#my knee is non existent apparently

[synthetic-psychedelic]

Ordered a new dress, too sick to go to the event I bought it for 🥲

#that’s life #ootd #kinda #sick note #selfie #new dress #new coat #pale ass #messy bitch #my knee is non existent apparently #bdd

[johannestevans]

I came out as trans at about fifteen or sixteen, changed my name, and I’ve lived as a man since. As a young man doing my A-Levels, going to university, and working afterwards, I was out as a man, using he/him pronouns, using my actual name —

Two pictures of me, one at age 16, the other at age 19.

To people who had no idea what a trans man looked like, it was pretty easy to give people a funny look and say, “I’m a man,” in a tone that made them suddenly flustered and nervous, because cis people feel extremely guilty about misgendering another cisgender person in a way they don’t when they know you’re trans.

I was thin, had a lower-toned but still not masculine voice, didn’t have much of a chest — I got gendered correctly automatically maybe 30 or 40% of the time, and maybe up to 50% if I employed shame in the right way, implied I was cis with a hormonal imbalance, or if people assumed I was still a teenage boy rather than an adult.

To people who did know what a trans man looked like but weren’t trans themselves, talking to them was fucking excruciating.

I remember once when I was selling house alarms and some hideous cis girl asked, “Are you transgender?” and I immediately told her, “Nope,” as she kept questioning the point. Another time, I was in the back of a taxi when a man asked if I was trans, although thankfully when I told him, “Nope, just low testosterone,” he seemed to immediately believe me and back the fuck off.

It’s one of the reasons I feel conflicted about trans visibility — it’s great for other trans people to see a variety of trans representation, but cis people knowing what trans people are is a double-edged sword, because cis people are entitled, invasive, and often just straight-up weird about gender, most of all when they think they’re being allies.

When I started working at a hotel, my immediate boss was a very abusive woman — she was petty, vindictive, and because she had poor organisational skills and frequently got flustered by her own workload, she would take this out on any staff around her, whether that was her juniors, other management, or sometimes guests.

Her being abusive in the workplace wasn’t that unusual. Now and then the managers would misgender me, and I’d correct them, and they’d brush it off as they apologised, that sort of thing.

Because this manager identified as an ally, she flipped her fucking lid.

She went off on a tirade for some ten minutes about what a great ally she is, and how much she knows about and cares about trans people, and how a lot of people wouldn’t hire a trans person, and she volunteers with local queer groups (she was at the time a mediocre DJ, and frequently DJed at a local gay club), and all this bluster.

Over one (apparently needed) correction.

All she needed to do was not misgender me — a quick “sorry” might have been nice. A ten-minute rant about how she was a saint for hiring me?

Not really necessary.

Cisgender people hate trans people — and I know some cis people reading this are immediately raising their hackles and about to go “well not ALL cis people — “ because they’re allies, and it’s important that I know that they’re a good one, actually, and they’re a real ally.

But the reason that cis people have a knee-jerk negative reaction to trans people, intersex people, and any person that they have decided is gender non-conforming, the reason they respond so punishingly to our existence or to mild misbehaviours on our parts — such as demanding respect or correcting their mistakes — is because our very existence is an interruption to their worldview, the ideologies and biases by which they live.

They should know what a man is just by looking at one, and if they get it wrong, that’s embarrassing for them — because to cisgender people the binary male-female divide is crucial to the way they respect or disrespect others, people that interrupt their thinking on it can trigger a lot of rage and upset. A trans person represents a frightening challenge — what if they accidentally treated a man with the casual disrespect that is rightfully allotted women? What if they sexually objectified a man thinking he was a woman, and it made them gay for a moment?

If they think you’re cisgender and heterosexual enough, any of these things are their fault, and they feel very bad about them.

But if you’re trans?

Well, it’s your fault for existing that way, right? You’re the one doing genders wrong — they’re not the one that made the error!

There’s a particular rage reserved for trans men, lesbians, and any other trans or GNC person that’s perceived as being “biologically female” — because society feels the greatest gender-based entitlement over these people’s bodies, in large part due to institutional misogyny, we’re perceived as gender traitors.

Cis men hate us because we’ve ruined what they perceived as a resource for them — a source of sexual gratification and aesthetic pleasure, a breeding vessel for birthing babies, not to mention a mother with all the domestic labour that comes with; cis women hate us because they perceive us as gaining all the privileges of being male, of gaming the system, and at the same time breaking what they sometimes feel is a sort of sacred trust of femininity.

In order to cope with institutional misogyny, some cis women effectively craft a further gender-based bioessentialism — if you have a uterus and are perceived as a woman by society, you’re not just physically capable of birthing a child. You must also innately have the traits of an ideal mother — you must be nurturing and lovely, you must be caring, you must have the correct emotions, you must be submissive in the right way. But also, a woman like this must be cleverer than a man, and if she effectively parents or cares for the men in her life, she just does that because she is so smart, and men are so stupid.

Again, trans people represent an interruption to that mode of thinking. If trans people are real, and we’re the genders we say we are, all of that ideology is nonsense.

If I, a trans man, can just “choose” to be a man, doesn’t that mean that every woman that experiences misogyny is just “choosing” misogynistic abuse?

The fact that as a trans man, I experience abuses that are linked to misogyny is irrelevant — that I’m at a higher risk of sexual abuse, that medical professionals dismiss my symptoms as soon as some of them realise I’m “really” a woman and cease my treatment or cease treating me with the respect due a man; that people dismiss me and dehumanise me, either because they think I’m transgender, and therefore a lesser being, or an ugly and not sexually available woman, and therefore a lesser being.

If I’m a trans man, I must experience male privilege — why else would I choose to be trans?

And if I don’t experience male privilege in every situation, because people don’t always consider me male or legitimately male, or if male privilege in any given situation I experience is actually complicated by other factors, such as race, disability, sexuality, and so on, then I must be lying.

Passing privilege isn’t the same as male privilege — passing privilege generally refers to the privileges a transgender person experiences because they reliably pass as cisgender.

I don’t think that it’s universal — “passing privilege” assumes that everyone passes in all situations, and while I would say that I pass very reliably in a lot of mine now that I’m several years on T and my second puberty has been very good to me, this doesn’t apply everywhere.

When I’m in the hospital, for example, or otherwise seeing a doctor, I get treated with even more hostility — partially because most cis doctors practice misogyny-based medicine and are more likely to dismiss women’s symptoms or generally give them worse medical care, especially male doctors treating women. In my experience, cis female doctors are more likely to punish me for being transgender than a cis male one is.

I’ve noticed multiple times going to see a doctor, being treated as a man with all my pain or symptoms being treated as a concern, and then abruptly there’s a sudden withdrawal of care and concern when the doctor either realises I’m transgender and/or realises I’m “really” a woman.

But the thing is?

I’m pretty sure that the reason I suddenly receive such aggressive negative response is because I pass so well. When cis people realise that I’m trans, they feel even angrier and more personally betrayed, because I’ve so thoroughly “tricked” them by being a man without their permission.

Me at 24, about a year on testosterone; me at 25, about two years on testosterone. Same blouse, same vest.

But in general, day-to-day life — yeah, I’m perceived as a cis man.

Notably, a cis gay man.

Regularly, other trans guys and some butches tell me that as they began to present in ways perceived as more masculine, they noticed that women in public responded to them differently.

If they were out at night and a woman was walking alone nearby, she might cross the street to be a bit further away from them; she might choose to sit elsewhere rather than be near them on a bench; a woman alone might not want to share a lift with them.

I thought this was interesting the first few times I heard it — I hear it all the time, and it still strikes me as curious, because I don’t experience the same thing at all.

I’ve never had a woman walk away from me, or be careful not to be alone with me. Frequently, women strike up conversation with me in public, they chat to me on buses the way they might with other women — a little while ago I was waiting for my boyfriend to pick me up from the airport, and a young girl of 19 or so actually came up to me to ask if she could hotspot off my phone for a second and to ask me for directions.

It’s not that women alone shouldn’t strike up conversation with men, or shouldn’t be alone with them — but just to avoid any potential discomfort or risk of being harassed, many of them understandably avoid it.

But a lot of women see me in the street or in public places, and when they perform their internal risk assessment, I don’t prompt a red flag.

Part of it is that I’m skinny and white, sure — I’m not very physically intimidating in terms of my size, and I’m not racialised in the way many Black and dark-skinned men and boys are. Sometimes, I’m using a mobility aid like a cane, and that makes a difference, too.

But as a rule, I’m pretty. I wear make-up — I often wear face stickers and have visible “tattoos”. I’m fussy about my hair, and it shows. I dress in bright prints and florals, I wear silks and satins, I wear waistcoats and high-waisted jeans, I wear block heels.

When I walk, I sashay my hips. I hold my hands in a delicate way — I gesticulate freely, and I move my fingers when I do so in an effete way. If they hear me talk, people often guess from my accent that I’m English rather than Welsh, and that I’m more educated than I am, not to mention significantly posher.

The average cishet stranger in the street absolutely sees me as a man — and they exclusively see me as a gay one. No one ever mistakes me for a straight one, and that absolutely affects the way I’m treated.

I couldn’t possibly pose a threat of sexual harassment in many women’s eyes, because I’m obviously gay, and many cis straight women feel very comfortable with — if not entitled to — gay men’s companionship, especially white gays with effete mannerisms.

When talking about gender-based privileges for trans men and mascs, we don’t tend to consider any impact that perceptions of our sexuality can have, but because of the way gay men are sorted into a different subclass of cis masculinity than straight men, there’s a noticeable impact.

Straight people sometimes roll their eyes or look amused when they think I’m being particularly dramatic or gay; occasionally straight men wolf-whistle at me or make comments about how gay I look; people strike up conversations with me about RuPaul’s Drag Race, start chattering to me about drag, because they just assume that’s the sort of thing I would be into. I get looks sometimes on the bus if I’m chatting with friends or on the phone, or sometimes if I’m just there in front of them and I look very gay.

Most of this isn’t incredibly malicious — is it homophobic? Sure, sometimes. A lot of it is just straight people trying to understand what they think is gay culture the best way they know how.

Parents with kids actually make me the most nervous — not because there’s any danger posed by the kids themselves most of the time, but because parents can be the most vicious when it comes to homophobia. They’ll accuse gay men of being paedophiles just for existing in public and seeming a bit fruity, or they’ll get nervous about how gay someone looks in case their kids ask questions about it.

And kids do find how I look interesting — all the time, I’ll be out in public, and a kid will notice that my nails are painted or that I’m wearing high heels or that they see tattoos on my face, and they’ll ask their parents about it.

It’s anxiety-inducing for any parent when their child starts acting about a stranger’s appearance where the stranger can hear them, because they get worried about the potential impoliteness — when that stranger is a faggot, some of them get angry at me, because once again, even without their knowing I’m transgender, I’m interrupting their worldview of what the correct gendered behaviours are, forcing them to think about it, forcing them to explain aberrations to their kids.

A “normal”, “real” man is straight, after all, and does straight men’s things, like dress badly and sexually harass women and get ugly haircuts. It’s confusing, if I’m out on the streets looking fuckable.

The last time I was travelling, I was sitting in a restaurant in the airport, and some boys at the next table were staring at me.

“Dad, why is that man wearing makeup?”

“I don’t know, some men wear it.”

“How come?”

“…”

It is a truth universally acknowledged that wherever a faggot goes, little boys will be asking their mildly homophobic but well-meaning and liberal parents questions about that man’s physical appearance.

A classic response, and one that I overhear often, was this man’s retort: “Why don’t you go and ask him?”

Sometimes teenagers and kids laugh at how I dress, especially if they’re in groups together — and especially, too, if there’s a bunch of us visible queers together.

One thing I’ve noticed about wearing crop-tops is that some people get het-up about how hairy I am and the hair visible on my belly, or under my arms if I’m wearing a vest — because some straight people see a white twink and want to reclassify him as being part of the woman subcategory instead of the man subcategory (based on his assumed sexual availability to men), they then apply women’s rules of physical appearance to him.

After all, if I’m wearing makeup and high heels and high-waisted jeans and a crop-top, that’s like how a woman dresses — and if I’m going to dress like a woman even though I’m obviously a man, I should be held to the standards a woman would be too. I should be hairless and odourless, like a sexy child, because “sexy child” is the ideal for an attractive woman, right?

Some cishet women also hate how I dress and instead of laughing or grumbling about it in the way that cishet men do, they wrinkle their noses and get really quite scornful about it.

Some of those women’s husbands are secretly on Grindr (I know because I have sex with them), and I believe this is the closest they get to facing their suspicions as to their husbands’ bisexuality.

A photo of me from earlier this month, age 26.

I started taking testosterone some months before the pandemic started, but experienced the bulk of my second puberty’s physical effects over the course of the following years.

Subsequently, when I went to a queer event being run after about two years on testosterone, many people there hadn’t seen me out in some time. I got a lot of looks and a lot of interest, especially from other queer men, in a way I never had before — I always got a lot of engagement and looks, but many cis gay men would take a little while to warm up to the idea of me as a man if they knew or suspected I was trans.

Maybe it’s just because I’m hotter, though, right? I’m hardly the only person to go through a glow-up on HRT, and I certainly feel more attractive.

Except that several of the older men looking at me were men I’d known casually for years — and a bunch of them came up and introduced themselves. Said hi, what’s your name, I’m x, it’s nice to meet you, are you new to the city?

