#...that there is only so much i can do before it is excessive. because i can be 100000% careful and people will misinterpret meaning... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fyloe · 2 days

Text

My CoTL AU (Mostly backstory)

BLOOD TW & Yap session warning.

[I've simplified it as much as possible and included little pictures for those with short attention spans.]

This is begins before the slaughter of the lambs and the universe's rules are slightly tweaked, just a twinge... A wee bit. (I only say this because I either can't remember or don't know everything about the game).

It all starts with a little lamb named Marrei who's living in Anura with her parents. Her mother is pregnant/expecting soon and her father works from sunrise to sunset, food is scarce and they all risk starving.

Her mother continuously tries to give her portions to her frail and weak daughter (Marrei) only for her husband to stop her and force her to eat, sometimes he doesn't succeed and instead he gives her his portions to eat.

Marrei's father eventually dies of starvation and the pair (trio including unborn child) continue to eat whatever they can get from scraps, without her father around her mother continues to give Marrei all the food.

One day her mother leaves and does not come back.

Marrei waits inside that house for a week, almost weeks, before she exits. She finds her mothers corpse, her mother had left to die next to where her father lay. He wasn't buried, used instead for compost.

(I didn't add much detail cause I'm lazy.)

It had been so long that her parents were thoroughly picked apart by birds.

So Marrei, in her little mind, was like "hey, don't baby lamb skulls make me live a long time or something?" So, she took her brother's (congrats, it was a boy) skull and brought it with her.

She just picked a random direction and walked, and walked, and walked... she just kept walking with no goal in mind.

For days.

For weeks.

Longer than she spent alone in her house, just ratting whatever berries or pumpkins she finds. She is kicked from many farms. She grows.

Eventually she happens upon a temple.

(This is where shit gets blurry as I have only got the back bones laid out, some areas have excessive minor detail whilst areas like this do not. Marrei could've gotten caught by guards or just knocked on the door, either way she ends up getting indoctrinated into Heket's cult.)

Marrei undergoes the world's loooooongest training montage to level up from beta noob to level 99 Mafia boss and through the power of toxic Yuri she becomes the consort of Heket and they are gay for each other for a couple thousand years (she gets an official immortality necklace from her shawty).

She basically becomes the words most humblest spoiled brat, getting gifts she didn't ask for all while continuing to be a nice soft person.

(Marrei looooves gold.)

(These are the years she develops relationships with the bishops that come up after they become followers + other secrets that you only get if you stick around.)

Then it happened.

Marrei didn't know much about Narinder as he had only sought her out once and once alone.

She had unknowingly given Narinder a little push, fed the thoughts festering in the back of his mind, yet was completely taken by surprise at the news of his (albeit failed) usurpment attempt.

Marrei spends a while in depression, having lost someone she considered close even though they had spoken once (she's just nice like that) and everybody else she cared about (Leshy/Heket) was badly injured.

She was then promptly kicked out without warning or reason and banished from Anura by Heket.

In a panic, she finds her way into Darkwood as it's the only other place she knows.

This is essentially a period of inactivity, things happen but nothing too serious to write about.

Well, there's one thing....

But, that's a secret.

Marrei gets kicked out of Darkwood as well and then she decides it's time to just start walking again.

So she does.

She walks and walks.

Eventually, she ends up at the clearing Ratau shows the player and attempts to set up camp.

Alas, she's jack shit at anything but sitting there and looking pretty so she struggles for a long time before meeting Ratau.

He helps her get set up and teaches her how to be an independent woman/is like her father because shes a fatherless idiot and Ratau isn't old enough to be a wrinkly old ballsack yet as he just got fucked over and fired from vessel duty.

You guys will never guess what happens next lmao

Marrei lays an egg!

*air horn sound effect*

(No, it's not Ratau's wtf...)

So yeah, that thing hatches and she doesn't know what to do. Marrei is a horrid mother and she cries all the time, she cries a lot. She is stupid, stupid woman. She is too busy living in the past and missing her shawty.

Ratau smacks her on the head with his stick a couple times... A lot of times.

Fun fact: The Lamb literally doesn't have a name, at all. Everybody just calls them Lamb, or The Lamb, or Leader.

This is because Marrei just... never named them.

Probably doing mushrooms or something lmao

Marrei pulls on her big girl pants and gets her shit together eventually because she actually gives a shit about her kid, she's just a loser who has no idea what the fuck she's doing and didn't expect bro to pop out...

The Lamb grows up to have a close bond with Marrei and Ratau who occasionally visit like a grandpa.

When Lamb turns 18 they're like "can I finally leave bro, just for a little bit, I've never stepped foot out of this camp"

Marrei is like "FUCK NO!"

And Ratau is like "bro, chillax..."

So she sighs and allows them out.

Only for Lamb to immediately get lost and be captured before being put to slaughter as 'The Last Lamb".

Lamb meets The One Who Waits and Narinder is like "lmao why u kinda godly or sum shit" and Lamb is like "brother what... Can I just die or go home like damn" and Nari like "shit calm down rude ass"

So Lamb returns home to a worried sick Marrei sobbing in Ratau's arms as the red crown's vessel.

The game mostly continues like normal, the bishops don't know the lamb is related to them and neither does the lamb.

Except after the slaughter of Leshy, Marrei distances herself from her child and then right after Lamb defeats Heket's final mini boss Marrei finally cracks and tells the Lamb everything.

Who their other mother is (don't worry how it happened, it's magic), That their half god/frog, Her upbringing, just... Everything.

(This is old art, I just thought it was fitting lmao)

Lamb does the equivalent of saving and exiting the game, leaving the cult and going fishing or working on Sozo's quests or something.

Lamb continues their crusade through Anura in which you can get a new dialogue option with Heket where she (not by name) mentions/refers to Marrei, saying the Lamb reminds her of someone she once knew. She remarks on the familiarity of his bracelets they wear as similar to ones she had given to Marrei. (As Marrei had regifted it to the Lamb.)

While the Lamb is out they end Heket without informing her of anything, that Marrei is alive or of their relation.

Once again, the game pretty much continues as normal until the bishop's revival. (Besides the fact of Narinder being a smarty pants and figuring out that Lamb was related to him and being a pissy bitch about it, yapping about the irony of his siblings unknowingly losing to someone who's their blood--things coming full circle.)

There's very minor plot that happens after the game's technical end besides Marrei getting her closure and becoming a toxic old Yuri couple with her shawty, having another kid, Leshy being a fucking goober and getting into a throuple, and Narinder trying to be a not dog shit uncle...

So yeah, that's all!

I'm probably gonna remember a shit ton of lore later and be super angry like "stupid little fucking brain fuck you!" but like this post has been deleted more than four times and I've had to redo it so this so what you get have fun

This post is dedicated to @owl-lady-lover, thank you for asking about my lore! :3>

22 notes · View notes

hartwinorlose · 1 day

Text

got inspired by @neyafromfrance95's soulmate posting

COOPER HOWARD - NINE

1 & 2 - Linda and Robert Howard

Most people’s first threads are their parents. Cooper is no exception. He’s born with two tiny circles of red around his thumbs and an instinctual knowledge: they are there until death; they will remain even if he cuts them. He has eight more. It is far better to have these two than not.

Like most children, he makes threats in the midst of his tantrums. “I’ll cut it off!” he screams at his mother when she won’t let him have his way. “I’ll cut your thread!”

Of course, he never does.

Three decades later, in his father’s hospital room, he watches the brilliant crimson fade to a colorless gray. The last bit of red fades away right as the flatline sounds.

Cooper is sick for a week straight afterwards, can’t so much as get out of bed. When he finally does haul himself back into the real world, the ache in his heart stays. He resents it — there was no love lost between him and his father, but every time he catches a glimpse of that gray thread, it makes him hurt all over again. In the end, it takes more than a year before his heart feels well and truly whole.

It’s the first thread he loses. It won’t be his last.

3 - Mrs. Abernathy

He’s only seven when he gives the third one away. He’d developed a lisp, and his parents had immediately put him into speech therapy. He’s grateful for it. The other children have been picking on him incessantly.

Mrs. Abernathy never does. She works with him, tells him where to put his tongue to get his consonants just right. She’s exceedingly kind and excessively patient, and he wants to show her how much he appreciates what she’s done for him in the best way he can think of.

On the last day of therapy, when his lisp is well and thoroughly gone – his peers in third grade will never even know he had it – he edges his way shyly to her desk.

“Mrs. Abernathy,” he says, proud that he can say her title without it sounding like he’s speaking through a spoonful of peanut butter.

She graces him with a smile. “Yes, Mr. Howard?” She always addresses him like that, like he’s her equal. It makes him feel distinctly grown-up.

Puffing out his chest, he holds up his hand. “I want you to know that I gave you a thread.” He knows she can’t see it, and he knows she almost certainly won’t give him one back, but it’s the highest honor he’s capable of bestowing.

“Oh, Cooper.” Mrs. Abernathy places a hand to her heart. “That’s very kind of you, sweetie, but I want you to be careful with who you give those to, okay? Here.” She holds up her own hands and counts out her fingers, then gives them a wiggle. “Ten. It seems like a big number, doesn’t it?”

He nods solemnly. Double-digits. He’ll be a big kid when he hits double-digits, that’s what everyone keeps telling him. Ten seems a very long way away.

Mrs. Abernathy places her hands on her knees and leans forward. “I’m going to tell you a secret. It isn’t very big at all. In fact, in a few years, you’ll probably wish you had a lot more than ten fingers for those threads. So you keep them for people who can give them back to you.”

He gets a similar lecture from his parents when they find out what he’s done. Mrs. Abernathy must have called them because he comes home to find his father in a fine state.

“Soft-hearted nonsense!” he blusters when Cooper confirms he has, indeed, bestowed Mrs. Abernathy with one of his threads. “This is what comes of going too easy on him. He gets these sort of fool-headed ideas.” This to his mother, who sits with an almost contemplative look on the sofa.

“I don’t know,” she hums. “I think it’s sweet of him.”

Robert’s face goes as red as a tomato. “Sweet! It’s permanent, Linda. The boy’s gone and permanently tied himself to a woman four times his age. What’s he going to get out of that?” He yanks loose the knot in his tie and rakes a hand through thinning hair.

Cooper quails backward as he rounds on him.

“You listen here, Coop. You do something this stupid again, I’ll cut the damn thread myself. You hear me?” Robert advances a step, goes so far as to make his fingers into scissors and snip the air.

Tears well in Cooper’s eyes, and he clutches his hand to his chest. He doesn’t want to lose any of his threads.

Linda jumps up and slaps Robert’s hand down. “Stop it, Bob! He’s going to think you’re serious.” Spinning, she crouches down in front of Cooper and pulls him into a hug. Runs a soothing hand over his hair and murmurs, “Don’t worry, dear, no one can cut it but you. You know that, don’t you?”

Cooper nods, but his father’s threat stays with him for a long time.

4 - Grant

Cooper doesn’t even think about giving away another thread until he’s fourteen. Grant is his best friend, has been for the past six years – practically a lifetime. Grant probably knows him better than he knows himself.

It feels monumental when they ditch their bikes at the edge of what they think is the woods – in reality, a two-acre patch slated for development that happens to have some dense shrubbery and trees – and hike to a group of rocks. The rocks are famous with the neighborhood kids for being infested with snakes, but they climb fearlessly to the top.

Grant takes out his pocket-knife and scrapes it against the unyielding stone. It leaves marks behind, white on gray, and he carves out a clumsy “G.”

“Here.” He hands the knife to Cooper.

Dutifully, Cooper adds a “C” right next to it. “Now what?”

“We gotta bleed.” Grant holds the knife over the pad of his index finger and digs the point of it in until a drop of blood wells beneath it. Once again, he hands Cooper the knife.

His breath hisses through his teeth as the blade punctures his skin, but he lifts his finger to show Grant he’s done it.

Grant presses their fingers together, their blood mixing and falling combined onto the initials they’d carved. “There,” he says, wiping his hand on his pants and leaving a rusty streak behind. “Now we’re blood brothers.”

“Blood brothers,” Cooper repeats, wrapping his hand around his finger to stem the bleeding. When he opens his fist, he realizes a thread has wrapped itself around the base of his bloodied finger. His eyes follow it to where it terminates somewhere within Grant’s rib cage. He hadn’t even realized he’d given one away.

5 - Janet

Cooper is seventeen and a bit of a romantic. He’s been dating Janet since Grant moved away two years back, and he’s pretty sure it’s going to be forever.

By the time he’s eighteen, he’s sure enough to run a thread between them. Never before has he wished so fervently that she could just see it herself because it is, frankly, a little embarrassing to admit. At first, he’s not sure how to say it. Then: genius strikes.

He waits until prom night, when they sleep together for the first time. When Cooper sleeps with anyone at all for the first time. They lay in her bed afterward because her parents are out of town and they have all night.

It takes him longer than he’d like to admit to pluck up the courage, but he eventually draws a line from his finger to her heart.

“What are you doing?” she asks, looking slightly amused.

Cooper shrugs a shoulder. “Loose thread. I fixed it.”

She opens her mouth, starts to ask him what he means, but she seems to figure it out as her face flushes bright pink. “Oh, Cooper. I mean… um. Thank you. But I… I can’t…”

“You don’t have to do it back,” he rushes to assure her. Fuck, this is worse than he thought.

“No, no.” Janet cradles his face in her baby-pink-manicured hands. Her prom dress, the same shade, is crumpled on the floor. “It’s so nice of you. Seriously. You’re like the cutest thing ever. It’s just, my parents, if they found out…”

“Right, no, yeah. It’s fine, Jan.” Cooper cannot get out of there fast enough. He makes some awful excuse about how his own parents will be home soon and he needs to get back before he’s missed.

Janet watches him get dressed, stops him before he can get out the door. She takes his hand and dusts his knuckles with a kiss. “Someday,” she says, rubbing his thumb. “I promise. I’ll give you one of my mine.”

Feeling slightly more reassured, he kisses her goodbye.

They break up three months later. Cooper signs up for the Marines.

6 - Agnes

“I require all my clients to give me one of their threads.” Agnes has her thin hands folded on her desk, her lipstick a professional shade of red. Not a hair is out of place on her head. Her suit has lines so sharp they look like they could cut him. In other words, she strikes Cooper as a woman who knows what she’s doing.

