently brushes his thumb over the little frowning wrinkle, nods his head once. 

“I’m okay, baby.”

He drives for a bit, takes you to a spot up in the hills he likes to come to sometimes when he needs to think. Somewhere the two of you can be alone and quiet, just for a moment. He parks the truck by a copse of trees, a view of Austin on the other side of the two of you. The rain has turned into a violent downpour by now. He shuts off the engine and looks out at the view of the city. 

-

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t bother you – you asked me to stay away, but –” He lets his head fall back against the headrest and sighs, and the sound of it is so weary, pained in a way that’s so very, very sad. It makes you hurt for him. You reach across the center console to grip his bicep, you can’t help yourself. You could see from the first look at his face that something was wrong. You know he wouldn’t have come to look for you if he didn’t need you now. 

“You’re not bothering me. I know I shouldn’t, but I wanted to see you too.” You only confess this because of the look in his eyes. The glassy, burdened look of them. You wish that you could climb into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck, press your warmth into him. The rain hits the windshield like bullets, the sound deafening. The world outside of his truck’s cabin seems distorted, as if this liminal space the two of you sit in now, has been carved out of the rest of the real world, and the two of you exist here now, only, together. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’,” he wraps his hand over yours on his arm, drags his thumb over the smooth little hills of your knuckles. His gaze out the window is so far away, lost, something almost childlike in its desolation. You watch the strong ripple of his neck as he swallows, clears his throat. “Nothing – just wanted to see you. ‘Dunno… Felt so tired today.” He closes his eyes for a moment, “Couldn’t stop myself. Wanted to just give myself this one thing.” He lets his head roll against the seat to look at you, gives you the gentle curve of his crooked smile. So beautiful and so sad, and you can tell that something is endlessly wrong. You feel afraid, for one moment, that he’s going to start crying, the sadness in his eyes is so overwhelming. You don’t think you’ll be able to stand the sight of his tears, you think they might break you. “Just wanted to look at you, to sit here with you, just for a little bit.”

“Alright.” You’re quiet for a beat, watching him watch the rain. Part of you wants to give him space, give him quiet, but you need to know what’s wrong. You can’t bear the look in his eyes right now. “Did something happen?”

He’s silent, as if gathering his thoughts or his strength around him, and then: “Eva had a pregnancy scare this week.” A jagged shiver slices through you.

“What?” You croak, you try to pull your hand back, but he clamps down on your bones, holds you to him. “But I thought–”

He shakes his head, “Not mine.”

“Joel… what? Are– are you–” You blink furiously, at a loss. What do you say to the man who you’re kind of having an affair with when he tells you his wife, who is also seemingly having an affair, might be pregnant with another man’s child? This is all so, so fucked up. So ugly. You swallow, turn to look out at the rain. You don’t want to cry, but you can’t seem to help the tears from pooling. A bombardment of recurring images from your childhood slingshotting through your mind; your mother, leaving, angry, cold, quiet. Always pushing you away. The sound of her crying through her bedroom door, your child’s ear, pressed to the cool grain, trying to get as close to her as possible even though she doesn’t want you. Always shutting you out. Your father, dead to the world on the sofa in the living room, drowning in his liquor and yearning and hurt. The sight of a tall, handsome stranger, coming up the front walk to ring the doorbell, to take your mother away with him. The way he’d crouched down from his great height to ask you what your name was because she hadn’t even bothered to tell the man she was having an affair with, the man she was leaving you for, what your name was. 

What is it about being unlovable, you wonder, and why is it that some are cursed with it so cruelly, while others are not?

“Hey,” Joel tugs on your wrist, pulls you closer to him. “I told you, we’re not like that, we’ve never been. I don’t want you thinkin’ somethin’ else, that I haven’t been honest.” He drags the pad of his thumb over your cheekbone, tips your head back to catch your eyes. You let them flutter shut and swallow, open them again. If you talk you’ll cry, but he needs words from you now. You swallow again, shake your head. 

“It’s– it’s not that. I believe you. And even if it was otherwise, I have no right–”

“Stop. Don’t say that. You know that isn’t true. You have the right to honesty after what I’ve told you, after what we’ve done.” You try to pull back, but he brings his palm to wrap around the back of your neck and grip you by the scruff. “Stop,” he grits, “Don’t pull away from me.” 

You bring your palms up to his chest, clutch at the collar of his shirt. “I’m not. I’m not, I’m sorry. It’s just–” you huff a sharp, bitter laugh, “Sometimes it’s like you’re just telling me the story of my childhood, over and over again. Like you’re living it again for me. This all sounds very pathetically familiar.” A tear finally falls, you can’t help it. A weeper in a long line of weepers, always. 

“Sweetheart…” he brushes the track of your tear away with his thumb.

You shake your head. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Is she?”

“She’s fine. Took her to the doctor this morning.”

“God, Joel– I don’t – I don’t know how you do this.” Another tear. You think of your father, how weak, how broken he was after her. He could have never shouldered the things Joel does. You feel very sad, very sorry, for the both of them, as different as they are. You feel sorry for the whole miserable lot of you, really.

“She needed my help, she was scared–” his thumb sweeps a slow, hypnotizing path up and down the back of your neck. The rough callus on his thumb catches at your sensitive skin and makes you feel hot and sweaty and overwhelmed for the feel of it on every other tender place on your body. “Terrified, really. Of being trapped like that again.”

“Trapped?”

“Sarah was never her plan. Neither of us were. She never wanted any of this.”

“You told me the marriage wasn’t conventional… but I didn’t – I didn’t think Sarah was included in that…” Your stories are too similar, the similarities too painfully familiar.

“We met at a bar, it was–” he looks away, and you watch a hot flush flood his cheeks. He’s embarrassed to tell you this. “It was a one night thing. Her birth control failed, and then – it was just – well, ending the pregnancy was never an option for her, and I told her from the get go that I’d do whatever she wanted, support her in anything she chose. She chose to go on with it. So I asked her to marry me, it made sense, it was– it was the convenient thing. At least, at the time – in my mind, it seemed so. But we – we were strangers, there was no connection. And then… I don’t know. It wasn’t, eventually – it wasn’t the right thing, at all, for any of us. She never wanted to be a mother. She told me once, after, that she’d chosen wrong, she’d made the wrong decision. And I always tried to be supportive, but by that time, well – we had Sarah by that time, and I– I loved her more than anything I’d ever loved in my whole life. Didn’t even know it was possible to love anything that much – and it made me so fucking angry with her – to–  to hear her say something like that, that she should’ve gotten rid of her. It was – I don’t know – a very complicated and painful thing –  for the both of us to grapple with, I guess. But I–” he pauses, takes a deep breath. His eyes shift madly, looking out the window as if the rain will bring with it an explanation or an escape for whatever it is that’s churning inside his mind as he tells you this. “There was never really anything to be angry with, I don’t think. No real reason or focus for my anger. I realized it’s impossible to fault a person for not being what they were never meant to be. She never wanted this. And I hadn’t planned for it, it just happened. And the decisions we made were made, and then things just ended up as they did. Sometimes – I don’t,” he frowns, shaking his head, “I don’t know how to say it, but–” He turns to you now, a wild, pleading look in his eyes, “But how can I say that we made a mistake, without saying that Sarah was a mistake? Because if I’ve ever done a single thing absolutely perfect, in my whole entire life, it’s that little girl. She’s perfect. You know what I mean?”

You nod, swallowing back your tears, “Yes.”

He frowns at you, his eyes filled with infinite tenderness, “Don’t cry, sweetheart.”

“I’m not,” you lie, turning to press the back of your hand to your hot eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just – it reminds me of myself, of my own mother. She – she was the same, I think. Never meant to be a mother. But not bad. It’s just what it was. And hearing you, hearing this, it makes me so sad for you, for all of you. I’m sorry.” He leans forward, wraps his hand around your jaw to press his brow to your wet cheek and just holds there. The two of you breathe each other in, match the cadence of your breaths to the other. You snake your arms around his broad shoulders to press yourself closer to him. It scares you, this feeling of necessity he forces out of you, like you need him, even this soon, for strength, for comfort, for happiness. You’ve never felt like this before, and it’s coming on so quickly, overwhelming you. You feel like you need him, and if you don’t have him you’ll never be happy for the rest of your life, you’ll never be able to forget him, to let him go. He shifts to nuzzle against your cheek and then your jaw, and then the hot press of his lips to the tender spot behind your ear. A violent tremble moves through you at the feel of his soft mouth against your skin, and you dig your nails harshly into his shoulders. 

“I just– lemme just–” he mumbles against your skin, and then that hand wrapped around your jaw is turning your head and forcing your mouth open so that he’s kissing you, licking into your mouth and everything goes tight and painful and white hot inside of you. “Jesus–” he says against your mouth. He forces your head back to deepen the angle, his other hand coming up to fist painfully in your hair, and you whimper into him. His answering groan is deep and rumbling and so, so wanting. Your heart feels like it’s flipping and squeezing and pinching inside your ribcage. You can hear how much he wants you, this, in the cadence of the sounds he makes. The kiss is wet, sloppy, full of teeth and all the desperation and yearning of these past few weeks. The days and days of not seeing him, of remembering your encounter in that dark room at the lake house, the way he’d made you come against his thigh, the sound of his own orgasm, the inhibition, the flush in his cheeks as he spilled in his jeans for you. The desperate, pathetic nights of your cunt stuffed full of your fingers, so wet and aching and still not enough even though you’d made yourself orgasm multiple times at just the memory of him. You claw at his hair and neck and back, you want to draw blood, imprint yourself on him in some way, the same way he’s imprinted himself on you. He brings the hand in your hair down to your waist to press you closer to him. The center console digs painfully into your ribs and you want to climb over it and settle in his lap, but you know you shouldn’t, that if you end up over there you’ll let him fuck you, and that you’ll never come back from that. Not ever. He drags his hand up to your breast, grips the heavy weight in his large palm and squeezes, and it hurts and it feels so, so fucking good that you rip yourself away from his mouth, push at his broad chest to force him away from you. The both of you stare at each other, wide eyed and panting great, heaving gasps. His hair is sticking up at all angles, messy from your pillaging fingers, his eyes glassy and his cheeks flushed almost feverish. 

Oh, you want him so badly. This will be your undoing. 

“We– we can’t– I didn’t come here with you for– for that,” you gasp, pressing your fingers to your wet mouth.

“I know– I know– shit, we–” He passes a palm over his mouth, and you feel another tear slide down your burning cheek. You’re surprised you don’t see steam rise at the contact. “Fuck – fuck, baby, please. Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I got carried away– ”

“I’m not crying– I’m not.” Maybe if you say it enough times it’ll be true. You turn to wipe it away on the hill of your shoulder, try to hide your face.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you

“I wanted you to. I want it so badly,” you cry, squeezing your eyes shut tight. You feel inconsolable. 

“I know– I know.”

You want him so badly, so badly, so badly, you want him to keep touching you forever. “It hurts, Joel. It hurts–”

“Jesus, what hurts? Tell me.” He leans forward, gripping your knee painfully tight, and you press yourself into the door at your back, “Fuck– is that sweet, little cunt aching for me? Tell me, baby.”

You nod

“Fuck, what if– what if we just – just watch each other? What if you pet your cunt for me, and let me watch? Just– just to make the ache go away? Would that be okay?”