Because up ’til then, they really hadn’t much looked at me in much detail. Many of these men had heard me give talks, had talked to me in queer bars, had met me at one event or another, and I just hadn’t stuck in their minds — they certainly hadn’t come up and spoken to me before, let alone with such enthusiasm.

And I do want to say, like —

None of these men would call themselves anti-trans — they’d try to use the right pronouns, they’d say that there should be trans events on, and so on. But there’s still going to be unconscious biases there — whether up ’til now they saw me as a woman (and therefore just looked past me) or saw me as trans (and therefore just looked past me), suddenly I was a fully realised human being. Maybe I was attractive and fuckable to some of them — but crucially, I was also another gay man, and therefore real and worth talking to.

And I will say that this isn’t all older gay men in my community or even like, a massive majority of them — but it was enough older gay men to be noticeable.

Even entering into new gay spaces, queer men tend to be friendlier to me than they used to, more outgoing in conversation, chattier, etc.

That’s obviously not necessarily because I’m trans — like I said, I’m also hotter than I used to be, I’m older, more educated, I dress better and more confidently, etc. There’s other factors at play, and I’m not comparing friendliness to cruelty or coldness — I’m comparing it to polite apathy, which was often mild enough that I wasn’t hugely affected by it pre-T.

Some men do treat me a little coldly, but from what I can tell it’s not usually because they suspect or know I’m trans — a lot of the time it’s actually because I’m so faggy and effeminate, or they just don’t trust that I’m gonna be cool because I’m so young.

Mixed queer spaces can be another story.

Other queer people my age have often found me intimidating — I’m a pretty outspoken person, my politics are more aggressive leftwing than many people’s, and as a autistic, I speak plainly and directly in a way that a lot of people don’t care for, or can find scary and overwhelming.

Now, though?

The response to my perceived aggression is a lot more dramatic and avoidant — because now they assume I’m a cisgender man.

People often interpret me as angry or aggressive when I’m not — I can sometimes be somewhat flat in my affect, I can be a very blunt communicator, I don’t tend to beat around the bush when it comes to my opinions. All of these are pretty standard as an autistic guy, and a lot of other people have experienced the same thing I have — the interpretation of those personality traits as aggressive or argumentative.

But it’s been interesting experiencing the negative response ramp up so much as soon as I’m perceived as “really” male, even by other transmascs, queer people, and trans men.

It can be strange at times navigating broader trans spaces as someone who doesn’t look trans in the way even other trans people expect you to, where they just assume that you’re cisgender, or that as someone who already passes and has therefore “finished” your journey as a trans person, there’s less reason for you to be in community with other trans people.

Especially when it comes to trauma like…

There is an assumption by many young queer people that cis gay people are just fine now, that homophobia doesn’t impact them in the traumatic way it did older generations, or that homophobia is no longer an active impact on people’s lives — I obviously am transgender, but to be brushed off with the assumption I haven’t experienced the same extent of bigotry or negative experience because I appear cisgender always strikes me as fucked up when of course a lot of cis men have had similar life experiences to me, or worse.

I will say that again, the negative responses are from a minority, just big enough to be noticeable, and the more people talk to me, the more they relax a little about the whole thing.

It’s still funny though, like —

I met some trans friends of a partner recently, and I came downstairs without a shirt on because I was hurriedly multitasking, and watched her do a double take at my chest.

I laughed and was like, “Did you not realise I was trans?”

And she went, “No!” and we had a giggle about it.

Most of the time meeting other queer people across the board, I’m extended care and compassion and love — it’s just weird, I think, being so aware of the gendered differences in how people speak with and apparently perceive me, and how things have and do change, especially because people assume transmasculinity means a one-way journey to Male Privilege, and all the benefits it can come with.

As with any and everything else, these matters come with nuance and layers, and nothing is as simple as A to B with no complications.

#musings #transgender #trans rights #trans man #trans mlm

[fayeriess]

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ SINNED SOIL ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

astarion ancunin x gn!reader

summary: after a restless night, astarion finds himself seeking comfort. your tent is where he finds it.

warnings: some angst?? a little fluff, not proof-read

a/n: this is my first one-shot for bg3, and i'm lowkey excited?? not as familiar with the game as i'd like to be ( on my first unfinished playthrough ) so bare with me

There’s a nagging in the crevices of the fluid that occupies Astarion’s skull; aside from the tadpole wriggling about - making home directly in his frontal lobe. He tightens his jaw, grinding his teeth together so harshly that he could feel his spine reverberate in the process; a small pinch near his salivary gland. 

This is a recurrence- something he hates dearly with his non-existent soul; thinking. Even though his heart no longer thrummed in his chest, the air was long gone from his lungs, and cold permanently tainting his body, he still had his thoughts.

More often than not, that bothered him severely. No, it tortured him as he lay mindlessly blinking in the darkness of his tent, arms pin-straight by his side, lips pressed together to keep from wobbling slightly. 

He supposes he could cry, albeit having to be silent about it. Astarion’s done it before; in the musky abyss in one of Cazador’s many dungeons underneath his luxurious castle of torment, but it’s difficult tonight. Clenching his left fist, he felt the blood drain from his knuckles as the even ridges of his fingernails indent his frigid palm, the muscle of his tongue darting out between his teeth to graze over chapped lips.

Through the silence that seemed to suffocate him slowly, his pointy ears perked at the constant chirping of crickets and the crackling of the firewood a few feet away from his bedroll. Astarion was coming to realize that those sounds sounded oddly serene; nature. The grass, the moon, the sun. Oh, how warm it had felt on his marble skin. A nice low heat to the teeth-chattering ice that sat dormant in his veins. He could practically bathe in it, arms outstretched toward the big ball of fire in the sky, trickles of light seeping through his pores, heating every fiber of his being.

It basked his figure in a glow so bright and fuzzy that Astarion swore his dead heart actually skipped quite a few beats, a low buzz in his sternum. He cherished it.

It was something he would never utter aloud, his sharp tongue suddenly dulling when he felt his gaze soften during interactions, a subtle but noticeable change in his mood he always tries to mask with his cracking facade. Vulnerability did not look good on him as much as his prized tunics did.

Letting a sigh seep out into the chilled night air through glossy, spit-covered teeth, Astarion shuffled within the comfort of his bedroll, his bones cracking slightly as he rose to his knees slowly. Blinking back the burn developing in his sockets, he lifted an index finger to wipe at his hooded lids, sharp canines puncturing a pillowed bottom lip. 

Secretly, he hoped that no one would be able to tell how stressful he’s been lately, especially you. You could always read people like an open book; a story laid bare before you - cut and dry and easy to decipher. It didn’t take much for you to come to simple conclusions in dire situations of need. Everyone else in your small group could attest to that with blind faith.

That was something that made the pale elf roll his eyes in slight distaste, as if your actions were something that inconvenienced him severely, as if everything you said was something he was supposed to agree with. But, you weren’t like that.

Astarion figured that out under the glow of the moonlight, hidden by thick tree branches and surrounded by the overwhelming smell of dewed grass merely a month ago, back when his attempts to bed you were more than apparent. His brows had furrowed in confusion then, a small pang in his chest as if the knife lodged within the tissue of his heart was dipped in poison. He was confused. For the first time in a while the elf was confused as to why you didn’t take him as you saw fit that night. 

Closing his eyes, Astarion took a wasteful breath, feeling as if it was needed in the moment as his lashes brushed against the blotches of watercolor black, blue and purple that adorned his under eyes, hand reached out to swat away the flap of his tent soon after.

Crimson eyes darted to look through the treelines, a sense of alert flooding through his body as leaves rubbed together, sounding like crumpled parchment as he averted his gaze to Karlach’s back, her nightwear frumpled as she hunched over, sharpening one of the many weapons laid out on the soil next to her; dirty and dull. 

Shuffling past her as quietly as he could, Astarion blew air from between his lips in hopes of adjusting the snowy white coil of hair that blocked his vision, making his way to your tent. A certain hunger arose in him when his pointed ears picked up the sound of your blood flowing through thick veins, sweet like the rolls you’d occasionally bring to the camp from a nearby trader if they had a few.

His throat is dry, the thirst for your blood creeping up on him just like the soft spot for you had after you had confided in him after accidentally bearing witness to the angry scars that littered the expanse of his back, a constant itch to follow the raised skin. He knew you wouldn’t refuse his request to drink from you, having let him sink his teeth into the pulse point of your neck multiple times to keep his hunger at bay. 

Nocturnal animals didn’t satiate his cravings as much as your essence did. It was a pull stronger than he ever thought possible, even if his belly was full - he was not, not until he had your sweet, sweet blood pooling at the tip of his tongue. Instinctively, his upper lip curled, teeth bared before he swiped the muscle of his tongue over them, swallowing the sandpaper that covered his esophagus. 

“‘Starion?” Your small whisper carried in the wind, straight to his ears. 

Within the thin fabric of your tent, he could hear you shuffling about before your head peaked out from the open flap, eyes still ridden with sleep looking up at his towering frame through long lashes. “What are you doing?”

“Restless night.” 

At that, your brows furrowed, warm, clammy palm cupping his; an invitation inside your private space which he accepted without another word.

In the darkness, he could make out the array of worn out pillows covering every inch of the small space, alongside a couple of different items from past journeys and small trinkets that reminded you of your childhood; innocence lost. He figured it was something you were trying to gain back - a sense of control over your dysfunctional life.

Crouching down, his knees ached slightly, palms flat against the ground before making himself as comfortable as he possibly could given thoughts plaguing his mind. With narrowed eyes, he watched as you spun on your bottom to face him, knees knocking with his as you pressed your lips together thinly. 

“I must admit I'm struggling to find peace tonight as well.” Mumbling, your hand raised to smooth over the goosebumps that had found their way to the surface of your arms, raising every individual hair. “Dreams become much too vivid to me now.”

Leaning as far back into the pile of pillows as he could, he could see your eyes, glossy and wide as they locked onto his. “Do tell, darling.” 

His tone is slightly playful, a small inch of concern weaved between his words as his spine stiffened from his position. 

Huffing, your shoulders lifted in a small shrug before falling back into place, ears growing hot from the embarrassment oozing through your pores. You weren’t one to confide in others about your state of distress, especially to those who you deem untrustworthy. 

This was merely a Freudian slip, a loose tongue, but you continued despite everything in you telling you to sew your lips closed with thick thread. 

“There was this… looming sense of dread in my dreams. I was in a field of tall grass, it reminded me of this meadow my father used to take me to when I was ten and one.” Your voice trailed, the scenery of a multitude of flowers and lucious, bright green grass appearing in the forefront of your mind. “I can still smell the manure of the nearby pigpens, but everything was just so bleak. I’m sure I was alone, and even though I somehow knew it wasn’t real, everything else felt like it was. There was a red rose sitting in a bed of white ones, almost as if it was being cushioned just for me.” He could hear the smile in your words, although from the tone of your voice, he could tell that it wasn’t a genuine one. 

“I reached out toward it, and then felt a slight pinch almost as if something poked me.” rubbing the pads of your thumb and index finger together, you stared at them, expecting a trickle of dotted blood to seep from the barely visible wound you had received in the meadow in the crevices of your mind. “It was a thorn, a big one at that. That’s when I woke up, and then I saw your shadow outside…”

The pause that followed was one of comfort, a way for you to know that the vampire before you was listening, grasping onto each word uttered through chapped lips, your warm breath on his face.

Astarion gnawed on his bottom lip gently, careful of his two sharper teeth as his gaze never left your troubled face, a twinge of empathy. “I have those dreams sometimes too. When I let my eyes drift shut, there’s a sort of vulnerability that follows; renders me defenseless.” 

You nodded in the darkness, grasping onto the words that he forced out of his throat like bile, unwanted and already digested. Astarion was a secretive person, for many reasons that were acceptable, drenched in endless pain and suffering. “My skin still burns. It’s all so fresh.” 

Scooting beside him, you cautiously took notice of the way he curled into himself, knees now tucked into his chest as he raised a hand toward his back, sliding it under his shirt to let his fingers ghost over the scars on his back. The muscles in his face contort, a pained expression painting his face, no developing laughter lines, no crows feet at the corners of his eyes. He was forever a little star; his name a memory of a past he can’t recall.

“He can no longer touch you.” You stated firmly, each word spat with venom. It was true as far as you were concerned. You’d never lie to Astarion. You’d never lie to any of your friends about the impending death that loomed over them, the blood that would be on their hands in the following weeks as you continue your trek to Baldur’s Gate. 

“You’d think after being a slave for nearly three centuries that I'd bask in the glory that freedom has to offer me.” A curt, bitter laugh escapes his lips as he throws his hands in the air, “But I-I can’t, and I have no idea why.” 

Twisting your neck just a couple of inches, you stared at the side of his face, bottom lip tucked between your teeth. 

Astarion could hear how loudly your heart thumped in the solace of your ribcage, the blood flowing through your veins, the quiet hum of your throat as you swallowed. And for once - he wills himself to think about life without his affliction, even if just for a second before he could no longer stand to see himself so meek and small, so… helpless.

“It’s the fear he instilled within you. He tormented you your entire existence and it’s not something you can let go of so easily, I un-”

“Please don’t tell me you understand.” His words were nothing above a whisper as he leaned closer, the material of his sleep shirt rubbing against yours before you felt the chill of his skin on your upper arm. 