She’s still talking. “It’s a cutthroat industry out here, Mr. Howard. I have to be sure you really want this, and that means commitment. So you tell me.” She steeples her fingers, stares at him expectantly. “What are you willing to give?”

Agnes Powell is not the first agent Cooper has met with. She’s not the third or the fourth or even the fifth. All of them had found something in him lacking – just not meant for the screen is the phrase haunting his nightmares.

If he doesn’t sign with someone soon, it’s back to readjustment. That hasn’t been going so well for him, being a civilian. War had been bigger than life; he needs something to fill this new space inside him.

He studies his hands. Five threads left. He’s still young, and he wants a family. Not for the first time, he wishes he’d been a little more discerning over the years.

Agnes blinks, tilts her head. “Hollywood is the best step you’ll ever take, Mr. Howard, and I’m eager to take it with you. I think you’ve got talent; I really do. It’s just one little thread, right?”

Cooper rubs the empty space around his left pinkie. One thread not to go back to his job as a bagger at the Super Duper Mart. One thread to potentially leave the mundanity of normal life behind. He’s given them up for less.

He reaches across the desk to shake Agnes’ hand. “Just one little thread,” he agrees.

7 - Sebastian Leslie

In his right mind, Cooper would never hand Sebastian one of his four remaining threads. Three hours of steady drinking and mindless celebration have driven him from his right mind. Agnes had come through – she’s gotten him a role and not just any role. A starring role.

It’s a Western, which is not a genre he would’ve picked, but Sebastian had clapped him on the shoulder when he first hears.

“They’re big, Coop. Trust me on this. You’re going to be huge.” Then he’d offered to buy him a drink, and Cooper had said why the hell not.

Filming starts in a week, and he’s determined to spend most of the time not-sober. Sobriety gives him too much time to think about how he could fuck this up. It’s a lot easier to shed that self-doubt when the room is hot and swirling and Sebastian is in his ear pitching all sorts of storylines.

The hero. The villain. The heartthrob.

Cooper snorts. “Neither of us has the face for that.”

Sebastian makes an obnoxious buzzer sound. “Wrong! Women flock to this face.” He frames his with a flourish. “It’s not about the features, it’s about the confidence. They love that shit.”

“I’ll leave you to them,” Cooper laughs. He downs the next shot, which has somehow ended up in his hand.

Slinging his arm over his shoulder, Sebastian clinks his own glass against Cooper’s newly empty one. “You play this right, Coop, you’re going to rule this town. Just do me a favor and take me along with you, yeah?”

“Sure I will.” Agnes had been right about everything – the industry was cutthroat, and he hasn’t managed to make a lot of friends out here. Sebastian is pretty much it. As far as Cooper can tell, he owes it to him to pay back that generosity.

Tequila-addled and high on imagined success, Cooper holds up his hand. “I’ll do you one better than a favor. I’ll make you a promise.”

Sebastian stares at him dully for a moment before his eyes gleam with unshed tears. “You bastard,” he sniffs. “You know I’m an emotional drunk.” Half-sobbing, he pats Cooper on the chest, right over the heart, as he sticks his own in place.

When Cooper wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache, he squints at the new line of red encircling his finger. Bleary memories of exchanging threads swim to the surface, and he sighs. Well. Shit. Old habits, it seems, die hard.

8 - Barbara

Barbara laughs when he tells her about Janet. Her teeth and earrings gleam in the soft glow of their candlelit dinner. She holds her wine glass with an elegance he can’t help but admire.

“Eighteen?” she echoes. “Absurdly young for a lifetime, don’t you think?”

Cooper shrugs. “Yeah, well. I was an optimist.” He tilts his head toward where her fingers clutch the glass stem. “How about you? I’m almost afraid to ask how many spaces you’ve got left.”

She takes a measured sip before setting her glass down precisely where it had been when she picked it up. “Six,” she tells him.

“Wow.” Assuming her relationship with her parents is decent, that means she’s only given two away by her late twenties. “Some people might call that cold-hearted.”

Barb slices into her steak. “I prefer to think of myself as selective.” She arches an eyebrow, as though challenging him to break through all of those restrictions, to be one of those she selects.

Somehow, miraculously, he must because when he gets down on one knee, she accepts the ring and the thread he offers. She even gives him one of her own.

It’s a few years later, and they’re sitting on a ridiculously large couch in the ridiculously large house he can afford. Barb reclines against his chest; he’s reading through the latest script Agnes has sent his way with his elbow propped against the back of the couch.

Barb breaks the silence. “You know what I’ve been thinking?”

“Mmm?” he hums, right in the middle of a monologue and only half-paying attention. “What’ve you been thinking?”

She lifts one hand and examines the back of it. “It might be nice to have a new thread.”

That gets his attention. “Oh yeah?” It takes a minute for understanding to dawn – then she turns on him with such a pair of bedroom eyes that it clicks into place. “Oh.”

She runs her fingers over the back of his hand. “If you’ve got room, that is.”

“Baby, I’ve got room for as many as you want,” Cooper says, already scooping her into his arms. “As long as it’s not more than two.”

He carries her, laughing, to bed.

A few more years, and Cooper is not so blinded by the lights of Hollywood anymore. Barb, however, seems to be capable of shielding her own eyes from whatever shit is going on at Vault-Tec. Things get more and more sour between them. The fault line in his heart grows bigger and bigger.

Until it cracks open completely.

He drives home in a haze, replaying the staticked voice of his wife as she proposed the end of the world. When he walks into the house, he stands for a minute in the living room, not moving, not thinking, just letting himself breathe in and out while he still can. This is going to hurt like a motherfucker.

He doesn’t let himself do it immediately. He’s made enough rash decisions – this one deserves time. Two days later, he pulls the kitchen shears out of the knife block.

Cooper is not entirely certain how one is supposed to do this. Eventually, he decides on clutching the thread between his teeth and stretching his arm as far out as it can get. Places the mouth of the scissors to the edge of the thread. Squeezes his eyes shut. And cuts.

There’s so much pain, it’s like his other senses give up. His vision goes dark, and he collapses to the ground, the scissors clattering off somewhere. All he can hear is the rush of blood through his ears. For a minute, his heart beats so off-kilter, he worries he’s gone into cardiac arrest. But slowly, surely, it gets back to normal, and his eyesight comes back – blurred and imperfect, but good enough to let him stumble into his bedroom and collapse onto the mattress. Good enough for him to see the string that once shone scarlet is now a bitter, ugly black.

9 - Janey

Nobody’s perfect is an age-old adage that Cooper has heard dozens, if not hundreds, of times throughout his life from all sorts of people. Well, those people haven’t met his kid. The connection is instant. The very second she lands in his arms, he feels the ninth thread encircle his finger.

He counts her fingers and toes, a perfect ten of each. He watches her flawless nose crinkle as she winds up for another round of wailing.

“Good set of lungs on that one,” a nurse remarks as she bustles around him.

Not good, Cooper would tell her if he could pay attention to anything other than Janey. Perfect.

She is the one thread he never, not for one minute, regrets.

THE GHOUL - ONE

10 - Lucy MacLean

The weeks after the bombs are hell. Cooper can’t tell which he’s sicker from: the radiation or the rapidly graying threads. Mrs. Abernathy goes first, then Janet, then Sebastian. He can’t help but imagine how they all died. The bomb for Mrs. Abernathy. Some desperate fucker guts Janet behind the shell of a grocery store. Sebastian doesn’t make it through the radiation poisoning.

Grant and his mom are next. He does everything in his power not to think of what might have ended them.

Agnes makes it a while. He’s become something else by the time her red runs out, something with rough skin and a body running on chemicals. Her survival makes sense to him – she’d always been a remarkably capable woman.

Every day, he dreads the moment he opens his eyes. There is only one line of red left to him, and if it goes out, he’ll put a bullet in his head.

The years go on, but he doesn’t change with them. The knowledge terrifies him – how long will he be around? He thought he’d be dead by eighty, but it comes and goes with no effect. He didn’t budget for this much existence. No matter how long he survives, the fact remains: he can make only one more connection.

So he does a pretty damn good job at not making any. Can’t risk another Grant. Wouldn’t survive another Barb. Much easier to keep to himself and forget he ever even had the option.

Unfortunately, there’s a girl. He fully intends on killing her, but she talks like he hasn’t heard anyone talk for centuries, all sickly corporate. The stain of Vault-Tec is all over her. She’s a good opportunity, so he takes it, and he tries to ignore the little voice in the back of his head whispering that maybe he never has to really let her go.

He ties her to him with everything he can think of that isn’t one of those damn threads. A cable, a lasso – hell, he even sews part of her onto him. That voice still won’t shut the fuck up.

The worst part? He can’t even figure out the reason. What is it about her that makes him want to give her the last, shriveled part of him? She gave me the chems, he tells himself, but he knows that’s a lie. He should have shot her dead the second she tried to speak to him, and he hadn’t. It doesn’t make any goddamn sense.

It’s no clearer to him when he sends a bullet ripping through Henry’s cheek. For himself, yes, but also for Lucy. He knows all too well what that kind of betrayal feels like. Wouldn’t be surprised if she cuts that particular thread as soon as she gets the chance.

He holds out for as long as he can, but he’s never been a strong man. The second she shoots her mother instead of him, he feels the very last of his threads stretch between them. Permanent and maybe a mistake, but he’s hers now.

He half-turns. Sure enough, a bridge of crimson stretches all the way to her heart. He asks if she’s coming with him. Relief fills him when she does.

#fallout show #fallout prime #fallout tv #ghoulcy #vaultghoul #soulmate au #red string of fate #fanfiction #my writing

21 notes · View notes

leonenjoyer69 · 3 days

Note

Do you got some angsty headcanons for Elias? Elias and anyone else?

Apologies that this took actual weeks to get to, but we're so fucking back (this is also an answer for @dustmint who asked the same >:3)

Okay, starting off, (I think I may have mentioned it before but who knows,) Elias is lowkey a workaholic, for many different reasons tho!!

First of all, out the gate he has that work ethic that Lanyon Sr. tried to encourage Robert to have. Elias has to keep himself busy somehow, so why not get things done? Like previously stated, he has more of an affinity for all the doctory stuff Lanyon learned, so he tends to play doctor for the society. Otherwise, he also helps Jekyll with paperwork, no matter how boring, because the light thanks he gets at the end makes it worth it.

Secondly, and back onto the keeping busy part, Elias is restless af. Being more emotional and such, he's very prone to over thinking and spiraling over things- thinking he's not enough, or that people hate him, etc.- and gets overwhelmed by his thoughts quite easily (think like Hyde in Shatter me!, when he's getting chased and such, his thoughts becoming more base and fearful.), he's generally able to hide it though. When he's around Jekyll/Hyde these thoughts tend to go away, and when he's actively working or being praised/complimented for his work, they also tend to calm. So, when Jekyll/Hyde are unavailable and Lanyon let's him take over (usually after much nagging, bribery, or pleading) he buries himself in work. Whether that be medical research, paperwork, cleaning, or anything else he can do to keep occupied, he doesn't really care.

Because of this excessive emotional instability and restlessness, Lanyon tends to snap at him a LOT when they're alone together, Especially because Elias avoids going into the subconscious as much as possible. Being outside with only the presence of his other half? Overwhelming and usually not great, but being completely alone and numb in the subconscious? 100x worse to him. After the first time Lanyon finally bullied Elias into the subconscious, he came back a couple hours later near hysterical. after that debacle, Lanyon just decided that Elias bugging him and floating around with minimal breakdowns and complaining was better than having to deal with that again.

Also, Elias is absolutely obsessed with Jekyll and Hyde. Practically codependent, he's like a puppy. He yearns to be around either of them at basically all times, and when he isn't he, of course, becomes super restless and lowkey depressed. Also, the thoughts that tend to mess him up the most are ones related to them, like Jekyll or Hyde actually hating him, or thoughts of something horrible happening to them, like getting caught or hurt, or even killed.

There are times though where he's able to sit and think without absolutely spiraling though. Usually when he feels this sort of emotional content, he'll go to a park and climb up and sit in the trees (usually at night, to watch the sky). These tend to be the nights where Lanyon and Elias have more of their heart to hearts, since Elias is more mellow and less likely to get emotional. Also, any trinkets or gifts from Jekyll/Hyde tend to soothe him a decent bit, as well as wearing or cuddling up with any stolen clothes.

Those heart to hearts don't tend to help with their constant disdain for each other though. Elias wants to constantly be in control and occupied and around Jekyll/Hyde. Lanyon, of course, also wants to be in control, because he does NOT like having that control stripped from him, especially when he's forced to watch his other half live the life that HE wants. They tend to fight for control a lot, and quite quickly have accidentally done half transformations multiple times ( I actually have a fic idea for this teehee :3). Otherwise, like previously stated, Lanyon is VERY jealous of Elias, for many reasons-- His work ethic and the praise he gets, how forward he is with Jekyll, how much more people seem to enjoy his company than Lanyon's, things like that.

Quick thing for Jekyll and Hyde too! Jekyll tends to get a bit self conscious when Elias gets touchy, mainly because he's half convinced that no part of Lanyon really loves him and that he's just gonna get used and heart broken again, despite how utterly romantic Elias acts (which Jekyll still tends to absolutely eat up). Hyde doesn't have such qualms, he absolutely thrives on all the physical contact and kissing and such. The romanticism tends to throw him off though, makes him super flustered and kinda makes him shut down a bit.

Okay! That's all I've really got for now. Once again, sorry this took so long 💀 if there's anything more specific or questions about how he would react to specific situations perhaps, feel free to send an ask, my inbox is always open, even if it takes a minute for me to get to it 💀

#answered asks #oc: elias wright #tgs #jekyll and hyde #lanyon takes the potion au #robert lanyon #my ramblings

20 notes · View notes

uncanny-tranny · 1 year

Text

I saw somebody discuss it a while back ago, but it was so affirming and I wanted to open a similar discussion here...

I've noticed in myself and others this intense (genuine) trigger response to people not understanding us or our words or whatever it may be, and it can feel so important that you correct people, that people know you, not a shitty cut-out version of you.

I think this is a valid response, of course. It is completely understandable, and I get where it comes from. When I was in the middle of abuse, I was misrepresented in order to be abused, so it can be a genuine trigger for something "small" you said, did, or are to be misinterpreted or twisted into something it isn't. It turns from, "this person didn't bother reading what I'm saying," to, "this person might be just like them, they're going to hurt me."