You shake your head, unsure, but your hand is clutching his over your knee now, digging your nails into the top of his palm and letting him slowly push your knee open further. 

His voice is so coaxing. Oh, he shouldn’t use that tone of voice against you, you’re powerless to it. “You can, it’s okay. It’s just to make the ache go away, it’s okay,” and you have no choice but to capitulate, no desire to not give in.

His palm on your knee slides up your thigh, pushing your skirt to bunch at your hips, and he hooks one finger into the side of your panties to pull them down as you lift your hips, allowing him to divest you of them. So easy, you’re so fucking easy, and you don’t even care. All you can focus on right now is the throbbing ache between your legs. 

His eyes don’t leave yours as he says, “Spread your legs… that’s it.” 

“Don’t– don’t look–” you stutter as you bring your shaking fingers to your core, and he’s leaning back to undo his belt and drag his zipper down. You can’t look either, you can’t, if you do, you’ll lose, you know it. You see the peripheral movement of him reaching into his clothes to pull the heft of his cock out, the shift of his upper body as he lifts his hips to readjust his pants to free himself. Your cunt is slick and throbbing, painfully swollen. 

You watch the movement of his shoulder as he starts to jack himself, “Just your clit first, baby. Soft, little circles, yeah… how does that feel?”

“Good– good, yes.” You’re panting, mouth hanging open. There is fire in his gaze, all for you, only for you. 

“Yeah? You need more?”

“Please, Joel–” You don’t know what you’re begging for, but you don’t think it’s for your touch alone. 

“Give yourself one finger, sweetheart. Just one – tell me how wet it is? Are you soaked for me?”

You press one finger inside, and yes, yes, your’re fucking soaked for him, you say. He groans at that, the rhythm of his shoulder gets faster. “I have to look, baby. Please, please, I have to see how wet it is.” The tops of his cheeks are flushed red, but as you watch the downward shift of his eyes to your spread sex, the place where you’re impaling yourself with a single finger, his eyes flare, the flush seems to ricochet even higher, hotter. You pull your finger out to cup yourself, hide yourself, burning with shyness and lust, but fuck, the look in his eyes, it’s bright hot, devouring. No one has ever looked at you like that. Never. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he moans, “Put ‘em back in. Fuck yourself, make yourself come. I have to see it.” So fucking gorgeous, you hear him mutter under his breath, and you finally give yourself permission to look down as you stuff two fingers back into your desperate pussy. Fuck your rules, you have to see him.

He’s huge.

Thick and long, the size of his cock is not made smaller by the massive breadth of his fist holding it in a vice-like grip, jacking it, tight and fast. The head is flushed a deep, angry red, the slit at the top weeping a pearly stream of precum that makes your mouth water and the muscles in your pelvis tighten – you want to taste him, you want him to fuck your mouth until you’re forced to swallow his load. There’s a thick vein running up the entire length of the underside of the shaft that you’re sure you’d feel his pulse in if you set your tongue against it. He’s pulled his heavy balls out over the edge of his jeans too, and he cups them and squeezes. 

“Spread yourself wider for me – yeah like that… Lemme see you stretch that cunt.”Oh, he’s so dirty. 

You’re sucking in quick, shallow gulps of air, on the verge of hyperventilating as you watch his massive palm beat at his cock, almost dizzy with lust, your blood rushing in your head, your pussy sopping wet, tight as a knot. This isn’t enough, you want to stop, you want to go further, you want him to touch you, to climb into his lap, to take that heavy, thick weight inside of you and feel him stretch you to the point of pain. “Don’t look– you shouldn’t look–” you don’t know why you say it, maybe because you feel you have to, but it’s nonsensical when your eyes are glued to him. 

“I have to look, baby. Please, don’t ask me that. I have to see it – fuck, you’re so gorgeous, look at you. Prettiest fucking cunt I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“Stop,” you moan, arching your back further to crook your fingers inside of yourself, hitching your knees higher to pet at the spongy, tender spot inside you that you’d like him to own. “St– stop– I’m–  m’not your baby– don’t– don’t– oh fuck, I’m gonna come–” your eyes roll to the back of your head at the sound of his choked growl, his eyes glued to your stretched sex, the sounds of your wetness and his slick palm echoing in the truck cabin. 

“You are, you are – even if you won’t let me touch you, won’t let me have you – you fucking belong to me now. Already, even like this – look at you, about to come for me with just my eyes on you.” His hips start to lift into his fist, his hand almost a blur for how fast he’s fucking himself, teeth gritted, tendons in his strong neck popping starkly under the surface of his flushed, sweaty skin. 

“Fuck– fuck, it’s so pretty.”

“Stop– please, Joel, I need–”

“Wanna taste it and fuck it and fill it with my come–”

“Oh my fucking God–” you’re going to come, now, now, it’s right there. You tell him.

“One more finger – lemme see you stretch yourself… yeah like that… my good fucking girl,” grunted as you stuff a third finger inside and start to spasm, mewling high and desperate for him, grinding your clit against the mound of your palm. You want his cock to stretch you like this, and you tell him. The sound he makes at your desperate plea, as if it’s been ripped out of him, painful, desperate, savage. You watch the wide head flush an almost deeper shade, verging on purple now, and he squeezes the base cruelly, his sack fisted tight in his other hand, and he starts to come, a thick white stream of milky spend that makes your mouth water, sliding over his fist and spurting onto his exposed belly. “Oh God, Joel, I want it.” You can’t stop the words, the sight of his orgasm forces them out of you. 

“I know, baby, I know. I want to give it to you,” he says through clenched teeth. 

You both stay frozen like that for a moment as you come down, panting and staring at each other wide eyed and flushed and trembling. That was, perhaps, no, it was without a doubt, the most intense thing you’ve ever experienced with a man, and you’d barely even touched each other. Pain and pleasure coalesce to leave you shaking and sweating, your skin hypersensitive. You’re scared you’re going to start crying again and scare him, give him the wrong idea – that you’d not liked this, that you’d not wanted this. When the truth is that nothing could ever compare to how much you wanted, needed it. How much you’ll want this forever now. You want to take him inside of you. The sheer force of your desire almost has a flavor, a shape to it. The strength of it, so potent, it is almost made sentient – a living thing. 

You pull your wet fingers out, and he snaps forward suddenly, to snatch your hand towards himself and brings the slick digits into his mouth, his tongue laving hot and wet between the spaces, sucking on them. All the while his eyes are zeroed in on the space between your legs, on the place that is still clenching and stretched, so ready and eager for him to fill. You gasp at his ferocity, at the feral look in his eyes because you can see, you can see that almost sentient desire you’re filled with, reflected in his own eyes. 

“Joel–” you whisper as he presses one final kiss to the wet tips of your fingers, his eyes fluttering shut as he holds there for one moment. 

“I know–” he whispers back, and when his eyes come back to yours, there is such a depth of understanding in them. You realize in this moment, in this shared look, that the two of you are the same in an essential way. It isn’t just your desire that connects the two of you now, it’s so much more. A loneliness, a sentimentality, perhaps, a keen sense of familiarity. That vein of shyness, of being closed off, that fear of opening up, of being hurt, of being left. He’s the same, you can see it, feel it. 

You’d never thought you had a very good sense of self identity – your perception of yourself skewed in the image of your mother, of who she was, of her shadow, of the things she’d done, but in this moment, looking into the reflection of Joel’s eyes, you feel you see yourself very clearly, almost securely, for the first time. It is recognition the two of you are sharing now, for some reason, in some way, you recognize him. And you find it ironic, that now, in this moment of all times, when you’re doing the very thing that you’d always been so afraid of, of turning into the thing that you’d always feared because of your mother, it is ironic that you are finally able to cast away her shadow, her image, and see only yourself, so clearly, so wholly, because of him.

And yet, despite the sudden, blinding clarity, oh, it was all so dark, so dark, that it be this man, this unavailable, married, unreachable man, that would make you feel so wholly seen, so understood, so connected. 

Your wrist is left wet and sticky where he’s gripped you with his spend covered fingers, but you’re careful not to wipe it away. You want to be left with the tightness of his dried come over your skin. 

“Don’t say that we shouldn’t have done that,” he tells you.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Good.”

“I was going to say that I wish we could do it again – that I wish we could do more.”

“Shit–” he whispers, passes his dry palm over his mouth and then up into his hair, to tug at the messy curls. You move to right your clothes, and he follows your lead, tucking himself back into his jeans. “Me too.”

You let your head rest back against the window as the two of you stare at each other in silence for a moment. It’s comforting, filled with companionship, understanding, the intimacy of the moment the two of you just shared. Your cheeks feel hot and you can’t help but smile at him, just a little, a small laugh escaping, and then he’s returning it, smiling and laughing softly too, until the both of you are wracked with the most ridiculous, schoolyard giggles, like two blushing teenagers. It’s a wonderful moment for the purity of it, the two of you together, laughing. Later, you’re sure it will make you very sad and desperate to relive it, but now, oh, now, it really does feel so wonderful. You wish the two of you could live here forever, together in this moment, in the warm, intimate space of his truck’s cabin.

You talk for hours after that, about nothing and everything. His work and yours, your art, his love of building things, of taking care of things, music and movies and books and Sarah. Always, Sarah. 

“She has an obsession with bats right now, weird kid, and there’s a sanctuary up town. We spent a few hours there on Saturday, she loved it. Scampering around in this Snow White princess dress she’s refused to take off for the past three weeks. Won’t part with the damn thing, not even to let me wash it.”

He loves her so much, and it makes your heart pinch and your eyes go hot and weepy. He is, you think, an exceptionally good father, an exceptionally good man. 

Eventually, however, it gets late enough that the two of you realize you need to get home. He drives you back to the school in the most comfortable of silences, your hand intertwined reassuringly in his strong embrace. It feels worryingly natural, right. 

“Will you let me see you again?” he asks when he pulls up next to your lonely car in the school parking lot. 

“I don’t– I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Joel. This will only go further from here if we continue. And I don’t– I can’t be your–” you frown, shaking your head, disgusted at yourself for even having to say the words, “I can’t be your mistress,” you tell him bluntly.

“I would never, never ask that of you.”

“So, then what is it supposed to be? You’re going to leave your wife? That– that isn’t what I want. I don’t want to be the thing that breaks your marriage up, your family, that leaves Sarah in a broken home. I cannot be that.” It would be your worst nightmare come to life. 

He says your name in the most serious tone you think he can muster, as if he can imbue the understanding of his words into your stubborn skull with the resonance of it, “There is no marriage to break up. She’s leaving soon, I know it, I can tell. She’s done. She’s leaving Sarah, and I don’t think she’s coming back this time. I don’t think I can let her just – just come in and out of our daughter’s life like that. Something needs to stop or change. I have to do something to make this better for my girl.”

“I understand that, and I can’t– I can’t tell you how sorry I am to hear that for Sarah. For you. Really, I understand more than I can tell you – but still, when it comes to you and I, or you and her – I can’t … I can’t get into that like this. I– I, I don’t–” you pant, “I don’t know. I’m sorry. But I can’t do that, this. Not now.”

“Baby–”

“No, Joel. You don’t understand – I watched my mother cheat on my father my entire childhood, until she up and left us one day, left him. I watched him love her for years, unreturned, suffer for her, and then I watched him kill himself slowly, drink himself to death until I buried him.”

