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#Wandering strangers ;; Anon

kedreeva · 2 years

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Do you have any sketches or more details on Max’s monster design from ur fic? I want to draw it but I don’t want to get anything wrong lol

She's a real fucked up peryton! I'll put photos and details and stuff under a cut for you so it doesn't stretch anyone's dashboard.

So a peryton is a winged deer. Usually they have feathered wings, but there's no feathers or fur in the upside down, so she has bat wings instead. If you do an image search for peryton, you'll get a lot of good images, but they're art so I don't wanna repost them.

Max looks like an elk instead of the more traditional whitetail/red deer perytons are typically modeled after:

Except much bulkier in the body when her wings are closed, with no fur anywhere

more spikes on her antlers, and a lion's tail that has, like... webbing from the rump to partway down it (please excuse my touchpad paint skills):

Instead of a face, she's got a lil faceplate like this, but not as bulgy, more like if her skull was exposed and it's just a smooth skull plate:

and her mouth does this thing when opened:

with a bonus of her front limbs ending in hands like this bad boy's:

and that's about what her skin all looks like too. Her hind limbs end in normal elk feet

Her wings fold in flush with her body, but since the flesh is all *gestures to the demogorgon above* they just look like more gross flesh. Also!! You can see on the above, the "ridge" that goes around the demogorgon's neck, like weird collarbones almost? She's got that ridge, except for her it's the alula claws/fingers of her wings. When she opens her wings, she loses a lot of bulk and looks as starved as the demogorgons do.

EDIT: OH I forgot, she breathes through operculi in her chest that look like this, but thinner slits, more like gills:

Real fucked up peryton monster! I'm sorry, I have no art skills anymore, but I assure you if you want to draw her, I will only see perfection.

#asks #anon asks #those who wander #max mayfield #stranger things #this made me positively gleeful to hear #I love her monster form #I'm in love with writing this story #I'm gonna go write some more of it because I'm so excited again now

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exsqueezememacaroni · 6 months

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Have you seen Black Sails? I think that you would love Toby Stephens as Captain Flint. He's delicious as that pirate.

I haven't seen black sails, to be honest! I don't watch that many tv shows ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

Toby Stephens does seem like a pretty hot guy, but what you don't know about me is that my Mike love is kinda the exception to the rule...I generally don't thirst after famous folks, and if I do, they usually fall into the category of "very nerdy, maybe a little ugly, twink of a guy" or "wow that butch lesbian could take me with just a smirk" and both of those categories are gender neutral, btw.

So ya...dude dudes don't usually do it for me?? Sorry!!!!

I've sorta mentioned it, but the two Mike looks that I know I would have found appealing at first glance are floofy hair KfaD Mike and crop top/sheer shirt princess Mike..so...ya....

#anon asks #funny enough i just had this convo sorta (famous people i find hot) and i was like.....uh....i dont #what i really love is developing instant crushes on irl people that wander into my view for a period of time #on public transportation or in a restaurant or sitting in a park or whatever #before i was married i was an insatiable flirt with literally any stranger #im a card carrying member of the mile high club and whatever the equivalent is for any form of long transportion #i once talked to a guy I thought was cute in central park and proceeded to bring him up to my college campus to fuck on every campus rooftop #but movie stars and such? not that interested #woops these tags went somewhere #sorry

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musicalchaos07 · 8 months

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Does Nancy have a hard time picking a Maid of Honor? She's becoming closer friends with Robin but I feel like Robin would crack trying to help plan a wedding lol.

I always go with that Nancy doesn't give anyone the title maid of honor because it was supposed to be Barb.

But if we're looking at who's attempting to lead the bridal party/calm Nancy down?

Robin is doing her best 😭. It's not HER fault Karen took over everything when all she signed up for was a small courthouse wedding.

#somewhere Steve is wandering the hotel with his long term gf and being like who tf puts Robin in charge #Steve is not in the wedding party because i had a hard enough time coming up with 3 bridesmaids for Nancy #all this to say Robin is doing her best at the Cape Cod Catastrophy but she's not immune to gay shenanigans #stranger things #wedding AU #anon asks

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mammonsrockstargf · 5 days

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Easiest brothers to fluster from most to least

a/n: Based on this ask. <33

Mammon

Mammon is such a loser and I say this with the deepest affection. (I love loser men.) It took MC approximately 24 hours to make a pact with him and within day three he was practically already on his knees.

The reason I'm putting him as the easiest is because he often makes the situation worse for himself. He'll get flustered and then he'll get all whiny n shit, complaining about it.

Pros are that he'll return the affection 110% of the time. You'll give him a peck on the lips and he'll grab your face and give you 10 prober kisses.

Leviathan

Levi's face kind of speaks for itself, he's red constantly.

The reason I'm putting him under Mammon is because I think he just gets shy and leaves instead of returning your affections. You'll have to catch him in his room if you want some proper action… (wink wonk)

Belphegor

I think Belphegor is quite easy to fluster because bro is touch-starved. You'll put a hand on his thigh and he's a goner.

He gets very flustered, but he owns it. He'll tell you not to remove your hand, might even put his own on top of it. I also think he’s shameless during day time naps, all bets are off once he’s got you under the covers.

Satan

Satan wants to stay unbothered but he's also a weakling. He'll pretend it doesn't bother him whenever you lean in close and he feels your breath against his neck but his ears will get red and he'll clear his throat.

As soon as he gets you alone, he'll kiss you stupid until he's sure you can't remember your own name.

He's also the type to retaliate, he'll put a hand on your thigh as a warning and then slowly inch it higher, higher, higher- and oh, it's gone again! Hey, why are your cheeks burning?

Beelzebub

I think Beel is hard to fluster because he doesn't really care. You'll sit in his lap and he'll pull you closer, you'll compliment his body and he'll smile sheepishly and thank you. He 100% enjoys any affection you'll give him, but he just doesn't really get flustered per se.

If you want him to get flustered you have to be really upfront about it, there’s no playing around with this man.

Lucifer

In public, you will not get this man flustered. He'll do anything to save face and he will not react.

Within the walls of HOL, you might have a chance, but you'd have to be direct about it. We're talking plopping down on his lap, checking him out shamelessly, putting his hand on your ass. (Or putting your hand on his ass, hihi.)

Most of the time I think he'd just laugh at you and call you an attention whore, but if you catch him by surprise his cheeks might turn pink and he'll avoid eye contact for approximately three seconds before he's back to being himself.

Asmodeus

This one kind of goes for itself. In anon's words: he's a whore (affectionately). He's seen all the tricks, he's done all the tricks. He'll enjoy your efforts very much, a Cheshire-cat-smile on his lips whenever you try. He'll even teasingly "get flustered" if you complain that he's acting unbothered.

In all honesty, you should probably worry more about him getting you flustered. He's definitely not a stranger to hands wandering under the table or innocent kisses turning into something more.

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milla-frenchy · 4 days

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Joel, Jackson

6k2 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 Summary: after years of wandering, you joined the Jackson community. Once back on your feet, you started patrolling regularly with Joel. Over the months, you ended up getting closer to that bruised man. Warnings: 18+ mdni. strangers to friends to lovers, oral (f/m), alt pov, piv, cum eating, cnc (safe word, knife play, rough sex, dirty talk, aftercare). No age specified

a/n: this is a contribution to the Jett’s Flora & Fauna challenge 🌷🪻🌻 Thank you for this beautiful event @morallyinept ❤️ Also, thank you to @cavillscurls, who kindly agreed to let me work on this anon she received, with Jackson!Joel and a cnc idea. Thank you very much, Mya 🙏❤️ Dividers @saradika-graphics 🙏❤️ @aurorawritestoescape thank you for beta reading, and for your daily support ily 💕💕💕🫶

Masterlist

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

You and Joel met in Jackson, when you joined the community, exhausted by months, years of wandering from camps to camps, where you lost everything over time. Your friends, your family, your boyfriend.