My overall point is that a huge part of living is this misinterpretation of you or your character, and it isn't your fault, and it isn't in your control. Hell, even, a huge aspect of language itself is in not being able to fully represent you or what you're saying because language is interpretive and based (in part) on other people's interpretation of what you said. They fill in the blanks with their own experiences, desires, or their own character, and at some point, it isn't really about you, you know?

My biggest piece of advice is learning how to let people be wrong. This shit, of trying to correct every single person? Personally, I have found it to be exhausting, and it feels like I'm blaming myself not only for everybody's interpretation of every little thing I do but also for abuse that led to this intense of a response. It's really hard to let people be wrong, yes, but it also has allowed me and permitted me to be more interested in my own life, not in my life in other people's brains. It's given me that specific freedom from abuse, from worry.

#mental health #mental health advocacy #abuse tw #abuse mention tw #no this isn't me saying that only abuse survivors feel this way because it is a very human and very normal emotion #*however* i have also found that abuse trauma can exaggerate that normal emotion into something more sinister #just like my trauma disorders are exaggerations of normal emotions.#this is mostly for clarity but i am aware of how other people can (and will) misinterpret this #i try my best to be clear in my intentions because it is my responsibility but i am also aware...#...that there is only so much i can do before it is excessive. because i can be 100000% careful and people will misinterpret meaning...#...or whatever it may be. that's a part of life. weirdly enough but having this blog...#...has taught me something about being misinterpreted because i have seen so much horrific accusations of me being levied...#...with no evidence. with no proof. that part of me did feel triggered by that because that shit was used by people who abused me...#...but that wasn't my fault. those people who did that? they clearly had it out for me from the get-go and it taught me not to value...#...what was said. they were biased because of how i choose to exist on here - which is queer. which is trans. which is disabled...#...not because i am secretly knavish or whatever it may be

44 notes · View notes

bubblegumbeyotch · 1 year

Text

#spent some time with ***** yesterday #god…. this would be a lot easier if he was just a totally unrepentant asshole and i could just cut him off completely #because it’s so fucking hard to get over someone when you still see all of the little things that you loved about them #we had a really good time together yesterday and it almost reminded me of old times before any of this stupid shit even happened #i had to keep stopping myself from holding his hand or touching him excessively but it just feels so unnatural it’s so hard #he also always compliments me when he sees me which is really sweet but ugh #like yesterday we took a picture together and after he was like #’you have such a beautiful smile’#and that was sweet right but also made it feel like my heart was collapsing in on itself #and we hugged for a looooooong time and i think we both know it’s because we still have so much attraction for each other leftover #and this is kind of the only way we can express it without fucking up the boundaries we already set #but jesus it’s hard #like god it’s so hard to be around him because i feel like i have to be cold and distant because otherwise this happens #like despite everything i can’t help how much i still love him #and that’s why i can’t talk about it because it feels like everyone expects me to hate him and want nothing to do with him #when the real issue is that yes i am still very mad at him but i wouldn’t be nearly as mad if i didn’t love him #in conclusion: fuck this stupid baka life #personal

4 notes · View notes

abyssaldyke · 2 years

Text

Not to beat this dead horse but as I am fighting my way through the last hundred-odd pages of The Long Way to a Small Angry Planet, I keep thinking about the usage of character perspective in science fiction. At the start of the book, we're with Rosemary all the time. She's easily the least interesting character, but she's our little pinhole into this world and I like that.

When her plot line is resolved halfway through (with like, stunningly little resistance, as is customary for this limp stained glass window of a novel), we're suddenly adrift, tossed between Sissix and Kizzy and Ashby and whomever else happens to be around. This might work all right in lit fiction, but in a world meant to be disorienting and unfamiliar, using the protagonist as a root stops being optional. I'm reminded of Genly Ai of The Left Hand of Darkness fame, how we spend hundreds of pages learning with him, how even when we switch to Estraven's perspective, it only gives context to Genly's experience and only after the world has been thoroughly established. Even then, LHOD takes place on a single planet to mitigate potential loss of interest and only swaps between those two characters. It's masterfully done by one of the if not THEE greatest sci-fi writer of her generation and even le Guin knows when to draw the line and pull us back.

Conversely, Chambers—enamored with this rich and interesting world and every rich and interesting character living within it—leaves us adrift in a sea of information with no root to show us why it's important. You know those posts that are like "lol why is every planet in sci-fi just one kind of people when every world is infinitely rich and diverse?" This reads as a direct response, a novel trying to be both road trip and road map. The reason why Star Trek and so forth focus solely on one type of people per episode is because trying to fit in everything or even multiple things about every single world is—crucially—disorienting and boring. An entirely unique science fiction or fantasy world is nothing without a character and a conflict to ground it. Without that, the best it can be is vaguely interesting background noise.

#ya girl #writing tag #i would tag this with the book name so yall can filter out my foaming frustration but im afraid of getting got #it's just sooooo limp oh my GOD. how many conversations do rosemary and sissix have before they get together?#it cannot be more than 3. maybe 4 if you include group conversations.#how much better would this be if it was about kizzy. or sissix or even ashby.#to drop us into their perception of the world without so much self-indulgent hand holding my GOD. the carbon based life form paper????#*corinne why do aliens use metric why do they measure time and distance the same as we do on earth* because only humans will read this #if i wanted to make up new shit for every single goddamn thing i might as well just write a fucking encyclopedia instead #sometimes excessive world building is worse!!! sometimes long character sheets are worse!!!#stunningly a writer can become so singlemindedly attached to her own genius worldbuilding that she forgets what a novel is!#and it happens one pretty little line at a time. you have to hunt down those pretty lines and pull them out to make room #for The Good Stuff

1 note · View note

thedevotionaltour · 2 months

Text

in terms of art alone im sorry. im a jrjr defender to my last breath you be fucking nice to him. i dont wanna hear shit❗️❗️❗️

#can someone also get him better inkers rn i am begging. pleading even. HE MAKES GOOD STUFF THEY JUST GIVE HIM SHIT INKERS WHO DONT GET IT.#MY FIRM BELIEF. im sorry. i like his stuff. there are certain things not quite my taste but i think he does good overall im a fan. BE NICE #static.soundz #sorry that last post was so directly inspired by seeing someone go can u guys be nice he is on a fucking nutbag schedule. which he is.#i dont think some people understand the insanity of comic production. and how much it takes a toll on you.#many have said and i will say it too: comics is a killing industry. it is a beautiful fun job. it is fulfilling. it will also destroy you.#the most common and easiest to use example is in fact the manga industry. they want chapters in a week. 20 page type chapters in a week.#A WEEK!!! and currently look at things like webtoon as well which also expect the same amount of pages. in a week. an issue in a week #is an insane demand. it is an unreasonable demand. it is scheduling that leads you to a crash and burnout and health issues #because it is fully finished polished pages. as much as i poke and complain about how some things look there #i am also highly aware of production schedules. even if some styles are not my taste that still doesnt mean it isnt insane work #and it's the same in american big industry comics too. it isnt weekly demand the way those are. but it's still an intense schedule #you are working on pages and can get behind years before those comics even hit shelves.#and as it becomes more individualized too as we lose the team element and work becomes more one person doing all pencils and inks #that schedule is a lot. it just is. it doesnt matter if theres more time in comparison to other parts of the industry #the point is that it is all very demanding and exploitative. there is a drive yourself to your grave mentality here and i've had ppl try #to shove that mindset onto my and my peers which is the worst thing possible to encourage. highly alarming and disheartening to encourage #impressionable students already so worried about making it to drive themselves to an early grave. abuse substances to get through work.#work excessive hours while you still can because when you hit your 30s youre gonna lose that ability #become bitter and prepared for rejection as opposed to success because this industry sucks!#it's just such an unhealthy depressing mindset. i've had more artists preach the exact opposite as that and more ppl have been trying to #shift over to valuing your time and health. but still a lot of people are in that other mentality. and it's very very very sad.#i am only a student doing very low stakes homework for classes. i have no industry experience. and i still get it taken out of me #to do fully fledged out pages in my style in one week. this is also just a thing for me bc certain personal factors just make it hard #but still. comics are fun. they are fun. they are fulfilling. they will lead you to so many fucking issues if you are not highly careful #there is a reason why so so so many fucking comic artists have very well known issues. why you hear about so many ppl with substance issues #artists with very poor mental health. when you are in comics this is how it is.#i am glad there has been a big shift in recent years towards taking care of yourself as an artist. and that more ppl try to value it so tha #things can hopefully change at large in a broader sense. but please remember. we are an exploited chew up spit out industry too.

0 notes

kenntolog · 18 days

Note

Oh oh! I want to tag in!! I’m not entirely sure if this is something you’re comfortable with, but since cool bf Sukuna loser gf reader takes place in university, I think I’d be super cool seeing sukuna get wasted and being so soft to reader and just loving her while she’s all flustered and maybe on the verge of tears cause she feels so loved (not that she didn’t before, but sukuna is like, being extra about it you know?), thought it be cute!!

𝝑𝝔 an: hey sweet anon!! this is indeed very cute and charming so i hope you enjoy my interpretation!! read more ab cool bf sukuna x loser gf reader here! wc: throwing up, drinking.

cool boyfriend sukuna is so wasted he loses his filter completely, his affectionate nature that was sealed deep inside of him, threatening to break out only for his loser girlfriend, finally free of it’s restraints.

“you’re always so good t’me, baby,” he mumbles, face snug in the juncture between your neck and shoulder, and in any other setting in would’ve been very very sweet, but not when he’s laying on top of you by the entrance of your place, having lost his balance when trying to get out of his shoes.

“‘kunaa~ d’you wanna maybe get up?” you whine, trying to move him off.

“i’ll stay where i want,” he lifts his head up, a frown appearing on his face before he visibly stiffens. you eye him warily before you realise that he’s probably going to throw up and it’s gonna be all over you if he doesn’t move.

thankfully, sukuna has mercy and quickly moves away from you, standing up and running to the bathroom, and soon enough you hear him groaning in pain and agony. you rub his back through it all, cringing at the way he still manages to curse in between choking on his own vomit, and lift him up making him drink some water and get ready to wash his teeth.

he’s still very much drunk, now uncharacteristically quiet as he stares at you through the mirror while brush his teeth carefully. he’s probably capable of doing it himself, you think, but you don’t think he should let go of the sink’s edge, still swaying a bit from side to side.

since you’re focused on brushing his teeth so you don’t notice his half-lidded gaze on you until you’re done, instructing him to spit out the excess toothpaste.

“let’s get you to bed, ‘kuna,” you mumble, shy under his intense gaze, and tug him by his arm gently, leading him out of the bathroom.

sukuna falls on the bed like a sack of potatoes, pulling you down along with himself as he sighs in delight.

“g’night, baby.” he mutters, holding you close to his chest, but you chuckle nervously, trying to get out of his hold instead since you still had to change and do your routine before sleep. “where the hell are you goin’?”

“i gotta change and wash—”

“no, i can’t sleep without you, baby,” he pouts and you can barely keep your face intact to not give away your bewilderment because this is a revelation for you. his arms tighten around you a little as he glares at you sleepily.

“it’ll take just a couple of minutes, ‘kuna,” you attempt to negotiate once again. he stares at you for a few seconds before groaning and sitting up.

“‘m comin’ with you.”

you sigh, suppressing your growing smile, but don’t resist and let him tug you both into your bathroom.

———————

“you don’t even have to do all this shit,” sukuna complains quietly now that he’s settled: head heavy on your shoulder with arms wrapped around your middle as he blinks slowly and yawns occasionally.

you don’t give him an answer, busy with the last step of your routine, before you feel him breathing you in slightly, lips nipping on the skin of your neck.

“you’re the prettiest girl in the world for me,” he mutters simply, kissing your jaw and cheek as his hands rub up and down your sides soothingly. you feel your face heat up when his eyes lock with yours through the mirror, your flustered state now more visible. “the best girl in the world.”

“s’kuna,” you mumble, looking down at your hands so that he doesn’t see your cheeks dusting with the embarrassing pink.

he ignores you, fingers clasping around yours as he pulls you out of the bathroom and to your bed. once again, sukuna drags you into the bed with himself, covering you both with your blanket.

“my girl,” he sighs with a sleepy grin and cups your face with both hands, leaning in to place a kiss on your nose and lips. “took care of me so well t’night.”

you almost whine in embarrassment, hiding your face in his chest so sukuna doesn’t see the way your bottom lip juts out and eyes get watery as you try your best to not sniffle so much. the amount of love you feel from him is so overwhelming you start feeling stupid for the way you don’t know whether to laugh in delight or cry from the softness.

“love you so much.”

“love you too, ‘kuna.”

+ bonus!

“were you cryin’ into my chest?”

“n-no, why’d you say that?”

“you totally were, loser.”

“sukuna!”

#— miya writes!#sukuna x you #sukuna ryomen x you #sukuna ryomen x reader #jjk sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna jujutsu kaisen #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #cool bf sukuna x loser gf reader

3K notes · View notes

dollfacefantasy · 8 months

Text

Hold My Calls

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: you teasing leon about his flip phone leads to some fun

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), fucking during a phone call, age gap, daddy kink, praise/degradation, over-stimulation

word count: 2.9k

a/n: hey everyone school is kicking my ass rn, but i am back with another one. thank you so much for the support on my last post that meant the world to me. i don't care if this is not technologically accurate or whatever just let me be delusional in peace. as always comments and reblogs are appreciated and i will give you special smooches in return <3 also thank you too my loves @tosuckmyweenis @kaitkatme @chasingkennedy @explorevenus @sleepyluxe @death-paint @petitecolibri for helping me come up with ideas for this one and/or beta reading - ily all sm :)

When you started dating Leon Kennedy, obviously you knew there was an age gap. You figured it wasn’t a big deal. He’s only thirty-six. That isn’t that much older. And for the most part, that was true. The difference in years never seemed to play a huge part in how you loved each other. But there was one thing that reminded you of this man’s age.

He had a fucking flip phone.

Honestly, it didn’t even say much about his age. It highlighted his stubbornness. He was not incompetent. His job had him working with all kinds of shit that you didn’t even try to understand, so it’s not like he can’t work a smartphone. He just doesn’t want to.