“That isn’t what Eva and I are–”

“I cannot have an affair with you. I know – I know that’s basically what we’re already fucking doing – I know I’m a hypocrite–”

“You’re not–”

“But I can’t also be the reason you leave your marriage. It would kill me – do you understand?” your voice cracks, you’re shocked you’re not crying right now. “Please, Joel.”

He looks at you for a moment, you’re afraid you can see anger in his eyes, but then they go soft, understanding, and he says, “Yeah… yeah, sweetheart. I understand.” Your eyes flutter shut, and you let out a shaky breath, relieved, but at the same time, filled with a sick twist of disappointment. What would you do if he pressed you, if he forced you? You know part of you would like it. “Can I at least call you? Only sometimes, please. Just to talk – to hear your voice.”

You start to shake your head, but when you open your eyes and take in the pleading look in his gaze, you can’t say no. “Alright, yes… yes, you can call me. That’s okay.”

“Can I kiss you? Just once more?” You lean over the console and press your lips to his, sudden and rough, as an answer, your teeth clicking together harshly. Of course, you want to kiss him again, of course. 

One long, tight moment, you clutch his wrists to keep them from pulling you in closer, and then you’re pulling back, scrambling out of the truck and forcing yourself away from him. You need to get away before you lose all strength of will and just let him do whatever he wants to you. You hear him get out, as well, and follow you around to your driver’s side door, waiting behind you as you dig for your car keys in your bag. You open the door, and then turn back to him, you can’t help yourself, and he lifts a hand to drag his thumb across your cheekbone, along the edge of your jaw. His eyes look so sad, like he’s afraid this’ll be the last time the two of you ever see each other again. The tears are back and angrily demanding release, but you try and take deep breaths through your nose to keep them at bay while your entire frame shakes and shivers at the restraint. He nods once and leans forward to press a long kiss above your brow, and then he turns and walks back to his truck, gets inside. He waits until you’ve gotten in your own car and are driving away, great heaving sobs wracking your body, overwhelming you, before you see him finally turn his truck on and start to drive back home, back to his wife and child.

Chapter .5

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

End Notes: This was kind of a heavy one, if there’s anything you’d like to chat about (or yell at me for all the angsty bullshit) pls come do so :)

#someone's fic #Joel miller #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #tlou fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

[hinakazino]

Uchihas w/ sister!reader

warnings: none! summary: you being their little sister, and them loving you each in their own way.

MADARA The day you were born was a marvelous one. Your mother had been hoping for a girl for quite some time now. Madara remembers how he held you for the first time. Your small hands safely tucked into a warm blanket and your kind expression as you slept soundly.

Madara is always kind, caring, and affectionate to you. Although mostly when others aren’t around. He really did enjoy the time you too had together when you were younger. He always felt joy when he came back home from war. Seeing you run towards him for a hug.

He remembers picking your small frame up, touching your soft cheeks and pressing a kiss to your forehead. You were so tiny and precious, he swore that he’d never let anyone hurt you. As you grew older he got to see you less and less. His duties as the next clan head were piling up.

When the treaty was created you were allowed to roam freely. He finally had more time on his hands to see you. He took you for trips around the village, bought you treats you liked, and spent his time with you any chance he got.

He is also really protective of you though, ever since big brother Izuna's death, you could tell. He opposed the idea of you becoming a ninja, except he did allow you to take defense classes. He also doesn't quite like the idea of marriage. He doesn't trust people with you.

However if you really ask, and he can tell you're serious about something. Whether marriage, being a ninja, working, he will support you. Albeit reluctantly at first! Overall he is a big caring, supportive, and protective big brother.

ITACHI

He was way more happy than he thought he would be at the news of your arrival. He felt so nervous, a little sister! You were so small in his arms, he remembers holding Sasuke just like this when he was younger. He believed you to be the most adorable baby in the world.

You weren't quite like Sasuke, mainly fine with anyone holding you but showing particular interest in a person when you'd show your grabby hands at them. Itachi felt a new sense of motivation when you had came. To him, you and Sasuke were his most precious.

You grew up basically like a Princess, no one disrespected you (not like they dared to), you had the privilege of being in one of the strongest clans, and you got pretty much everything you wanted.

Itachi swore to never let anyone hurt or force something on you. The idea of marriage was unfortunately brought up before you'd even become a teen and Itachi blankly refused it. His father actually agreed with him on the matter, stating that you were too young for this discussion.

Itachi cheered you up whenever you were down, held you when you were hurt, and played with you in his free time. He wasn't entirely opposed to the idea of you being a ninja, it was more like he was scared of losing you if you were one.

He supports anything you want to do, even if it isn't ninja or clan related. He teaches you all you want to know, and is honestly really proud whenever you tell him you've achieved something. He is someone who has confidence in you, but he doesn't push it.

Itachi lets you know you are you, and that's all that matters. He is your soft, kind, brother figure you look up to all the time.

SASUKE

Sasuke was more nervous than Itachi for a new sibling, he'd never had the thought of one till you. But when you came he didn't mind the nervousness. He enjoyed your company and the way you admired him so much.

Sometimes Sasuke disliked himself a bit at the thought, but he liked how you looked up to him and never looked down on him. He knew that he wanted to protect you from that moment onward.

When you guys were younger, he often found you snuggled up with him when you were scared. Sasuke wasn't scared of the dark, regardless he found himself doing checks in the closet and under your bed in your bedroom.

He would briefly announce that there were no monsters in your room and that even if there was he would chase them away. To which you'd giggle and hug him. Yeah, he got used to that instantly.

When Sasuke came home he could always count on you to be there, pulling him to a hug. Even if father, brother, or sometimes mother were gone busy doing other things you would always be there.

Sasuke had a big soft spot for you and although he didn't show it much at home. He did hype you up a lot at school when asked about his family. He remember a school presentation and how he had called you the cutest baby sister ever. All in all, he is a total sweetie to you.

SHISUI

Shisui wasn't sure how to feel at first when the idea of you came up, but once he saw you he knew he'd cherish you forever. He was left breathless when he held you. He doesn't like admitting it, but he had cried.

Shisui was the famed one of your family, known for his capabilities. Unfortunately, it wasn't long after you had came that your father had passed. It was during that time period that Shisui remembers just holding you.

He thought about how innocent you were and that happy smile radiating from your face. Honestly, it was you that kept him and his mother going. The clan itself was supporting you guys too of course.

Shisui secretly detested the idea of you becoming a ninja strongly, as he's seen the worse of the worst himself. He wanted you not at all to be involved in that. You were his motivation for peace.

He honestly loves walking with you, especially when you were little. It was so adorable, your wobbly little steps as he held your small hand. You would constantly giggle and smile to yourself as you kept going.

His heart almost burst with the way you called out to him when he came home, "shisui-niiiiii!" Oh lord, it was too much for him to handle, and Itachi laughed at him for it. He is your lovable, dramatic, sweet big brother.

OBITO

Obito honestly feels similar to Sasuke, ever since he was young he had dreams of becoming Hokage. He wanted to be recognized and not looked down upon, however that seemed to be his reality.

He hated the point that despite being from the greatest clan in Konoha. It was obvious no one believed him to be going anywhere. He had become the laughing stock of the class, complete opposite of famed Kakashi Hatake.

He felt a sense of pride knowing that he was your big brother then, that he was someone who could protect you and someone you looked up to. But, unlike Sasuke he felt shame in this as well.

Didn't you feel ashamed that your big brother was an idiot? No, you didn't, and that's what he loved about you. You always had a kind giddy personality.

You were his motivation for the better, his reason to achieve greatness. He remembers introducing you to his team, shocking even his teacher.

You were so small behind him that even Minato and Kushina, despite their height, hadn't noticed you. Obito had to hold your hand and whisper to you that everything was okay before you had fully revealed yourself.

You were of course, so adorable and it was no secret. Kushina had already bent down and became best friends with you, softly playing with your chubby cheeks. Obito remembers walking you home and seeing the big smile on your face.

It had made him feel mixed feelings at the thought of you being a ninja, on one hand he felt concerned for you but on the other it could be what you wanted. At the end of the say he is your supportive brother, who is very proud of you.

#Uchiha x reader #obito uchiha x reader #obito x reader #Sasuke Uchiha x reader #Sasuke x reader #itachi Uchiha x reader #itachi x reader #madara x reader #Madera Uchiha x reader #shisui x reader #shisui Uchiha x reader #uchihas x sister!reader

[not-so-mundane-after-all]

"Dream of sheep ranches on the Moon" is Joel's way of telling Ellie "goodnight". But not the ordinary kind of goodnight, the unsentimental, weightless kind.

No, it's the "sleep tight, kiddo" kinda "goodnight". The pat on the head, kiss on the forehead, "sweet dreams, baby girl" kinda "goodnight". The tucking the blanket under her chin, checking for the monsters under the bed and turning off the light kinda "goodnight". The lingering by the doorframe with your hand on the knob, watching her breathe in her sleep kinda "goodnight".

"Dream of sheep ranches on the Moon" is the "I love you" kinda "goodnight".

#the last of us hbo #the last of us spoilers #the last of us #tlou #tlou spoilers #joel miller #ellie williams #joel and ellie #ellie and joel

[blackopals-world]

I Found Home

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)(part 5)(Part 7)(Part 8)

Part 6

Note: Time to feed my pet followers their serotonin

Lilia

"The Guardian"

When you become a parent you will finally learn that special ability to know what your baby needs from every sound they make.

Yuu however had trouble with with Grimm. When Grimm rarely cried but when he did it was always out of distress and only when he was afraid. It was more of a sharp yell that scared Yuu. Yuu knew it might be bad parenting but she would show him that crying is just another form of asking for help.

He was a self-soother as well and he'd put his thumb in his mouth and pull his hair when he needed to calm down.

Yuu encouraged his coping mechanisms and tried to learn all of Grimm's signs of distress. More and more he stopped panicking in favor of trying to talk once he calmed himself. It wasn't perfect of course because he went into hiding one night after wetting the bed and was too afraid to get help.

Mad crying and sad crying she knew the sound of. She knew when he was really in danger. But one night she heard something that set off every alarm in her head.

Grimm let out a loud striking scream and bolted from his bed and into Yuu's room. He frantically crawled over her and shook her awake.

"Monster! Monster!" He yelled.

Yuu was wide awake now as she pulled Grimm to her chest.

"It's okay. What did you see?" Yuu tried to ask calmly. If Grimm actually saw someone she had a hatchet under her bed and no remorse in using it.

"A monster! Outside!" Grimm pointed to the window.

Yuu knew that it probably wasn't a person considering they were on the second floor. Must have been a shadow. But she couldn't tell Grimm that. In a child's mind telling them that there was nothing to fear won't ease them. You have to think around them.

"Okay, mommy will check. Do you wanna stay here?" She asked rubbing his back.

Grimm had already curled himself against Yuu's body which meant putting him down now would be difficult.

"No."

Fair enough.

Yuu got up cradling Grimm in one arm as she walked back into his room.

Everything was in place. Yuu looked out the window to see a cloudy moonlight sky. It was probably the shadow of a cloud over the moon that spooked him.

When she bought the villa she really liked the floor-to-ceiling windows but now she could see some problems. But at least the windows didn't open and risk Grimm falling out.

"Hmm, I see the problem," Yuu said trying to get Grimm's attention "The clouds are in the way."