Tommy and Maria took you in and you rebuilt yourself, never thinking that you would find love again. That you would find it with that gruff, not very verbose man, about whom some people warned you. They told you about his violence, his ruthlessness. About things “other people” told them, and repeated without knowing him. That he only cared about Ellie and Tommy, that his family was the only thing that mattered to him. They were the only people worth fighting for. Even Maria had been resentful towards him for a long time, holding him responsible for what Tommy had done to survive.

Once you were back on your feet physically, and more or less mentally, you started taking part in the patrols. You needed to get out into wide open spaces. More and more, you were assigned to do them with Joel. He impressed you countless times in encounters against infected. Against a few people, even. Raiders, hunters. You always felt safe patrolling with him.

For several months, he didn’t speak much. Just the bare minimum. He wasn't exactly unpleasant, just a little gruff. As if everything that did not relate to basic principles seemed superficial to him. You enjoyed his company, not feeling like you had to talk. Your own reconstruction required a lot of energy, and you were grateful that he didn't draw on your resources. So you patrolled, each on your horse, sharing meals and surveillance. Even if you suspected him of not really sleeping during your watch. He probably didn’t fully trust your abilities, and you couldn’t blame him.

Often, during the breaks to let horses rest, you picked flowers, keeping a bouquet against your horse's rein. Sometimes he asked you what flower it was. Ultimately, it was the flowers that got you two talking about something not related to patrols, and helped you learn how to tame each other.

One day a patrol almost went wrong. You have been overwhelmed by the infected in a building. Until one of them jumped on Joel, throwing him on the ground. He was trying to use his rifle to keep the clicker away from him and his knife was out of reach. You rushed to pick it up before plunging it into the infected’s temple. Joel nodded, thanking you, then you cleared the entire building, making your way through each closed door, each room, each floor. Hiding in every nook and cranny to progress. You just killed two more and were squeezed between a wall and a piece of furniture, careful not to make any noise they could hear. Your body was against his, he made the “shh” sign with his finger, as he did so often. But that time, you saw him differently. It wasn’t Joel anymore, it was Joel, for a minute. You were so close, your eyes fixed on his beard and neck. You looked at his hairs, mixed with browns and grays. The veins in his neck throbbing and the muscles tensing under his shirt. Arousal overtook you. A strong, sudden desire for him, a physical wave, while it had been at least months, since you had wanted someone. Only your fingers had slipped between your thighs.

And you were there, in the middle of patrol, you both had almost died an hour before, and your only thoughts were absolutely not suitable for the situation. Your brain was a mess and your core even worse. When you finally looked up, you saw Joel's gaze lowered to you and his eyebrows furrowed. Asking you with hand signals why you weren't responding to his gestures. You pulled yourself together, and finished securing the building.

You went to the outpost. Joel was tense, restrained, and you asked him what was going on.

"What’s going on? What the hell happened to you in that building? Totally unfocused and inattentive. I’ve never seen you act so stupid.”

His anger disconcerted you, even though you knew he was right, that your behavior had been totally irresponsible.

“I’m sorry”, you answered sadly.

“You’re sorry? Well I’m glad to know that.”

“Damn Joel, what more do you want me to say? Ok, I screwed up. But a few minutes before I saved your ass. So excuse me, Mr. Perfect.”

“Fuck…”

He leaned back in the chair he was sitting on, rubbing his beard with his thumb, and sighed.

“I shouldn't have reacted like that, I’m sorry. I've never seen you distracted before, and I was probably still under the effect of that clicker that almost got me. Thank you. Just…please stay focused, okay? I can’t leave Ellie without me.”

“Yeah, of course.”

You went to bed. As soon as he mentioned Ellie you had put it into perspective. Of course he didn't want to leave her alone. You fell asleep, driving away your other thoughts. The feeling of his body against yours.

Other patrols followed, and seasons passed. You discovered other flowers that you had not seen in the states you had crossed before.

You only patrolled with Joel now. Tommy and Maria preferred to send pairs on patrol who knew each other well, their reflexes and instincts worked better. You had caught him snoring softly a few nights, which made you think that, finally, his confidence in you had greatly grown. You also slept when it was his shift. You absolutely trusted him. You knew he would slaughter anyone who came near. He was reliable, strong. He was Joel. You talked more and more, too, confiding in personal things. You learnt a lot from his life, as he had from yours.

He taught you everything he knew about survival and hunting. How to patrol effectively and secure a location. Many times, you told yourself that Jackson was lucky to have him in its community, despite what some people were still saying about him. But the negativity towards him had largely diminished. Maybe people realized you were close and didn’t want to tell you those things. Or maybe they had finally learned to think for themselves, and stop listening to gossip.

As for you...you never forgot the feeling you felt against him. And at night in your bed, your hand would often slide between your thighs, thinking about Joel. Imagining how you would feel if he was between your legs, his fingers in you instead of yours. His cock inside you.

He didn’t seem to have an affair or a friend with benefits. Sometimes you secretly watched him on patrol, when he was washing in a river, or when he was undressing thinking you were asleep. He had always behaved like a gentleman, without ever looking at you inappropriately. So at night, you dreamt. Making your imagination work, telling yourself that even if he wasn't interested in you, he was in your fantasies.

Joel enjoyed patrolling with you. You were attentive, calm and thoughtful. He hadn't forgotten the time he got angry with you. What you didn't know was that he knew why you had been distracted. He had felt your eyes on him. Felt the change in your stare. So yes, it pissed him off that you lost focus, but mainly because he didn't know how to react. Some women in Jackson showed their interest and made direct advances towards him, several times. He hadn't had anyone serious since Tess, and forgot about the emptiness in his love life by taking care of Ellie. The losses he had suffered hurt him too much. Sarah, Tess. Shortly after his arrival in Jackson, he had some fun here and there, but then stopped any rapprochement. This had undoubtedly contributed to his bad reputation, some women had taken it badly. It didn't matter to him. Getting emotionally invested with someone he could lose, like the others, was out of the question.

And then you arrived. You were wounded when you came to Jackson, physically and mentally. Then you rebuilt yourself, slowly, patiently. He liked your strength. The patrols were going well, you were a bit like him, not talking a lot, serious. He liked it.

And then there was that day, the patrol that had gone wrong. You saved him. Without you, Ellie would be alone now.

And then your body against his. He felt the way you froze. Felt your breathing stop, then start racing. Felt your nipples harden against his chest. When he got angry with you he blamed himself for his disproportionate reaction. You were on patrol, but he had gone too far, unable to react otherwise. He knew only too well why. He got attached to you, over the weeks, months, patrols. He was enjoying your company more and more, and not just as a patrol partner. He considered you a friend, and he’d had few friends in his life. Actually, since the world had been in ruins, he didn't think he had any. Didn't trust anyone enough for that. Tess was…family.

He liked seeing you smile, laughing out loud sometimes. He loved seeing your eyes light up and sparkle. He liked your passion for flowers, what you taught him about them. He liked seeing your smile when you found something notable while on patrol. He loved knowing that you wanted to do your part in the community. Because that meant bringing things to Ellie. He loved that you got along well with her, that you laughed every time Ellie gave him a hard time. He used to answer gruffly on purpose, because Ellie would always bite back, and you were laughing, laughing, laughing. And he loved hearing your laugh. And he realized that he liked maybe too many things about you.

Many nights, his fist clenched around his shaft thinking of you. Desperately, he had tried to think of something else, tried to not see you that way. He felt your gaze on him when he took off his jacket, when he washed himself in a river. You did it discreetly, but he was so used to being on guard and scanning his surroundings all those decades post-outbreak, that of course he noticed.

He trusted you, like he hadn’t trusted anyone since Tess. He knew he was letting his guard down, that he crossed a line that he had set for himself: not getting emotionally invested with someone he could lose.