It didn’t really matter. If anything, it was kind of cute. The way he fumbled with the buttons that were too small for his fingers. The loud chiming ringtone that he would grumble about yet never turn down. The sight of him trying to find the right distance to hold the phone away from his face so he could read the font. You had heart eyes on your first date when this man popped in a CD because he couldn’t use the aux with his flip phone. They were simple quirks, but they were just so endearing to you. You’d tease him about being outdated, and he’d put up with it cause it was you.

“Why do I need anything more? This thing can call you, and that’s all I really need,” he’d say with a teasing expression when you’d crack a joke.

You’d roll your eyes at the excessive charm, but you couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, but-”

And he’d cut you off with a kiss. “Trust me. I like it. It’s simple. Plus it’s like indestructible. But if I ever want an upgrade, you’ll be the first to know.”

The only time Leon ever considered ditching his trusty flip phone and upgrading to something more advanced was when you would send him nudes. Seeing the masterpiece that is your body reduced to a handful of pixels on the tiny screen drove him fucking wild. Upon hearing the chime of his phone and seeing the small image of you gracing his screen, he’d find a moment alone to try and see the details. He’d hold the phone two inches away from his face trying to make out every last curve. Days when he got those pictures ended with nights where you got fucked on every surface in the house.

He’d come home from work, his eyes full of lust before he even saw you. You’d glide into the room with a knowing smile on your face. You wanted him just as bad as he wanted you.

“Hi, baby. How was work?” you ask, feigning innocence. You close the distance between the two of you and wrap your arms around him.

“Oh, you care about my work now, huh?” he asks, a smirk creeping onto his face as his arms return your embrace, “Doesn’t seem like it when you send me those cute pictures during the day, distracting me, making me think about you when I should be focused.”

Your lips part and your eyebrows raise in mock offense. “I only send those to help you, motivate you,” you tease as your fingers coast along his biceps, “Maybe if you had a real phone they wouldn’t bother you so much. You’d be able to see everything clearly and not be left imagining.”

“I don’t need to stress about pictures though when I got the real thing waiting at home for me every night,” he purrs as he leans in and starts kissing you.

You return the kiss with the same level of passion, lips moving with his as the two of you stumble over to the couch. You fall back onto the cushions with Leon on top of you. His hands already roam your body and begin removing articles of clothing. He wasn’t in the mood to take his time after having that grainy image of you gnawing at his mind all day.

“Fuck, baby. Every time… I can never get enough,” he grunts as he yanks your top over your head and tosses it to the side. His hands rub up and down your sides, the rough pads of his fingers dragging over your sensitive skin and making you squirm. In no time though, they’re on your breasts. He kneads the plump flesh as his lips trail down to your neck and collarbone, leaving a trail of saliva-coated skin in their wake.

He’s all over you all at once it seems. It’s overwhelming in the best way. You’re moaning and writhing on the couch, nearly trying to hump his leg while one of your hands tugs at his hair. You bite your lip and whimper as his lips move down over the swell of your chest.

He grabs your hips firmly and presses them down to the couch. His half-lidded eyes look up at you momentarily. “Quit squirming,” he breathes. He gives your chest a few more kisses while keeping his eyes locked with yours. “Need time with my pretty girl after I’ve been aching for her all day.”

You give a weak nod and focus on controlling your movements as he tugs your shorts off and drops them.

“Good girl,” he mutters before attaching his lips to one of your nipples and swirling his tongue around the peak. He hums in satisfaction as he feels the bud in his mouth. His fingers lazily stroke up and down your folds over your panties. He disconnects his mouth momentarily and looks up at you again with a smirk on his face.

“So wet already?” he teases, now being his turn to look smug, “You want me just as bad, don’t you? That’s why you send those pictures right? You’re missing Daddy while he’s at work?”

“Mhm, miss you so bad. It drives me crazy,” you say. A whimper escapes you as his fingers apply more pressure and his movements more strategically target your clit.

“I can tell. Makes you act like a little slut, huh?” he asks before he kisses down your stomach to the hem of your panties.

You feel your face getting hot at his comment, but you nod anyway. You bite your lip and keep your eyes locked with his.

He chuckles at your timid confirmation. “That’s ok, honey. Daddy’s here now. I’m gonna make sure you get all the attention you need. Can’t have my girl left wanting,” he says, pulling down your panties and putting them with your other discarded clothes.

He loops his arms around your thighs and pulls you closer so that you’re angled in a way he can reach you from his position on his knees. Your back is flat on the couch, and your legs are held over his shoulders. He doesn’t waste time, licking a stripe up your cunt and then delving his tongue inside of you.

Your head falls back onto the cushion in response. A moan escapes your throat at the sensation. Your sounds only increase in frequency and volume as he grips you tighter and fucks his tongue in and out of you. He watches you, relishing how he can pleasure you with so few touches. His tongue laps up your wetness and his mouth finds your clit again, sucking and flicking against the bundle of nerves just how you like.

His name and a variety of expletives leave your mouth while your hand slides into his hair and holds the blonde locks. Your hips twitch from the rising feelings of ecstasy in your tummy, but Leon’s hands keep you firmly in place. He devours you like a starved man, the hours of torture that little picture inflicted on him all paying off right now.

He’s skillfully swirling patterns onto your clit and occasionally exploring your insides. He knows you’re close because he can feel the way you’re pulsing and hear the way your moans and whines reach that slightly higher pitch. It only makes him work with more dedication.

“That’s right, sweetheart. C’mon, give it to Daddy. Let me taste it,” he grunts as he continues working you to the edge.

You cry out, your thighs quivering and your hips bucking as you succumb to release. You’re moaning with abandon, fingers clutching his hair as tight as possible. He groans into you from the sight in front of him.

You ride the high and he continues with his mouth throughout. When you reach the seeming conclusion, your chest is heaving and your limbs feel heavy, but Leon doesn’t stop. He continues on as if you were still on the way to your climax instead of coming down.

“Too much,” you whimper as your hips jerk and your hands make a weak attempt to push his head away, “Daddy, please.”

“Daddy, please?” he mocks with a laugh, “But this is what you wanted, babydoll. You wanted my attention, didn’t you?”

You whine, hips still squirming as your retort dies in your throat. It felt euphoric, it was just so much. This was what you wanted though.

“That’s what I thought,” he says before burying his face between your thighs again.

He continues eating you out until you’re an absolute mess. Your eyes are rolling back, nonstop whimpers fall from your lips, and your twitching thighs are clamped around Leon’s head. It was what he’d been wanting to see since he’d heard that chime in his back pocket.

“I’m gonna cum,” you slur. Your head felt cloudy from the numerous orgasms he’d brought you. A strangled cry tears through you as your body moves like it’s possessed. You convulse on the couch while his mouth makes you see stars for the umpteenth time.

Tears prick at your eyes from the intensity of your release, and finally, he starts easing off of you. He pulls your thighs off of his head and leans back. He wipes his chin that’s coated in your slick and licks his fingers. Seeing that alone has you clench around nothing which in turn spreads a smirk on his face.

“Good girl, baby,” he coos, planting a kiss on your inner thigh, “You did so well. I’m proud of you.”

He stands up from his knees, grunting as he gets to his feet and taking a moment to stretch. You can tell the extended amount of time in the position put some strain on him. Your lips curl into a small smile while adoration fills your hazy eyes.

“Your joints locking up on you, old man?” you tease with a quiet laugh.

“Don’t start,” he says, trying to sound stern, but you can see him suppressing his own smile, “Especially since I know you want more.”

That shuts you up because he’s right. He shakes his head and makes a mock sound of disappointment.

“I know you, baby. My dirty girl. Made you cum how many times, and you still want more,” he says. He begins stripping off his clothes into a pile next to yours. “My little whore would never turn down a chance to take my cock.”

Once his clothes are off, he languidly strokes himself a few times and climbs on top of you. He peppers some kisses on your face and starts to slide inside you. You were more than ready but still sensitive from the recent series of highs.

“Don’t worry, sweet girl. I’ll get you full of my cum in no time. Fuck all that neediness right out,” he murmurs into your ear, his breath on you sending chills down your spine.

You mewl and tighten around him in more ways than one. Your arms cling to his torso that hovers above you while your walls squeeze around him to take him deeper. He grunts and his head falls forward a little as he feels sparks of pleasure in his abdomen.

“There you go, angel. Taking me so perfect. My pretty girl. Made for me,” he says into your ear as he sinks into you completely.

You nod mindlessly, your head fogging up again as he fills you. He presses sloppy kisses to your neck as he starts pumping in and out. You’re both breathing heavily and allowing the pleasure to take over. One of your hands slides to his hair to rub his head while his hips snap against you.

He’s falling into the perfect rhythm with you, one that’s driving you both toward the goal line, when suddenly you hear a muffled guitar strum coming from the floor. Leon groans and you burst into laughter as you hear the ringtone you had set for him as a joke.

His movements get weaker as his focus is drawn elsewhere, but he doesn’t stop rocking his hips. He reaches down to the floor where his phone is ringing in the pocket of his crumpled pants. He fishes it out and shifts so he’s kneeling while drilling into you.

He holds the phone up and squints to read the tiny caller ID on the flip phone which makes you laugh harder through moans. He smirks at your laughter and clamps a hand over your mouth. “Shut up, I gotta take this,” he says teasingly.

He whips open the phone, the maneuver causing you to moan and squeeze around him again. He winces at the sensation, nearly unable to restrain himself from giving into his carnal urges to groan and slam into you harder.

Your eyes widen as he brings the phone to his ear without stopping his hips and in the most monotonous voice says “Kennedy here.”

It’s good that his hand is over your mouth to keep you quiet. The contrast of his movements and that voice have the sparks of pleasure igniting into flames in your belly. Seeing how he handles his dumbass flip phone so smoothly has your arousal nearly pooling on the couch.

He listens to the call while grinning at you struggling to keep yourself somewhat under control. “Uh-huh. Yeah. Sounds about right,” he drones as the person on the other end goes on and on.

His strokes are just as deep as before, nudging you in the perfect spots repeatedly. Your eyes roll back as you feel yourself getting near the peak. A soft whimper escapes you, loud enough to pierce the barrier of Leon’s hand. His hips sputter at the noise and his face contorts. He lets out a quiet grunt but quickly catches himself before losing it further.

“What? Yeah, I’m listening,” he says, his tone growing a little impatient, “Look, I’m just wrapped up in something right now. Could you not have just told me this before I left?”

You know he’s getting closer himself and struggling to hold back. You can tell from the way his jaw is clenched and his eyes are projecting his rising frustration he has for the person who made this call.

“Yes, I understand. I’ll deal with it tomorrow,” he says, effectively ending the conversation.

Then, to hang up, he doesn’t press a button. Instead, he flicks his wrist and shuts the flip phone with a clack.

You throw your head back against the couch cushion and a loud moan rips through your throat. You shudder as a wave of pleasure courses through you after witnessing something so unexplainably hot.

His eyebrows raise in amusement, noticing how much you enjoyed that. “Hmm, I’m not hearing any complaints about the phone now,” he says. He’s trying to tease, but his voice is husky with arousal. He maintains his grin as he drops the phone to the floor again and returns to his previous position which was closer to you.

“Careful, you’re gonna break it,” you whimper.

“Nah baby, I told you that thing is indestructible,” he breathes and starts pounding you into the couch mercilessly.

You bite your lip and resume clinging to him, your fingers digging into his back. You both are panting, expressions going lax as you focus on chasing the high.

“Daddy, ‘m gonna cum,” you mewl, unable to contain yourself for much longer.

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” he says into your ear, his voice taking on more of a growl, “Daddy’s right there with you. You deserve it for being so good for me. Being nice and quiet while I was on the phone.”

As soon as you have permission, you give into another release. Your legs shake and your arms cling to him tighter as the euphoria shoots through you. You’re gasping for air and whining while squirming beneath him. Soon it’s just too much for Leon. He tightens his grip on you and slams deep before groaning and draining himself inside of you.

He rocks in and out a few more times before slowly pulling out. He then sits up on the couch and sinks back into the cushions. You follow by sitting up as well and curling up against his side. He pulls you into his lap, stroking your hair away from your face and kissing your forehead. The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while until he gazes down at you with a smug look in his eyes.

“I knew the flip phone was a turn-on,” he says, clearly pleased with himself.

You scoff. “It is not. It was just… it was the situation,” you defend.

“Sure, but you were tightest when I was messing with the phone,” he says knowingly.

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

He laughs at your stubbornness and gives you another kiss. “You can admit it, baby. I won’t judge. Really, if you like it that much, maybe I’ll show you how strong it can vibrate later.”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #resident evil imagines #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #smut

4K notes · View notes

fawnindawn · 1 month

Text

even at our worst, we know we'll still be okay (luke castellan x apollo fem! reader)

summary: Where Percy's insistent pestering forces Luke to rethink on his possibly not platonic feelings for you, his best friend, and Percy's questions are answered for him with Luke's reaction to you being heavily injured on your return from your quest.

pairing: luke castellan x apollo fem! reader

a/n: i'm actually in love with this, maybe it's just the friends-to-lovers in me (where a love confession happens because one of them was near death's door-) but man.. also, i love including percy so much he's such a kid.

masterlist for this series next

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"Face it, man. You're whipped."

Percy watched Luke choke on his water, coughing as he tried to swallow past the sudden accusation. Wiping at the excess that dripped past his chin, Luke raised a brow at Percy.

"Whipped? For who?" Luke questioned, eyes averting and staring straight ahead, beyond the training grounds towards the meadows in the distance, seemingly searching for something or just doing a poor job at avoiding Percy’s unimpressed stare.

“I’m not blind, as much as Annabeth claims, to this...love stuff.” Percy huffed, half in exasperation and half in exhaustion as he leaned forward using his sword to balance himself. “You’ve been depressed ever since she left for her quest.”

Luke doesn’t need to hear your name to know who Percy was referring to. It’s been weeks since you were chosen by your father, Apollo, to descend on some mighty quest to fetch back his lyre that had been stolen. It wasn’t supposed to be a dangerous quest, but Luke had felt his gut sinking when he first heard the news from you.

“Why does he need to send you out there, where you could possibly be tracked down by monsters to get back a musical instrument of all things?” Luke snapped, exasperated as he runs his fingers through his curls, pacing back and forth in the Hermes Cabin, while you laid on his mattress looking undeniably calmer than he was.