In those rare moments of genuine words exchanged between the both of you in the safety of each other's company, you had never seen him so fearful. Fearful of becoming a slave for the desires and sexual needs of others  once more, hands forever touching bodies he’d force himself to forget, washing the dirt and grime off of every crevice of himself with tears in his eyes and silent sobs. “I’ll never return to that, to him.”

“I won’t let that happen. You’re more than what he created you to be.”

Hesitantly, you wrapped an arm around his shoulder, causing his spine to grow rigid for the third time it seemed, before he melted under your touch, soft curls tickling the skin under your jaw before he buried his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of lavender and pine wood that always seemed to be glued to you. It wasn’t the first time you’ve touched Astarion like this, in an intimate way, without the premise of sex in the foreground, but this time felt different. 

It was different.

You were more soft than he realized, weren’t you? Astarion thought himself to be nothing concerning a warm-hearted, selfless individual. He was anything but. Bred for destruction and submission, bloodletted countless times through frantic and harsh whips, lashes - anything that could make the smell of his coppery perfume permeate the air.

However, for once in his eternal existence Astarion realized he felt something that had grown foreign to him; love.

Love for you. 

Love for himself. 

And he’d be damned if the sinned soil of this earth took any of that away from him.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion bg3 #astarion x you #astarion imagine #baldur's gate 3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 x you #astarion

[avatar-anna]

Baby Mine

or just young dadrry being a dad

Young Dad! Harry x Young Mom! Reader

Reality struck Harry in the face when he realized Y/n was showing.

The text he got from Y/n saying she was pregnant? Mind-blowing, but also a little surreal. The conversations he had with his parents and management? An out of body experience. But seeing Y/n with a baby bump for the first time, with his baby? His knees nearly buckled from the stark realization that this was actually happening.

He was going to be a dad.

It was a terrifying thought. Harry was still a kid himself—in all the ways that mattered, anyway. He played video games with his mates, he stayed out late on the weekends, and it felt like just yesterday that he'd gotten his driver's license. He could barely successfully cook pasta, let alone take care of his own child.

And Y/n, the girl he'd only known for a short couple months. The girl he really liked to the point where he still talked to her even after his trip to LA was over, she was here with him, on tour, walking around in his hotel room in one of his t-shirts, her stomach stretching the soft material just enough to be noticeable.

"I thought we could have dinner together," she said, coming over to where Harry was still holding vigil by the door. "I was craving Mexican and I remembered you saying you liked tacos, so I did a little exploring, and voila."

His eyes darted over Y/n's shoulder, and there were in fact various Mexican dishes wrapped up in foil packaging. It smelled good too, but it wasn't quite enough to pull Harry from his stupor.

"I...I'm meeting someone. The boys. For dinner," he said.

It wasn't quite enough to pull his head out of his ass apparently, either.

"Oh."

Y/n blushed, her gaze flickering away from his. Harry felt like a dick, especially since it wasn't true. But he freaked out. He was freaking out. Playing house—or hotel—with a girl he barely knew and pretending it was perfectly normal for them to prepare to have a baby together was too much. All of a sudden, it was all too much.

"Have—Have fun, then. I'll probably head back to my room, I guess."

It was painfully awkward, but Harry didn't know how to make it better. So, like the grown adult he wasn't, he mumbled a reply and skirted around Y/n to set his duffle bag down before mumbling his goodbyes and leaving again.

He was gone for maybe an hour. While he was gone, he walked around aimlessly, letting himself get lost in an unfamiliar city. And in all that walking, he gave himself time to think.

Harry knew he'd been an ass. Y/n hadn't done anything wrong, and knowing that he disappointed her made him upset. Because the truth was, he really liked her. She shared his stupid sense of humor, she liked the music he liked, she had a cute little birthmark on her right shoulder that Harry couldn't help but feel compelled to kiss whenever he saw it. She was beautiful and smart and outgoing.

And now she was having his baby.

They were both to blame for that. Both of them had been careless that particular night, but Y/n had been clear to Harry when she told him about her being pregnant. "I want to have it, but I'm also not going to force you to have it with me," she'd told him when they eventually had a phone conversation. "I don't, like, expect anything from you, but I just didn't think it would be right if I kept this a secret from you."

"How did your parents take it?" Harry had asked because her voice contained a steely nerve that was deflecting non-existent judgement.

"Not great, but they'll come around. Eventually. I hope."

She'd said the last part so quietly, as if she wasn't truly sure her parents would actually accept the fact that their daughter was pregnant.

"I want to help," he blurted.

Y/n had looked at him with wide eyes, and a pang of guilt lanced through him at her surprise. She'd genuinely thought he'd leave her high and dry.

"Help?"

"I—I want to be a part of this, or help you raise it—the baby. I want to help. Like we're a team—Not a team. Like a—"

"A team. I like that."

Harry had been glad to be put out of his misery, though to his credit, he never imagined ever having this conversation, and he at least hadn't cried yet.

"You do?"

"Yeah. I think family is too much right now," Y/n said. "But a team...a team looks out for each other. Makes each other better."

So they were a team, though clearly Harry had been dropping the ball recently.

He was just...scared. Terrified. But he could only imagine what Y/n was thinking, how she was feeling. Since she'd joined him on tour, they talked about everything but the baby. Whether that was conscious or subconscious on either of their parts, Harry wasn't sure, but he knew they couldn't skirt around the subject forever. When he first told his mum about Y/n being pregnant, Harry insisted that he could do this, that he was grown enough to raise a baby. He wasn't exactly sure how true that statement was, but one thing he did know was that he could do much better than he was now.

When he got back to the hotel, Y/n was spread out along the plush sofa, eyes closed and arm resting idly on her belly. Harry wasn't so scared at seeing the bump this time around. In fact, a part of him was a little excited.

Y/n startled a little when Harry knelt by her side, her eyes bleary and a little red. "Sorry. I was gonna go, but I sat down for a moment and—"

"Nothing to be sorry for," Harry interrupted. "I'm sorry, actually. I was kind of an ass earlier."

Shaking her head, she said, "We don't owe each other anything. It's not like we're—"

"But I want to. I know things have been a little awkward, but I like you, Y/n. A lot. That hasn't changed."

"Really?" Y/n asked, and Harry felt bad when she sounded so unsure.

"Really. We...obviously didn't expect this to happen, but I want this. With you. Even if we are a little young and out of our depth here."

Y/n laughed. "Try a lot."

Harry grinned, resting his hand over hers where she was still holding her belly. "But we'll learn. Together. We're a team, right?"

Her eyes softened then. She ran a hand through his curls, the touch delicate but comforting, and Harry couldn't help but lean into her touch. "Yeah. We're a team."

They stayed like that for a minute, maybe two, but Harry eventually straightened, his grin widening as he said, "Right then. We should welcome the newest member of our team, shouldn't we?"

Y/n giggled as Harry shuffled around until he was face to face with Y/n's stomach. He lifted her shirt gently, his breath catching when he saw the baby bump up close.

"Hello there...baby. I'm Harry. Your dad," he said, only feeling a little silly. "You don't have a name yet, but I just wanted you to know that I love you, and your mum loves you, and even though we're a little on the young side, we're gonna take care of you the best we can. And so will your uncles."

"That was sweet, H," Y/n said, her fingers tracing the side of his cheek. "And...I do have a name in mind."

"You do? I didn't know that."

Y/n gave him a smile that felt like she was teasing him. "Because I'm telling you now. I've been testing it out in my head for a few days."

If Harry thought the baby bump made all of this real, talking about potential names would definitely do that. But whether he was ready or not, this was happening.

"Alright. Hit me with it."

A small smile creeped onto Y/n's face. "Simone."

"Simone," Harry repeated, trying it out for himself. "How'd you land on Simone?"

Y/n shrugged casually, but Harry knew that she put thought into it, that this name meant something to her. "It's pretty, and, I don't know, we talked about Nina Simone on our first date. It seemed right."

Thinking about their first proper date gave Harry butterflies. He remembered how nervous he was to go out with Y/n, spending an embarrassing amount of time picking out the right clothes and fixing his hair. But when he actually met her at the spot they agreed on, all his nerves went away, and he spent the whole date marveling at the fact that he was on a date with Y/n and all the things they had in common and how he didn't want it to end.

"It's perfect," Harry agreed, then bent his head to kiss Y/n's belly. "Hi, Simone. I can't wait to meet you."

A few months later

"Do you want to hold her?"

Y/n was in her hospital bed, hair hanging limp around her shoulders. She looked tired beyond belief, but she was smiling brightly at Harry as she held a little bundle of blankets, one of which was his mother's handiwork, Harry realized.

He found himself nodding, and before he was maybe ready, Y/n passed the baby over to him, and he was holding her. His daughter.

Harry looked down, a swirl of emotions squeezing his heart. She was asleep, the world's tiniest hand pressed against her cheek while she took deep breaths. Logically, he knew she didn't have any distinguishable features yet, but Harry felt like he could see himself and Y/n in her. Just gazing at her little face, he felt like he could see the next fifteen years playing out—the first words and steps, seeing Y/n holding her backstage, recitals and sports games, school projects, first loves, all of it.

An overwhelming feeling Harry couldn't name washed over him. It brought tears to his eyes as he realized just how much he loved her, how much he was willing to bend over backwards and protect her. And when he was able to break away from looking at her for a second, he found Y/n's gaze and saw the same look in her eyes, and one of understanding too.

Harry looked back down at his daughter, that overwhelming feeling rushing through him again, and for a moment, he wondered if that would ever go away. He wasn't sure he wanted it to.

"Hi baby," he whispered. Bending his head down, he kissed her forehead. "Hi, Simone. Welcome to our little family."

He knew Y/n was listening, but he didn't mind. It felt right that it was just the three of them sharing this little moment before everyone else flooded in to see the baby.

"We're a little unconventional as far as families go, and you'll probably have a different childhood than other kids," he said, not caring that Simone couldn't hear or understand him. He needed to say it. "But I'll love you with all my heart, and so will your mummy. You'll want for nothing because we'll give you the world, but you might have to be a little patient with us because we're new to the parenting thing.

"But I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy," he continued, his voice breaking. "I'll never let you feel unloved. I'll change your nappies and wipe your tears and make you smile. I'll be the best daddy for you. I promise."

Harry didn't know what the future held, but that he was sure of. He'd been scared and anxious the last few months, but now that he was standing in a hospital room holding his newborn daughter, he didn't want to give her, or Y/n, anything less than what they deserved.

Years later

"Dad, you're squeezing too hard."

"I don't care. My baby's abandoning me."

"I'm going to college!"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

Simone began to squirm, but Harry still wouldn't let up. He was currently in the process of blinking back tears, and didn't want her to notice when he eventually did pull away.

"I'll be back for Fall Break," she said quietly, giving into the hug and squeezing Harry tight.

Harry took a deep breath and let go, even though he wasn't exactly ready to. Mustering a smile, he said, "I know. I'm just going to miss you. You're my baby."

Simone didn't balk or roll her eyes or contradict him, she just gripped the straps of her backpack as she gave him a wobbly smile. "You have plenty of babies to take care of at home."

Harry grinned and looked behind him where Y/n was keeping watch over the rest of the Styles family, though none of them were really babies anymore.

Looking back at Simone, he said, "Behave yourself, okay? Don't do anything Uncle Louis would do. And no boys for at least a month, please?"

Simone did roll her eyes then. "Sure, Dad."

That wasn't totally convincing, but he knew it was the best he was going to get. Harry pulled Simone in for one last hug, memories of the last eighteen years playing in his mind like a fast forward reel. Part of him couldn't believe he was already dropping Simone off for her first year of college, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to let her go. When he looked at her, he could still see the little baby he held for the first time, the one he promised to protect and do his best to raise. He hoped he fulfilled that promise.

"I love you, bug. Call me if you need anything. Any time, any place, you call me, okay?"

Tears appeared in Simone's eyes as she nodded. When Harry was ready, he finally stepped back and walked back toward Y/n and the rest of his family. As everyone got in the car Simone watched, waving to her siblings from the curb until Harry eventually peeled out of his spot, feeling like he was leaving part of his heart behind.

"Can we get something to eat?"

"In-N-Out!"

"There's no In-N-Out here!"

"A burger does sound good."

"Skip the song, please!"

"Play One Direction!"

Harry smiled as he shared a look with Y/n. He already missed Simone, but he knew she would be okay. And he found that it was easier—not by a lot but easier—to miss someone when there were five other babies, who weren't really babies anymore, to look after.

#harry styles #young dad! harry #young mom! reader #young dadrry #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

[mangoshorthand]

heyy could i maybe request a oneshot where sub five gets marked up by the reader like hickeys and bite marks all over his throught and collarbone as well as his lower torso😻 and as the reader progresses he whimpers and is whiny the whole time and at the end he looks himself in the mirror and hes just so inlove with it? 😩

sorry if its a bit messy😭 have a great night/day :))

Great prompt. Hope you enjoy :). I promise the next ask prompt I answer will be non smut.

Your Desperate Man | Five Hargreeves/ GN Reader 2.8k words, Rated E

There were no two ways about it: Five was hot. 

If you were to set him beside Diego, you definitely wouldn’t notice Five first, but he would be the one you'd leave the conversation thinking about. All Diego’s leather-bound muscles may as well not exist beside Five’s acerbic tongue, quiet good looks and the firm self-assurance in his intelligent green eyes. 

So you could hardly resent it when others noticed. Why would you hate someone for sharing your good taste? Whenever you noticed him turning heads, your first instinct was one of fellow-feeling. You almost wanted to say, ‘I know, right?!’ and share a high-five. 