One night during his shift he heard you moaning in your sleep, then crying. He placed his hand on your shoulder, gently shaking you awake, saying “shh, shh, sweetheart. It's ok. Wake up, you’re ok.” You opened your eyes and didn't understand where you were for a few minutes, before hugging him, your head nestled in his neck. For two seconds, his arms remained suspended, not knowing what to do, denying contact. And then he broke down and hugged you too, until your gasps stopped and you stammered an apology. “It’s ok, sweetheart”, he replied. Then he got up and resumed his post near the window, scratching his beard. You went back to bed, your back turned to the wall, and fell asleep again. He knew you mourned the people you had lost. Like so many people, like him.

You woke up the next morning, well after the start of your supposed shift. He let you sleep, and you told him he should have woken you up.

“No, it’s ok. You needed to sleep.”

“You need to sleep too. You won’t be much use if you fall asleep on your horse.”

He laughed, and your heart soared.

"OK, let's go. We have two days of patrol left, and no outpost until Jackson. We’ll have to sleep in our sleeping bags tonight.”

“The first quarter will be mine. I don’t want to get bitten because Mr. Miller had fallen asleep with the rifle in his arms.”

He laughed again. Your heart was beating so loudly you were afraid he would hear it.

You roamed around all day, inspecting a few buildings. The day was calm, just two infected. Finally, Joel asked you to choose the resting point, and you followed all the conditions which, for him, made a place safe and that he taught you about; visibility of any possible intrusion and a possibility of escape, first of all.

“This place looks good,” you said.

“Yeah, fine. Let’s go check out the surroundings.”

You tied up the horses, and looked around. No buildings nearby, enough to shelter you from the wind, excellent visibility.

“Yeah, it’s perfect,” he confirmed. You ate the dried meat you had left. You had prepared the quantities accordingly before departure. With a safety margin in case of unforeseen circumstances. He was always considerate, and taught you to be too.

You took the first shift to let him rest. Making rounds, attentive to noises. At the supposed end of your shift, he was sleeping so well that you let him rest. When he woke up, grumpy, he grumbled “damn, you should have woken me up. It’s risky to stay up longer, you could have fallen asleep.”

“Mmmm….risky like when you let me sleep yesterday?”

He frowned, before his face lit up. “You’re a little brat.”

“Yeah, I know”, you replied, smiling.

You took the road back to Jackson. It was spring and nature was waking up. Flowers were growing again, you loved them so much. You took a few breaks, to let the horses rest after such a long patrol. At the last one, you saw Jackson from the top of the hill where you were.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yeah. We’re so lucky to have this place.”

When you walked through the doors, he offered to look after your horse as well as his but you refused. You wanted to spend a little more time with him before his daily life took him away from you. He devoted himself to Ellie, even if she grew up and spent more and more time with her friends. You finally went your separate ways, after he gave you one last nod. You sighed as you got home, already missing him. Although there would be a patrol soon. In your shower, your tears flowed. You felt alone.

After your meal, you made yourself some tea. It was steaming on your knees, as you were sitting on the couch, your legs folded. Someone knocked on the door and you got up to open it.

“Joel? Everything’s fine? Is Ellie ok?”

“She’s ok. She’s having a sleepover at her friend's house. Growing up way too fast.”

You smiled and nodded.

"Can I help you? Do you need anything?" you asked him, stepping aside to let him in. He stood in the hall, his mid-season jacket on his shoulders. He took out a bouquet of wildflowers from behind his back. You hadn't seen him pick them up, and your heart was coming back to life again, as a smile lit up your face.

“Here. I know you love them. I thought you would like to have some flowers in your home, their smell in your house.” You took them and thanked him, and you put them in a vase. He was holding his hands in front of him, rubbing them gently. He seemed embarrassed and you frowned.

“Are you ok?”, you asked.

“I…just wanted to thank you. For saving my life that day. I didn’t do it properly.”

“Oh. Well, you’re welcome. But you already thanked me, really. And you saved mine a thousand times, so…” You smiled at him, but it faded when you saw the way he was looking at you. As if he was about to tell you something difficult.

Time stopped. The only movement in the room was the vapor of your tea dancing above the cup.

“I know you’re looking at me. And I know why you didn’t react in that building.”

You froze. You expected that he wouldn’t want to go on patrol with you again, that the flowers were a way to say goodbye. That you were about to lose him, having crossed a line that had never been mentioned but that you had visualized deep down for a long time. You felt like you were on the edge of an abyss and about to fall. So you tried to get out of it, to do what you could not to lose him.

“I don’t know wh-”

“Please. Don’t do that. Don’t tell me I misinterpreted, that I’m wrong.”

You lowered your head and closed your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. Tears pricked your eyes.

“No. Don’t be. Or I would have to be sorry too, and I’m tired of being sorry.”

You opened your eyes but kept staring at the floor for a few seconds. Then you looked up at him and read his stare. A multitude of emotions jostled there. The waiting, the despair. Desire? He was lost, too. A thousand thoughts were racing through your head. Did you hear that correctly? Was he suddenly going to walk to the front door and leave? Your gaze was lost in a blur and you didn't realize it. When you came to your senses, his eyes were still fixed on you.

And suddenly you both took a step forward. At the same time, as if everything was choreographed. But it wasn't. As if your bodies were running the dance, not your minds. Only your hearts. His hands found your cheeks, and yours his waist, as your lips met. Your heart was beating wildly but you couldn't hear it. His warmth surrounded yours, and his lips, his tongue were even softer than you had imagined. His mouth left yours, as he brushed your cheek with his beard and his hands left your cheeks and slid down your back, holding you against him. Your nose rubbed against his neck, and you loved his smell. You hugged him close, your arms still around his waist, tighter.

And then you pulled away, looked at him, grabbed one of his hands and led him to your bedroom. Later, when you thought about that moment, you didn't even remember your walk down the hallway. Just finding yourself in front of him, next to your bed. Joel removing your t-shirt, pulling it over your head. His hands on your breasts, his palms surrounding them with his warmth as you unbuttoned his plaid shirt. Your hands on his chest, following the line of his torso, along his happy trail, to his jeans that you unzipped. Kneeling in front of him, just wearing your sleep shorts.

You widened your eyes when you saw his cock. It was…big. And you…you hadn’t fucked in a long time. Your tongue tasted his precum. You were afraid of being clumsy after all this time. Your lips rounded around his tip, and you sucked gently, taking your time. The feeling, his taste were driving you crazy. Your head started to move up and down, taking more and more of him in your mouth, and you heard him moan softly. Until his hand gently rested on your head, and he said “sweetheart…I ain’t gonna last. It’s been too damn long since the last time.”

He took your arm to help you get up and you kissed.

You went to lie down on the bed, and he knelt on the floor. He gently pulled you towards him and took off your shorts.

He nearly came, just by seeing your folds through the fabric.

His shoulders slipped between your knees. He was so broad that you had to lean your folded legs against the bed. He caressed your thighs, his skin on yours giving you shivers. He placed his hand flat on your pussy hidden under your panties, then slid his middle finger along your folds, making you whine. He smiled and leaned down, licking through your panties, from the bottom of your folds to your clit.

“God, Joel”, you whimpered.

He grabbed the sides of your panties, slid them down your thighs and removed them. You looked at him, he was so handsome. So caring. So…yours, right now. Then he leaned down again, brushing your clit with his nose, and you shivered.

“You’re ok?” he asked.

“Yeah…yes. It’s just…It’s been a long time for me too.”

“I know, baby”, he whispered. The tip of his tongue delicately brushed your folds, from bottom to top. You moaned, clenching the sheets in your fists. His hands were placed on your inner thighs. He ran his tongue again, deeper, and you rested your hands on his head.

“You taste so good”, he murmured.