"The clouds?" Grimm asked.

"You see when the moon and stars are out they protect us from nighttime monsters. The stars make up these ancient guardians and heroes that watch over the world at night. They slay the monsters. But sometimes the monsters send out shadow clouds to block out the moon and stars." Yuu said gravely.

"Oh no!" Grimm held on tighter in fear.

"But don't worry. We can stop them."

"Really?" Grimm said with excitement.

"Yep, you must build up your army. " As she said this she picked up Grimm's favorite stuffed cat. "Your stuffed animals can help you. If you give them orders one of the star heroes can come down and use their bodies to fight off the monsters."

Grimm's eyes lit up as he scrambled out of his mom's arms and gathered his toys.

"Sir Batty, you are in charge. Nina will stay with me." Grimm said as he stood over his fluffy troops.

"Wish them luck." Yuu said as she picked up her son and tucked him right back in bed.

"Wait! Mama! Who's going to protect you?" Grimm asked.

"Oh, well maybe you can ask Sir Batty, to check on me tonight," Yuu said soothing Grimm back to sleep.

Grimm knew that if his Mama said he was safe he was safe. Even if she was being silly. But he was going to show her that he was brave this time. Even if the scary monster was here again, on the ceiling.

It had big red eyes and sharp teeth this time.

"Are you going to eat me?" Grimm asked watching the monster get closer.

"Why would I eat you? You're far too little." The monster responded.

"Are you going to eat my Mama? I'll let you eat me instead." Grimm held tighter to Nina. Maybe he toys will save him soon.

"I would never eat you or your Mama. She's my friend." The monster dropped down from the ceiling and sat at the edge of the bed "and I'm not a monster."

Grimm got a closer look and he saw that this person wasn't a monster, in fact he looked familiar. Like one of the heroes from Mama's storybook. She was telling the truth a hero did come, Sir Batty had come to life!

Almost immediately Grimm asked a million questions to the hero. Like how he slayed monsters or how he met Mama.

"I used to protect your Mom too." Sir Batty said proudly.

"So Mama knew you'd come," Grimm said in awe.

Suddenly a yowl came from outside and just as quickly Grimm took cover as he curled up against the bat(man?).

"Monster!" Grimm tugged at his hair as he grabbed at Batty's clothes.

"No, no. That's not a monster it's just a cat. You like cats don't you?" Batty comforted him by rubbing his back gently.

Batty picked Grimm up and opened the curtains.

"See, it's just a cute little kitty." He said softly as Grimm watched the black cat perch on the fence.

Grimm smiled as he waved at the cat. He loved cats.

Lilia was having a delightful time. He could hardly believe Yuu made something so cute. He missed holding a child in his arms. Babies are so soft and warm.

Yuu's child was so small, smaller than Silver was.

"Thirsty," Grimm mumbled drowsy.

Lilia continued to rub his back as he walked downstairs. Grimm's head rested on Lilia's shoulder as he started drifting off.

The fridge had bottles of enriched milk for toddlers. All Lilia needed to do was warm it up and put it in a sippy cup.

"Do not add anything"

Lilia could already hear her voice. He remembered getting kicked out of the kitchen constantly when she came over to cook. He missed her meat pies and pizzas.

Lilia waited for the milk to cool and poured it into a Halloween-themed bottle with bats and pumpkin print.

Gently he shook Grimm awake and sat down on the couch. Grimm weakly held the bottle and began to drink but his grip began to slip.

Lilia laughed as he helped hold one end of the cup up so Grimm could continue to drink. He made sure to be careful so Grimm didn't drink too much at once and kept upright enough that he could swallow easily.

It was like he had another baby.

Once the bottle was almost empty Grimm slumped over and went into a deep sleep. Lilia wiped milk off the mouth of the little one.

He could hardly believe Yuu brought something so wonderful into the world. No, he believed it. Every bit of it.

"The future?" She tiled her head to the side and hummed in thought for a moment. "Well I want a nice house. I want it to be in a place full of trees, old ones. I'm going to finish my book and officially become an author. I'm going to get married and have kids. 1 or 2 would be good. Hey! Why are you laughing? I don't care if it sounds childish, can't I dream?"

He wasn't laughing at her but she sounded so cute. She had stars in her eyes as she talked about her future life. Clearly, she had worked towards it.

There was a creak as footsteps came downstairs. Any words of alarm that Yuu had died in her throat as Lilia pressed a finger to his lips before pointing to Grimm who was snuggled up against him with his head in the crook of Lilia's neck.

Yuu quietly pulled back one of Grimm's stray curled locks before looking at Lilia with confusion. She wanted to ask him why he was there but realized that it didn't matter.

"I missed you." Was all she could say.

"I missed you too." Lilia kissed her forehead.

Grimm let out a soft whine.

"He's beautiful." Lilia was still mesmerized.

"Isn't he." Yuu joined in. "..oh, it's late."

"Never stopped you. We used to stay up all night together." Lilia purred pressing a kiss to Yuu's cheek.

"Not anymore. I'm on mommy time now. I'm up when he's up." Yuu teased.

"What about mommy and daddy time?" Lilia returned the favor.

Yuu smacked his arm.

"We need to put him to bed." Yuu sighed reaching to take Grimm from the fae.

"I don't wanna let go." Lilia backed away as he childishly pouted.

Yuu knew better than to push but an alternative needed to be found.

Grimm woke up in a strange place. Well not stang it was his Mama's room. He was sandwiched between Mommy and Sir Batty or the hero that took Sir Batty's body.

Grimm tugged on the human stuffed animal to see if he would turn back now in the daytime.

"No, no my child. We don't pull hair." The man said, "If you are awake how about you help Daddy make breakfast for Mommy."

Daddy? Grimm didn't know he had a Daddy.

"Okay, Daddy!" Grimm smiled as he reached out his arms to be picked up.

Tag List:

TagList:@kamisatoaiko@professionalreblogs@kai200x@lianreine@loivre @code-roevember @growingupnrealizing @ryxmix @blazestar0525 @botswanasvetlana @shrimpyfishyy @imasimpsowhat06 @nooneknows8976

@utaubara @springdrop-701 @ayachansan @otomyoli @savanaclaw1996 @who-mst @cloudy51 @siren-serenity @bontensbabygirl @queen-shiba @night-shadowblood-writes2 @colombia-chan @canubringmeacokepls @mikk-o @twistedcece @dreamlessnight @spritofthesea @angelicupiid@naroshinozaki

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland yuu #twst yuu #lilia vanrouge #lilia x reader #twst lilia #lilia twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland lilia

[nanamimizz]

𝐓𝚬𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝚬, 𝐋𝚶𝐕𝚬 𝐌𝚬

tags:18+ minors dni, virginity loss, first love, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, fem reader (just to be safe), mention of overstimulation and dacryphilia - let me know if i missed something.

synopsis: you are ready to take the next step in your relationship with barou shoei - you just have to show him first.

Shoei knows he has to be gentle with you - and for the most part, he succeeds, love isn’t the field and every success belongs to him along with any failure. He likes to think he’s had a good streak so far, he holds your hand and kisses you right. It’s never too rough that it makes you wince and never too so lackluster it makes you question if he likes you. He’s a good boyfriend, your mom likes him and your dad thinks he’s okay. This is why he doesn’t know what to say when you ask why he won’t have sex with you. Clearly, it took you awhile to build up the nerve, the way you fiddle with the loose end of the childhood blanket you still keep screaming it to him but he really doesn’t know what it is he should say. Your eyes are wide, long wispy eyelashes batting away as you look to him for the answer and Shoei just sits there in your bed like a dumbass.

Shoei wants to have sex with you - wants you the way you want him, you’re soft and ever so pretty. Sometimes when he kisses you and digs his fingers into the curve of your waist to keep them from going further down. No matter how badly he wants to go further south, he keeps them there because he knows he is your first. Your first boyfriend, you’re first love; he blames it on having little sisters but he’d rather die than do something untoward to you. It’s what he stammers out to you, so unlike him the king of the field and the big brother everyone thinks of him as. His answer makes you look into his eyes, and again Shoei feels like he’s fallen to his knees when he can see how pretty your eyes are - wide with adoration and trust that only he has the right to be on the receiving end of.

He blames it on the competitive nature of Blue Lock but he’ll kill anyone else you look at like that.

“I just don’t want to hurt you - or push you too far, before you are ready. I’m your first and I want you to be the one who sets what we can and can’t do.” He explains, voice soft in a way only you have heard, and maybe his sisters when he would check for monsters under their beds. You nod, coming closer to him, slotting your face into where his shoulders meet his neck and he tries not to shudder when he can feel the phantom of your breath dance across his skin.

“What if,” you pause to wet your lips and press your lips to his ear to indulge him in a secret only he will ever know of, “I’m ready now?” You reach over, taking his much larger hand in yours and bringing it to the apex of your thighs right to the seam of the tights you were at home that make him look the other way. The material is damp - when Shoei presses down he finds lightning dancing up his spine when he feels the lack of a second layer and the fact that your bare cunt is right there against his fingers.

“Baby,” he exhales like the pet name he throws about so casually is made of iron and not of his own affection, “are you sure?” You nod hard and fast, pressing a kiss to his ear in the gentle and sweet way you always kiss him and Shoei wonders if you’ll kiss him like that when he has you squealing on his cock. His fingers don’t leave, they pet at your barely covered cunt and find the ridge of your clit through the material that sticks to your heat. Each soft swipe and nudge against your most private of parts makes you tremble for him, you’re still tucked against his side so he hears every hitch in your breath and each withering gasp.

“It could hurt you know - I could hurt you, even if I’m gentle.” It sounds like he’s trying to talk you out of it but you want for it, is the thing Shoei doesn’t know. You want him to touch you, to see you, and to taste you; you want him in every way one could want another and more. Shaking your head, you sound breathless as if he’s the one sucking all the air from your lungs when just feeling at your soaked center is making him feel lightheaded. You place your hand over his own, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and it makes him shudder with a gasp at how dainty and small it looks compared to his.

“That’s okay, I can take it. I want you to teach me how to take it.” You sigh into his ears and Shoei wonders if you, the person who loves him in the sweetest and warmest ways possible is actually some sort of devil in his arms as you say the most devious things to ever grace his ears. He’s pushing you down to be reclined in the mess of pillows and stuffed animals that decorate your bed - some are your own things from your childhood you cling to but most are silly little ones he won you at arcades and fairs. You are beneath him now and his hands have settled on your hips and again you’ve left him breathless when he sees just how beautiful you are. The lip tint you were got smudged, and your hair fans above your head like the feathers of a songbird, and Shoei would be fine to die here if this was his final moment. Flushed and panting you are inviting him with just your visage to take and give - to teach and mold you into something new and the heat that it pulls from his stomach is undeniable.

“Yeah, yeah okay baby I’ll give you whatever you want.” Is what is last said and your tights are tugged down to your ankles and somewhere along the line your shirt is pushed up - Shoei is helpless to the weak moan they take from him, the flesh soft and pliable with tight nipples that ache with the flushing pleasure he’s giving you as his fingers finally touch your cunt with all the passion that has been held back since your first kiss. His fingers are inside pumping, curling, and stroking anything they can get at with his thumb not being idle - flicking at your clit with a dexterity that would alarm you but all you can think about is how it all feels so good, his raven hair is before you because Shoei busies his mouth with sucking at your nipples. Shoei's fingers fuck you as he plays on the field; an onslaught of motion that can not be suppressed by any means even as your hand weakly clings to his wrist all you do is feel your own slick dripping out of you and onto your joint hands. Another is in his hair, the tresses soft against how you tug at them when he pulls one orgasm from you after focusing all his efforts into fingering your cunt open for him. 