So, no, you didn’t get jealous easily.

…But that bitch was getting on your last nerve.

It started a few months ago. She was a friend of Sloane’s who hung around the Academy like a bad smell. Ever since she met him, she latched onto him like a tick and, as soon as she could feasibly describe him as her friend, she came to spend time with him as much as possible, looking for his insight on some problem or another. 

She was a mathematician, meaning that she could follow most of his logic when he talked about his latest projects. She could flatter him by learning from him and coming back a few days later with an improvement to her own work. 

If you were jealous of anything, you were jealous of that. 

Despite how he might look, Five was not perfect: he had an ego, and Alex knew exactly how to stroke it. And that was fine, in your opinion- so long as his ego was the only thing he let her stroke. 

She nodded along and acted impressed and asked all the right questions and subtly flattered him and laughed at his jokes and made absolutely any excuse she could to touch his arm or his knee; to hug him hello and goodbye and she did it ALL while you were right there.

Fuck her!

But you trusted Five. He could see right through her, of course, but that didn’t stop him enjoying the attention. He rebuffed her with a perfect mix of politeness and friendliness, but he’d still leave most of his conversations with her with a swagger in his walk and an ironic smile directed at you. 

‘Old dog’s still got it,’ that smile said.

You trusted that he had it under control, and he did actually like her as a person for some unknown reason, so you contented yourself with telling him your concerns. He agreed that they weren’t unfounded and reassured you that her feelings were definitely not reciprocated. 

So, when you walked past the door of his father’s study one afternoon when she was over, you weren’t intending to listen outside the door, but the snatch of conversation you heard as you passed made you stop dead.

“I had a dream about you last night.”

“Something about invariant theory, I bet.”

“No,” she said, coyly.

There was a moment of silence in which she was clearly trying to get him to enquire what it was about, but he didn’t give her the satisfaction.

“Right. So this stuff is child’s play,” he said, returning to the math as if she hadn’t spoken, “it’s pretty much Hilbert’s thirteenth, which I’m sure you’re familiar with. We’ve got to think about whether these functions can be written as a composite-”

“Don’t you want to know what happened in my dream?” she interrupted him. 

There was a moment or two of silence before he replied.

“Not particularly. Now, would you like me to go on with the math or do you have somewhere to be?”

Satisfied, you continued on your path elsewhere. 

Apparently, she did have somewhere to be, because she passed you on her way to the front door only a few minutes later. Five did not follow her to say goodbye.

Smut below cut

***

That evening, you entered the bedroom to find him preparing for sleep. Unusually for Five, he was clad in a t-shirt and sweats rather than pajamas. His towel-dried hair hung messily in his eyes. He smiled when he saw you, wrinkling his face momentarily into the lines he should by all rights have except for a certain time-travel accident. 

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you said.

You closed the door and crossed to the comfortable reading chair, raising your legs onto the arm. Five, trying to neaten his hair in the mirror, spoke casually.

“I don’t think Alex will be coming over again.”

“How come?” you asked, wanting to hear the rest of what happened.

“Hmph,” he said, disinterestedly, “she came onto me and I told her to fuck off.”

“What happened,” you said, interested.

“She came on flirty, like she does, but this time she tried to kiss me.”

He inspected a patch of dry skin on his neck.

“What?” you ask, enraged.

“Don’t worry,” he said, placatingly, “she was told precisely where to go. It was pretty pathetic, actually,” he remarked.

“I think I heard some of it,” you admit, “she was talking about having a dream about you and you made it clear you weren’t interested.”

“Yup, that was right before,” he said, darkly. 

“Bitch.” you grumbled, “I knew she’d try something.”

“Well, you were right,” Five continued, applying a layer of moisturizer to his face, “but she won’t be trying anything again.”

You watched his face in the mirror, absorbed in his pre-bedtime routine. He was a creature of habit, you discovered: a man of little quirks and rituals, particularly when it came to personal grooming. As it had been so long denied him, he reveled in the luxury of even the tiniest routines: trimming his nails weekly, shaving his face daily and looking after his hair and skin.

The more intimately you got to know him, the less cool and caustic he seemed. Underneath it all, there was just a sweet old-young man crying out to be loved and needed.

…And occasionally fucked. 

“Don’t tell me you weren’t just a little bit tempted,” you smiled, standing up and approaching him from behind.

“Of course I wasn’t,” he said, mildly offended, “I’m yours.”

He said it casually, as if he hadn’t quite thought through what he was saying. He caught your eye in the mirror as you appeared over his shoulder. He smiled slightly sheepishly at the familiar gleam in your eye.

Your arms slithered around his waist. Beneath his shirt your hands traveled over the warm muscle and flat stomach. His skin felt like silk. As the very tips of your fingers breached the elastic of his waistband, your chin came to rest on his shoulder, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered.

“What was that?”

A fine blush appeared in his cheek, like a delicate drop of watercolor. 

“I said, I’m yours.” 

Your lips played about his neck, your eyes holding his captive through the medium of the mirror. 

He looked at you, expression open and anticipatory. He swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing attractively. You ghosted your lips further down, towards the hollow between his neck and his shoulder. Mouth poised there, you spoke again, voice husky.

“Say it again.”

He shuddered with the knowledge of what was coming, and breathed:

“I’m yours.”

And you sucked a bruise onto his skin. Long, lingering and sudden. He let out a shaky breath as you did so, eyes drifting into a haze of pleasure. You pulled away and admired the mark, a port-wine stain spread on that delicate silk. His eyes were similarly engaged, looking at the new hickey in the mirror as if he’d never seen one before.

Taking the opportunity of his preoccupation, you looked at his face: the sweet, parted lips, the heavy brow and the jaw that could have been sculpted by Michelangelo. By the time his eyes returned to yours, the look within them made the slow, crawling sensation below his waistband redouble. 

“Do you want more?”

He nodded slowly, but as you moved to mark him again, he abruptly turned his head towards you so that your lips met his instead. It was as if he couldn’t resist anymore, like a man dying of thirst finding a clear mountain stream. Leaning backwards into you, he sighed into your mouth and let your tongue roam. 

He was so sweet in this mood; uncharacteristically compliant. Every time it came upon him, you never failed to be enchanted by him. Everyone always looked to him for direction and authority and this was one way he could take a break from all the responsibility. You were more than happy to give him that, especially when it left him looking all undone and pretty like this.

When you broke away from him, your hands were playing beneath his shirt, fingers stroking up and down the soft line of hair disappearing into his sweats. He closed his eyes as you again pinged the elastic on his pants, but they shot open again as your teeth nipped at the flesh of his neck.

He whined as you bit and sucked, the mild pain only adding spice to the pleasure: the prickle of fired up nerve-endings and needful ache in the lowest part of his stomach. As you dug your teeth in fraction more, you compensated by cupping his crotch through his sweatpants and holding him where he was hard.

When you let the skin go and turned back to the mirror, his eyes didn’t even meet yours: he only had eyes for the deep red mark you’d made and the white, crescent-shaped teeth marks disappearing before his eyes. 

“You like that, baby,” you murmured, comforting his aching package with firm, circular rubbing motions. 

“Yes,” he said, voice slightly higher than usual.

“Do you want more? Wanna be covered in them?”

He nodded enthusiastically, like a shy child offered his favorite candy.

“Arms over your head then.”

He complied, letting you peel off his t-shirt and discard it over your shoulder. You hummed appreciatively at the range of flesh now on display: at the pale, unspoiled skin you were about to pepper with burst capillaries. You weren’t a violent person, but you couldn’t deny the little squirm of sadistic glee at the idea of him covered with your marks.

The hand not engaged with his groin flitted up his stomach to stimulate the close bud of one nipple, making him buck automatically into your hand. The small noise he made went straight to the center of your own arousal; he was just so fucking aborable like this, all needy and pathetic. 

So you sucked at him again, hungrily, leaning over to mark his collarbone. This time, you couldn’t resist giving him more than a nip with your teeth, biting him enough to abruptly stop his little whimpers and cause him to suck in air over his teeth. Despite this, he still watched, transfixed, as you worked at him with his arousal aching in your hand.

You eased up, letting his skin go and kissing the deeper teeth marks, as if you might undo the pain with each kiss.

“Too much?” you asked.

“A little,” he whispered, eyes nevertheless devouring the sight of his third mark. 

You gave a little pout in sympathy with his plight and kissed his cheek.

“Shall I go easy on you?”

“For a little while.” he replied, that sheepish, coy smile on his lips. You knew what it meant: wind me up tighter first.

You were more than happy to oblige. 

He moved as if towards the bed as you stepped back from him, but your hands on his shoulders kept him in place.

“You stay there.” you said, “I want you to be able to see yourself.”

“Okay,” he whispered, facing the mirror again as you came to stand in front of him. 

His whines were music to your ears as you attacked your next target, sucking complementary bruises onto each pectoral. Then, bending to allow him to admire the new hickies, you moved further south. You grazed and suckled again and again at his subtly toned abdominals, his flank, and at the softer flesh of his stomach. As you did so, your hands explored the body they had explored so well, yet could never tire of exploring. You rubbed at his chest, hips, ass and thighs.

Each time you withdrew, he surveyed himself hazily, reveling with slavish pleasure in the cumulative effect of your claim on him: your flags planted on his body. The thought ratcheted his arousal to a higher pitch, and he felt his knees tremble as his heartbeat became evident in his groin. 

When you sucked at the v-shaped furrow running invitingly towards his pubis, his whimpers redoubled. One of his hands came to your hair, fingers massaging your scalp. His hips pulled forward, as if your face attracted them like a magnet. Wordlessly, he begged with more pathetic little sounds.

You ignored his little ‘suggestion’ and rose to your feet from the spot you’d been kneeling. 

Thwarted, Five let out a frustrated, high moan. His left hand immediately disappeared beneath his waistband, attending to his own need in a move of desperation. It made you smirk to see it, so you allowed him a few moments to pleasure himself while you admired his face:

His hair, starting to dry, was beginning to stick up at odd angles while the rest clung to his brow. His forehead was held a tight pinch with the intensity of his arousal and his lips were curled around gritted teeth, bringing the slight hook in his nose into greater prominence. Still in front of the mirror, his eyes were closed, his head tilted back. Muscles jumped in the neck beneath his thrust-forward chin.

As gladly as you could have watched him beating himself off beneath those sweatpants, it would have to be something to file away for another day. Today was about reminding him (as if he needed reminding), who he belonged to.

So, with this in mind, you licked one of his nipples with a deliberate, preparatory tongue.

“Oh,” he said, speaking half in exhale, “f-feels good.”

You sucked the nipple hard into your mouth, continuing to swipe your tongue over the hard bead between your lips. He panted, and then jerked as you closed your teeth around him.

“Oh shit!”

Experimentally, you tightened your bite around him and the speed of his strokes increased. Clearly, this was doing something quite profound to him. He let out a squeak that made your own nipples harden.

All of time could be at the mercy of Five Hargreeves, if he so chose, yet you could make him mewl like a newborn kitten.

“Yeah,” he breathed, “bite me. Fucking bite me.”

He whined again as your tongue continued to stimulate him, as you sucked his areola into your mouth and clamped your teeth down, marking him again. 

“Ah shit! Harder!”

But you didn’t want to hurt him, so you released his swollen nipple and took his wrist, stopping him touching himself. He huffed needily, but didn’t resist.

You came to stand behind him again, pulling his wrists gently behind his back and tugging on them so that his body was completely on display in the mirror. You kissed from his shoulder to his cheek, trying not to smile at his obvious discomfort; at the stretched fabric of the sweatpants around his perfectly-imprinted cock, sticking firmly out from his body.

“What do you see, Five?” you whispered, once more into his ear.

“Please,” he whimpered, shifting slightly. 

“What do you see in the mirror?” you repeated, more firmly.

He considered in a feverish sort of way.

“A desperate man,” he said, trying to nuzzle beseechingly into you, but unable to turn his head with his arms held that way.

“Whose desperate man?”

“Yours,” he said tripping over himself to satisfy you, “I’m yours, okay?”

“Look at yourself,” you pushed.

He did, lust-clouded eyes eating up the sight.

Marks. All over him. Fuck. 

Seeing himself this way made him shiver. He reveled in the feeling of safe powerlessness, here at your mercy. He was definitely yours. Yours to do with as you pleased: your bruises and bite marks all over him were proof. He knew at least one that would be visible above his shirt collar tomorrow, and the idea filled him with a whorish sense of satisfaction. His cock ached harder at the idea that everyone would know he was yours. Your man.

Your devotee.

Your toy. 

And he would submit willingly to whatever you chose to do next.

Request masterlist >> HERE

Tag list: (please comment to be added or removed): @thebearmage

NOTE: Dom!Five was my first love but Sub!Five is growing on me. Maybe I just like Switch!Five.

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See masterlist for request status and more.

#check out his ear in that gif. It's hypnotic. #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy imagine #umbrella academy x reader #the umbrella academy smut #the umbrella academy five #umbrella academy number five #umbrella academy five x reader #umbrella academy five x you #five hargreaves x you #five hargreaves x reader #number five imagine #five hargreeves imagine #number 5 imagine #number 5 x reader #number five x you #five hargreeves x gn reader

[seijorhi]

Yandere Atsumu: Meeting you was a disspaointment

Darling: That's okay, my expectations for you was was non-existent

Oh it eats at him. It’d be one thing if it was just some random chick who wasn’t interested in him. She’d be stupid as fuck and clearly have no taste, but he could accept that and move on. She’s not just some random chick though, she’s his soulmate. Yeah he kind of treated her like shit, which, okay, not his finest moment, but so what? She’s supposed to be the one on her knees begging him to see past her flaws, not the other way around.