He spread your folds with his thumbs, and lapped, drinking your wetness. Sucking, licking your pussy like a thirsty man. His nose sometimes brushed against your clit, and you were already seeing stars. Your fists clenched his brown curls. Then he moved back up to your clit, wrapping his lips around it, the tip of his tongue swirling over it. When he brushed the entrance to your pussy with a finger, you thought you’d faint. He pushed it in gently, eased by your wetness soaking the sheets. Your hips rolled into him and your moans filled the room. He added a second finger, and you whispered “oh god...”

He focused on your clit, pumping your pussy gently with his two fingers, just where you needed it. You felt the heat rising in your lower abdomen. “Joel…I’m gonna come”, you whined. He didn't stop, didn't slow down. He kept the same rhythm, until you exploded in his mouth and on his fingers. Clenching them within your walls. You came so hard that you were trembling. He left his tongue resting on your clit until you stopped shaking. Then he sat up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and crawled on top of you, helping you move up on the bed. He lay on you, careful not to crush you and said, “we don’t have to do more if you don’t want to”, but you wished to feel him as much as possible. “Wanna feel you”, you said. “Just…go slow, please. You’re…big.”

He smiled in the cutest way possible. Could this man be even more perfect than right at that moment? His body between your thighs, he took his cock in his hand, slid it between your folds to cover it with your wetness. Every time he brushed against your clit, you had goosebumps. Then he nestled it in your entrance, and you wondered how he would fit, but you didn't say anything. He placed his other hand on your cheek and looked at you, to check if you were okay. You nodded, and he pushed. “Oh, fuck”, you thought.

He pulled back, and thrust in again, just as gently. Your walls were accommodating his cock and you felt him slow down.

“Don’t stop Joel, please. I’m ok.”

“Fuck. Ok.”

He kept sinking, slowly. Then you felt his balls against your pussy.

“Yeah, oh god. Fuck. You’re fucking huge!”

He smiled again, and started to fuck you, thrusting back and forth. Slowly but deeply. Buried himself fully with each thrust, brushing against your g-spot.

“You feel so good around me”, he whispered. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and held him close, your face hidden in his neck, moaning continuously.

“It’s so good…god, that’s perfect”, he said in your ear. Your pelvis accompanied his. His body brushing against the perfect spot of yours. He felt your walls clenching around him, just before you came, your pussy squeezing his shaft. He stopped buried in your core, his hand still resting on your cheek. His other hand under your head and his forehead against yours. Until you stopped moving, your thighs falling back against the mattress. Catching your breath.

“Where do you want me?” he asked.

“Wanna taste you, please.”

He nodded, and stood next to the bed, his fist pumping his shaft in short strokes as you got on your knees, mouth open. He groaned, and within seconds his hot cum started hitting the back of your throat while he was whimpering.

He helped you up, hugged you and kissed you, the sweat on his skin mixing with yours.

You both showered, your hands brushing against each other's skin, mouths kissing cheeks, necks, shoulders, hands.

“Can you stay and sleep here tonight?” you asked him once you were dried.

“I hoped you’d ask me,” he replied, smiling.

You fell asleep, snuggled up against him, his arms around you. It was the first time you slept together, and it had been perfect.

The next morning he told you his fears of losing you, as he had lost the other people he had cared about. You said he couldn't live like this. That he still had many years ahead of him, and so did you, and that refusing to be together by fear was a sacrifice not worth it. That life was worth living. He finally nodded. Almost reluctantly, as if a part of him was still struggling against this idea.

After several weeks you told Ellie about your relationship.

“Shit, do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into with that old grump?” she laughed. Joel rolled his eyes. You smiled, and replied, “yes, I do.”

You had to struggle to make him accept the idea that you would still go on patrol.

One day, when he watched the schedule, he saw your name next to another man for an incoming patrol. He stormed into Tommy and Maria's house, saying “absolutely not!”, hands on his hips and a dark, disapproving glare at his brother. You were at their house, having coffee, and you and Tommy were laughing two seconds after his loud entrance. “What’s so funny?”, he asked gruffly.

“Just wanted to prank you, big brother. You really thought I would put her on patrol with someone else? I don’t want you to beat the shit outta me.” Tommy looked at you and said, "damn that was too easy.” “Told ya”, you replied.

Joel rolled his eyes and poured himself a coffee, before sitting down across from you in the kitchen.

“You knew?” he asked.

“Yeah, and I definitely didn’t want to miss that.”

“Jesus”, he growled.

You got to know each other even more. You talked about your lives before and your losses. He told you about his pre-outbreak life, Sarah. The years that followed, what he did with Tommy and Tess to survive. The people they had robbed, killed. Boston, the smuggling. His deals with FEDRA. His journey with Ellie. The hospital.

You got to know each other sexually too. He was both tender and rough. His praise and dirty talk were perfect, he always knew what to say, and when to say it.

You fucked a lot, and pretty much everywhere. Your place, where you didn’t live anymore but you would use when Ellie was at home. His place. Against the wall of the Tipsy bison’s bathroom or on the sink.

The first time you knelt in front of him in an outpost during a patrol, while he was surveilling through the window, he told you "no, no way. Absolutely not”, shaking his head.

“Lemme suck your cock”, you replied. “Keep watching, it’s hot”, you added, unzipping his jeans. After he shot his load on your tongue, with his hand resting on the window and the other clenching your hair, he said "jesus, you're gonna kill me." And he ate you against that window 30 seconds later, after you swore to him that yes, you would watch the outside even with his tongue buried between your folds.

You established a safe word. “Patrol”. You smirked when he proposed that one. He never missed an opportunity to remind you he didn't like that you were still patrolling.

You played and you discovered each other. More kinks and more desires. Testing limits that opened new horizons of pleasure. You asked him a thousand questions about his past as a raider, and his contained violence during your patrols were making you terribly horny. So one day you told him about something you wanted to try. You wanted to see his dark side. What he was capable of. You wanted to play with your fear, doing it with someone you fully trusted. Someone who could lead you where you wanted to go, but would stop the second you asked. You didn't know where your limits were, but having a safe word was making everything easier.

So you told him precisely what you wanted. A pseudo kidnapping, where he would blindfold you and do knife play. Where he would be rough. Really rough. He listened, half amused, half surprised.

“You really want that? Wanna see this side of me?”

“Yes, Joel. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, and I really want it.”

“And you’ll use the safe word the second you want me to stop?”

“Yes.”

“Promise me”, he insisted. “That you will not keep going with something that makes you uncomfortable, thinking that it will annoy me if you tell me to stop.”

"I promise. I know you’ll stop immediately, I trust you 100%.”

He looked at you for a long time before nodding.

"One last thing Joel." He smiled, and asked, “do you have any limits, woman?” You giggled and kissed him, saying “I’m not sure, actually.” Then you looked at him seriously and said, “I don’t want to know when it’s gonna happen. And if I say no, we agree that it's a part of the game. The only thing that should make you stop is the safe word. Or if you are uncomfortable. Do you agree with that?”

“It’s a deal, baby.”

You talked about it several weeks ago, and had done several patrols since then. You thought he would do it during one of them. You knew he hadn't forgotten. He didn't forget anything.

Joel had been preparing everything for weeks. He checked the place carefully during other patrols, every corner, anticipating every moment so that everything happened safely. He thought about how he would do it, how he would act, what you would love. And he couldn't wait.

You were packing your things for another two-day patrol. A moderately long one, which you knew well, but during which infected were regularly encountered, that time of the year.

You killed a few on the first day. Nothing particularly difficult, and you reached the outpost. You had your meal. You were getting ready to go to bed, and Joel, as usual, inspected the building again, then left to check the surroundings. You watched him leave through the window, with his brown leather jacket and a backpack, gun in hand. You went to bed, waiting for him to come back but sleep overtook you. You were dozing, without having fallen into a heavy sleep.