“Luke, my dad won’t purposely send me on some death trap. I'll be fine.” You tried to reassure him, waiting for him to calm down in his pacing before you extended your hands in his direction right as he turned to make another round through the cabin for the seventh time. “Hey, come here.” You gestured. “Sit with me.”

He hesitated, stopping in his tracks as he finally took the time to look at you, noting your concerned expression at him. As if you weren’t about to descend on some ridiculous quest to god knows where all because your father couldn’t pluck up the effort to collect the instrument himself.

The longer your hands stayed outstretched for him, the more his anger and frustration dissolved into the overwhelming need to be near you. One second, he’s standing and the next, he’s laying in bed with you, your arms wrapped around him to stabilise him even though he should be the stronger one. The one to look out for you.

Laying his head on your shoulder as he wrapped one of his fingers around your hair, curling it in his palms, he spoke again in a soft whisper only for you to hear. “I’m worried.”

“I know.” You responded, your hands tracing at the curve of his shoulder, stopping at his collarbone, before your finger moved to tilt his face by the chin to look at you. “You trust me, right?” You ask, knowing his answer but wanting to hear the reassurance all the same.

“Course' I do.” He replied immediately, his eyes intense as he made eye contact with you. That was without question. You could ask him to walk into blazing flames, and he'd trust you would ask for good reason.

“Then you can trust that I’ll make it back alive.”

“Alive can mean lots of things.” He muttered, his eyes growing distant, the ghost of blood and a stinging burn running down the half of his face appearing uninvited in his mind.

“I’ll make it back alive and unharmed.” You reiterated, a knowing look in your eyes as you unconsciously traced at his scar, leaving warmth where it resides, making him shiver instinctively. “It’s a promise, Luke.”

He stayed silent, before slowly moving his hand to cup yours that rested over his scar. “I’m counting on it, sunshine.”

That promise rested over Luke’s conscience, gnawing at the back of his heels, chasing him daily from the early hours as he forced himself not to break over the stress and anxiety before putting on his golden boy facade, to pretend that he wasn't constantly distracted and nauseous over the thought of something happening to you without him being there to protect you.

He would've snuck out of camp if he could, just to find you, but Chiron had been tight-lipped on your destination, his all-knowing gaze piercing right through Luke when he had tried to nonchalantly ask about your whereabouts.

"I wish I could help you, Luke." Chiron had told Luke a few days after you had gone. "However, Apollo's request was clear. Only she shall take on this quest. No one else." The pin-point gaze Chiron had locked onto Luke made it clear he was talking about him.

"I am not whipped." Luke denied. "She's my friend. Like how you're my friend."

"I don't think your friendship with her is normal though." Percy fired back quickly, sipping on his own water as if he didn't casually demolish the older boy. "I swear I caught you bringing her back after curfew to your cabin, a few times in fact."

Luke felt his cheeks flush at Percy's sudden interrogation, smashing facts after facts on an early Tuesday morning. "I've been having.. nightmares lately. She's the only one who keeps them away." He didn't know why he felt like he had to explain himself to the kid, but the longer his friendship with you went under fire, the faster he wanted to get out of this conversation.

"You don't think that's something you should think deeper about?" Percy muttered with a shrug.

Luke is left speechless, his mind short-cutting at the sudden implication of.. him feeling something more for you? His most recent memories flashed through his mind. You tucked under his blanket as you laid beside him for the last night before your quest, a sleepy smile etched on your lips before you whispered him goodnight and he pulled you into his chest so he could feel your heart beating against his to push away any tricks currently playing on his mind, bringing light to how you're the only person he believes could calm him down and bring him peace-

"She's my best friend." Luke replied, more to himself than to Percy. "I'm just worried for her. A quest like that shouldn't take so long, and I keep imagining-"

He stopped in his tracks, not wanting to say his fears out in the open in fear that his words would jinx it, but Percy knew where he was getting at. Percy inched closer to Luke, moving to pat him awkwardly on the back in an effort to comfort him. "It's normal to be worried. From what I heard from Annabeth, you two are really close. I didn't have much conversations with her before she left, but she seems brave, and smart too. I have no doubts she'll make it back. If she's half as good as you, there's no way she wouldn't."

Luke felt a real smile crossing his face, the corners of his lips quirked up at Percy's words. "She's not half as good- she is better than me." He turned to look at Percy, that shine in his eyes noticeable as he talked about you. "Don't let her hear that when she gets back though, she'll talk my ear off for ages."

Percy returned his own smile, elated to see Luke have some improvement in his mood, proof being the first genuine smile Percy's seen in weeks coming from him.

"So.. do you want to stop for today?" Percy attempted with a casual tone.

"Why? Backing out already?" Luke teased, a smirk playing on his lips as he inched towards the kid jokingly with his sword raised.

"No!" Percy denied frantically. "I swear I'm not using the sympathy card as an excuse to get out of training-"

The sounds of a horn cut off his words, groaning across the camp, reaching the training grounds in record time. Luke felt his heart palpitate, nearly crashing into his rib cage.

He barely had time to think, yelling to Percy with urgency flying off his tongue. "Catch you later, Perce!" Then, he was off, his legs carrying him up the hills and back towards the camp entrance.

He heard Percy yell his name in confusion, but he could apologise later for his sudden departure.

You had come back to him.

The journey seemed too long, his shoes scrambling for ground, barely scraping the dirt as he ran towards the front of camp. He didn't know what to expect, a celebration with cheers from the other campers on your arrival, a glimpse of your face with that smile he loves. What he didn't expect was the silence as he came towards a slow jog before ultimately stopping at what seemed to be a crowd gathering around something- or someone.

He pushed his way through, barely making the effort to apologise over the thought of seeing you. His eyes finally caught onto what the onlookers were staring at, and his heart dropped.

You laid on the ground, passed out with what seemed to be dark, angry coils covering your skin, ranging from your neck to the outstretch of your back that was exposed from the gash in your shirt. That stupid lyre laid not too far from you, its golden strings ripped apart.

The sound that tore from his throat barely sounded like his voice, yelling out your name as he pushed through the final barrier in the crowd before reaching for you. He nearly made it before someone dragged him back, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him away.

The curses that left Luke's mouth would make anyone wince, and he had to resist the urge to punch whoever was holding him back as he twisted his head to face his repressor. "Chris! Get out of my way." Luke hissed, still trying to make his way to you, fury twisting in his gut as he couldn't fathom why no one's helped you yet.

"Calm down, Luke!" Chris pleaded, desperation in his eyes forcing Luke to falter. "I know you want to help her but you have to listen to me. Whatever attacked her left something contagious on her body. Someone already tried helping her but it spread to their skin too!"

Wait? While whatever was attacking your body seemed to grow more intense by the minute, as Luke's gaze locked onto your form and watched the sickening, black coils spread further and further up your neck.

"Rodriguez, does it look like I care if it spreads to me?" Luke spat out, giving his friend a final push. "If she dies, I won't ever forgive myself for standing on the sidelines. Let me go now."

The cold venom in his tone made his friend loosen his hold just enough for Luke to rip himself out of his arms to drop his knees beside you. He grabbed hold of your shoulder, which still had shreds of your shirt to prevent him from being stung by whatever was infecting you, but his other hand which grabbed hold of your back did not face the same fate. The coils snaked onto his palm, and he gritted his teeth at the burning sensation.

Just as he turned you around so he could lift you up, he heard the familiar sound of hooves stamping against the soil and he looked up to see Chiron approaching with a grim expression. No words needed to be said as Luke met eyes with the centaur, a mutual understanding as Luke wrapped his arms around your torso and legs.

He pushed through to help carry you up, barking orders for the crowd to part way as he made his way to the infirmary. The longer he held onto you, the more every bone in his body seemed to scream to let you go, but he only focused on every step it took to get you closer to help, his eyes unable to look away from the paleness of your skin, the blue to your lips.

It seemed unfit for a child of Apollo, a child of the sun, to be dull and lifeless. You looked dead, and if it wasn't for the faint drumming of your pulse he could sense from your wrist, he would've struck the name of your father with such unbridled hatred, Apollo himself would descend from the heavens to condemn him.

"Please." He begged, holding onto you tighter despite his body's cries not to. Begging to who, he did not know, but if any being could save you from the fate you did not deserve, and pass it to him instead, he would gladly offer his prayers and worship. If it meant saving you, he would take your pain and suffer it tenfold just to see you open your eyes again.

It took you five days to recover. The infirmary had been quarantined and no one save for Chiron and Will, the main healer from the Apollo cabin, was allowed in. In those five days, no one dared approach Luke, who seemed near death's door despite having received his own small dosage of ambrosia to heal the coils that had managed to sink into his skin. He had begged Chiron to let him visit you, but Chiron deemed him too unstable to be near you, your recovery process a fragile thing that required tentative hands and patience.

Waiting to see you was a torture not even he could have envisioned for himself. He had been torn apart at the seams, of his belief in the gods and the scars that were immortalized onto his body. He had lived through days of water and nothing but false hope, hiding from monsters and other horrors before he made it to camp, arriving as a scrawny boy with eyes having witnessed events no kid his age should have to go through. Yet, no pain he had experienced could compare to his fears of losing you. If he-

He couldn't think of it without wanting to puke, but if he lost you somehow, he would lose his faith in this world. There would be no one to hold him back, no you, to stop him from letting go of the world that failed him and tearing it down.

It didn't help that in those five days, he had dreams. Of a different world, of salvation. A dark, ancient voice called to him, older than time, with whispers of promised glory and revenge. There was no you, none of your soothing touches or voice to wake him. In those five days, his strength faltered and he made a deal.

On the sixth day, he was woken frantically by a shake on the shoulder from his sleep. He roused awake, dizzy and still-half asleep to see Chris talking to him in rushed incoherent words.

"Awake- She's awake, sleepy-head!"

Luke was half-dressed, still fighting off sleep with aggressive rubbing to his eyes as he tugged on his t-shirt, rushing towards the infirmary with Chris hot on his heels.

He burst through the front door, holding his breath when he finally saw you, propped up on two pillows talking to Will. Tears pricked in the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision as he rushed over to you.

You turned to him then, just in time to see him blink his tears away. "Luke." You called to him softly, and time seemed to stop just for the two of you, and he could only see you in his vision.

"Can you guys give us some privacy?" You asked politely, eyeing Will and Chris, but your eyes never drifted far before moving back to him.

"Of course." Will responded, quickly getting up from his chair towards the exit, dragging a confounded Chris with him with a tug on the back of his shirt. "Hey! I wanted to see her too-" "Give the two lovebirds some time alone, you idiot."

Luke inched closer to you, his heart beating so loudly in his eardrums he swears you could hear it too. You lifted your arms to him and he didn't waste time, taking you in his arms and embracing you so tight, and yet he felt he couldn't be close enough.

"You were dying. In my arms. I felt it when I carried you in here." He muttered into your shoulder, shaking as he finally let out the exhaustion and pain he had been feeling since the day you left.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." You apologised, rocking him back and forth as your voice croaked up. "All I thought of was you. When I fought against that beast, I kept repeating my promise to you. That I would come back to you. You saved me."

He shook his head, feeling his tears wet his cheeks as he pulled back to grab you by the chin, a gentle touch like he was afraid you would disappear if he couldn't see you talking to him, that your voice would be a hallucination he concocted. "I should've stopped you from going. I had a bad feeling since I heard about it. I should've protected you- prevented you from getting hurt in the first place-"

You stopped him with a kiss, desperate yet shy, before pulling away and pressing your forehead to his. "I love you, Luke. I was so scared I would never get to tell you and it would've been my biggest regret. I love you so much, Luke, and I'm sorry if this ruins anything between us but I can't hide it anymore-"

Luke cut you off the very same way you did, but with such intense hunger you gasped when he kissed you, sloppy and with even more desperation, tugging at your bottom lip and pulling you closer with his hand at nape of your neck. "I love you." He muttered through quick breaths. "I love you, it actually hurts because of how much I do." He admitted, grabbing your hand to place right above his heart, which is owned completely and only by you.

He leaned in once more, addicted to the taste of you, kissing you with one hand holding yours to his heart, the other pulling you close so that there was no space between the two of you. When he had to stop so you both could gasp for air, he pressed his forehead back to yours, the first smile stretching at his lips in days. "I never want to be apart from you ever again, you hear me, sunshine?"

You giggled at his words, nodding slightly. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Extra: Luke reappears with you the next day when you insisted on wanting to get out of the infirmary after being cooped up away from the sun for so long. ("You're such an Apollo kid." Luke teases, which you ignore with a roll of your eyes.) He's with you every step of the way, and now that your feelings are out for each other in the open, he doesn't hesitate to kiss you on the cheek or fawn over you without hiding his intensity.

When he makes eye contact with Percy over the room, the damn kid gives him a wink and a thumbs-up.

a/n: i want to expand so much more on this, with kronos taking advantage of luke's weak mind during your recovery and more, OMGGGGGGG. tell me if you guys want more pls and i'll make more parts. thank you for reading if you made it this far <3

update: I am officially making this into a series called ‘everything in between’. To those who want to follow more on their story, you can comment on whether you want to be added to the tag list for this series or check the masterlist!

#luke castellan #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x apollo!reader #luke castellan x fem!reader #pjo #luke castellan fanfic #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #im actually dying inside #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan angst

2K notes · View notes

notmyneighbor · 1 month

Text

Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 7

Word Count ~ 3.9k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ minor mention of blood and gore, sexual content

Also available on AO3

taglist @luthien-elvenia-asher @fishfetus @gaudesstuff @nekee-lilac02 @msdevil333 @rrnrjn @maskedpacific

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

You are walking the yard surrounding your home in early August.

Francis Mosses’ doppelgänger is beside you, his fingers laced with yours as the pair of you leisurely stroll. You love mornings like this. Lazy weekends when you shut the rest of the world out. There is just this, this safe haven you’ve created, away from the city where the invaders seek to gain entry and conquer, where the humans continue to try to see past the lies standing right before them, the deceivers and pretenders like the one whose hand you’re clutching now so tenderly. Except he isn’t like the others; nothing like any of them. He is yours, and you are his. There is nothing else like this phenomenon, what you have with him.

The blackberry bushes lining the picket fence are heavy with fruit, the plump, deep black specimens dull skinned, ripe and ready to be plucked.