How can she be perfectly fine with moving on from him? Even if he has doubts this whole soulmates thing isn’t some cosmic joke/fuck up, the thought rankles him. He’s the fucking catch, not her. Instead he’s the one who can’t sleep at night cuz he’s still thinking about her.

Not to mention the asshole who apparently thinks it’s his god given right to fuck around with Miya Atsumu’s girl. He doesn’t know a single thing about the bastard but now every time he catches sight of him, his head starts pounding and he swears he sees red.

#he’s goes from 0 to simp real fast #in the most obnoxious and asshole-ish way possible #boy has it BAD #rhi answers

[pyeonghongrie]

"YOU WHAT?" pt. 1

Summary: You weren’t really a fan of oral; your boyfriend, Seonghwa, treats this as a personal challenge.

Characters/Pairing: Seonghwa X F!Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff, crack, porn without plot

AU/Trope info: Established relationship

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Swearing, oral (fem receiving), nicknames (baby, babe, honey, love), reader being a brat, Seonghwa doing his tongue things

A/N: I made this for @anyamaris out of spite because this SEONGHWA STAN has the audacity to admit that she doesn't like oral- WHEN HER BIAS IS LITERALLY TONGUE SATAN?????????

Tags: @cultofdionysusnet, @/anyamaris, @kwanisms, @lemonhongjoong, @shinestarhwaa, @dimpledsatan, @yoonguurt, @seongwin, @ilovetnbhd

“YOU WHAT?!”

Seonghwa exclaimed in complete shock, extremely discombobulated, absolutely flabbergasted, at the sequence of words that left your lips at that moment. He felt backstabbed, betrayed that the love of his life would ever say such horrible things to him. He couldn’t believe his ears, and he prayed to the heavens to give him a sign that it was some sick and twisted joke, the thought of you being 100% serious and unironic made his stomach drop to his ass.

“Look, Hwa, all I’m saying is that I just don’t like oral that much-” You try to calm him down, your boyfriend being one for the theatrics, one of the most dramatic people you’ve ever met in your life. He’s usually pretty calm about discussions in opinions, especially preferences in the bedroom, but apparently, your dislike of oral was his breaking point.

“You don’t understand- baby, how could you be so cruel to me?” His voice calmed down to a broken whisper, his eyes gazing over with a layer of tears as he dramatically wipes his non-existent tears with an ornately embroidered lacey silk handkerchief. (Where he got it is still a complete mystery.)

“Look, Seonghwa, if you’re really hung up about it I don’t mind participating if you really like it, it's just that if given the option, I wouldn’t miss oral all that much.” You say as you try to negotiate, this compromise only seemed to upset him more.

“But- but then you won't be enjoying it too! I want it to be enjoyable for both of us and I’ll feel really bad about it if you just do it to make me happy.” He said, still on the verge of tears.

“Hmm, okay fine, I’ll give you a chance to convince me to change my mind.” You say, finally, this seems to calm him down, looking up from his fancy handkerchief with a twinkle in his round boba eyes. You really can't resist him when he hits you with the twinkly, round boba eyes.

“Quick- take your pants off!”

You grip the sheets that rest under your palms as your shyness kicks in, so see the top of your boyfriend's head as you feel his hot palms glide down your thighs to rest on your knees, you make eye contact with him, the intensity of his look shot hot sparks down to your core. His hands grip your knees, gently prying them apart, the way he looked at your heat with such a heated and lustful gaze made you whine.

His pink tongue peeks out from between his plush lips, you feel a small gust of air when he moved closer to your pussy, his excited movement disturbing the air. You feel his hair and the warm skin of his cheeks tickles your inner thighs as he settles between them, still intensely looking at your cunt.

“I can’t believe you almost wouldn’t let me taste this.” He says lowly, his hot breath on your pussy making you clench around nothing, just then, he places a small, light peck on the hood of your clit, and you sigh, the tension of anticipation finally being released.

He continued placing light and wet kisses on your clit, each one met with a sigh or a moan, his warm hands still gripping your thighs as he savors your wetness on his lips.

He finally latches his lips on your clit, sucking on it softly, moaning when you thread your fingers through his hair with a tug, he breathes in, taking in your scent as his eyes roll back behind his head, almost making his eyes appear all white. He presses his face closer to your core, quickly losing all his composure as he loses himself in your taste.

His eyes glaze over in a lust-filed haze, he’s not thinking of anything else other than eating you like a starved man, kneeling before you in reverent worship of your pussy. His wet and rough tongue licks a fat, flat stripe up your slit as he moans again, from you tugging his locks again, and also seemingly getting off to eating you out.

You feel the tip of his tongue probing your entrance, your breath catching in the middle of a moan, anticipation brewing in your stomach for what’s to come next.

A gasp leads to a moan as his tongue finally penetrates you, his tongue extending to brush against the spongey spot inside of you, the tip of his skilled tongue curling up to brush and caress that spot with more pressure.

You’re not holding back anymore, gripping onto Seonghwa’s hair so tightly as if to anchor you, you hold him in place as you buck your hips into his face, his jaw going slack as he whines and moans, his eyelids hooding his eyes but you can see how blown-out his pupils are.

His head is pleasantly empty, he wants nothing more than to stay in that position forever.

He coaxes you into your first orgasm of the night, the tight cord inside you snapping in white-hot pleasure, your back arching off the sheet with a silent moan. Your vision blacking out from the intensity.

You can feel Seonghwa kissing along your inner thighs as you come back to earth, making eye contact with him, he gives you a lewd but soft smile, “I’m here love, come back to me, honey.” He whispers so softly into your skin, looking at your expression with a content smile. “You did so well for me, love.” His deep voice and words of praise sink into your skin, engulfing you in a warm and fuzzy glow as you look back down at your boyfriend, “Did I manage to change your mind?” He says, looking very proud of the mess he’s made of you, you only give him a suggestive smile back.

“It was good, but I don’t think you’ve convinced me yet. Could we go again?” You say, a bit out of breath but still cheeky. He gives you another elated smile, the kind that you see when a new Lego set arrives.

“I don’t mind that at all, lay down for me honey.”

#cultofdionysusnet #kvanity #kdiarynet #“YOU WHAT?” pt.1 #pyeonghongrie #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #seonghwa x reader #ateez seonghwa #ateez smut #ateez x reader #seonghwa smut

[the-book-gnome]

Bonding Opportunity

Pairings: Jason Todd x fem!reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: non-con, unprotected sex (do not recommend) p in v, slight degrading, manhandling, dacryphilia, cream pie, hate sex, Jason being mean, petnames(baby, bitch)

A/n: this is my first dark fic and I’m very proud of it, you are responsible for your own media intake so if you don’t like it just pretend it dosnt exist and move along, enjoy :) also wanted to say thank you to @thewritingdoll for inspiring me to write something like this♥️

18+ only ! minors do not interact !

Contains dark content

Jason was insufferable, to say the least. Apparently, his sole purpose is to make you want to get a gun and shoot him in the head. Every little this he said pissed you off, even if he was just breathing a little too loud, you knew damn well he did it all on purpose though. When you would glance at him glaring, he always had that stupid smirk on his face.

Dick didn’t like that you two hated each other, he’s been trying to help and make you two like each other, or at least be able to be in the other's presence without starting a fight. But nothing worked. His latest idea was to lock you in the training room together, he told you and Jason “I'm doing it for the both of you, think about it as a bonding opportunity” whatever the fuck that meant, you had no idea and you couldn’t care less. But the opportunity to beat the shit out of Jason? With no consequences? No way in hell you would ever pass that up.

Jason seemed to have similar thoughts when he punched you in your jaw the second you turned around. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” You yelled at him while holding your jaw.

“Bonding” he smirked at you and back up a few feet onto the mats laying on the ground. He motioned you to come at him. Rolling your eyes you started fighting back.

It had been about an hour since either of you talked. Your hands hurt so did one of your thighs from where he kicked you, a few bruises were littered on your arms and probably about two on your face. On the bright side, he looked worse than you. You gave him a black eye along with 6 other ones on his body. Somehow Jason looked like he hated you even more than usual, not unsurprising though. “Aww, what’s wrong? Did I mess up your perfect little face?” Throwing him a cocky smile from where he was sitting on the floor drinking from a bottle of water.

“Oh, so you think my face is perfect? Hmm, can’t say the same for you baby.” He glared. Rolling your eyes you let out a small laugh.

“That almost hurts, maybe if I gave a shit about your opinion that would actually hurt.” As you were heading to the water station behind him, he kicked his leg out, tripping you. You rolled on top of you quickly pinning you to the floor. He held both of your wrists in one hand, the other holding himself up so he wasn’t crushing you. Trying to wiggle out of his hold accidentally rubbing yourself against his knee causing a whimper to escape your mouth. He looked down to his knee, he broke out in a knowing grin causing your cheeks to flush. “Get the fuck off me, Todd,” you muttered still slightly embarrassed.

“God I fucking hate you, but I do have to admit, I like those pretty noises you make. I wonder if I can get you to give me more huh?” You glared at him, all embarrassment fading as the anger returned. He was so fucking insufferable. Did he really think you’d let him fuck you? No fucking chance. Did it feel good when you grinded on him? Yes. But any guy can do that. He’s not special. “Oh come on, you think I can’t hear you when you are alone in your room at night? We share a wall baby, and you get pretty loud. It’ll be quick, just think of it as a release.” Jason grinded his hips into you letting out a soft groan. You refused to give him a reaction. Though your eyes were wide at the fact that he’s been listening to you.

“Just get off Jason I’m not in the mood for your bullshit.” The look in his eyes made you realize that he wasn’t letting you go until he got what he wanted. Fear surged through your body, trying to pull out of his grip, that was causing your body to shift into his.

“Fuck baby.” He muttered under his breath. Your eyes stung as he brought his lips to your neck. Gently kissing you as if he was experimenting. You did your best to pull away from him but he just dropped more of his body weight on you making it impossible to move and hard to breathe.

You slammed your eyes shut as Jason moved so his face was right about yours, his hot breath fanning your face. “It’s a good thing you’re not a virgin, I don’t think I’m going to be able to take my time with you. Come on baby open your eyes, I want you to watch this.” he shifted his weight on the hand that was holding yours, moving his other ones down your pants slowly unzipping them. He littered small kisses on your face, he never actually kissed you, he wasn’t in the mood to get bit.

“Please just get off me, I won’t tell anyone about this I promise.” A tear fell down the side of your face, you had turned your head away trying to avoid his mouth.

Once he got your pants off he threw them to the side and brought his hand back up to your face whipping a few tears away. “Aww baby what happened to that bitchy attitude of yours huh? Thought you were tougher than this.” You heard the amusement in his voice, confused by the gentleness of his touch. He pressed a kiss onto your forehead the lifted his head to look down. His hand playing with the hem of your underwear. When he dipped his fingers in, running a finger down your folds his head snapped back to you in surprise, he let out a knowing scoff. “Hmm weird, you act like you don’t want this but your pretty little pussy is telling me otherwise. Your fucking soaked.” You whimpered as he ripped them off leaving you completely exposed.

You snapped your legs shut. Using all of your strength to keep them closed. Jason laughed at you as if your weak little body could keep him from touching you. Pathetic really. Using one hand he pried them open, shoving his knee in between them so you couldn’t close them again. “If you stop fighting this will feel better. Either way, I’m going to fuck you so you should just give up now, there’s no point in trying.” He whispered into your ear as he took off his pants, his boxers going with them. Jason pumped his thick cock a few times, his juices leaking out the angry red tip.

“Come on baby, just open your eyes for me, I need you to watch this okay?” You shook your head, eyes still squeezed shut. You felt his head on your shoulder. Like he had given up, for a second hope filled your body until his husky voice filled your ears again. “Fine, if you don’t want to watch then don’t, I couldn’t fucking care less you annoying bitch.” Now he sounded pissed which probably wasn’t a good thing.

Jason leaned back a little to get a better angle then slid his cock up and down your wetness a few times. Once he was pleased with how wet his dick got he slammed himself inside of your tight hole. Your walls spasming around the intruder. You let out a scream before his free hand covered your mouth, silencing you. Pain rippled through your body as he thrusted hard and deep, not giving you a second to adjust. “Gotta stay quiet baby, we don’t want anyone to walk in now do we?” His breaths came out in pants, his hips slamming into you at a brutal pace.

Jason kissed a few tears away, his breath fanning against your face. “Holy fucking shit, I don’t think I’ve ever been in someone so fucking tight, I shoulda done this sooner.” He bit at your neck causing you to whimper in pain. You’ve never been this stretched out before, he was hitting every inch of you with hardly any effort. And to your dismay, it felt fucking amazing. Each thrust went straight to your brain, and before you know it you were letting out your muffled moans. No matter how hard you tried to get away from him nothing worked, he just thrusted harder.

Jason moved his hand from your mouth and down to your neck. He wanted to hear every little sound you made. He wanted to see your face scrunched up in pleasure that you begged him not to cause. He squeeze slightly cashing you to shoot your eyes open and fuck you looked terrified. Did you really think he would kill you right now? Maybe after but now while you get this fucking phenomenal. “There we go baby just like that, keep your eyes on me.” He was so close. The way you looked up at him in that cute little scared way it only brought him closer to his much-needed release.