Darkness invaded the room and the sound of the floor creaking suddenly brought you out of this state, just before you were seized. You’ve been grabbed, felt a body against yours on the bed, and a hand covered your mouth. A fabric covered your face and your heart pounded. Part of you thought about the game you discussed with Joel, and another part thought that maybe someone had caught him, maybe killed him. Panic filled you and you struggled, but soon you heard “it’s really stupid to be alone in this abandoned place.” Joel's voice. Your heart rate calmed down and your body relaxed instantly, as the arousal hit you. You relaxed into the arms that were holding you. Damn, he gave you the scare of your life. He manhandled you, flipping you onto your back and straddled you, his thighs surrounding your chest.

“Ain’t that a pretty thing?” he said calmly, before grabbing your breasts with both hands, over your t-shirt. You heard a blade brush against his jeans, and he placed the tip of his knife against your neck. Your chest rose and fell with the excitement you were feeling. He grabbed your t-shirt in his fist and slid the blade through the fabric, pulling sharply. Revealing your breasts through the torn garment. He pushed it aside, the cloth just held by your arms and slid the blade along your chest.

“Your nipples are hard, sweetheart. Does bein’ scared fucking turns you on?”

“Please, let me go”, you begged.

He sneered. “Oh no. Got a pretty damn thing, with, I’m sure, a pretty damn cunt that I’m gonna stuff really soon. Ain’t gonna let you go.”

“Please”, you begged again.

“Maybe that’s what you wanted, being alone in this place. To get caught by a raider? Mmm, sweet thing?”

He never called you ‘sweet thing’. ‘Baby’, ‘darling’, or ‘sweetheart’. You knew he did it to accentuate the game, to turn you on. And god, he was good at it.

“Let’s use this mouth for something better than whining.”

You heard the zipper of his jeans, the rustling of clothes. You heard him jerk off. Then he lifted the fabric covering your face slightly, just to free your mouth. He pressed his tip against your lips, and ordered, “suck my cock.”

You shook your head to keep him away from you and he grabbed your throat. “You know, I like it when they fight. Turns me on even more.” He squeezed your chin between his fingers, forcing you to open your mouth. You licked his tip shyly. “Don’t be a fucking tease. Suck it”, he growled. You opened your mouth wider, letting him slide in, and you blew him. Letting him impose his rhythm. Fucking your mouth until you gasped for air on his shaft. “That’s better, sweetheart. You could almost make me cum down this throat. But I wanna fuck this pussy and make you feel my cock in your stomach.”

He moved back, remaining straddling you, but this time he sat on your thighs, before tearing your panties in two with his blade and you blenched. He released his grip and you tried to pull away but he quickly lay down between your thighs, pinning your body with his.

“You really think you can escape? You won’t feel better if I fuck you after making you bleed a little, believe me. Stop this bullshit.”

“Don’t do this, please. Please, sir…”

“Sir? Fuck I like it”, he said, forcing his knee on your thigh to spread it. Your pussy was dripping, you felt your arousal flowing. He was fully clothed, pressed against your body. He grabbed his cock in his hand, sliding it against your folds.

“Shit, you’re soaked. You really want that cock,” he said, his mouth against your ear, his beard brushing against your skin and his blade against your neck. “Yeah it really turns you on. I’m gonna give you what ya want.” His voice was cold as ice.

He slipped the tip at your entrance and you begged again, “no! Please, stop it!”

“Don’t think so, sweetheart”, he said in a low voice, and sank in your core, putting his hand over your mouth just as he bottomed out. Without covering it completely, in case you wanted to use the safe word. He pulled back, and slammed into you, taking your breath away. “Fuck…suckin’ me right in.” Then he pounded your pussy with his cock, so hard that you could barely breathe.

“Yeah, found a really good cunt. You're gonna come for me sweetheart. Gonna cum on this cock.” He pulled back to cover his thumb with your wetness before thrusting in again, with deep but slow strokes now, and twirled his finger over your clit, making you moan.

“Yeah, you’re a pretty thing, for sure”, he said. He felt his orgasm building, and was just waiting for you to come, and then he would remove the fabric from your face.

“Fucking perfect cunt”, he growled. “Takin’ me so good.”

Your walls were clenching his shaft more and more, until you came hard, whimpering, grabbing his biceps.

“That’s it, come on my cock.” He pulled back and got on his knees, removing the garment from your face, just in time to shoot his cum all over your stomach and breasts, one hand pressed against the mattress. "Oh god...Fuck...Fuck, baby..." he said, panting.

Then he leaned towards you, took your face in his hands and asked “are you okay, sweetheart?”

You leaned him in and kissed him, and said "never better. Fuck, you scared me at first and it was so hot and perfect!!”

You couldn't contain your joy and you saw the relief on his face. “Damn...you didn't use the safe word so I didn't stop, but fuck, you've got nerves, baby!”

“Yeah, well…that means that next time we can go a little further”, you added with a big smile.

He grabbed a wildflower, he had picked before joining you, from the bedside table. He had put it there while he had been holding you, and you hadn't noticed anything. He handed it to you and smiled. “For my girl”, he said. This man was perfect, and he was yours.

You got back to Jackson. You were behind him when you came through the gates on your horses, looking at him. His slightly graying curls. His mid-season brown jacket and his broad shoulders. His ass on the saddle. And you smiled.

Joel, Jackson.

You loved him, and you loved that place.

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

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@littlemisspascal @pascalsanctuary @survivingandenduring

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boorines · 7 months

Note

Could I please request HHU with keeping their s/o close in a festival/crowd? how they hold them like are touchy and possessive or are YOU the one keeping them from getting lost

this is so cute ☹️ hope u like it anon!!

—

SEUNGCHEOL

seungcheol doesn’t really hold onto you at all, he’d let you do your own thing at a music festival or event.

he does, however, keep glancing at you to make sure you’re doing okay, if he sees the cup of lemonade you’re holding in your hand running low he’ll wordlessly slip away to get you a refill.

he’d let you enjoy yourself freely. however, if he spots someone attempting to get too comfortable with you, he’d silently slide beside you. either resting a hand on your waist or acting as a barrier between you and the stranger. his heart swells when you smile up at him gratefully.

WONWOO

he’d hold your hand in a crowd tightly. more for his sake than yours. your tendency to wander after things that catch your attention has been a source of worry for wonwoo one too many times.

he’d let your hand go only when you’re planted right next to him and chewing on the stick of cotton candy in your hand, the other on your phone busy documenting your 3rd snack of the day. wonwoo would offer his arm to you as you both start walking again, making sure your arms are linked tight while you work your way through the cotton candy.

and when the crowd finally thins, he’d slip his arm around your shoulders and you’d slide your hand into the back pocket of his jeans. and this is how you’d go about the rest of your day.

MINGYU

this one is protective like it’s a full time job. at a party while you mingle with other guests he’d have his eyes trained on the people around you, scanning the room for any unwanted attention.

mingyu would hold both of your drinks in his hands, not trusting other people to go near what you’d been sipping on throughout the night. if you needed the bathroom, best believe he’d be standing right outside.

but he wouldn’t be overbearing, choosing to keep an eye on you and your surroundings while you freely chat to others and dance to the music. sure, he’s a touchy boyfriend, but any skinship could wait until you two were home. for now he’d just be on guard as he watches you enjoy your night.

VERNON

hand holder #2. he’d have your hand in his all night, especially considering you were the only reason he’d come to the market in the first place. as you make your way through the crowd, vernon is behind you the entire time, fingers interlocked.

he wouldn’t interfere beyond gently tugging you away from objects you may bump into or picking fluff out of your hair. he’d be content just letting you do your thing and tagging along.

keeps your hand in his even when the crowd thins. not for worry of you wandering about, but just for the comfort of knowing that you’re beside him. bonus boyfriend points because he’d smile sweetly into the camera when you ask him to, despite being in the middle of a busy market.

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fayes-fics · 1 month

Text

Vignette

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: An artist meet-cute in the park.