Your thighs are spread, farther than you ever had before and he’s slotted between them looking at you with something hot in the red iris of his eyes. Your cunt is slick and flushed, and the air reeks of your spent slick, his cock is out from his sweats and resting against your bare thigh. Shoei tries so hard, so very hard to at least be gentlemanly with you but when faced with the way he can so easily overpower you, encompassing you entirely it leaves him weak. Swallowing around nothing red eyes meet yours; when you nod he knows what’s next and he pushes away any nerves or weakness. 

Shoei Barou is your man before anything else and he’ll pleasure you like one.

You keep your eyes closed as he draws close with his cock in hand and you feel the fat head of it press against the seam of your cunt with such heat it makes you gasp in his grasp. His fingers go back to busy themselves, rubbing at your clit, and the sensitive little thing paired with the painful pleasure of him sinking in for the first time makes your cunt flutter weakly around him. You gasp, moan, and cry his name so prettily it makes him hunch over as if struck in the stomach and Shoei does not know how he will step from this bed, from this night with you alive and well. You are tight and hot and you whine when he tells you so.

“Fuck - fuck baby you’re killing me here.” He murmurs hotly against your lips when he finally is at the hilt of his cock, sheathed inside of you like a sort of blade only lovers share and a stroke of possessive pride swells inside when Shoei thinks how after him there will never be another, never. You say his name so sweetly it’s like a bird’s song in spring and Shoei needs not a reason to draw his hips back and thrust into you with such force it makes your jaw drop with a whine. It becomes a blur, where it is you begin and he ends and you both find that the answer is not needed. His cock goes from in you to not but he fucks you with all the force love and tenderness allow, you cling to him with all the desperation of Orpheus to Eurydice. When morning comes and you see the lines of red you leave down his back there will be humiliation and embarrassment but you will think of tonight and find arousal pooling in your gut like a flame that never ends.

“Shohei - Shohei, there, there!” You pant into his open mouth, forehead pressed to his own and he moans red irises disappearing for a moment as you clench around the width of his cock so tightly he wonders if one could from feeling such pleasure. He fucks you with a fervor, and all you can do is moan brokenly and hoarsely when he presses a kiss so deep you wonder if he is trying to consume you entirely as he ups his pace. He fucks you fast, and hard unlike the deep pace he had before and red eyes overtake your vision as you finally fall into the ocean of pleasure for the first but not the last time. A star is born, the waves crash onto the sand and the wind blows into the thickets of the trees - you cum with a flash and it is only followed when Shoei finally meets his end right after you.

It’s hot and it sings, when you feel that thick and cloudy white liquid seep inside of you; you shudder when he pulls away, face hot with so many things and Shoei would be a liar if he said he feels as if he has died and gone to heaven at the sight of you fucked out and flushed. WHen you grasp at the hand he brought up to wipe at your brow, he flushes a deep pink when take hold of it only to press a kiss to his palm. Your eyes are wide and glittering, dark with lust and your lashes are clumped together with unshed tears of pleasure that he didn’t notice before. Nothing could have prepared him for what leaves your swollen lips, heated from his kisses and his bites.

“Can we…go again? Please? I want more Shoei.” You beg and he doesn’t have the heart to deny you or the strength to tell you that you don’t have to beg for more from him. He’s your man, and whatever you want from him you have. The smile you give him, shy but satisfied makes up for whatever numbing sting he feels from going back at it so soon.

#lamb.writes #blue lock smut #bllk smut #barou smut #fang told me about him and i got consumed sorry im not immune to big brothers

[her-satanic-wiles]

October 23rd

Deepthroating & Facesitting, Mary Goore x Reader

Masterlist

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: Deepthroating; skull fucking; face sitting; public; exhibitionism; sex in a cemetery; cunnilingus; fingering; fellatio; vaginal sex; piv; unprotected sex; fear play; biting; elements of dubcon but not really dubcon; rough sex; praise kink; degradation kink (you know the drill by now); hair pulling; watersports;

Taglist: @sodoswitchimage @enchantedbunny @bitchywitchygardener @thew0man @sodomiser @the-did-i-ask @copias-sewer-rat @gehrmansbignaturals @deetz-ghuleh @onlyhereforghost @zombiesnips-blog

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this is dark fiction, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my rating. Thank you.

In the quiet, serene, and solemn embrace of the mist-laden morning, you walked hand in hand with Mary and ventured into the ancient, moss-covered graveyard - a morning tradition that spun the entire length of October. The misty air shrouded the weathered, weather-beaten tombstones, creating an eerie, mystical atmosphere. Tall, gnarled trees with their twisted, skeletal branches cast long, haunting shadows on the hallowed ground below. Your steps echo softly on the cobblestone path, leading you deeper into the melancholic, hauntingly beautiful cemetery.

It was always silent this early in the morning, even the birds were still asleep as your footsteps tracked through the frost-bitten grass and chilly gravel beneath you. Every snap of a twig in the distance had your heart pounding with worry and Mary’s throat to come alive with a chuckle. This was the perfect scene for a horror movie: two lovers exploring a place they shouldn’t be getting picked off individually by a mysterious stranger using the mist as a cloak. Mary would be the first to go; and you’d find him battered and bruised but alive, only to watch him suffer and perish at the hands of a monster.

A crypt sat in one of the corners of the cemetery, proud yet ominous with its intimidating Gothic arched door and stone walls. The glass windows were dirty with decades - if not centuries - of dirt, and the heavy, mahogany door, weather-damaged and rotting, was locked tightly shut by a rusted chain and lock. The crypt once belonged to the town’s founding father, the wealthiest family in the cemetery. For as long as you’d known him, Mary had been desperate to get inside to piss on the richest coffin around but he’d always been unsuccessful. Today, though, he wanted to try again.

You watched him rattle the door, hands wrapped firmly around the rusted handles and tug on it, trying to shift it even a little but to no avail. “I’m gonna go check the back,” he announced, “wait right here.”

“Mary, can’t we just carry on and enjoy the place while we still have it?”

“Babe, if we can get in there, just think of what I could do to you.” He winked and placed a kiss to your forehead. “Stay here. I’ll come back and get you.”

You don’t know why you did as he asked you to. You weren’t scared per se, the silence of the cemetery filled you with nothing but peace and you felt safe in the knowledge that most of the surrounding residents were still tucked up in bed as the sun was beginning to rise. But you were still exceptionally cautious, knowing that it was all the normal people who were in bed. The crazies were up and wandering as you stood there: the drug addicts, the dunkards, the criminals who operated under the shadow of the night were also out and about, making their way home after a night of who-knows-what. Ghosts didn’t scare you. The dead didn’t make you afraid - but the living did.

You tried to peak into the crypt, wiping some of the dirt with your index finger but realising it was pointless when you saw the layer that had swiped off onto your hand. You weren’t even sure what you were trying to see, perhaps you were just looking for something to do. But your concentration turned out to be a detriment to you, and the reason why what happened next occurred.

All you heard were two heavy footsteps thumping quickly on the dead leaves surrounding the crypt before hands came and gripped your body, the force of it causing you to drop your bag to the floor. A weight pushed you further into the stone walls and pinning you against them, one of those hands gripped onto your hip, the other came up to your mouth to silence you. A whimper escaped you, muffled by the cold hand of the person behind you - a whimper of fear, certainly, but there was an element of arousal in it too.

“You looked so delicious standing there alone and scared.” Mary’s voice sounded in your ear, so low it was almost a growl. “You looked so fuckin’ vulnerable. Easy pickings.” He pressed his body further into yours and you could feel his cock, rock solid but restrained in his jeans. “I can’t wait until we get home, baby girl. I’m taking you now whether you like it or not.”

His hand that was on your hip began groping whatever body part it could find. At first, he grasped hold of your ass cheek and firmly held it, but then he moved higher and higher until he was groping your breast, rough with his touches and squeezing you as he pleased. His mouth, now silent, moved closer to your ear and trapped the sensitive appendage between his teeth, nibbling and biting a little harder than usual. He released your mouth from his hand knowing that you wouldn’t let out an unwanted scream, and used that hand to fiddle with your clothes, pulling your skirt up to give him access to your panties. “Thank fuck you’re wearing a skirt today, baby.” He commented as he rutted himself into you, seeking desperate pleasure from your body.

Your panties were quite literally ripped off your hips - the sound of the fabric tearing filling up the surrounding cemetery and making you gasp at the force he’d used. Once you were bare for him, he gripped onto your shoulders, turned you round and pushed you to your knees. His hands came to work at his jeans, undoing them and freeing himself from them. “When you need to tap out, what do you do?”

“Tap you three times.”

“Good fucking girl. Now, open up for me.”

You braced yourself for impact, knowing that the mood he was in meant you were in for a rough but exciting ride; and of course you were right. He fed you his cock, inch by inch, ignoring your gag reflex and any uncomfortabilities you may have had and forced his way down your throat, groaning at the sensation of your tight, wet heat enveloping him. His hand flew to your head, fingers tangling in your hair as his mouth opened and he exhaled slowly, the subsequent intake sounding like a hiss. The first few thrusts were merciful, gentle, kind, tentative, enough to get you used to feeling his sizable length stuffed down your windpipe. But after that he became demonic.

His thrusts were nearly violent with how sharply he moved. His hand held your head as still as it possibly could be, trapping you where you knelt and using your face like his own personal fucktoy. It was his hand doing most of the guiding, pulling your head back and forth by your hair. He tipped his head back and let his mouth fall wide open. “Oh, fuck!” He growled. Every time you gagged around him, he chuckled at you. He found it amusing to hear you struggling to take him every time he shoved himself down your throat, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t commit those sounds to his memory and used them when you weren’t around.

He pulled your head off of him completely and let you catch your breath, laughing a little at you gasping for air and refilling your lungs as much as you could before his second onslaught. You also took this opportunity to fill your mouth with as much saliva as you could, knowing that Mary preferred a sloppier feel. He loved it when you got filthy, when your own spit would drip down your face and hang off your chin like a cheesy porno. You took this opportunity to use your hands and jerk him off a little, but eventually he grew tired and slapped your hand away. You took him back in your mouth and readied yourself for round two.

This time, he gathered all your hair into a ponytail and used that to pull you back and forth, slamming himself down your throat despite the gags and groans you made. Your nose repeatedly hit his well-groomed pubic mound, kept nice and neat for this very purpose. “That’s it.” He praised through gritted teeth. “Take it all down your fucking throat. Such a slut. Letting yourself get face-fucked in the middle of a fuckin’ cemetery. Fucking hell. Your throat is incredible. I don’t do this enough. Shit!” He bit his lip and groaned when you looked up at him, tears in your eyes from the exertion. The doe-eyed look you often gave him drove him insane, his own corruption kink coming to the forefront and losing himself in the thought of soiling something so pristine as you. Of course, you were just as filthy as he was, but you certainly didn’t look it.