You didn’t want this. You didn’t want this. You had to keep reminding yourself that because if you didn’t he would win and you couldn’t let that happen. His eyes were only half open. His face showed obvious pleasure. His eyes stayed on yours, not faltering for a second. You felt the pleasure becoming too much, the way his dick was hitting your cervix with every thrust and how fast he was moving. It felt inhuman.

You screamed out as your orgasm hit you. Your entire body was shaking with pleasure and you’ve never felt so good. Your eyes rolled in the back of your head. Everything going black.

Jason trusted a few more times before he lost it. Going as deep as he could, he fill you with every last drop of him. Fuck you looked so pretty like this. So fucked out. A smile played on his lips as he pulled out of you. You made a sound of disapproval, he laughed at that. Sitting on the backs of his heels Jason watched as his and your cum leaked out of you, mixed together.

“God your a bitch, you couldn’t just give in sooner, could you? Would’ve been so much easier.” He scoffed as he pulled his pants back up. When he stood up, he grabbed his phone off the floor and took a quick picture of you. He was never deleting that. Leaving you on the floor half naked, Jason kick the locked door open and walked out. Not giving you another glance.

#jason todd #jason todd smut #jason todd x reader #reader smut #red hood #red hood smut #robin smut

[the-gayest-sky-kid]

Right back at you what are YOUR favourite Chuuya headcanons (and dazai)

okay so the way i draw skk is pretty inconsistent i think but...!!!!

I think its pretty apparent in most chuuyas i draw that i am a BIGGG freckle chuuya enjoyer. it's what he deserves. but also ive been picking up on dark circles/eyebags and such for him too. real and canon to the enlightened one. OH AND PIERCINGS ‼️

↑↑↑ i like doing em like this

and thennn... not really headcanon? but people are so used to anime chuuya so .... big brown eyed chuuya fan. big sienna haired chuuya fan. harukawa was right from the start... oh and i tend to floof up most characters hair when i draw them but really i do imagine his hair at least really wavy? i dont put much thought into hcs when i draw them so its not very consistent but if i made a definite guide itd be on there. wavy-curly hair

NOW AS FOR DAZAI‼️

i like giving him moles fhrhej typically i do one under his left eye and one by the right side of his mouth but occasionally I'll slip some extra in. i also like giving him eyebags... i don't think his sleep schedules the greatest. i think tend to make them darker for port mafia dazais and less obvious for ada dazai ? thats how it is in my head

...and i really like freckles okay shhhhhshshshshh but i do imagine them to be a lot fainter or non-existent when hes younger, being visible when he's older. getting more sun. but i do draw them as a lot lighter than or sparser than chuuyas, like here.

personally i think hes got dark brown hair, but a bit darker in the mafia because he doesn't take care of it often enough. had i actually been focusing on consistency id probably note like. flatter darker hair (oily) for the mafia & curly hair in the ada. curly haired dazai 🔛🔝...

NOW FOR HEADCANONS IN GENERAL (BUT SLIGHTLY MORE DAZAI IM SO SORRY HE IS ON MY MIND ALWAYS)

theyre both trans. both of them‼️ trust me. soukoku transmasc swag. their periods are synced. i think they'd use different products though tbh. dazai seems like a pads guy but i feel like chuuya would use menstrual cups mainly

chuuya should get a big splotchy birthmark. as a treat. im thinking on the side of one of his legs or smth. i think dazai should have a smaller one on his shoulder or smth.

chuuya likes his coffee black but will have something sweet with it. dazais coffee is more milk and sugar than anything

scars!!!!! on both of them!!!!!!! in particular i think corruption scars chuuya is cool + dazai having one from the scythe slash in fifteen. plus some stupid ones. dazai tripped over his shoes once and now hes got one on his knee. chuuyas got some barely noticable burn on his hand because he forgot to put on oven mitts once

dazai will twirl anything hes holding (pencils. his hair. someone elses hair) but chuuya will flip stuff (coins. pencils. his phone)

theyre both asexual. double black ace rings. if you even care

dazai needs glasses so bad his right eye is so fucked up guys. his headaches are probably the worst go take an ibuprofen dude tf.

dazai also canonically knows embroidery so i like to think its a genuine hobby

OH ALSO chuuya crochet hobby. crochet cant be done by machine. btw

#longer post #caps cw #swearing cw #aethers asks #THIS TOOK FUCKING HOURS IM SO SORRY #I JUST SAT HERE FOR FOREVER THINKING ABT THIS #i hope this is Suitable

[j4y-lvr]

day flower (alternate ending) … park jongseong

SYNOPSIS. bent over the sink, coughing up petals and blood, you knew that your worst fears had come true.

PAIRING. jay x fem!reader

GENRE. fluff, angst, lovers2?, established!relationship (?), hanahaki au

WARNINGS. profanity, mentions of food, mentions of blood, quite a lot of kissing, possibly making out (?), one mention of loss of weight, graphic, mcd(?), death(?) !!not proofread!!

WORD COUNT. 1.6k (total :: 7k)

NOTE. i just wanted to write something sad and i came up with this,, idk why i chose jay to fit my mental image of this bc its so saddening to even imagine— EVEN THOUGH ITS SAD PLS DO READ😭‼ thoughts on an alternative ending?

Reblogs and feedback are highly appreciated!

iv. wither (alt ver.)

Jay felt like an ass to put it simply. On a deep dive inside his feelings revealed that he wasn't plainly bored at his current relationship rather bored with his stagnant work-life moreover his regulated stress load. Blown over he weighed on going over for the first time in weeks to apologise and win you over though his damage was severe.

The keys jingled in the near distance, jay slipping in through the door, watching as nothing had really moved around in the house. He contemplated on notifying you of his abrupt appearance, opting to slowly creep up the stairs. Unknown to you, you had started coughing again, the strength in your arms to cover your mouth non-existent.

Resulting in the blood coating you and the mattress in a painful fit of red as you sobbed heartbroken to yourself wondering where it went wrong, did he require more space, had you been more mindful would he still be at your side.

Jay stilled on hearing your heart wrenching sobs, the previous hesitance gone as he ran up the stairs and to your situation on the bed stained bed. Having forgotten about your coughing fit of blood through the apparent stress from the separation. 

His sight fell to the canvas in front of him greeting as you cough seized, your eyelids lugging over your glassed over orbs, jay getting to knees as he saw you covered in blood, his hand finding your paint ridden hand. You gave a weak chuckle, "if we ever meet again, I hope it works out then," you say, the diamonds leaving the comfort of your eyes and onto your crimson imposed self. 

Jay heaved from panic, "why didn't you tell me?!" He hurried exclaimed, his hand running down your arm to keep your burning vessel even warmer. Unbeknownst to him he'd been crying and you watched with low eyes close to shutting, your palm lifting up to his tear stricken cheek, "just know," you paused, shutting your eyes completely feeling the life get sucked out of your body. 

"i love you."

"I'm sorry! I was never bored with us to begin with, i wasn't in my right mind, i do love you!"

The reverting of branches in your lungs was faint heard as you experienced multiple waves of pain that had a different accent of beats in your heart, feeling yourself heal internally. Coughing, you requested, "say that again," you managed with your orbs clamping shut from the intermolecular forces shifting the branches out.

"i love you, i love you, i love you! I can't bare to see you like this i'm a real jerk, i'm so sorry darling,"

The corners of your eyes crinkled and you left the last of your sobs, turning away from him and curling into a ball, hiding away from him. He ran over to the other side of the mattress and hopped on, settling an arm over and rubbing your back as you hid in arms, sniffling.

"you're such a dick, i genuinely hope you know." you murmur loud enough for him to hear. Jay frowned and inched closer, clutching you harder, his free hand searching for your face, resting his palm on your cheek, continuing to caress it. "i'm sorry, i'm such a shitty boyfriend."

"elaborate," "on what?"

"on how you're absolute shit," "i'm that bad..?" "as of late."

Gripping your front out of the safe place you'd made for yourself, he brought you to his chest though the blood would stain his clothing, ruffling your hair not minding the blotting. Tugging you away, he brought you to his lips to which you refused, pushing yourself away. He wore a sad smile, "right, take your time."

May with diminishing hope for jay who hadn't given up on trying to win back your heart after crumbling it to pieces. He rented out a nearby apartment and would send you gifts and presents along with his handwritten letters every morning before he left for a tiresome day at work. Day after day, he'd leave them at your doorstep, leaving immediately after ringing on the doorbell.

Today was nothing different. At 8 sharp he'd drop by with a cap covering his face, items in hand, placing them in a hurry, needing to rush to work right after. Not once had you written a reply to his letters, finding it hard to write back to the man who threatened your own living from misjudgement. You watched through the small gap from the window, observing the way he fixatied his letter in the front with a weightsome sign.

He left rather slowly, drifting onto the pavement, shuffling away. Once a good few minutes had passed, you panned open the door, picking up the gifts and his handwritten letter signed up to you. You marvelled at his unwavering hope that you'd cave in even though a month without single response from you passed lestfully.

You placed them in the countertop, unfolding the letter, the usual contents consisting of little inserts of his recent updates and excerpts of his life without you. Though the one you held was shorter than expected, certain parts of the paper were spotted with water of what you suspected to be tears. Your concern spiked, hastily flipping the page over to reveal the written contents in his signature messy handwriting.

"i'll be giving up today. i'll be starting fresh elsewhere, far from here, you don't have to worry about running into me when you're out and about. finally, i'll be quitting my job, it was never for me, i'll go live a quiet life somewhere. I still love you and i will forever. live a good life without me and with someone who can treat you better than i ever did, my dear, yn." — once your shitty boyfriend, jay.

You front fell. This was what you were waiting for, so why were you clutching your mouth in a tight clasp, feeling tears escape your eyes? You didn't know how to take the news, dropping the heartfelt page to the surface, flipping open your door and on your sandals and kicking onto the sidewalk.

Walking in a sped up pace, the wet tears planted over your face, your hand wiping them away as you began jogging, taking a right turn advancing to sprint, spotting his rented out apartment right down the alley. Skipping up the metal stairs you stood before his front door, panting and sobbing all in one, stopping to think about the passcode.

Recalling it for his letter to you from the early days of April when he first bought the unit, stating it was your birthday if you ever felt the need to barge in and make yourself at home. You pressed down on the padded keys, beeping as you left and trailed over the numbers. You entered the last number and a harsh tone buzzed.

He left.

You collapsed to the floor, back to what was once his front door as you hugged your knees while tears ran down your face, clad in your pyjamas from your slumber. Footsteps echoed to your left and you couldn't give a damn as you continued to sob your heart out, grabbing your hair in frustration as you slapped your forehead from regret.

"yn?"

You peered up from your stained clothing and onto the figure who stood by your side. You scurried to your feet upon glimpsing at the stature of your boyfriend, running up to him as you collapsed into him, wrapping your arms around him. "dont leave," you uttered in a broken sob in the day at possibly 8:10am on an unsuspecting date for many.

His arms feel limp to his sides as you pull away softly, peeking at him from your teared eyelashes, solely to find him looking away from you and to the wall that faced you two, droplets of his own trailing down his cheek and onto the cold, hard floor. "no, please, look at me,"

"i can't,"

"please, jay," you voiced desperately, the man attempting to veer his head towards you, failing as he met you in the middle as soon as his eyes met yours, hanging his head low, crying.

Lifting up his head, biting down your lip, watching him refusing to open his eyes and gaze at you. You hesitated for a moment before you embraced him and let your head fall on his shoulder like in the past, your fingers clasping onto his, running another on his hair in a pat repeatedly.

Prying open his glassy orbs, he looked down at you on his shoulder, feeling your tears father and soak into his shirt. He sighed shakily, deciding to act on his desires, bringing you to him once again, just like the month where you rejected his lips, hoping you'd accept this time. If not, he'd leave without a trace.

Hesitation clouded his mind as he stared into your watering eyes. Sensing his present nerves, you slowly placed your palm to him, reaching into him, nearing his chapped lips. You stopped centimetres away, breathing out to his parted mouth. Sealing the deal, you lunged forward, yearning to lean into his touch, his fingertips gripping your shoulder setting to fire. 

You pulled away and breathing in and reached for him again, the lack filling with having, tilting into him as you deepened the kiss, the rushed sentiment healing your lonesome, listless heart with love. He broke off the connection, saliva dripping from the passion and heat between your mouths.

"do you still love me?" you queried, hoping for an affirmation. "yes, like i said, i will forever." "good because I didn't brush my teeth again,"

#park jay #park jongseong #enhypen jay #enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhyped angst #jay angst #jay fluff #jay imagines #jay x reader #jay oneshots #jay fanfic #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen angst #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen drabbles #enhypen fic #enhypen scenarios #enhypen jay x reader #jay scenarios #jay fic #jongseong fluff #jongseong imagines #enhypen jongseong #park jongsung #enha #enha imagines #enha x reader #enha jay

[sourstroll]

Summer Of Cum 2023

Day 13 - Moneyshot

Pairing: Daniel/Oscar

WC: 1284

❀❀❀❀

“Are you sure?”

Daniel feels like he’s asked Oscar that question about a hundred times now, but he had to be sure. The last thing he wanted was to cross a boundary Oscar didn’t even know he had.