Warnings: none... this is the fluffiest of fluff

Word Count: 1.2k

Authors Note: Anon request fill (see HERE) about Benedict and an artist having a meet-cute in the park. Unbetaed. I hope you enjoy this, Nonny, and sorry it has taken so many months! <3

A wooden toy hoop whooshing inches from your knee interrupts your quiet refuge amid the flower gardens of Regents Park, breaking your intense concentration on your drawing and almost dropping your charcoal.

Seconds later, a pretty young girl of maybe eleven years old comes running after the errant object, her plaited hair bouncing, her blush pink dress swishing around her knees as she calls out an apology to you and retrieves the hoop from the nearby bush.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her face a picture of impish inquisition as she wanders back to your bench.

“I am drawing,” you smile benevolently; something about her mischievous spirit reminds you of your nieces.

“What are you drawing?” her grin somehow infectious.

“You see those roses there?” you point with your charcoal to a nearby white alba maxima rose bush, stems almost bowing under the weight of the heavily ruffled peach-tipped petals. “Those are in peak bloom, and I am attempting to capture them, their ephemeral beauty...”

“Are you any good?”

You chuckle at her youthful bluntness, but just as you are tilting your work towards her, you are interrupted by a man rounding into this same quiet corner.

“Hyacinth! Please refrain from injuring and bother…” his refined voice begins to chastise but suddenly grinds to a halt mid-sentence as soon as he catches sight of you.

But he is not the only one who has lost the power of speech.

Something vaults hard in your stomach like you are plunging down an invisible chasm. He is handsome in a way you have never seen before in your twenty years on this earth: tall, with a strong jaw and a dandyish colourful outfit that fits him very well.

There are a few moments where all you do is stare at each other, lips parted, before he appears to shake himself a fraction and bows his head in polite greeting.

“Where are my manners? I would like to apologise for my little sister almost causing you injury, Miss. The fault is entirely mine; I should not have let her play quite so spiritedly in a public park. I-I hope you are not injured?”

“N-Not at all; the hoop merely brushed my skirt. I am more than fine,” you assure hurriedly. “Mr….?”

“Bridgerton,” he offers, nodding to you in a more formal greeting.

You would know that name anywhere—one of the most esteemed families of the Ton. You instantly know he is not the Viscount, having seen him at society events, so you surmise this must be one of his younger brothers. Before you can offer your name, however, he speaks again.

“You draw?”

“Oh.. yes, yes… I-I do,” you stumble, a little taken aback by his question, even as you feel his sister’s gaze volleying between the two of you with a bemused expression.

“I draw too,” he explains, placing a hand over his sternum, the sunlight catching upon a signet ring on his little finger.

“Oh…” you seem inordinately pleased to share such a hobby with this virtual stranger.

“I also know well that charcoal fingers are an occupational hazard..” he adds cordially as he catches you attempting to wipe the dark smears upon your hands with a rag. “May I see your work? If it is not too impudent of me to ask,” he adds modestly.

“I-I am not very good…” you fret, looking down at the partial image you see on your sketch pad. “Tis merely a pastime I use to escape…”

“Believe me, Miss…?”

“Y/l/n.”

“Believe me, Miss y/l/n, it is very much the case for me too - being that I am one of eight. Including such trouble-makers as this one,” he rolls his eyes affectionately as he signals to Hyacinth, who seems to be rapidly losing interest, distractedly spinning the hoop she holds. “Escaping is almost a full-time hobby for me…”

You cannot help but giggle at his droll humour, and he seems delighted, his face lighting up as you hide a mild blush behind the back of your hand.

“May I?” his ask is so soft you cannot do anything but acquiesce.

“‘Tis just a small vignette…” you excuse meekly as you hand over your sketchpad, suddenly so nervous to hear his opinion. You have never shared your drawings with anyone before, but something about his affable demeanour makes you bold enough to do so.

He is quiet for some time. It feels like an age, even though it is likely only a matter of seconds, but still long enough that butterflies start to roil in your stomach.

“I did say it is just a hobby…” you titter nervously, looking away.

“It is beautiful…” he exhales quietly, tone filled with admiration as your eyes ping back to him.

Your heart flutters as he extols the virtues of your work, effusively admiring your use of shading to capture shadows and the lines you have used to denote the multitudinous layers of petals, his gracious hand gesturing over the picture as he speaks.

“You flatter me entirely too much, Mr Bridgerton…” you demure, even as you feel yourself blooming under his praise, just like the flower you have painstakingly attempted to capture. A warmth in your chest that seems to radiate out to glow all over.

“I assure you I do not,” he smiles, handing you back your sketch pad.

“Benedict,” Hyacinth whines, stamping her little boot on the grass, “you said we would play…”

“I do not wish to interrupt your family time,” you placate, pleased you have learned his first name.

“Hyacinth, I am sure Eloise said something about sandwiches; you want lunch, do you not?” Benedict responds, raising a pointed brow.

“Well, yes, but…”

“Run along then,” he pulls an exasperated face at her that again has you giggling, making a shooing gesture with his hands.

She sighs but departs with a dramatic flounce.

“Sadly, I must also depart; a family picnic indeed awaits. But if I may be so bold, I would very much like for us to meet again. If you would be amendable? With a chaperone, of course,” he adds hurriedly, keen to be gentlemanly. “I think perhaps we would have much to speak of… around art. And perhaps we could… draw together? Here?”

His proposal, so sweet and straightforward, has you rendered speechless again, heart leaping at the very thought.

“I…I would like that very much,” your honest confession out of your mouth before you can swallow it.

“As would I,” his response instant, his face beaming. “Would you be here, perchance, Thursday afternoon around this same time?”

“I would…” The hitch of excitement in your own voice unmistakable.

“Excellent!” his hazy blue eyes seem to dance in the sunlight as he respectfully tilts his head again. “I am so looking forward to it, Miss y/l/n…” are his parting words before he takes his leave.

“As am I, Mr Bridgerton…” you murmur belatedly, the words shared only with the fragrant roses surrounding you, swaying gently in the afternoon breeze.

Your stare lingers where he stood long after he has left, an excited buzz over your skin at the thought you have met a kindred, artistic spirit. And one so very handsome, too.

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r0ttenhearts · 10 months

Note

can I request a charac using reader who has a crush on them for their own benefits. while reader is left to wonder why chrc acts like a stranger to reader in public. eventually confronting chrc and them brushing it off as not noticing, being too busy. until reader eavesdropped to a convo with chrc's friend abt chrc just using reader. and reader leaves and ignores chrc for a while and chrc slowly starts missing reader's presence, only to see reader with someone else and confronting reader about it. of course charac won't get the happy ending 😈

(preferably scara, or childe-- if u write for him.)

feel free to ignore, I think I haven't expressed my req properly 😭😭.

also can I be 🌧️ anon ? :>

thanks 🌧️ anon for the request ^^ i hope you enjoy!

not your pet, anymore

scaramouche x reader

warnings: angst, arguments, insults, suggestive mentions

“you love me, right?”

“of course i do, scara. you mean so much to me.” you whispered, fingers running through his hair as he leaned against you. his thick eyelashes fluttered shut, hand on his chest as he lay against you.

the biting cold of fall couldn’t compare to the warmth you two shared, huddled together like this. his cheeks still tinted pink from the cold air, hands cold to the touch, it was just the way you liked him to be. cold enough for him to want to sit close to you and warm up.

touches were not a regular occurrence for scaramouche, he was normally dismissive, claiming he hated the closeness of skin on skin contact. but that wasn’t said when he’d tug at the end of your sweater, asking if he could feel more of your warmth. soft pants escaping your lips, his cold hands wandering, bodies on the cold floor of his bedroom. that’s how you’d spend your days after school.

but this time, with your hair sticking to your sweaty forehead as you finished up some of scaramouche’s homework he had passed on to you, something felt different. he was glued to his phone, an unusual smile gracing his lips as his thumbs danced across the device. you frowned, putting down your pen as you watched his face pull up in expressions you had rarely seen.

“who’re you talking to scara?”