“What’s this?” He asked, his eyes now fixated on your hands. While he’d been fucking your throat, you decided that it was too much to bear and dipped your hands under the hem of your skirt giving yourself the sweet relief you’d been craving since he pinned you against the walls of the crypt. “The little whore likes being face-fucked in a cemetery?” He tugged you off his cock and you stopped playing with yourself. “No, keep going! Don’t let me stop you slutting yourself out in public. You want my mouth, baby girl?”

You nodded.

He jerked your head back again by your hair. “Ah, ah. Tell me.”

“Yes! I want your mouth!”

“Aw,” he cooed, “desperate little slut. On your back for me.”

He guided you to lie on your back, and lifted your skirt, staring at your cunt that was now glistening from the slick of your arousal. You could feel the wet, morning dew from the grass seeping through into your clothes as you lay there, but that just turned you on even more to know he had you lying on the cold ground so he could take what he wanted from you. You wanted him just as badly as he wanted you. He stared down his nose at you, a somewhat evil grin on his face. He was about to make you suffer and you were so excited for it.

He moved to your head and lowered himself down so he was hovering above your mouth. “Open wide again, baby.” He told you. When you obeyed, he fed himself into your throat once more, but this time he’d leaned forward and took your cunt into his mouth, too, his cock brutally riding your face and taking his own pleasure from you.

Your hips bucked as much as they could from being pinned down by Mary’s entire weight on top of you as his lips quickly encircled your clit and started sucking as hard as they could. The tip of his tongue moved wildly, working different parts of your clit in different directions while he kept his mouth shut around you. His ministrations were intense and rough as he worked to get you to orgasm as quickly as he could, moving his head in all directions and sucking on your tender bud to keep the onslaught going. He was everywhere all at once - you could feel him everywhere. Mind clouded with nothing but him, scent, sight, taste. even his grunts and groans filled your ears more than the wind rustling the trees in the distance.

He continued in this manner constantly, ruthlessly pushing you ever-closer to the edge. Until his unrelenting motions caused your nails to dig into his bare ass as a warning you were about to cum. And so, reluctantly, he pulled himself out of your throat and continued his ministrations until you were cumming, loudly, around his tongue. Your eyes were screwed tightly shut as you came, teeth digging into your bottom lip to curb some of that volume as you screamed out for him. Your nails continued to grip onto his flesh as the entire world went black for just a brief moment, and eventually, when it was fine for him to do so, he released you from his mouth and climbed off you.

He seemed just as out of breath as you were, but he hadn’t cum yet, and therefore he certainly wasn’t finished with you. “Hands and knees,” he ordered, “ass in the air.”

Your back was hit with a wall of cold air as the damp cloth was exposed to the autumnal morning breeze. You spread yourself out for him, elbows to the ground and ass in the air, ready to receive whatever he would give you next.

He didn’t wait for your cunt to get used to his size; instead, he grabbed your hips and thrust all the way to the end. “Take that fucking cock.”

He started working right away, snapping his hips against yours quickly and hitting your cervix which made you scream every time. “Fuck, Mary!” You yelled.

Mary always felt wonderful inside of you because he was long and slender, stretching you out beautifully. By the time he was finished with you, you were typically a shaking, aching mess on the bed, unable to even think or breathe.

Your ass jiggled more than usual as you arched your back for him once more and moved your hips to meet his thrusts. He let out a string of profanities, each one reminding you of how much of a whore you were to him and how tight your pussy felt around him, how you got tighter every time a branch snapped in the distance or a solitary car drove by. How you got off knowing that someone could catch you getting fucked by your partner in one of the most wildly inappropriate places to ever exist.

He reached forward and grabbed your hair, pulling it once more by the roots to gain leverage and allow himself to bury deep inside of you over and over again.

Your hand reached down to play with your clit once more, fervently rubbing yourself in time with his rough thrusts to try and tip you over the edge.

“Fucking shit, always so tight for me.” He saw your pussy cream accumulating at the base of his cock and let out another growl. You felt so fucking good, and you were getting tighter and tighter by the second. “Baby,” he said, “I know we couldn’t get in there for me to piss on his coffin, but there’s another monument I could.”

You raised your eyebrows, and he didn’t miss the way your hand sped up at the thought. “O-on me?” You asked.

“Can I?”

“Fuck. Mary, do it.”

“Yeah? Move that fucking hand so I can piss on that filthy cunt of yours.”

You did as you were told and shuddered at the feeling of Mary pulling out of you, your hole twitching at the sudden emptiness and screaming for stimulation. You couldn’t see what Mary was doing behind you, but oh fuck did you feel it. It was a slow trickle at first but when the stream built up, and was angled right, it hit your clit perfectly just like the head of your shower did. The constant stream, however short it actually lasted, felt like it went on forever as it continuously hit that perfect spot, making your eyes roll back into your head. It took just a little more time and suddenly you were diving headfirst into another orgasm, the sensitivity of your first and the violent pounding of Mary’s cock beforehand leading you into a powerful second one. Mary’s fingers replaced his piss to finish you off, rubbing roughly to keep you frozen and cumming as hard as possible.

He could barely wait until you’d stopped convulsing, and shoved himself back inside you as soon as he could. “Filthy slut,” he chastised, hands gripping onto your hips as he pushed you flush to the ground and took what he wanted. His left hand was still wet from his piss and your cum, and you could feel it on your skin. “Can’t believe you just came from me pissing on you. What a depraved, cock-hungry little whore - so desperate to cum she’ll let me do anything to her.” Your hands dug into the hallowed soil, gripping tightly to ground you as he got rougher and rougher, slamming against your cervix each time and forcing you to cry out. “I’ll piss in your mouth next time. You want that, hm?”

“Yes! Fucking hell! Mary!” You didn’t care how loud you were, and neither did he.

“Or maybe I’ll piss inside your cunt next time, and punish you if any slips out - oh fuck - c-cumming!”

He let out a deep and gutteral groan as he came inside you, hips stilling to a halt and emptying his balls as deep as he possibly could. All his weight was on you, trapping you between him and the graveyard’s soil. Your own pubic mound resting in the puddle of piss that had formed underneath you both the more he pushed you down and held you still. He thrust tentatively, making sure you took every last drop of him. He let himself fall forward, and kissed your shoulder tenderly as if he hadn’t just beat up your pussy and abused you like a madman.

“Fucking hell that was the hottest thing we’ve ever done.” You said as you both were catching your breaths.

He grunted in agreement, still kissing your clothed shoulder and moving up to nibble and lick at your ear. “We’d better get you in the shower, eh?”

“Check my bag, there should be some tissues in there.”

He pulled out of you, both of you wincing at the loss again, and when he returned, he made sure to gently clean you as best as he could. But he’d make sure he’d clean you up properly when you both took a shower at home.

Previous Day ⛧ Next Day

#mel writes #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #ghost kinktober #the band ghost #ghost #ghost bc #ghost band #ghost the band #ghost fan fiction #ghost fanfic #ghost fandom #ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction #repugnant #repugnant band #repugnant fan fiction #repugnant fanfic #repugnant fanfiction #mary goore #mary goore x reader #mary goore x reader smut #mary goore smut #mary goore fanfiction

[carolmunson]

love language three

sick fic. eddie cares for you. love language set list

the groan. you don’t make it often. a groan that’s so sweet sounding to him it might as well be a whine. heat on your cheeks -- you shake under the covers like a terrified child, trembling. his caress is cool water on your warm face. his smile, on the other hand, makes you pout.

“i know, but we gotta break that fever somehow,” he murmurs, running a soaked and freezer’d face cloth over your forehead. and there it was — the groan.

“poor baby,” he pouts back at you, hand coming up to feel your neck and chest, “you’ve been burnin’ up all afternoon.” he likes it when you’re sick, all hacking coughs and puke buckets, all monster and mouse in one. always so sweet for him, but always so mean at first. sweet and sour. pouty and tired. just a little needy for a change. that was what he liked the most, that part — the groan.

“what do you need, huh?” he asks, “what's wrong?”

"everything hurts," you say with a scrunch of your face, he sees your figure tense and relax under the blankets he's had you tucked under all morning, "i think i'm gonna go stand in the shower."

when you get up he reaches out to you, supporting your weight while you shuffle out of the bedroom. soft whispers of 'i got you, honey' and 'its okay, i know' when your body shakes from the change in temperature and a soft whimper escapes your mouth. if you weren't so sick he'd kiss you all over. "you want me to get in with you?" he asks, "just hold you a little?" you shake your head no, "you won't like it." "oh, are you taking a hell shower?" he asks unamused, and even in your state you manage a lazy giggle, he melts, "that can't be good for your skin." he turns the water on for you, making a face when you encourage him to twist the knob further towards the faded 'H' on the whethered and stained hardware, "it doesn't have to be good for my skin, it just feels good." he watches you shiver and frowns, helping you undress and keeping you warm while the water heats up to scalding. maybe you can singe all the pain away. eddie wouldn't know, he doesn't understand how you can stand in water that would turn his skin as red as the les paul hanging on the wall in your bedroom. you step in and he sits on the toilet seat, savoring the sound of your relieved sigh as you let the water soothe your aching joints. "hm," he hears come from behind the curtain. sweet like honey. "that feel nice?" he asks softly. your quiet 'mhm' soothes him the way the water soothes you. he gets up as the steam starts to billow out from the shower, frizzing his hair. he peaks in, seeing your resting your head on the plastic tile, eyes closed and peaceful, "don't fall asleep in there, baby," he chuckles. "hm," you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips, the first sense of relief you've felt all day. "gonna order you something to eat, okay?" he asks, "want somethin' spicy to clear out your nose?" you nod, eyes still shut, breath steadying. when you finally get out of the shower, you see a set of his clothes on the sink. his big sweatpants and old megadeath t-shirt that you claimed as yours years ago. the water helped some to ease the pain in your joints, but not enough to save you from the temperature change and the left over ache. you groan. "you okay?" he asks, "need some help?" "no thank you," you say -- so quiet and stuffy. you cough hard enough behind the door that he winces. when you emerge, you're still all hot cheeks and grumpy features. "got you some hot and sour soup," he smiles, you smile back weakly. your stomach lurches at the though of food, but you know you have to eat something. you can't survive solely off mucus. you sit back on the bed with your eyes closed while he covers your legs with the blankets again, your soup sitting on a tray close by. "you gotta eat, honey," he says gently. cool water hands on your hot wet skin while he checks your temperature again. your brows furrow, eyes still closed, you groan. you know there's a winning smile of his behind your eyelids, but you can't find the energy to open them and look. you hear him maneuver onto the bed, the clink of the cutlery while he picks up a spoon. "open," he says. you giggle half heartedly. "you gonna spoon feed me?" you ask, scratchy and followed by a painful cough. "i am," he chuckles, "open." you do, the warm broth and spice hiyting your tongue in a way that feels as good as the shower. your head rolls to relieve the tension in your neck before you take the second spoon full. "hm," you hum with heavy lids while you finally look at him. a sleepy thank you. "hm," he replies, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. a caring your welcome. when you're done eating he brings you some cold medicine and some water, watching you settle back down into bed. both of you hoping you'll wake up drenched in sweat the next morning.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson

[rinslutz]

thinking about how girldad!gojo would, without hesitation, crawl completely under his daughter’s bed to assure her that there are no monsters there. he’d struggle to slide under the bed, phone in hand and flashlight on.

“all clear,” he playfully shouts. he pulls himself from under the bed. he wears a bright smile until he notices the unamused look on his daughter’s face.