“So many of them,” the copycat murmurs, halting beside you as your pace slows and pauses, contemplating the sight of those heavily laden shrubs.

You nod. “My grandparents used to make jam from them. I can remember spreading it on pancakes on Sunday mornings.”

“Do you still recall how to make the jam?”

“Yes. It’s not difficult. Just a bit time consuming. A lot of prep work.”

“We have the whole day. Want to try?”

“Really? You want to?”

“It sounds pleasant.” He tugs you gently towards him. “Everything with you is.” His lips meet yours, warm as the summer sun heating you through the button front dress you’re wearing.

“We need something to gather them in.”

“Will this do?” He reaches for the fabric of your dress about halfway down the skirt portion, lifting the loose material until it forms a kind of scooped makeshift basket.

“That’s what my grandmother did with her apron. Yes, this will do.” You reach for the handfuls he’s gathered, keeping the improvised bowl in place. “Only pick the ones that are black. No purple or red, they’re not ripe. Nothing shiny. Only the dull ones. They should come off fairly easily. If you have to pull too much, they’re not ready.”

The imposter milkman follows your directions and the dip in the fabric you’re clutching is soon full. It is a little awkward walking up the porch steps, balancing the unfamiliar weight at your front. There are stains on his fingers, on your dress as you dump the gathered berries into the colander he grabs from the cupboard for you, followed by a mixing bowl, anything he can find to relieve you of your burden. Overzealous in the picking, perhaps, but you don’t mind. The excessive berries would just have gone to waste otherwise, more than even your wildlife neighbors could indulge in.

“You should get used to having extra weight around your middle,” he murmurs against your ear. Still persisting in the notion of having a baby with you. The previous month had ended with your menses. You’ve no idea if it’s even possible to create a new life with the doppelgänger. You’re still conflicted about it. Afraid for its life, for yours and Francis’. But you can imagine the face. As a toddler. Convinced somehow it would be a boy. Identical in every way to his father. A father as devoted to him as he is to you. The child clinging to your side, standing in those same fields near the house in summer, looking at the world around him with those dark eyes that are unshadowed, not yet tired like his parent’s. Soft brown hair. Human, because you won’t let yourself imagine anything else; refuse to concede that it would be part doppel as well. “I can’t wait,” he says, his arms enfolding you from behind, your hands settling on his, the quartet all resting over your abdomen.

You smile, leaning your weight against his chest for a few moments before reaching for the faucet. It was time to rinse the harvest, removing the stray leaf or stem here and there. You fill a pan with water to boil to sterilize the lids of the mason jars. There are a set of them under the sink. The glass portion needs to be similarly treated. It will be hot in the kitchen with the stovetop working so hard. You lean and lift the window behind the sink a little higher, hoping for any sign of a breeze.

“Go pick out a record to play.” A new tradition. You let your lover choose the music, discovering what he likes best. Perhaps some of Francis’ favorites. Some for the invader alone. You cherish both selections equally.

The man and the doppel themselves; that is something your conscience has struggled with for many weeks now. You think you will always love Francis. But you love the new creature inhabiting his form, too. More and more with each passing day.

The music begins and you smile to yourself. Al Bowlly. Something from two decades ago, but a timeless classic. One of the records your mother had left behind when she’d moved to the city, inherited from your grandparents. You were long overdue for a visit to your mother and father. You’d received a letter not that long ago. Still safe. It was a worry that gnawed at you. One of the reasons you’d joined the DDD in the first place. Wanting to protect your family, the people you love.

The very thought of you and I forget to do

The little ordinary things that everyone ought to do

You spread a tea towel on the counter. The jars will air dry there after you’ve finished preparing them.

I'm living in a kind of daydream and I'm happy as a king

And foolish though it may seem, why to me that's everything

“How am I meant to not want to dance with you when this is playing?” Your partner’s lips graze the nape of your neck softly, his hands on your waist.

The mere idea of you, the longing here for you

You'll never know how slow the moments go till I'm near to you

You smile again. A gesture that comes so easily when the imposter is around you. “After. You wanted to make jam, remember?”

“I want to make a lot of things,” he murmurs beside your cheek, his nose nudging aside a stray piece of hair that’s come free from where you’d pinned it up, mouth now on the patch of skin he’s cleared.

“Francis!” You giggle, playfully squirming in his arms. You aren’t really trying to get away. “I need your help. Use those muscles of yours and pulverize the berries. The potato masher is in the second drawer there.”

I see your face in every flower, your eyes in stars above

It's just the thought of you, the very thought of you, my love

He rolls up his sleeves, beginning to crush the fruit while you gather the measuring cups and sugar.

“I know it’s equal parts berries and sugar. Three minutes to boil? And then another three after the sugar’s been added. Oh, I need the whisk, too. And one of the larger spoons to stir. Yes, that one, thank you.” Francis’ copy hands you the culinary tools you’re searching for, retrieved from the same drawer the masher had been in.

Speaking of which, he’s done a great job with the blackberries, making short work of them. For a brief second your mind teases an imagining of something far less pleasant being ground down like that, pulped human flesh, the gore that is left behind when a doppel feasts on a human. Your grip on the spoon tightens until it’s white knuckled and you force yourself to relax. You’re with him, the one that you love, that adores you. Your home. With the beautiful crooned words of longing issuing from the turntable in the background. Those horrors do not exist here. “Those look perfect. I think that’s maybe around six cups’ worth. But we’ll measure.”

Your estimate of the mixture volume proves fairly accurate. You begin stirring the berries in the stainless steel cook pot, watching the seeded dark red mixture begin to bubble, keeping an eye on the clock on the wall. The doppel is at the sink, already washing the used bowls and tools.

It’s time to add the sugar. You stir it in, once again timing your task, finally deeming the developing jam ready to be removed from the heat of the burner, switching the knob for the pilot light off as you move the pot to an unused burner.

You can feel the perspiration beading on your forehead as you whisk the heated fledgling fruit spread. Nearly there. Your strokes with the thin wired tool were releasing the natural pectin in the berries now. After that it was just a matter of filling and sealing the jars.

“What’s next? What can I do to help?” The doppelgänger asks, resting a hand on your lower back, where the heat lingers, making the dress cling damply to your skin.

“I think this is actually just about ready to start pouring.”

He turns over the mason jars that had been resting upside down over the tea towel to air dry, lining them up on the counter. You transfer small batches of the jam to a batter bowl, making it easier to fill each jar without spilling. A lot of dishes being used for this. Funny how you didn’t remember that part from childhood. Just the fun of making it with your grandmother.

The replicant screws the last of the lids on. The jam looks so inviting. You can’t wait to spread it on some toast with some butter after it’s had a day or two to set. Maybe just one day. You were really craving it now.

“It’s hot,” the imposter says, dragging a hand across his forehead. “I’m ready to head back into the tub after that.”

You like the idea of that yourself. “You should.”

“Coming with me?”

“I was hoping for an invitation.”

He kisses you and you taste the salt of his perspiration. “You look a little flushed. We definitely need to go cool down. And then heat up again.”

“Francis, you’re impossible. Go get the water running. I’ll finish cleaning up here.”

“It’ll be faster with both of us working together.”

You won’t argue with that, allowing him to assist you. Munching on some leftover blackberries as you work side by side. The last of the dishes done. Everything put away. Shutting off the record player on your way to the stairs. His hands work on the buttons of your dress after you’ve turned on the faucet to fill the tub. You loosen his belt. Shove the hem of his undershirt upward after he’s removed the outer layer. He reaches between his shoulders and pulls it free. You kiss the dip between his pectoral muscles lightly covered with dark hair. Suddenly finding yourself hungry for him.

“Should we wait on the bath for after?” he suggests.

“Yes. Definitely.” You switch the faucet off hurriedly, turning your attention back to him. He’s already entering the bedroom. The temperature in this room is hotter than it had been in the kitchen. No fresh breeze coming in through either of the windows. Just that stifling humidity. It needed to rain.

Undergarments removed. He kisses your bare shoulder, humming the song that had been playing the previous evening, when he’d met you at your front door, the start of your weekend together.

Blue Moon, you saw me standing alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own

You sit down on the edge of the bed. A hand rests on your thigh as he kneels down. Fingers stained from some of the berry juice, garnet and magenta smudges along cuticles and nail beds. Your hand sinks into the hair you’d trimmed recently, finding it’s already growing long again. You bend to kiss his mouth and he tastes like the fruit, like summer itself, warm and fresh and sweet.

He leans to kiss the breasts that will one day bear the nutrition to feed your child, if it was ever meant to be, sucking gently, each nipple responding to that sensation, rising and hardening, the melody of that love song still emerging all the while.

Blue Moon, you knew just what I was there for

You heard me saying a prayer for

Someone I really could care for

Then he is between your thighs, every kiss still languid, drowsy, a leisurely summer afternoon gifted in each touch of his lips on your skin. Caressing your legs, the limbs that part to receive him. Gentle kisses on those nether lips, still humming, sending little vibrations into your body.

And then there suddenly appeared before me

The only one my arms will ever hold

I heard somebody whisper, "Please adore me"

And when I looked, the moon had turned to gold

His tongue strokes your clit and you lean back slightly, hands sinking into the mattress, arms braced to either side. His hands curl around your thighs and he sups at your sex, the pace still unhurried, easing you along into pleasure. Delving into your entrance, rolling the taste of you on his tongue before sweeping through the petals back to your bud, massaging it from side to side, up and down, pausing every now and again to plant a kiss on your mound or thigh, suckling the bundle of nerve endings and then dipping back into your canal in short, gentle little thrusts, the tune nearing its end, reaching the final verses, but yours have just started, that thrumming he sends through you, deep inside, an echoing response in your core.

Blue Moon, now I'm no longer alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own

You let your weight rest on one hand so you can touch his hair again, meet the gaze of those dark eyes watching you, those depthless pools of desire you get lost in, drowning, a tide that washes you away into your release against his mouth.

You're sweating profusely now, damp inside and out as you scoot yourself back to the center of the bed, making room for your companion to join you.

There is always the little surprised sounding moan when he first enters you, as if he’s forgotten that feeling, rediscovering it each time his cock pierces your pussy. His hips roll against you in slow, lazy thrusts. He combs your damp hair back from your face, hair that has completely fallen loose, natural. He kisses your forehead and cheeks and lips, your jaw and throat and ear lobes.

“I love you,” he breathes against your neck. His voice sounds raw, full of emotion.

“I love you, Francis.” You grind up against his damp body.

His face hovers above yours. “Marry me.” You gasp as he grabs one of your thighs and rocks forward, pushing deep inside of you. “Marry me, be my wife. Stay with me always.”

Your heart pounds. To be joined with him like that. The mark on your arm only a faint pink line now. The traces of the bite completely disappeared. He wanted to put a ring on your finger. Everyone would know, then. There would be no concealing it.

“Be the mother of my children. Be mine forever.”

“Francis…”

“Please.”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“I’ll do anything to make you happy.”

“I am happy. Happier than I’ve ever been. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you,” you add softly.

A heavy sigh as his body moves against yours, his face tucked into the crook of your neck. “My love, my only, mine.” His pelvis knocks against yours faster now. Your knees tightly embrace his ribs. Every part of skin your lips touch taste of salt. His hair is darker, saturated with sweat, the tendrils clinging damply to his forehead. A drop slides from his nose and pools between your lips. The arms bracing his weight near your face are trembling. So close to the edge of bliss.

“Love,” he gasps.

“Yes,” you answer, and he spills into you, filling your womb with his seed.

***

You sit inside the bathtub between the doppel’s legs, resting back against his chest.

“Close your eyes,” he instructs, and you obey, hearing something being lifted from that basin of water. The wash cloth, you realize, feeling the cool liquid dripping onto you hair, sliding down over your heated face. Repeating until your hair is thoroughly drenched in the bath water, his fingers slicking back those wet tresses, smoothing over your eyes, your cheeks, curling beneath your chin and lifting your face so that he can kiss you. Your eyes open and you see him smiling. “Better?”

“Much.”

“Good.” A rumble of thunder in the distance. Finally, the rain was coming. “Will we lose the power again, do you think?”

“Maybe. Wouldn’t be so terrible, though, would it? Just being here in the dark together.”

“Not at all. I have fond memories of doing that very thing.” He kisses you again and your stroke the damp cloth over his forearms. “I am going to get you a ring, you know. Propose properly.”

“I know.” You lift his left hand and kiss it. “We should tell my parents. Visit.”

“You want me to meet them?”

“Why not? They’ll be your in laws. The grandparents of your children.”

“Hmmm,” he hums. “We will need someone to watch the little ones. When it’s time to make more…”

“How many are you planning on?”

“I don’t know. There’s no specific number. I just want it. Badly.”

“I know you do. I do, too.”

“You’re still scared.”

“Yes.”

“I won’t let anyone harm you. You, or the children. However many there are.”

“I know you’ll be a good father. A good husband.”

His arms tighten around you. “You are my perfect everything.”

***

You do not lose the power that evening.

There is light for your repast at the kitchen table. Still too soon to indulge in the fruits of your earlier labors—pun intended—and neither of you want to heat up the house again using the stove, so you have a simple meal of bread, cheese, grapes, and iced tea, listening to the storm outside, this one much calmer than the last, starting to write a letter back to your parents, beginning with the exciting news of your engagement.

“Do you think your parents will like me?”

You pop a few grapes into your mouth. “Yes. My mom is very similar in personality to me. My dad maybe a little gruffer, but he’ll soften with time. Especially when he sees how well you treat me. He’d probably like it if you asked his permission first. Just as a courtesy. A formality.”

Francis’ copy slices another piece of cheddar free from the block, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully. “What are you going to tell them about us, exactly?”

“Just that we met while I was working. You’re a resident in the building. The truth, you know.”

“But that’s not the whole story.”

You set your pen down. “I can’t tell them what you are. You know that.”

“Of course not. I’m just…wondering what to say. Or what not to say. How to behave.”

You lift the writing utensil again but don’t use it, merely holding it between your fingers. “Just be you.”

He looks over the top of his glass as you resume writing, neat cursive script filling the page. “Don’t forget to mention how handsome I am.”

“Hush, you.” You smirk, tossing one of the crumpled rough drafts at him and he easily catches it, returning your smile.

“And that I’m a good dancer.”