“none of your business, (y/n).” he snapped, the smile he had been wearing for a few minutes dropping as his head snapped up to look at you. he sighed dramatically, getting up from the floor as he placed his phone down next to your hand, his face inches away from you.

“so damn nosy (y/n), when you should be doing my essay. are you bored? should i give you more work? or maybe i should let you suck me off, put your mouth to use. i think i like you better when you’re stuffing me in than anything you’ve ever said, anyway.” he sneered, enjoying the silence from you. a slight movement from you caused annoyance to bubbled up inside of him, his face unable to hide that itching feeling.

“you know, if you weren’t like this i’d be nicer to you, hell, maybe i’d love you. fat chance of that happening, i hate you most of the time. the only time i like your mouth open is when you’re making those pretty sounds for me, anything else is just muck.

why’re you so quiet, huh? are you gonna run off to your friends again? tell them how horrible i am? you think someone like collei will bother with you after you tell her what you do in here with me? how you open yourself to me? after swearing to her you’re done with me? you’re fucking something, (y/n). honestly, i’m getting sick of you. can you get the fuck out now?”

scaramouche’s phone buzzes, screen lighting up with a new text message. the both of you glance to it at the same time before he snatches it up, typing away a response as you gather your things without a word. biting your tongue was easier said then done, but you knew the argument would be worse if you said anything to him at all.

with a gentle click of scaramouche’s door, hours had gone by since you made your way home. a warm shower to rid of the nagging feeling at the pit of your stomach, along with the stickiness scaramouche had left you. you weren’t enjoying this, not one bit.

you figured you’d talk to him tomorrow in class, apologize for your inconveniences to him, and have it return to how it usually was after a fight. if you could call it one.

what you didn’t expect was to see scaramouche sitting by the green haired girl, haypasia, his usual seat empty as they sat side by side. quietly setting your things down, you still thought to say good morning to him, as a sign of peace.

standing from your seat, you meekly stood in front of him, hands wringing in front of you nervously. “good morning scara, and haypasia, i was wondering if—“

scaramouche never looked at you the whole time you were standing in front of him, his eyes glued on haypasia as her eyes bore into yours. a bitter smirk on haypasia’s face as she waved you off, scaramouche rolling his eyes before continuing whatever conversation they were having before you interrupted him.

a pain started to form in your chest. that nauseating prick that you’d feel every time you knew scaramouche was fooling around with other girls. cold sweat was all you felt as class droned on, your eyes never leaving the back of scaramouche’s head as his hand would slip underneath haypasia’s desk, sliding her pieces of paper that she would giggle at or turn red to after reading.

why is he being like this? should you have said something yesterday? would the satisfaction of knowing he practically owned you satisfy him enough to not be like this? these thoughts ran through your head until it was time for lunch, that bell being something of a savior as you were freed from seeing him there with her.

childe’s loud laughs caught your attention as he stood with kazuha, an anxious look on the white haired boys face as his eyes locked with yours for a moment. “i mean, just look at her! everyone knows scara is just using her. i heard, he’s been sleeping with (y/n) so he’s good enough to do it with that other girl, whatever her name is. you know her, right kazuha? whatdya think? did you get a piece of her yet too? or is it just scara sinking his claws in her, and something else!”

kazuha’s nervous laugh as childe punched his arm spoke volumes as you stood up, clutching the strap of your bag. kazuha noticed the tears in your eyes as you ran out of the classroom, you had heard every word that came out of childe’s mouth. excusing himself, he ran after you, his soft taps of his feet on the floor in comparison to your loud, cluttered footsteps.

scaramouche heard about this from childe, his demeanor changing once childe gave him the details on how kazuha ran after you. he didn’t know why it bothered him, but it did. no one else should be acknowledging his pet, the one that was so compliant and listened to everything he asked of you.

that’s how he saw you, and that’s all you were to him. right? that egging feeling in his chest as his messages to you were now left on seen more often than not. your cat keychain you hung on your bag that “reminded you of him” being replaced by a charm of a maple leaf, the same one kazuha had on his bag.

it bothered him. and he didn’t try to hide it. every time you’d sit next to kazuha instead of him, he’d grumble under his breath. a part of him ached to see you bare on his bedroom floor again, your fingers running through his hair, your gentle kisses on his forehead when you’d put him to bed when he was in a foul mood. he actually missed you.

but why were you so distant now? surely kazuha wasn’t giving you something he wasn’t, right? he couldn’t. you’d always declared your loyalty to scaramouche, never once breaking it.

then why did you admit you were in love with kazuha? your hands together in front of scaramouche as he scoffs, taking you by the wrist the second those words left your mouth.

“come again? i think i misheard you (y/n). you said you were in love with me just last month. so how do you even think you have feelings for that poet?” his voice wavered, eyes scanning across your face for a sign, a hint of remorse or love that you once held for him.

you shake your head, taking your hand away from scaramouche’s grip but he tightens it anyway. his eyes bore into yours, begging, pleading for it not to be true. for you to laugh it off and say you were kidding.

“he’s.. kind. it’s unlike something i’ve had before, and.. it feels good. it feels good to be wanted, scara. something i never felt with you.”

“something i never felt with you”, those words rung in his head as he laughs loudly, fat tears spilling as he pulls you into his chest. your hands going to push him away as he holds you tightly, laughing through his tears.

“you promised me (y/n), you promised you’d stay. you said you’d stay with me forever, love me forever! please don’t be like them, please don’t let that be a lie.”

“let me go, scara. please.” you whispered, feeling him shake his head as his hands tighten around you.

“n-no, no.. i can’t lose you too. archons, i can’t. what did childe say (y/n)? i promise he didn’t mean it, whatever he said isn’t true! i swear.. let’s just, go back to how it used to be, yeah? you can come over like you used to and- and we just don’t have to have sex. we can do things you like! i swear.. so please..”

his tears had rolled down, coating your neck as he wept. you’d never seen him in such a desperate state. his eyes looking into yours for a hint of what used to be there for him, but there wasn’t. more tears rolled down his cheeks as he let you go. he had fucked up. again. and this time he lost you, the one thing he never thought he’d lose.

“i’m sorry, scara. i’ve moved on. i think you have too with haypasia, you’ll be okay.” you say before picking up your bag, leaving him standing there with a wreck of feelings in his chest.

“you’re just like the rest.” he spat under his breath, harshly wiping at his eyes as the tears continued to flow. a hateful sentence meant to comfort no one but himself. he knew you weren’t at fault for it, he knew one day you’d want something more of him, something he’d be reluctant to give you. the day you finally escaped the clutches of the toxic relationship he had given you, the same day he had deemed the end of his new beginning.

“i never got my forever with you, like you promised. i can’t apologize for hating you for it.”

taglist: @sakiimeo @astrolomona @dearsumire @saeism @shoheartluv @0kauy @lelemnh @kaoriee @samarill

#genshin angst #genshin x reader #genshin x reader angst #wanderer x reader #wanderer angst #scaramouche #scara x you #scaramouche x you #scaramouche angst #scaramouche x reader angst #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x y/n

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airbendertendou · 1 year

Text

i can’t die! [i’m all in.] ♡ chishiya shuntaro

anon requested : Hi Author! Can you please write (if it's okay) a fanfic about chishiya, Where the reader was chishiya's girlfriend before the borderline, they were supposed to meet in somewhere but the meteorite fell just before they did, and they meet again for the first time in the jack of hearts game? I know this isn't very detailed and I'm so sorry for that ;-; thank you author

song inspo ; coin by iu

synopsis : seeing your arranged boyfriend-of-sorts in the borderland’s is nerve-wracking. especially when he sees you’ve befriended a serial killer.

gender neutral reader, [name] used in place of y/n, platonic!banda - he might b ooc but idc <3, reader wears an oversized cardigan

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.