Oscar found it funny, how concerned Daniel was. Oscar laughed softly, going to take a sip from the rapidly cooling cappuccino he’d gotten earlier, before the topic of filming each other during sex popped into their conversation. “You know I’ve done that before, right?” Oscar said instead of assuring Daniel that it was completely fine.

Daniel’s eyes widened a bit cartoonishly, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. He can’t, really, because Oscar was only 22 and had apparently already filmed himself during sex, something Daniel hadn’t done even once. “Please tell me you still have that video,” Daniel said, voice pleading. Nothing could stop him from imagining what exactly Oscar filmed himself doing, imagining trembling hands and weird angles, unskilled flicks of his wrist and shotty camera work. They were in the most unsexiest of places, a restaurant near Daniel’s that he swore tasted just like his mom’s cooking, fit with tacky wallpaper and booths that had to be older than Oscar, and yet, Daniel could still feel the very beginnings of his arousal pooling in his stomach.

“I might be able to dig it up,” Oscar said playfully, eyeing the potatoes on Daniel’s plate before stealing some with his fork. “I think I was 18, about to be 19. It’s an old one,” he hummed, said through his mouthful of food.

“Jesus Christ,” Daniel sighed, having to rest his face in his hands for a moment, not sure what to do with the knowledge that a video of Oscar like that existed already. “Are you, like, purposely trying to jailbait me, or?” Daniel huffed out, his shoulders relaxing slightly when he heard Oscar laugh again.

“I mean, I’m not the one dating someone 10 years younger than me,” Oscar quipped, affectionate with his delivery. He never minded their difference in age, though he knew sometimes Daniel worried he was moving too fast or somehow forcing Oscar to do things, which wasn’t the case. “Does that turn you on? Thinking about me when I was 18?” Oscar asked softly, out of pure curiosity and just to bust Daniel’s balls.

Daniel looked up from his hands and gave him a look, brows furrowed and lips thinned into a tight line, like he was trying to hold something back. “I’m not going to answer that,” he finally spoke, thinking it might incriminate him much less if he didn’t express any of his thoughts about a teenage Oscar.

“It does. I knew it would,” Oscar hummed contentedly. Daniel was so easy to read sometimes.

Daniel rolled his eyes and went back to staring down at his plate of breakfast food, poking his fork into his eggs, planning on eating them at some point. “What if someone hacks into my iCloud?” It’s ridiculous, and he knows that, but he had to cover all his bases, or else he’d be left with more anxiety than he started with.

“Daniel. Stop it,” Oscar chuckled, reaching to place his hand on top of Daniel’s, gently sliding his fingers up his arm, slow and gentle. “Live a little, will you?”

———

Daniel can’t remember why he was so worried about this in the first place. It’s much different, he realized, when he’s got Oscar on his hands and knees, pounding into the younger man from behind, his phone set up so you could see the length of Oscar’s body, including his face. That part was non-negotiable, being able to see exactly how Oscar reacted to him. Daniel’s body was cut off from the waist up, but he didn’t mind; all he wanted was to see Oscar fall apart beneath him.

Daniel’s breaths were harsh and shaky, staring down at where he was repeatedly splitting Oscar open. It’s almost too much, the thought that they were immortalizing this moment forever, for Daniel to watch whenever he wanted and get himself off to.

Oscar was pliant as usual, face pushed into the pillows, trying not to come too fast before they got a good video. He pushed his hips back against Daniel with every forward thrust, sweet whimpers escaping his lips. “Harder, Danny,” he whined and gripped the pillow a little tighter, turning his head to look at the phone, face scrunched up in pleasure.

Daniel let out a strained moan and also glanced at his phone, hands itching to grab it, to get even closer. “Such a fuckin’ slut,” he groaned, reaching down to grab a fistful of Oscar’s hair, pushing him harder into the pillows. “Only good for taking my cock, huh?” Daniel growled. The older man was quick to grab the phone from its perch on the nightstand, still pistoning into him as he pointed it at Oscar’s face. It was the perfect view, Oscar practically drooling all over himself over how good he felt.

Oscar couldn’t say anything for a moment, his body wound up and ready to release. The feeling of Daniel’s hand tangled in his hair made his toes curl, in love with how strong he was, how he could easily manhandle him and take what he wanted. “Yeah, that’s all I wanna do,” Oscar squeaked out between moans. “Just wanna be good for you.”

Daniel never let up, even as he pointed the phone down between them, getting the perfect shot of himself ruining Oscar. “You’re fuckin’ perfect, so good for me, baby,” he sighed.

Daniel’s words of encouragement always did it for him, always filled him with a sweetness and adoration that Oscar only ever felt with him. It was only moments later that Oscar came, hard, all over the bed below them. He let out something close to a scream, the full force of his orgasm surprising him with its intensity.

“That’s it,” Daniel praised, using his last bit of stamina to get himself over the edge, too. Daniel pulled out seconds before he came, his cock resting over the curve of Oscar’s ass and shooting thick ropes of come up his back. He nearly didn’t catch it on camera with the way his orgasm swirled around him, wrapping around his limbs and making him feel hot all over.

Oscar collapsed underneath him, nothing but whiny breaths coming out of him, his skin flushed and his limbs useless.

Daniel hadn’t stopped the video just yet, feeling greedy as he reached down to spread Oscar’s cheeks apart with one hand, filming the way his entrance gaped slightly, how it fluttered around nothing, silently begging to be filled again.

“I can feel you staring,” Oscar muttered, looking over his shoulder with a breathless laugh, catching the lens of the phone one last time before he saw Daniel press a button and throw it aside.

Daniel gave him a tired little smile and leaned down to kiss up his spine, a silent apology for being so indulgent. “I like looking at you, baby,” Daniel offered as an excuse, speaking against his skin.

———

1:38 AM

Oscar: its ur lucky day

Oscar: [Video Attachment]

Oscar: enjoy my love

Daniel stared in surprise at the text he’d just received, bleary-eyed and groggy still. He was halfway across the world from Oscar, back in Australia while Oscar’s season started up again. Daniel couldn’t help but laugh, thinking it was ridiculous that Oscar had managed to find the alleged video he’d taken of himself.

1:42 AM

Daniel: How much of your camera roll did you have to dig through to find that??

Daniel: I’ll watch it later :P

Daniel: Good luck today ❤️

❀❀❀ Previous Days ❀❀❀

#I still don’t know what to call this ship lol #also can’t stop writing them having toe curling gut rearranging nasty ass sex #summerofcum2023 #sourwrites #Daniel Ricciardo/Oscar Piastri #381 #Riccastri #Danscar

[imnameimswrld]

004 ━━ 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐥 ,,

"How do I look ?" I ask, spinning away from the mirror to face Ren.

Renèe looks up from her phone, and an almost cat-like grin spreads along her lips. "Like you're gonna attract a lot of d."

Humming in agreement, I smooth the non-existent wrinkles from my leather jacket and make towards the front door, Ren following right behind.

It's been just over a month since my breakup with Micah, and although I hadn't fallen into a post-relationship depression, I had become awfully drained in other areas of my life. Renée being the flawless best friend she is, has decided to treat me, and since we're both on our break, she decided to suprise me with a vacation to the beautiful Seoul City of South Korea.

We slip our shoes on by the hotel door, and soon we're out and meeting our uber out front. I have zero knowledge of the Korean language except for the essentials, so, Ren being the multilingual boss that she is, directs the driver to an apparent famous place.

Hongdae.

"Gamsahabnida !" Ren thanks the driver before shutting the door, and I run a hand through my fresh haircut as I stare up at the neon sign blinking brightly back at me.

"Woah," I say under my breath, noting the long line trialing down the street, a huge ass bouncer checking their id's. What I notice however, is that he ends up sending every couple of people away, and they have no choice but to walk off with a scowl.

"Ren, what kind of club is this exactly ?"

Standing next to me, hands in her jacket pockets, she smirks at the entrance. "The kind where you won't have fans coming up to you every five minutes for a picture."

I raise a singular brow up at her as I follow behind her stride toward the bouncer, earning a few glares from the long line of people beside me. Ren doesn't do much except for flash a little black card, and with just a single glance at it the bouncer is stepping aside with a nod. I raise my brows in interest, but question nothing as I let the bouncer hold the door open for me and walk inside.

I'm immediately handed a drink from a female waitress, who serves me a side of a flirty smile before striding off in her knee high heels.

It is raging, some Korean rap blasting through the speakers as a dj mixes on the stage. My eyes glance over the crowd before roaming upwards to the second floor, where I spot a another bar and a few more people, but they're more scouting the dance floor than anything else.

It's only when I look back down, do I realise I've lost Ren.

Slight panic sets in, only because I'm in a foreign country, surrounded by party goers that most probably do not speak a language I know. Fitting through the cracks people offer me, I search for the mega-star, occasionally apologizing when I step on a foot or two. I breath a sigh of relief when I spot her ahead at the bar, but I end up stopping in my tracks when I see an unfamiliar red-head next to her.

The lights bounce off her wine-coloured hair, offering it a pretty kind of shine. Ren seems to be flirting, because this girl's cheeks are painted pink, perfectly manicured hand brushing her hair back in what I assume to be a nervous habit, because she does it a lot in between her smiles and laughter. I smile, deciding to let my best friend be and not interrupt, I'll find her later – maybe.

Deciding to head upwards, I trail up the steel staircase to the upstairs bar, plop myself down on a wooden stool, and silently thank Dior the bartender speaks English.

"Your drink, sir."

I make to pull my card out to pay, but the bartender ends up stopping me with a raise of his hands and a shake of his head. I furrow my brows questioningly, and in response, he gestures towards the end of the bar.

Following his gaze, I turn my head to find a pair of dark brown eyes staring back at me. His dyed blonde hair long, falling down to frame his round face perfectly, and his plump pink lips are pulled up into a smile. He tucks a few strands behind his ear, raising a brow at me, as if in question.

Who am I to deny such a beautiful man my attention ?

Grabbing my drink, I stand to walk over, and I relish in the feeling of his eyes roaming down my form slowly, with purpose, before reconnecting with my eyes as I sit beside him.

"와, 가까이서 보니 더 멋있네." he let's out a soft laugh, and I raise a brow, biting my lip nervously.

"I said, you're even more gorgeous up close."

My brows shoot up, my lips curling into a smile unintentionally at his accent. It's cute, yet his deep tone contrasts immensely with his angelic look.

"Why, thank you," I turn my body towards his, and hold a hand out towards him. "Nio."

He seems to realise that wasn't my actual name, but instead of questioning, he smirks and takes my much larger hand into his soft one. His warm palm sends a pleasant feeling through me, and it doesn't take long for that familiar feeling of desire to set in.

His eyes alone have me clenching... my jaw.

"Parker."

I nod, shaking his and holding onto his hand a lot longer than normal. He doesn't seem to mind though, and even takes the initiative to intertwine our fingers tightly, and proceeds to place our clasped hands on his thigh.

"Thank you for the drink, Parker."

His tongue laps over his lips, breaking his gaze away almost shyly. Jesus, his lips are seriously gorgeous. I refuse to leave without devouring them.

"Anything for you, Nio."

His voice, so sultry and deep, with eyes as dark as shadows, Parker has every intention and desire written all over his masterpiece of a face.

Guess Ren isn't the only lucky one tonight.

#f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fanfic #jacob elordi #own character #original character #shin ryujin #itzy ryujin #park jimin #bts jimin

[belle--ofthebrawl]

Belle i can't rest since you wrote honeymoon suite SwissDew it was too perfect & I am back to beg for just a crumb of insight onto what you think went down that evening. Were they able to keep a straight face when Dew plays along like 'oh wow i've never done that before will it hurt?🥺🥺🥺' (when he took Swiss & Cirrus's strap at the same time like, a week ago) whatever exactly happend, i just know it was tooth rottingly sweet & delightfully squirmy for Dew.😈

…A crumb? What sort of host would I be if I only allowed my guests to have a crumb of cake?

I don't know how much you've eaten today, but please take this small slice.

(Or, the only way this fic is getting finished is if people keep asking about it, apparently.)

Naked kissing under the cut.

"Can I touch you here?"

The question is breathed warm against Dew's throat while the point of an index finger is hovering just a scant few millimeters over the peak of his nipple. Swiss has him naked and spread out underneath him and the way he's refusing to take advantage of that is extremely frustrating for Dewdrop. He's bracing himself on his hands and knees above Dew like he doesn't want to crush him with his weight and even though it can't be more than six inches or so, it's too far away for how antsy Dew feels. He needs the pressure of Swiss on him right now, needs to feel rub of another cock against his own, the splatter of pre and the stretch as it pushes inside, fucking and forcing him out of this weird headspace he's in.

He doesn't reply; isn't sure how his voice will come out and if it cracks then there'll be no salvaging the situation. Instead he takes a deep breath and lets the motion of his lungs filling press his chest into the palm of Swiss' hand.

"Oh." Swiss says with a smile as he cups the non existent flesh of Dew's breast. "Shy, are we?" He brushes his lips down the line of Dew's throat, kisses the prominent ridge of his collarbone. "I'll make you feel good."

Shy. Dewdrop, shy. Like they didn't share a room with Cirrus last week, like his heat didn't have him begging for her strap while he was stretched over Swiss' lap getting fingered within an inch of his life. Moaning loud enough for Aeon in the connecting room to open the door with his phone at the ready, face timing with Aether.

Shy. He's not shy. Especially when it comes to sex. Still, the way Swiss is talking to him, looking at him, touching him like he's actually something worth treating softly is…it's…

Ugh.