“You are a great dancer,” you concede, pausing again to tear off another piece of bread.

“We didn’t get to dance earlier.”

“We sort of did.”

His eyebrows lift. “I’ve corrupted you. That’s the sort of innuendo I’d deliver.”

“Speaking of which. No talking about wanting kids when we visit with my parents, at least not yet. They’re against premarital sex. Society doesn’t favor unwed women and it certainly doesn’t favor women who are unwed and pregnant. It’s because of the war. The need to repopulate, our purpose to create more soldiers.”

“We’re engaged, though.”

“Yes. But still not married.”

“I don’t want our children fighting in a war,” he says solemnly.

“Neither do I.” You pause, hesitating midway through writing again. “We are at war already. They’ll be born into it, just by the very nature of who they are. What they are.” You sigh, setting down the pen. The letter could wait for now. You don’t like the dark look on the features of the replicant sitting across from you.

“Come on. I owe you a dance.” You rise, reaching for the doppel’s hands and he allows himself to be tugged to his feet. “Go choose a record for us, my love.”

You clear the table while he rummages through the sleeved recordings. You leave the letter where it is. You’ll finish it in the morning, drop it off on your way to work Monday. At least there was one more day of this relaxed comfort, before you had to go back to the reality of the DDD.

You join your fiancé in the living room, positioning yourself with your dance partner, smiling as you recognize the song that starts to play.

Heaven, I'm in heaven

And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak

And I seem to find the happiness I seek

When we're out together, dancing cheek to cheek

“Fred Astaire, singing to Ginger Rogers. Another classic. This song was from the musical Top Hat. A big hit on the music charts.”

The doppel is silent, his hand warm against your waist, the other clasping your hand as you step and sway in a small circle.

Heaven, I'm in heaven

And the cares that hung around me through the week

Seem to vanish like a gambler's lucky streak

When we're out together, dancing cheek to cheek

“My mom loves that movie. You’ll curry some favor if you mention it. We’ll have to watch it together. The movie house downtown plays classics on Sunday nights. I’m babbling, aren’t I?” Two more verses of the song have already passed by.

“It’s alright. I don’t mind. We should go. I’ll take you.”

“A real date.”

“Yes, a real date.”

You grin, nuzzling his jaw. “I look forward to it.”

Dance with me. I want my arms about you

The charms about you

Will carry me through to

“I like making you happy.” He draws back to look at your features. “I want your parents to like me. I know it’s important to you. It’s important to me, too.”

“They’ll love you,” you say softly. “How could they possibly not?”

“Because…”

“No.” You release his shoulder, resting a finger against his lips. “You’re mine, and I’m yours, and that’s all that matters. I love you. You, inside of this man.” Your hand cups his cheek. “I’ve been calling you Francis all along. I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s…not something you could ever pronounce. The differences in language…”

“I’ll do my best to learn.”

“Sweetheart. Call me Francis. That’s who I am now. Your Francis. Yours.” He kisses you, and you become lost in the feel of it, in the sound of the needle of the record player tapping restlessly now that the song has finished, in the lullaby of the soft patter of the rain outside.

#francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #milkman #milkman x reader #milkman x you #thats not my neighbor #doppelganger #the milkman

1K notes · View notes

thevoidstaredback · 1 month

Text

Enough Caffeine to Kill an Elephant

Listen. It was an accident. He didn't mean to! It just kinda happened.

So maybe he brought a drink with enough caffeine in it to kill an elephant within a few minutes, and maybe he forgot to put the sleeve on his cup so he could tell it apart from the others, but it's not his fault! He didn't think anyone else was going to have the exact same Yeti cup as him! It's not like he'd seen any of the others carry one before. Besides, he worked with superheros. They should be smart enough to check before drinking someone else's drink.

Danny had been summoned by the Justice League Dark a few years back in order to help with a world ending crisis and he just didn't leave. It's not like he could go anywhere anyway. His ghost half hadn't grown past fourteen and his human half had stopped visibly aging at eighteen. He'd had to leave town as Danny Fenton, but he'd stayed in Amity Park as Danny Phantom. When his parents died of old age, thank god, he'd closed down the portal, stuck around for a few more years, before traveling the world as Danny Fenton.

Anyway, he'd taken up residence in the House of Mysteries after the JLD had summoned him. Constantine, at first, had been wary, but he and the rest of the JLD had grown to accept him. He was an honorary member of the team.

At some point, just after Robin had become Red Robin, Danny had been introduced to the Justice League. He liked those guys, too, and worked with them sometimes. Though, he usually only went to bug them.

Red Robin had been very interested in the fact that his was fourteen and working with grown heros, like he was one to talk, but Danny hadn't explained anything other than saying that he had died and come back. The following conversation was an interesting one that lead to Danny knowing that Nightwing was the Batman he'd met and that Batman was lost somewhere. He'd confirmed that the man was not dead, but he hadn't offered to help look for him. He probably should have, in retrospect.

Back on topic! Everyone in the JLD knew not to touch Danny's drink. They'd all seen him make it before and had been horrified on varying degrees. It's not like it could kill him. He's already half dead! So long as he only drank this specific brew as Phantom, he'd be fine.

The Justice League, apparently, didn't get the memo. He blames Constantine because Zatanna and Raven can do no wrong. No, John, he's not biased.

The point is, Red Robin just had a sip of Danny's drink. The horror he now felt was akin to the fear he held when he'd told his parents he was Phantom. (An interaction that had gone very well, thank you very much.)

Danny knew the exact moment that the vigilante realized he grabbed the wrong drink. His eyes widened to an astonishing degree, and, if he'd been able to seen his eyes behind the mask, Danny knew that the man's pupils would've completely overtaken the irises. His hands started shaking, too. Oh, no. The man's already addicted to hellish amounts of coffee. This is only going to make it worse!

Quickly, and without drawing any attention, thank the Ancients, Danny rushed over. "You, um, you okay, man?" Obviously not, but he tends to talk when he's anxious and he was certainly anxious right now. He could've possibly just killed a man via poison!

"What the fuck is in this coffee?" Red Robin asked, going to take another sip.

Danny pulled the Yeti from his hand and gave him the proper one. "Enough caffeine to kill an elephant."

"Obviously not, seeing as I'm still alive."

"Yeah, I can't tell if that's a good thing or not."

"Excuse me?"

"I-I mean-! I didn't-! You know what I mean." Caffeine is poisonous in excess, and his drink was way beyond excess, but it's the only thing that works for him as a ghost! Superpowered metabolism and all that.

"Do I?" The laugh in his voice answered for him. He took a sip from his drink and frowned at it. "I don't think any coffee will ever be enough again."

"And that's my cue to get my drink very far away from you." Danny turned, fully intent on moving to the other side of the room. Besides, the meeting was going to start as soon as the Flash and Kid Flash arrived, which would be soon. Something about one of their Rouges getting out?

"What?" Red Robin asked, "Why?" If he was a little desperate to get another sip of that coffee, he'd rather not acknowledge it.

"Because you don't need anymore lethal coffee," he muttered, "The sip you took will already keep you awake for three days at least, and it probably jump started an addiction. Best to stop it now. Besides, I need to go have my crisis on how the hell you're still alive after even a sip of this stuff."

"Again, rude." The bird themed vigilante crossed his arms as best he could while holding his cup. "If it's so dangerous, why do you drink it?"

Danny took a deliberate sip as he locked eyes with the technically younger man. "I'm dead. I don't need to worry about my heart stopping or having a seizure."

"Excuses."

"No, it's not 'excuses'. I'm saving your life."

"You're a kid. If I can't have that coffee, then you shouldn't be having it."

"First, I'm older than you. Second, I already told you: I'm dead. This isn't going to hurt me. Third, you can't tell me what to do."

"There's no way you're older than me. You're like, ten."

"I'm thirty-eight!" He balked, "I only look fourteen because I died when I was fourteen. We've been over this."

Neither noticed the entire Justice League looking at them. The two they were waiting on had arrived a few minutes ago and everyone was ready to start the meeting, but they'd been distracted by the two's conversation. Was that true? Had Phantom really died so young? They'd all been made aware he was not living, but they didn't think he'd died so young! Though, that was probably the denial speaking.

The Justice League Dark had been fully aware of this and didn't really bat an eye. Though, someone should probably get this meeting started. A potentially world ending threat was the topic, and that was a pretty important thing to discuss.

Captain Marvel was the first to pull himself together, though that was only after Atlas and Zeus had mentally slapped him out of his stupur. "As, ah, riveting as this conversation is," he stepped between the two boys- er, boy and man? "we really need to start this meeting."

Batman did not clear his throat because he'd not lost his voice in the first place. "He's right. Everyone take your seats."

Part 2

1K notes · View notes

bunny584 · 2 months

Text

OBSESSED: ITADORI

A/N: Quarterback Itadori with #20 on his jersey realizes he has a little (big) problem with a certain cheerleader turned Chem tutor (who also happens to be just a little bit older 🤭). Anon this one is for you! I hope you enjoy 💋

S/N: I’ve never giggled so much writing a piece. This one was so funny to me.

C/W: Aged up characters (19+), college AU, Mature, 18+

“ITADORI!”

Oh for fucks sake.

Yuji can’t drag away from the pyramid of cheerleaders right of center field.

“Coach?”

“IF YOU WANT TO WEAR A SKIRT AND BACKFLIP FOR THE BOYS THEN JUST SAY THAT?!”

His teammates erupt in a chorus of laughter. Coach Yaga is an ass.

Fact.

But he is also living, breathing, comedic relief.

“I would coach, but they aren’t my type!”

Yuji yells back, eyes still lasered to your back. He knows it’ll sear Yaga’s skin right off the bone.

Whatever.

What’s a few more seconds, right?

You are just so…hot.

In a mind-bending kinda way. An optical illusion. Or desert mirage.

A fresh water oasis in a destitute wasteland. Always just a few more steps away. No matter how long he’s been crawling on his knees.

His knees.

He’d kill to be on his knees for you. Diving head first into—

“SHUT THE HELL UP AND GET BACK ON THE FIELD. PINK TOP IDIOT!!”

“Yes sir!” Times up.

“Dude, she’s a smoke show.”

The team’s starting running back (#14) rests his arm on Yuji’s shoulder. Just as four bodies fling you so far against gravity it is questionable whether you’ll come down.

“She’s perfect.”

“And a junior.” #14 reminds him, tugging his helmet back over his head.

“So?”

“Okay, freshmeat. Someone’s got mommy issues.”

Yuji bursts into full belly laughter. Stealing one last glance at you before pulling his helmet on.

His teammates never fail to remind him that he’s the only freshman in Tokyo University history to make starting lineup.

Not to mention quarterback.

“#14, #20 IF YOU DONT STOP RUBBING DICKS ILL WEAR BOTH OF YOUR ASSES TO THE BONE THIS AFTERNOON.”

Yuji promptly takes position at center field. He knows better than to push his luck. Two-a-days are already brutal enough, he has no intention of making his life harder than it is.

But you do.

You are setting flames to the hoops Yuji has to jump through to get through study hall and afternoon practice.

Why else would you wear those yoga pants?

They’re a second skin, for Christ’s sake.

Might as well be body paint. Outlining every tantalizing, serpentine curve. Pretty, full hips. Plump, tight ass. The mouthwatering, puffy rose between your legs just begging to be watered. By his tongue.

Yuji’s palm digs into his crotch. Trying to force his pulsating length from tenting up into the table. Cursing himself for changing out of his compression shorts.

“Hello? Yuji?”

Your dulcet voice echoes between his ears and curls around his dick. Jerking him back down to earth.

“Y-yeah? Hi.”

Yuji forces an acknowledgement through the sharp edges of his voice box. Sitting fully erect in his seat. Scrambling to find the pencil that was supposed to be mirroring your work on the whiteboard.

Because not only are you a perfect 10 on and off the field; you are a prodigy when it comes to chemistry.

And currently in the middle of trying to diffuse some of your excess knowledge into his very deficient head.

You toss your head back. Your laughter is definitely why tales of fishermen being lost at sea exists.

Light.

Breathy.

Soprano crescendo that’s rutting against the few folds in his brain.

“Why are you so distracted today, Yu?”

“Distracted?” His voice cracks.

“Ha—no, I’m not distracted. Sorry, walk me through it again.”

But before Yuji can retreat back into his daydream, you catch him in the Venus fly trap of your gaze. Tilting your head slightly.

Yuji swallows thickly. Frozen in place. Hand pushing down on his cock with all his might. As if you could see through the table.

Did you know he was staring at your ass? Can you tell how hard he is? Is there drool on his face? Shit, there must—

“Woah, the way the sun is catching your eyes right now, Yu.”

You take a half step to the side, allowing the full beam of light to caress Yuji’s already hot face.

A shaky hand swipes along the back of his neck.

“H-huh?”

“Your eyes are so pretty. Warm. Like hot chocolate with cinnamon.”

Your full lips curl into a soft smile. And Yuji bites down a pitiful whine.

“I—thanks.” You don’t hear him. Because he whispers through a wired shut jaw.

Yuji lets his erection tent up, grazing the table. He fists his base through his athletic pants. Ears fiery hot with embarrassment. His hand glides up and down his clothed cock without his permission.

Did you know?

That you snapped his self-control in half?

And shoved him into the darkest recesses of his mind?

Where his most depraved thoughts (and the King of Curses) lives?

Because all Yuji can see is the way your ass ripples and bounces while you scribble hieroglyphics on the whiteboard.

His mind’s eye is currently picturing him fucking you dumber than he is.

Fist full of hair in one hand. Both of your wrists behind your back in another. Mesmerized by the way your plump, fleshy mounds slam against his hips.

Maybe he’ll fuck you in front of a mirror?

So he can make you repeat how pretty you think his eyes are while he brands the shape of his cock into you.

Then he’ll tell you how pretty you are. Creaming all around his length. Drool raining down from your lips in sync with his thrusts.

Maybe he’ll stick a dildo on the mirror so he can watch your mouth get stuffed while he violates your insides?

You’ll look so pretty. When he fills you up with something warm. A little thicker than ‘hot chocolate with cinnamon.’

“Yu? Are you okay?” Genuine concern knocks his lust-drunk thoughts loose.

Yuji blinks himself back to this dimension. Chest heaving. Cramps blooming from his fingertips to his biceps from grasping his sex so hard. He doesn’t need a mirror to know he’s stained blood red. From chin to hairline.