“daddy, you didn’t check the other end.”

he contemplates ignoring her worries and tucking her into bed despite her protests. the pointed look and the way her little hands now rest on her hips, he knows he won’t make it out of her room alive.

“fine,” he sighs like a child. once again he crawls under her bed, this time checking every inch.

#gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #girl dad gojo is everything to me

[bullet-prooflove]

Heyy could u pls do 13) “I need your loving every night” for Tim Bradford. Thank x

Part One: Monster

Part Two: The Gaslight (NSFW)

Tim can’t stay away, and neither can you. That’s the problem when you find the person you’re supposed to be with for the rest of your life. You don’t want to be apart from them.

It’s the third night in a row he’s spent at your new apartment, and Tim knows that’s dangerous. He’s cautious when he comes out to meet you. He checks his car for any GPS devices, leaves his phone at home. He takes long circuitous routes ensuring that he hasn’t picked up a tail somewhere along the way.

Tonight, he meets you on the doorstep, you’re carrying a bag of groceries under your arm, which he takes from you before he steals a kiss. It’s teasing and soft, full of promises and hope, hope that you can do this for real one day out in the open.

He makes love to you that night, the light from the streetlamp outside illuminating your skin as his hands thread through your hair. You’re beautiful but Tim has always thought that, it’s in these moments he sees that fierce, wonderful girl he fell in love with.

It’s three in the morning when Tim slips out of your bed. He doesn’t want to leave, he wants to spend the night wrapped up in your sheets, your body tucked against his as you sleep peacefully in his arms. Instead, he disappears like a thief in the night.

When he’s called into Ashworth’s office the next day, there’s a tension in the room. It sets Tim’s nerves on edge because it reminds him of the nights his dad used to come home from the bar. The apprehension. The unpredictability. The propensity for violence.

When he stands before his Captain, he remains impassive. It’s the same thing he used to do when his father was spoiling for a fight. It’s meant to de-escalate but this is a new playing field for Tim, a different dynamic than the one he’s used to.

He doesn’t flinch when Ashworth sets the tablet down in front of him, his gaze lowers to the image and his jaw tenses. It’s from that first night at The Gaslite, the two of you are standing outside, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek before kisses you for what he had thought was the last time.

“You’re fucking her.” Ashworth says, his voice tight.

Tim doesn’t answer, he merely tilts his head up, his gaze focused on the American flag, pinned to the wall beyond Ashworth.

“Do you know where she is?” His Captain asks as he studies Tim.

Again, Tim says nothing and Ashworth sighs as he leans forward to retrieve the tablet.

“Is she really worth your career Bradford?” He asks him almost conversationally and Tim allows himself to meet the other man’s eyes.

He sees the look of triumph on Ashworth’s features. He thinks he’s won, that Tim will fold underneath the threat. It shows how much value the other man puts upon you; how much he underestimates what the two of you have.

“I guess we’ll find out.” Ashworth says, his eyes boring into Tim’s. “Won’t we?”

@kmc1989 @viridianphtalo @burningpeachpuppy @anime-weeb-4-life @malindacath

#tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x you #the rookie #tim bradford the rookie

[vukovich]

24K9

A daily(?) kinktober Tumblr fic. Will post to AO3 on American Thanksgiving, 2023.

Harry is a K9 unit Auror. Draco is the Ministry Kennelmaster. How could that possibly lead to anything?

Tags: collaring, top Draco, sensual pet play, touch starved Harry, bathing, shaving, rescue dog feels, other tags TBA, maybe dark draco ending?, maybe werewolves?, definitely coming untouched though, just blasting rope man

--

Chapter One

“I assure you, Auror Potter,” drawled the Patronus, speaking even before it found its full form, “there is nothing wrong with your partner.”

Malfoy’s tone was patronising, as though he were telling Harry that the monsters under his bed weren’t real, and to go back to sleep.

Next to Harry’s desk, his ‘partner’ had managed to catch his tail and was currently gnawing on it with nothing short of ardour.  K9 Auror Wurst, aka RottWurst, clamped down on his fluffy tail so hard, Harry swore he heard a crunch.

The bright fog condensed into a direwolf the size of a modest pony.  It was the perfect symbol for Draco Malfoy.  A pale, leggy, sharp-toothed relic of another time.

“And I assure you,” Harry spat, “Kennelmaster Malfoy, that this mutt’s fucking touched in the head.”

The mutt in question was eighty-plus pounds of Rottweiler-poodle abomination.  He looked like a St Bernard had dug into an avalanche, missed the humans, and hit a thousand-volt power line instead.  The curly white fur on his belly was caked with mud, and his brown muzzle still had bits of grass clippings on it.  The rest of him was black, save his brown eyebrows and speckled ears.

“He keeps alerting to sex magic, not dark magic.  It’s fucking embarrassing.  Dragged me across Hyde Park.  I had to use a Confundus on him to get him back to the office.”

The direwolf was so still that Harry blinked twice to make sure the shape wasn’t burned into his retinas.  It was a bloody showboat of a Patronus.

It was so bright that it brought out the dinginess of Harry’s office.  The yellow carpet had a pale brown trail between the door and Harry’s desk chair.  The corners of the ceiling had cobwebs, and the baseboards held an unhealthy amount of dust.

The fresh dog piss on the floor didn’t help things.

“I mean, he’s not worthless,” Harry added.  “But Robards said he can’t reassign him to Vice.  That he doesn’t have that authority.  So it must be you who has to do it.”

It was a little risky to bypass Robards the way he had, contacting Malfoy directly.  He probably should have made an appointment with his assistant or something.

But he’d been angry, so he’d pulled an interdepartmental priority Howler out of his desk and sent it.

There was probably a DMLE protocol for contacting a member of the Wizengamot.  There was a DMLE protocol for everything but wiping his arse.  Actually, they probably had one for that, too.

Harry blinked again.  His eyes were dry.  He was on hour seven of a twelve-hour shift.  After this, he’d get another coffee.

The direwolf shifted its weight, then leaned back, hindquarters high, in a deep stretch.  Its paws spread out in front of it.

Harry wondered if Malfoy was actually stretching.  And what that might look like.

It’d been years since he’d seen Malfoy in person.  Just in the papers, and only in the background of Wizengamot photos.  He’d been called to his Wizengamot seat the day after his thirtieth birthday, having met the minimum age.  They hadn’t called Hermione to hers until she was thirty-two.  She’d die mad about that.

The direwolf laid down, then yawned.

Harry yawned.

Wurst yawned.  Then farted.

Harry thought to check the time.  2:30 AM, according to his wristwatch.  He’d been on the clock for fourteen hours.  Not seven.

“Shit,” Harry said.

He’d woken a member of the Wizengamot at 2:30 AM.  And an important one.  

The direwolf sighed and tucked its muzzle under its paw.  Harry held his breath.  Maybe Malfoy would fall asleep.

Maybe he’d doze off, and he’d think he dreamt he got a Howler in the middle of the night from a burnout beat cop at least six rungs below him.  Maybe.

The direwolf sighed again, then drifted away like will-o'-the-wisps on the wind.

Maybe Malfoy wouldn’t report this.

Maybe.

Maybe Robards wouldn’t kill him.

He drummed his fingers on his desk.  If he did get written up, it’d be his sixth this year.  Two of them were for failing to meet dress code, but the shaving regulations were stupid, and the hygiene one was just weird.

Still.  

Wurst looked at him.  He looked at Wurst.

Nothing would happen.  His talk with Malfoy had only lasted a few seconds.  He’d think it was a dream.

It would be fine.

“It’ll be fine,” Harry told Wurst, ignoring the sweat on his palms.

Wurst’s nostrils flared, and then an ivory envelope slid under the door.  It sat on the grimy carpet for a moment, then folded itself into a swan.  With a few wingbeats, it landed on Harry’s desk and unfolded itself.

Inside was a business card.

Draco L Malfoy Wizengamot Member, Kennelmaster Warminster BA13 4SH UK

“Shit,” Harry said.

He flipped the card over.  On the back was an appointment date and time.  Tomorrow.

“Fuck.”

Robards was going to kill him.

--

#drarry #kinktober #but like DIY kinktober #kinktober parallel play #you can hide anything in the tags #nobody can stop you #my tags are so big because they're full of secrets #24k9

[skyward-floored]

C-can I make a request…? (Please feel free to ignore if you’d rather not!)

HDW parent-child comfort? Maybe Volga gets a chance to comfort Link, or Impa can comfort him? Idk girl I’m just starving for comfort and warm fuzzy vibes and cuddles lol

Yes you may! (though I will say requests are closed so nobody send me more thanks <3)

It took me a while to contrive a situation where Impa would feel comfortable snuggling but I think I made it work! You’ll have to forgive me for the angst there ended up being, but there is comfort and cuddles I promise 😂

——————————————————————————————————

It’s not a dangerous wound.

Head wounds always bleed a lot, and almost always look worse than they are, so there’s no need for her to panic.

Yet despite how many times Impa tells herself these words, she can’t seem to banish the dread in her gut at the memory of seeing Link get slammed to the ground by an aeralfos’s shield, and not get up even after it had been killed by another soldier.

She shouts his name as he goes down, but the battle is a mess, and Impa is stuck in a fight of her own and can’t immediately get to Link. She manages a glimpse of him through the hordes, blood all over his face, and her heart stops as she fights even more viciously.

By the time she finally forces her way past the monsters in her path, Link is already being carried out of battle by a handful of medics. Impa wants to stop right there and follow them and demand to know if he’s okay, but they’re at a crucial point in the battle, and leaving now would be disastrous.

They wouldn’t be carrying him off if he wasn’t alive, he’s alive, calm down, she berates herself, but for some reason her hands won’t stop shaking.

The moment Cia’s monsters retreat and the men raise up a cheer, Impa makes a beeline for the medical tent, ignoring the questions lobbed at her by various army personnel. Link has certainly been injured before, but there’d been so much blood on him...

The medics are expecting someone to come looking for Link apparently, and the moment she steps inside the medical tent, she’s whisked off to a more private corner, curtains blocking the area from both the sounds and sights of anyone walking by.

And immediately sees Link lying silently on a bed, nearly as pale as the bandage around his head.

Impa exhales as she goes to his side, and watches his chest go up and down for a moment. The blood has been cleaned from his face at least, but he’s unnaturally still, and pale.

But he’s breathing.

“How is he?” Impa asks, and the medic beside Link hums.

“He has a concussion along with the laceration the shield left, but we’ve stopped the bleeding. He woke up enough to handle a potion about fifteen minutes ago,” she reports. “He’ll likely be disoriented for a while while the potion works through him. He may need another at a later point, but overall, he should be fine with some rest,” the medic smiles. Impa nods, still trying to ease the fear constricting her.

See, he’s fine, they said he’ll be fine, he just needs rest. He’s fine.

Link’s chest goes slowly up and down again, and Impa swallows.

“I’ve got some other patients to check up on, I’ll leave you to visit,” the medic says, seeming to sense her presence isn’t wanted, and she slips out from the curtain, leaving Impa alone with her son.

It’s rather quiet with her gone.

Impa exhales again, and looks at Link, pale and quiet, seeming unusually small under the thin blanket that he’s tucked under. There’s still blood matted in his hair, and Impa hesitates, then reaches forward, gently teasing some of it out.