"Won't make you do anything you don't want to do." Swiss murmurs, still just cupping Dew in his hand. "Just want to see you cum. Can I do that sweetheart? Will you let me?"

Let him. Why is he so obsessed with permission right now? Hasn't Dew given him cart blanche in the past? Hasn't he been basically free-use this entire trip? Honestly, what the hell haven't they done in the name of getting off.

"Use your words, honey." Swiss says, laying a sweet kiss right above the frantic pulse of Dew's heart. "Tell me where to touch you. Tell me how to make you feel good. Tell me how to make you cum."

"You already know." Dew says, voice low.

"I want to hear you say it." Comes the reply.

#swiss x dewdrop #Swiss ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #nsft #good timing i wanted to spend my lunch thinking about ghouls.

[siremasterlawrence]

Henry Cavill is riding his motorcycle through the desert speeding down the area stupidly in a helmet, leather jacket, jeans, sneakers and serious expression.

He races through the area the sand flowing all over past his face, the sand hits his face head on constant pounds of it till he stops in heatwave of sweat.

He kicks the motorcycle stand down jumps off on to the sand walking off in to the vast distance of it all sweeping surrounding him in mystery.

What he does not notice is the sand collect above his head circling non stop unable to be able to cease the event a bit of sand lands on his mouth.

His facial expression of disgust is apparent to me he takes his hand wiping his tongue and attempting to cough it our from his mouth.

The sand does a doozy gathering on to him it hits him from side’s barreling in to his face, in his clothes through his crack holes and so much more.

The sand lifts up in to the air spinning like

a cycle covering him as he is blocked from

site of the world he is currently being chase by paparazzi.

He can hear more motorcycle sounds glow splashing far off into the back as they try to make it up and it’s funny he suddenly lost any desire to care.

Clark’s knees give up falling in to the sand all of it buckles in to the ground nothing else matters to him everything got black as his body fell backwards.

“Lights out!” A voice says from nowhere in particular Henry’s ears can detect as he is finally awoken.

“Who’s there? Where am I?” He shouts in to the darkness a bright burgeoning white light blows up around him.

“Oh Henry! I am your savior an ace in the hole.” The voice swears loudly calling out to him.

“I am a sparkling light, a voice in the depth and your worst nightmare.” It starts to sound more sinister

“Help me please don’t let me go.” Henry beg to the non existent disembodied voice calls to him in excitement.

“Mwahahahahaha…why would I save such a hot body?” He says cackling in to the air as everything vanishes.

The motorcycle is getting buried in a deep sea of sand leaving it completely from all people’s vision the paparazzi are left totally stunned.

The ground below slides to the ends of this massive space on earth, Henry is in a state of endless sleep and the body of land cover him swallowing him up.

So quickly without a second thought his hot, hard, sexy body free falling in to an endless dark bottomless pit and he sees his life flash before his eyes.

A huge screen shines spreading on all four wars projecting in to his head he can’t even fathom let alone understand what is going on.

“My life! How is this happening to me? What is this anyway?”

“What? What are you saying?”

“I am not a pussy”

“You Are a pussy “

“Fuck! I am your pussy”

“Why am I so….ffffuuucccckkkk”

“Hhhhhaaaaarrdddd”

“If you cum immediately you be all mine “

“I refuse your advances “

“You arrogant little bitch”

“I’m not the pussy”

“You are a bitch”

“God! You are hot “

“So hard!”

“What a massive body “

“A butt I can pounce a coin”

“This body is mine”

“The sand consumes you “

“Overtaking you “

“You are scale “

“Your life is shattering to pieces”

“The glass falls to the waste side”

“You no longer exist”

“Come now Henry! Be a bitch”

“Surrender to the darkness”

“Fall to power “

“I feel so connected to you”

“One with your body “

“One with your soul “

“Existing for me”

“As a whole “

“Deep dive to the end “

“You can transform all you want “

“Fight me to the end”

“I am your Kingdom come”

“The door slams”

“Closing on us”

“We are forever”

“One mind “

“One body “

“One soul”

The end

#hypnosis #mind control #hypno slave #reprogramming #hypno submission #mind control slaves #hypno harem #hypno stable #henry cavill #desert #motorcycle #leather jacket #sand

[darcyfangirlsfrequently]

Meet the Family - chapter 1: Meet the Brothers

Work/chapter summary: After Penelope's brothers reach out and she catches them up one what's been going on in her life, they invite her and her long-term boyfriend, Luke, down for a visit. Hearts are healed, promises are made, and everyone is happy again.

Chapter word count: 989

Can also be read here on Ao3

“My brothers reached out to me today,” Penelope said out of the blue one night as she lay in her boyfriend’s arms.

Luke was stunned. “Oh?” In the two years they had been together, and even two years before they’d gotten together, her brothers hadn’t spoken to her once.

“Yeah. They wanted my perspective on why I had done the things I had done. And apparently, they’ve all been in therapy about it and finally came to the conclusion that they shouldn’t blame me for our parents’ deaths.” “Because they shouldn’t.” 

“Okay, I know that, and you know that, but that’s a hard pill to swallow for them. They were so young…” “Just because you were legally an adult doesn’t mean you weren’t young either,” he argued. “I know, I know,” she replied, trying to appease him. “But anyways. We talked. Worked through it. They asked me what was going on in my life.”

“Oh, and obviously you told them your life is so plain and boring and you have no updates,” he teased.

Penelope shoved him lightly, laughing. “No! I told them about my boyfriend, who is super hot, and awesome, and totally in love with me.”

Luke chuckled deep in his throat. “Is that not how you described your non-existent boyfriend to me when we met?”

“I was predicting the future.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Okay.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re so rude. Anyway, we’ve been invited down. They want to meet you.”

Luke’s eyes went wide. “They do?”

“Well, I mean, I mentioned we live together and are planning for the future, so yeah. Also, I’m not going there without you. No thank you.”

“Aw, you love me so much you can’t be without me?”

“No. I want my guard dog.”

He scoffed. “Wow, babe. Feeling the love.”

“Oh, hush, you big baby. Are we going or not?”

“Do you want to see them?”

“They’re my brothers. My family. Of course I do. I miss them. And I want you to meet them. I want my family to know I’ve found the person I’m spending the rest of my life with.”

“Then we’ll go.”

“Really?”

Luke held her a bit tighter. “Yes, Penelope. If you want to see them, you should see them, and wherever you go, I follow. Besides, I need to meet my future brothers-in-law at some point.”

Penelope squinted. “Can you even call them that if you haven’t proposed to me yet?”

“It’s coming. I promise.”

“Well, you’re sure taking your sweet time.” For someone who started the relationship unsure if marriage was ever something she would want, she was quite impatient for the impending proposal.

He kissed her lightly. “Patience, baby. Good things come to those who wait.” He totally wasn’t delaying because he still couldn’t find the perfect ring. Absolutely not.

***

Penelope was a nervous wreck their entire flight over and Luke, ever the doting boyfriend, did his absolute best to calm and comfort her and get her stress levels down. “What if we can’t work through things?” Penelope fretted, hands flapping a bit. 

Luke knew better than to try to hold her hand and prevent her from stimming. It was how she needed to vent her stress. He rested a hand on her knee instead. “Then at least you’ll have tried. If things go well, then great! And if they don’t, then you’ll have done everything you could. You won’t be stuck living with any regrets.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “You are very good with comforting words.”

“Well, I’ve only known you for six years, and been your boyfriend for two of them, and learned how best to make you feel better.”

She laughed dryly. “God knows I’ve had enough freak-outs in that time to give you plenty of practice dealing with me.”

“You’re not someone I have to ‘deal with,’ Penelope. You’re someone I love and choose to comfort and support.”

She groaned into his shoulder. “How are you so perfect?”

Luke scoffed in response. “You know I am far from it.”

“You’re pretty perfect for me.”

He smiled and kissed her softly. “I’m so glad you think so.”

***

Penelope was visibly anxious as they walked into the arrivals section after collecting their bags. Luke squeezed her hand three times, a silent reminder that he was there. He had her back. He loved her. 

“That’s them,” she whispered, gesturing with her head at four men who were standing off at the side. 

They saw her at the same moment.

“Penelope!” The youngest, Eddie, threw himself into her arms. He was only eight when their parents died and Penelope left, he had missed her the most. The rest of her brothers followed soon after. 

Introductions were made all around and hugs were given. Penelope was a bit worried that Carlos still wouldn’t look at her, but he wrapped her in the tightest hug.

“Hi,” he whispered.

She smiled and hugged him back. 

After all hugs and greetings were exchanged, Penelope found herself tucked back under Luke’s arm. It wasn’t even intentional. They gravitated toward that kind of touch now.

***

Much to Penelope’s relief, things weren’t awkward between her and her brothers. They were just happy to have her back in their lives and were happy that she was so happy with Luke. 

Luke’s presence seemed to lighten the atmosphere, or maybe that was just her perspective. Everything seemed lighter when he was around. 

Carlos began to tease her, which warmed her heart. Things had been the most tense between them, but it was a sign that they were getting back to normal. She had told him, or, rather, “complained,” about Luke when she’d been back for the hearing. Now, she was tucked under Luke’s arm, blissfully in love and planning her life with him. 

Penelope felt a sense of peace she hadn’t felt in years. She had her brothers again. She had Luke. Everything was going to be okay.

#Garvez #Garvez fanfiction #Luke Alvez #Penelope Garcia #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds fanfiction

[melonba11s]

Normal Morning (Strade/Melly fanfic)

Just a little piece I worked when I woke up!

Features: Character with amputated leg, very mild body horror, non-human MC, Strade

Melly awoke with an arm around her stomach. That was pretty normal these days. Strade liked having her close by, watching her leg every day. Her leg that no longer existed. 

Her stomach turned less than it should have. Maybe if this had been two weeks ago she’d have vomited at the thought. But several days in a basement having your nails pulled off and your throat fucked like a fleshlight tended to steel you to such things. 

She sighed heavily. She didn’t usually think so negatively. 

She feared she was becoming jaded. 

“Awake?” Strades' sleep fogged voice danced across her ears. Hot disgusting morning breath made her wrinkle her nose. 

“As awake as I can be.” She replied. And here came the other reason that Strade liked having her close by. 

“... Why does a plant need to sleep?” The questions. None of them were mean spirited. He was just curious. Really curious. A curiosity he wanted sated about her so badly that it ended up with her having a metal collar around her throat. 

She supposed the fact she could grow parts back didn’t hurt either. She gave a yawn, her tongue stretching out past her lips. Green. Everything inside her was green. 

Without sunlight her skin was taking on a greenish tone too. She glanced down at her leg. A weird thick fleshy tendril was extending out of the stump. It had no resemblance to a working leg. 

She hoped that was normal. She supposed she should answer Strades' question. 

“I actually looked that up. I thought maybe I could stay up infinitely watching anime or playing video games. Then I passed out at work, fell over and made everyone scared that I was narcoleptic. So when I was home I went onto google and it turns out plants do kinda sleep. They have a circadian rhythm they follow and are less active during the night.” 

She recanted the bare bones research back with a casual flatness to her voice. A “Matter o’ fact” tone that led people to think she knew what she was talking about. 

She didn’t know if that was true even. But she liked sleeping and apparently needed it so it would do. 

“... Narcolepsy. Did they make you see a doctor before you could return to work?” Strade asked. Melly groaned, remembering how she had awoken the moment her skull hit the thinly carpeted floor.  A hand flew to her head and she scrambled up to her knees, crawled then up to her feet and ran to the bathroom. Because there was no way she could explain green blood to people. 

No bleeding though, just a bump that would bruise. And a greenish bruise was explainable. 

“No, I came out and uh. Told them that I hadn’t slept in two days because I was watching anime. So they all just laughed and one person said she was glad she wouldn’t have to cover my shifts. “Haha classic Melly”. You know?” She began to stretch, trying to wriggle out from Strades casual hold on her. 

His grip stayed firm. 

“... Have you ever been to a doctor?” he asked. 

“If I had been I’d probably be in a lab somewhere and not here. Starting to think maybe I’d prefer the lab.” Strade gave out several bouts of huffy laughter. 

“A lab wouldn’t be as kind to you, Pflanze. No comfortable bed, no TV, no snacks. You’d grow thin and wither away.” Strade’s grip tightened now, pulling her back against him. Melly thought about it. She did need her snacks. 

“... Can I get up? I want coffee.” She reached forward, groping for the crutch Strade had graciously made for her. She uttered a cuss as her fingers bumped it and it fell forward, hitting the floor with a loud clatter. 

If Ren hadn’t been awake before he was now. 

“You know caffeine will stunt your growth.” Strade said, getting up. So he was going to free her. That was nice. 

“Yeah yeah I’ve heard that one before. But I told you I just. Came out like this. Fully grown. I have no room to grow.” 

“No No I looked it up. Caffeine stunts root production in plants. Your leg will probably grow back slower.” Strade walked around to the other side of the bed and picked up her crutch, handing it to her. 

Melly tested out the crutch, then her good leg before standing up, leaning on the polished wood. 

Normally she’d want her leg to grow back quickly. She missed being able to stretch it and walk on it and kick with it. But the faster it grew back, the more likely Strade would take it off again. 

“Load me up then.” she finally said, making her way past him. “Let this shit take an eon to come back.” 

#Melly oc #melly fanfic #melade #melade fic