“I-uh. Sick. I’m—I feel sick. Be right back.” He takes off to the male locker room at inhuman speed.

Yuji nearly doubles over the porcelain sink, glaring at his blown out pupils. Olive skin flushed like he just finished a marathon.

He can’t believe he was just groping himself like that in public. In plain sight.

All because you complimented his eyes?!

Who the hell is he?

“Sukuna, give it a rest.”

Yuji hisses poison at his curse. Because he surely wasnt responsible for those lewd actions.

“Oh, I’ll rest you PERMANENTLY you asinine little b—“

“I’m serious. Quit it.”

Yuji darts around the empty locker room. Accidentally raising his voice.

“Quit what, brat?”

“Quit…making me think..things like that.”

Sukuna’s bellowing laughter sounds like nails on a chalkboard. Deafening between Yuji’s ears.

“That’s all you kid. I’m only 10 fingers in. Don’t have that power…yet.”

Sukuna retreats to Yuji’s subconscious. Leaving him stunned. Disbelief crashing into him like tornado winds.

Yuji has never been a pervert.

Sure, he’s had crushes. But he knows how to control his impulses.

He might be dumb like one, but he’s not an actual dog…right?

Wrong.

Yuji dives into an empty stall while his teammates file in. Study hall is complete and afternoon warm-ups are starting soon.

And his neglected, weeping sex is clamoring for attention.

Missing it’s muse — your soft, curvy frame and the ways he wants to fill you.

One hand clamps over his mouth. While the other one tugs his pants down. Thick, heavy length springing free. Sticky and slick with his precum.

His head meets the cool wall. Hips thrusting against his fist. Broken whimpers pushing through the web spaces of his fingers that are digging into his cheek. Choking himself quiet so no one hears his pathetic hormone driven state.

“Mnnhgh f—fuck.” Muffled curses slip past his hand.

His cock is red and engorged. Angry from his abuse. But his hips can’t stop rutting into his hand. Picturing abusing your pretty, swollen cunt.

A hot tear rolls along his cheek, between his fingers. Salty on his tongue.

Curtains start to shade his vision and Yuji’s hands move to cup his bulbous tip. His muscular core tenses and strings of warm, thick seed fills his hands.

The world slowly starts to piece together. His heart rattling in its cage comes to a normal pace. Choppy, incomplete breaths gradually replaced with deep, relaxed ones.

Shit.

He’s in trouble.

Because he needs to pass chemistry to play football. And he needs you to pass.

But he can’t ever look you in the eye again after this display.

After one measly compliment.

How will he act if you bend over in front of him?

Or lean over a little too far?

God forbid you touch his arms or brush against him.?

Then a lightbulb goes off.

Yuji has the perfect solution.

He scrambles to clean up. Putting on his street clothes. Ignoring the quizzical looks from his teammates. He’s going to fix his little problem.

“Coach Yaga?” Yuji is met with an open office door and his coach’s nostrils flaring. Vein along his temple pulsing.

He draws in a steadying breath.

“I can’t play football anymore coach. I quit.”

“….YOU WHAT?!?!”

2K notes · View notes

anantaru · 3 months

Note

aventurine smut headcanons pretty please miss yoru <333

cw. [ex]plicit, dom aventurine, rough, a little filthy, fem! reader

a/n. i couldn't stop typing aaaa I love this man, he is so attractive guys giggles

without dissembling the obvious, aventurine was crazy, because he could go on for hours and hours if you wanted him to, always seeking for more.

he was insatiable, uncontrollable when he first sinks himself into your heat and moans out embarrassingly loud to show you what exactly you're doing to him.

his head falls back when you watch him gulp down the assembled saliva in his mouth, his adams apple jostling as he presses his slicked cock back into you, greedily stuffing you full.

this time, it's faster, weaved in need, and aventurine tends to ask you too, wants to know if it feels good as you nod at him weakly, arching your back just enough to keep his cock slotted where it was while sensations race back through your quivering skin.

you were swarmed on how good it felt, speechless as your mouth hangs open the moment he finds a good pace for the both of you, thrusting deep and deep and deep into you, claiming you with the thickness of his girth.

"show me how much of a messy girl you are," only aventurine could say something this filthy with a casualness in utter contrast, particularly while placing his hands under your hips to arch you the way he had found to be the most immaculate— so he can feel you tighten, wrap and suck on his shaft with your warm, wet cunt engulfing him fully.

"f-faster," you babble, "go faster," and he chuckles at your sweet eagerness, "surely that's what you need, sweetheart?" as he raises an eyebrow before burying his face into your hair, a groan ruminating over the thin layer of skin on your neck as he does exactly what you told him to do.

and remember, he was seriously crazy, his cock remorselessly whacking your insides, rubbing without surcease over your sore walls like he knows you needed him to.

messes of spit ooze down each corner of your mouth as you're being practically thrown back and forth the bed, your jaw slacked open as you attempt to moan out something, anything would do, but the continuous blows and pressures on your pussy had suddenly taken over your bodily functions.

"you're close, i can feel it," aventurine slurs messily into your mouth before lapping through your lips with his tongue. he did it so eagerly he almost missed and hit your chin a little, the notable, coarse sounds of your pussy being filled and pleasured adding to the sensation.

"i just need you to hang on, yeah?" the wanton knots in your lower stomach untwisted a whole lot quicker than he'd originally expect them to, but undoubtedly, he doesn't mind watching the fruits of his labor glow into a flowering fancy.

who would've thought that aventurine would make you cum that fast? naturally, he did. he expected it.

that's all that can happen when you take into account just how thick his girth would push through each crevice of your walls, at once and immediate— his temperate shaft crossing your creamy walls like he was trying to corrupt you.

pop, and the knots in your stomach begin to explode, and all you can do was cry out through a strained jaw when he fucks you through it, your addicting juices gushing over his shaft and pelvis, filthily dribbling down his balls as you claim him with your arousal, the white substance clinging on his skin like the sweetest, stickiest honey.

"oh my," he sighs dreamily, "you're way too generous, dear," a satisfied grin glittering over the small dimples on his cheeks.

such excess of your fluids have certainly hugged his ego tight, aventurine will make sure to never forget savoring this moment even in his memories and dreams.

the sheer feeling of his hands meeting your body brought forth additional sparks of emotions that pressed to the surface of your skin, changing the temperature of your complete frame.

your pussy squelches and throbs around him obscenely loud, the only reason for it being just how helplessly wet he made you in this short period, granted that you knew that he'd fuck you the entire night if you so desired it.

and oh, how well he fucked you, how desperately he massages your juices over your walls like he saw it as a sick challenge to unravel you faster each time.

hot to his movements, you tiredly wrap your arms around him while laying all but spent against the bed— but aventurine doesn't stop here, while naturally, his thrusts had switched into deep grinds instead, a level slower, but still being able to feel up your staggeringly hot splotches.

for one searing, hot second, he listens to your tremulous heaves. his hand slides from your hips to your face as to drag his thumb over the tears coated cheeks, holding you delicately in clear contrast to his rough demeanor in bed.

"you're so pretty, fuck, so damn pretty," aventurine spills his deep feelings for you into this, into the jellylike utterance of his words— and do not misunderstand, because he was still crazy, touch starved of you.

but now, his touch was tender, cushiony as how you'd imagine clouds to be.

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #aventurine x reader #aventurine smut #hsr aventurine #honkai star rail aventurine #hsr aventurine x reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #aventurine x you

2K notes · View notes

prettymonegasque · 4 months

Text

not acceptable

Charles Leclerc x fem!driver! reader

Summary: Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do when your pretty boyfriend is a lil dumb

Warnings: Excessive cursing, Lando slander, grown men sharing a single brain cell, fluff?

Word Count: 1.3k

Based on my favourite scene in Schitt’s Creek

In all the two years you’ve been in Ferrari, the speculations and rumours of you dating Charles were non-stop. Neither of you paid much attention to it. You were both in happy relationships. However, that changed in the summer of ‘22 when you broke up with your partner. It wasn’t messy and you both agreed it was for the better. You focused on the rest of the season.

Fast forward to the summer of ‘23, you and Charles were both single. You decided to give in to the speculations and give the relationship a real shot. You went on a few dates, each one being more fun than the previous one. Yet neither of you took the leap to become exclusive. You both liked each other but it wasn’t said out loud as much as you would’ve wanted to. So when Charles invited you to a game night with his friends, you thought it would be the one where he introduced you as his girlfriend.

You knocked on his apartment door at 7 pm. You had brought a charcuterie board because you panicked and the first thing your mind thought was cheese.

“Y/N! Come in.” Charles opened the door and hugged you. You tried your best to return while managing the charcuterie board. He laughed at your struggle, took the board from your hand and led you in. You spotted some familiar faces in the room. “Hey, guys. This is Y/N. My teammate as you know.” To risk being dramatic, the only description for what you felt was “death by a thousand cuts”. You still forced a smile and greeted everyone. You took a seat on the sofa next to Charles. “You brought a charcuterie board?” Pierre asked puzzled. “Dibs on gouda.” Yelled a familiar Brit.

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

For the next few hours, you forced yourself to forget about your “teammate” and focus on the game instead. To everyone’s surprise, you were very good at Monopoly. You had already collected over $7000 worth of assets. You were more than happy to win by default. Arthur suggested Uno and everyone complied. You had never played it before which made the group very happy.

When you got your cards you leaned over to Charles and whispered “What the fuck should I do now? ” Charles peeked at your cards and by instinct you shied them away from him. “You have to show me the cards so I can tell you what to do.” He laughed. You rolled your eyes and showed him the cards. “How the hell did you get 3 +4 cards?” “Why? Is that bad?” “No no. It is very good and I am very grateful my turn is before you.” “I am gonna crush these motherfuckers” You silently giggled.

“Y/N your turn,” Andrea called out. You placed the +4 card on the table. “Seriously?” Lando sighed and took 4 cards from the deck. “I thought you'd never played this before.” “I haven’t. I’m just that good, Norris.” “You know you could put all the +4 cards at once? ” Charles whispered in your ear. When your turn came again you placed both your +4 cards down. “Oh come on. You’re an absolute ass.” Lando exclaimed. “You just got destroyed by a UNO rookie, Lando” Pierre doubled over in laughter. “Also you have only one card left. You can call out UNO” Arthur nudged you. “UNO!” You yelled. “Well, I guess we have a winner. ” Lorenzo sighed and folded.

You started feeling a little guilty. Your winning spree kept cutting the game short. It didn’t look like anyone was having any fun. Even if Charles isn’t going to introduce you as his girlfriend, you still want his friends and brothers to like you as Charles’ girl. Charles brought in Scrabble as his last resort. He wasn’t expecting to go through 2 games so quickly. You were chosen as the judge. You promised yourself to go easy on everyone. You weren’t sure if you were making a good impression on everyone but boy did your ego love this.

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

“What do you mean ‘rizz’ isn’t accepted?” Arthur yelled. “Mate it isn’t in the dictionary.” “Then why does everyone call Lando ‘NoRIZZ’?” “Hey!” “I consider it as an acceptable word. We know the meaning. It exists. It’s a word.” You chimed in. “Thank you!” Arthur smiled and added 13 points to himself. The game continued and you limited yourself to simple words. And you accepted every word regardless of how ridiculous it was.

“Yes Pierre ‘Fuck’ is a word.”

“I mean we all know what ‘OMG’ is”

“Sure, Charles. You can make Frenglish words.”

You could physically feel the pain from the insanity of some words but you were on a mission. You nodded and smiled and carried on. The words became chaotic by the minute. Your last straw was when Lando argued that “Skibidi” should be accepted.

“That’s it. I can’t take this shit anymore. I respect the game too much to put up with this. You are way too old to use the word ‘Skibidi’, Lando.” “Yeah so wrong, Lando” Pierre fakes disappointment. “You! Fuck is not acceptable.” “Not acceptable. Yes sorry, Y/N” He bites back a laugh. “OMG!? Are you kidding me?” “I wasn’t.” Lorenzo shakes his head. “And my boyfriend sits there looking pretty and wanting to make up Frenglish words. THAT’S NOT EVEN A LANGUAGE. NOT ACCEPTABLE!”

“I’m sorry. What did you just say?” Charles looked up at you. “I said Lando is old.” You tried to shift the conversation. “Why the fuck am I getting slandered?” “No. I think it was something about your boyfriend being pretty and making up words.” Charles redirects you. “Um... I don’t remember saying that.” You mumbled. “Yeah no. That’s what we heard. Right Arthur?” Pierre snickered.

“Hey if my girlfriend says Frenglish isn’t acceptable then it isn’t, guys” Charles smirked. “Or it is. I don’t remember saying it.” You shrugged. “So you can do whatever you like.” The ceiling looked much more interesting than the gorgeous green eyes looking at you. “I think our work is done here. Let’s go guys.” Lando stood up. “And what exactly was that work, Norizz?” You called out as everyone was walking out the door chattering. Lando just smiled at you and closed the door.

You and Charles remained quiet and just looked at each other for a long moment. “I don’t k-” “Do you r-” You both spoke at the same time. Gentle giggles echoed in the silence. “I was gonna ask if you regretted it?” Charles looked at you with a hopeful glint in his eyes. “No. God no. Charles, I don’t regret it at all. But to be honest, I kinda thought you hosted this game night to introduce me as your girlfriend. It sucked ass when you called me your teammate.” You looked down at your feet. You contemplated if sitting down would make this whole shebang less awkward. But Charles quietened your thoughts by standing up and taking your hands in his.

“Cherie, seconds before you knocked, I was having a full-blown panic attack. I really really like you and I wanted us to be official but I didn’t know what you felt. The guys were there for emotional support because I do not trust myself with any high-risk situation.”

“You drive a car at 300 km/hr almost every weekend.”

“Please. That is nothing compared to you. Every time I get in the cockpit, I’m more worried about your safety than mine. I was going to introduce you as my girlfriend. Trust me the word was on the tip of my tongue but I was being a pussy and chickened out. I’m so glad you did it tho.” His smile made those adorable dimples pop as he hugged you. “I’m so glad I did it too.” Your voice came out muffled with your cheek pressed against his chest.

“And I’m so glad you called me pretty.”

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fluff #schitt's creek #schittscreekedit #netflix #fanfics #pretty monegasque

1K notes · View notes