It falls almost dust-like onto his pillow, and she brushes it off, intent on not thinking about how close Link came to dying and how she couldn’t do a thing to help him.

She can still see hear his cry as he’d fallen to the ground.

“Mmngh...”

“Link?” Impa asks immediately, leaning over him as his face twitches.

It takes him a minute, but he blearily opens his eyes, pupils unevenly sized as he blinks up at her. The sight of his blues, even dazed as they are, eases the fear in her chest somewhat, and she swallows as he stares.

“‘mpa?” he slurs, and she nods, unable to stop her exhale. He’s fine, see, he’s awake, relax. “Wh’...?”

“You were injured, Link. You got hit rather hard in the head with a large metal shield,” Impa explains slowly. Link scrunches up his face like he’s trying to remember such an event happening. “You’re currently in the medics tent.”

Link slowly blinks at her, not a whit of comprehension in his gaze.

“...shield?”

“Yes, a shield hit you. Hard.”

The memory of blood flashes in Impa’s vision again, and she very pointedly ignores it as Link’s eyes scrunch in confusion.

“Where’s... m’ shield?” he mumbles.

“It’s with your other gear, Link. It’s safe.”

"Oh..." he trails off, and slowly blinks. "...Wh' happen?"

Impa sighs. The medic had said he’d be disoriented. "You were injured, Link. You're resting in the medical tent."

He hums in reply, and slowly rolls his head to the side so he can look at her more easily, eyes trailing hazily across her face. The unsure, almost guarded look that’s been on his face whenever he’s looked at her lately is completely absent, nothing but open trust and bleary confusion.

It’s... almost more painful, in a way.

Impa swallows, and sits on the stool that’s been left beside his bed, Link’s eyes flickering at the noise. He stares at her again, and blinks, a little frown pulling at his cheeks.

“Don’t cry,” he murmurs.

“...Link, I’m not crying,” Impa replies slowly, and Link stretches a hand in the vague direction of her face, obviously rather uncoordinated.

“Eyes’r red,” he says worriedly, and somehow manages to land a hand on her cheek. “Looks like... if you’re cryin’.”

Impa can’t help letting out a soft chuckle as he clumsily tries to wipe away an imaginary tear, and she gently pulls Link’s hand off her cheek, setting it back at his side. “I haven’t been crying, Link. My eyes are naturally this color.”

Link squints at her, face disbelieving, then he frowns.

“I want red eyes,” he says in a sad voice, and Impa brushes his hair away from where it had fallen in his eyes.

“Blue eyes are just as nice as red,” she says patiently, gently picking some more of the blood from his hair. She's talked to her share of concussed people, but concussed Link is... especially curious to speak with. “I’ve always liked blue, actually.”

“Oh... okay. I guess blue... 'r nice."

Link leans into her touch, and Impa holds her hand there longer than she would have otherwise, his eyes slipping closed again. He doesn’t speak for a minute, and Impa almost thinks he’s fallen asleep when he softly grunts.

“I don’t feel good,” he mumbles. “C'n you fix it?”

The way his voice wavers makes something squeeze in her chest. “I’m afraid not. The red potion should help fix you up soon Link, but it’s going to take a little while. You’ll just have to be patient.”

“Head hurts... ‘n stomach.”

“You have a concussion, that’s not surprising,” Impa sighs. “But the red potion should help with that. They’ll both fade, you’ll be all right.”

“Left,” he mumbles, and Impa raises a confused eyebrow. “‘M left-handed. Not right.”

Impa breathes a soft chuckle. “That you are. My apologies.”

Link goes quiet again, and Impa watches him, his face slightly pinched in discomfort. She’s unable to stop herself from studying his face as the silence stretches between them, idly picking out the features he shares with her and his father.

He’s got Volga’s hair, though it’s paler then his, a hint of his Sheikah blood coming through. His nose is hers, as is the overall shape of his face, but his eyes are solely how Volga’s used to be, blue and bright.

Looking at him, you'd never guess he had such unusual blood.

Link must feel her gaze on him, as he opens his eyes and looks at her again. His eyes are eyes half lidded, but focused on her face, and a frown appears on his lips as pain suddenly ripples across his expression. His forehead crinkles, discomfort suddenly more obvious as he shifts in his bed, and Impa leans forward, looking at him with worry.

“Link?”

He squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them again, looking at her with a truly miserable expression.

“...Hurts,” he whispers.

And maybe it’s the time of voice he uses, maybe it’s the mixture of tears and dizziness in his eyes, or the fact that he just looks so young and small and hurt lying there, but Impa abruptly gives in to the side of herself begging to do something other then just sit here.

He likely won't remember any of this tomorrow anyway.

She stands up from her stool as Link lets out a soft groan, and sits herself on the bed, gently sliding him over so she can sit beside him. Her plan was to merely provide comfort by sitting there, but Link almost immediately latches onto her, curling himself halfway on her lap.

Impa can’t really breathe for a few seconds as her son nestles up to her, face still pained, but more relaxed then before. She watches him as he tries to get settled, but he seems to be having trouble finding a comfortable position for his head.

So Impa throws her remaining caution to the wind, and does something she hasn’t done since Link was a baby.

She slowly, carefully, slides him up, shifting him around so his head is resting on her shoulder. Then she begins to gently pet his hair, her fingers trembling a little.

Link goes still, then relaxes, the pain easing on his face.

“There you go...” she says quietly, still slowly running a hand through his hair. She’s careful to avoid the bandages, making sure her fingers only card through hair, and Link about melts under her touch.

A soft sigh escapes him, and Impa swallows, the fact that this is the first time she’s held Link since he was tiny not lost on her.

She quickly blinks back the sting in her eyes.

A sound almost like purring suddenly vibrates from Link’s throat, soft and faint, just loud enough that Impa can hear it. She blinks at him in surprise, but Link doesn’t notice, well on his way to falling asleep.

Impa keeps petting his hair as he dozes against her, the little rumbly noises still coming from his throat. He nuzzles up to her a little more, and Impa pulls his blanket up around his shoulders, holding him just a bit tighter as he finally drifts off.

It's unlikely he'll have any memory of this occurring, Impa quietly soothing him as he falls asleep in her arms.

But that's okay.

Holding him again after so long, gently teasing the last bits of blood from his hair, his head resting under her chin as he softly rumbles... it's enough.

She closes her eyes, and Link sighs again, fully asleep.

It's enough.

#I don't know how warm and fuzzy I suceeded in making this but I did my best #hdw au #impa #link #tw blood #tw concussion #? i guess #answers from the floor #skyloftian nutcase my beloved #writing from the floor #I hate to say it but if dragons roar then technically they shouldn’t also be able to purr #but. luckily it’s fiction and I can do whatever I want 👍 #so. purr. hehe. #Impa: *trying to respect Link's space because things are still weird between them* #*but also knowing he's concussed and has no clue what's going on* this is fine

[the-s1lly-corner]

May I please have a request of head cannons of TADC crew dealing with a clingy kid reader

Like two of them are basically plushies (Jax and Ragtha)

And please do take your time

TADC cast x clingy!kid!reader (platonic!)

YAHOO!! my back hurts but its okay because i drew my oc looking... (checks notes) "cunty" (doesnt know if theyre using the word right) anyways gonna knock out a few more requests; got that one friendship is witchcraft song playing on loop in my headphones so im typing like a speed demon rn RAAAAAAh

CAINE:

honestly hes probably the same with you, though like. with his eyes; he keeps an eye on you at all times. like i can easily caine being kind of negligent when it comes to kids and letting them get into harms way, but i also adore the idea of him fretting over you and trying to keep you safe. does not mind your clinginess, not one bit. always keeps close in IHAs, in fact we may even be able to joke that hes now a participant in his own games! he does it for both of your comforts, and to make sure you dont get hurt.. in cases where he cant be around, for whatever reason, he promotes bubble to babysitter to keep an eye on you; i think! reads you bedtime stories every night

POMNI:

i think i may have mentioned this a few times but pomni can get a little uncomfortable around kids; kids can be really wild and/or horrifically honest with no filter and pomni does not have the mental strength to cope, digital world or not/lh

with that being said it would take her a while to get used to you gravitating around her; i dont think she would tell you to leave her alone though. i mean, she tries to put herself in your shoes. shes losing her mind in this place and shes brand new and a grown woman. how is this effecting you? so she sticks around and just. embraces it, i think. probably checks in on you when you go to bed... kind of pauses when you ask her to stay, be it because you dont want her to go or because youre scared of monsters under the bed i think she would ultimately stay by your bed in a chair and watch over you

RAGATHA:

good news for hugging her, shes very soft thanks to the fact that shes literally a doll! honestly its rare that she would tell you to step aside so she can do something; plus like caine she generally likes to keep an eye on you to make sure youre not getting into trouble or danger,,, makes you plushies so you hang onto them when shes away and you miss her. like caine she also has a bedtime routine with you. maybe its because i just watched some adventure time today, but the ritual would be similar to sweet p's bedtime ritual (bedtime cheek kisses, tucking in, reassuring that youre loved ect ect ect) idk i just think ragatha would have that kind of energy when caring for a kid reader, clingy or not

holds

JAX:

one of the two characters who might get annoyed by your clinginess, especially in the beginning (oh boy i sure wonder who the other one is (looks at zooble)) and he might try to push you away and shoo you when you try to stick around him. might feel a little bad when he sees the sad look in your eyes when you turn away and walk away. jax, feeling bad for once? now thats rare

might try to bond with you by trying to teach you his ways of trickery; no one wants to see a kid sad, especially in a place like this and i dont think jax would be immune to your pouty face. older brother and little sibling dynamic, i think! i genuinely cannot see jax being fatherly, tbh

KINGER:

DAD KINGER DAD KINGER; do i need to say more? honestly kinger is very clingy himself with the people he cares about, given that hes lost so much he wants to make sure that those he cares about are still safe and sound. if anything, you might be the one asking him to dial it down a notch!/j

lets you snuggle up into him during bedtime stories, i think! like while the others who read to you would be sitting on a chair next to the bed, kinger would be close enough for you to lean into him if that makes sense. generally very sweet to you too, i think!

ZOOBLE:

the other one who would be a little annoyed by how clingy you are, again, especially in the beginning. zooble seems to really value their own personal time and space so its likely that they would try to set up a boundary; so you probably arent going to be able to spend every waking moment with them... that said i dont think they would exactly be... mean to you... like they dont hate you, they just tend to get irritated by small things! makes very clear communication, which is an important thing to learn! teaching moment! also cannot see them picking up a parental role, i can see them being the cool but angsty older sibling tbh. probably kind of freezes up when you hug them but does not push you away. does care deeply for you, just shows it in their own unique way

GANGLE:

oh you probably accidentally drag her around without fully meaning to! i mean im not sure how old the reader is, but lets say theyre on the younger side and they dont fully. mean to just drag gangle across the room. i mean its not like youre dragging her across the floor, at least! plus gangle is just so light, given that shes totally made of ribbon in the digital world. she doesnt really mind all the much, though... even if she did im not sure if she would speak up... lets you come and go into her room whenever, since sometimes you just miss her and she has enough trust in you not to mess with anything + sometimes you guys do arts and crafts together! yipee!

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #caine x reader #pomni x reader #ragatha x reader #jax x reader #kinger x reader #zooble x reader #gangle x reader