— ♧ ♡ ♢ ♤ —

“Will you get out of my way?” You shove the tall male to the side playfully as you fasten the collar around your neck. Banda’s eyes met yours and you grinned mischievously. “This place remind you of anything?”

“You’re so funny,” he replies blandly. The prison around you is cold and you’re thankful for the cardigan you’ve kept all these weeks. You follow behind Banda as he walks up the stairs, eyes on the floor as you anticipate your newest game. “Jack of Hearts — what are you expecting?”

Thinking the question over briefly, you speak monotonously, “Russian roulette, probably.”

“I wouldn’t be so lucky.”

Eyes are on you both as you walk into the main hallway. A girl in a blue dress catches your attention, then a sweet looking guy in yellow and overalls. Your eyes drop to the floor again as the automated voice goes over the game and the rules. A subtle nudge against your shoulder catches your attention. Banda speaks without moving, “you and me?”

“That’s what I was planning, doofus.”

Your gaze drifts around the room again as people begin to pair up. Banda wanders off, exploring the area you’re locked in indefinitely. A white hood catches your attention, eyes following down their figure until you’re met with analyzing eyes and a familiar smirk. Your lips part, “Chishiya?”

As if he can hear you, the man tilts his head at you before walking off with his chosen group.

Banda has collected a new person to join your duo — the stranger looks you over before grinning shyly. The hair on the back of your neck stands up, distrust crawling up your spine as you smile back. Meeting Banda’s gaze, you knew he was just as wary.

The killer — because that’s what he was in the other world and this one — slinks up next to you slyly. “See anyone you know?”

“Maybe,” you’re looking around once more, observing the way everyone interacts. Inclining your body slightly to the right, your eyes meet Chishiya’s. “Him. We were… together, in the other world. Something our parents agreed on.”

Banda lets out a mischievous snicker before leaning closer to you. “How cute. And he hasn’t come to say hello? Pity.”

You glare his way, wedging your elbow into the right side of his ribcage. The timer goes off then and you scamper over to an empty cell to give your card suit. As you exit your cell, Chishiya is idling in front of you curiously. He sways before speaking, “you know he’s killed people, right?”

“At this point, I haven’t met anyone here who isn’t a murderer.”

The blond hums before his gaze drifts, landing on something over your right shoulder. You know it’s Banda, looming behind you as he usually does. Chishiya looks to you again and speaks before his group comes to collect him. “I look forward to your survival.”

You find yourself in the cafeteria, stuffing snacks into the pockets of your cardigan for later before grabbing a drink and something to eat right then. Banda is sitting against the wall, staring ahead at Chishiya as you sit beside him. A pack of cookies lands in his lap — Banda doesn’t flinch as he peels the snack open and begins to eat it.

“Do you have to stare?” You mumble. Matsushita hadn’t returned from his bathroom break yet and you found relief in his absence. Another chip is placed in your mouth as you glare at Banda — he was still staring Chishiya’s way. “You have a crush on him or somethin’?”

Before he could answer, a body is slammed next to yours. Looking down, you see a man sweating and crying as another looms over him menacingly. Banda slides up beside you, whispering a small, “lie to him.” in the man’s ear. You look away from them and see Chishiya looking at you again, judgment clouding his eyes as you don’t speak up against Banda.

You grumble, “already startin’ shit and we just got here.”

“The game had to start sometime.”

As time passes, players dwindle slowly until the number hastens. There are only six of you left now — Chishiya’s partner couldn’t handle the pressure of the games, it seemed. Banda and Matsushita tell you your symbol — “club.” — before Banda breaks away from your group. You can feel the former’s eyes on you as you take sips from your drink, unnerving every inch of your skin. He interrupts the silence with a brutal curveball. “He’s lying to you, Banda. Your symbol is spade.”

“Why would he lie to me?”

“Maybe he thinks you’re the Jack,” Matsushita grins. Then he shrugs and leans against the wall beside you. “Or maybe he’s the Jack and is just trying to get rid of you. Who knows.”

You hum, tilting your head playfully. Of course you don’t believe him — strangely, you hadn’t doubted Banda since you got here. “What a waste. After we stayed allies for so long, he’d choose to get rid of me now?”

Matsushita’s eyes widen briefly at the new information before he snickers. “What a waste, indeed. Guess he doesn't cherish your friendship after all.”

Walking away from the liar, you find yourself alone in the cafeteria. Well, you thought you were alone — Chishiya announced himself by reaching beside you for a pack of crackers. “Running around without your guard dog now, hm?”

“You can't talk,” you respond. “All alone, lingering around here like a ghost. Spooky.”

Your back is to the shelf of food as Chishiya begins to crowd your space. He hums while pouting his bottom lip, looking everywhere but you. “How’d you end up with Banda anyways? You were on your way to meet me.”

“We made a deal,” you shrug. By the tilt of your voice and raise of your eyebrows, Chishiya knows you’re lying. He stands quietly, taking one step closer to you. “Okay, fine. I threatened him and demanded we team up.”

“Of course you threatened a murderer.” Chishiya lets out a laugh just as the five minute warning echoes around the prison. He tugs on the cardigan you’re wearing, eyes softening at the sight of the worn fabric. “Think this is mine.”

“It might be,” you push off of the shelf and side-step the blond. You catch a glimpse of Chishiya’s symbol and are opening your mouth before you can think. “It’s diamond, by the way. Your suit.”

“Yours is club.” You nod in confirmation and it piques Chishiya’s interest. “Someone tell you different?”

“Matsushita tried to say Banda was lying to me. But, Banda knows better,” you glare. “I’ll break his kneecaps if he tries to kill me.”

Chishiya’s quiet laugh seems to echo in the desolate cell. It’s all you can think about — all you can remember as your fingers dance along the knit cardigan you’re wearing. After this — if you survive this game — you want to go home. You want to go back with Chishiya and watch that movie you were supposed to meet at.

It’s no surprise to see Matsushita being cornered by the three others. He did freak you out — and he tried to get you killed. You eye his frightened expression lifelessly before speaking. “Can we take those snacks downstairs with us? I ran out of food a few days ago.”

— BONUS —

You’re sitting beside Chishiya’s hospital bed as the news begins. Absent-mindedly, you hand him a slice of the fruit you were eating as the news reporter begins to speak. A picture of a convict pops up along with the news story. “...Banda is still missing. We are asking everyone to be cautious and be safe. We’ll have the week’s weather up next.”

“You know…” you narrow your eyes at the picture of the man. Something about him looks familiar — it sends a tingle of awareness through your mind the longer you stare. “I think I could take that guy in a fight.”

Chishiya turns his head to you stiffly, furrowing his eyebrows. “He’s a serial killer, [name].”

You shrug, “I could do it.”

— ♧ ♡ ♢ ♤ — this wasn’t really fluffy or romantic but i wanted to write a goofy n playful reader so <3 might b posting an aib series soon, so keep an eye out for that! forever taglist : @straysugzhpe & @star2fishmeg <<33

airbendertendou © do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate my content on any platform. if you see my content under any other name than my own, let me know. i only have this tumblr and an ao3 account under the same name.

#chishiya x reader #chishiya imagine #shuntaro chishiya #aib x reader #alice in borderland imagine #alice in borderland x reader #aib imagine #chishiya oneshot #chishiya fluff #banda x reader #banda imagine

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lovings4turn · 4 months

Text

୭ 🗝️ ✧ ˚. 🪩 puppy love . . . (l.h.)

— the last thing that you expect to find when wandering around monaco is a lone dog also exploring the streets. your search for his owner proves far more successful than you could have imagined.

+ requested by a lovely anon! this idea was so so cute so thank you sm for sending it in, i hope you enjoy! banner from cafekitsune!

+ pure fluff, roscoe is the ultimate match maker here.

monaco was truly everything you could have dreamed it would be, and then some.

for the past few days, you and your friends had frequented the glorious larvotto beach, explored the overly lavish stores and casinos, and had even been convinced to walk the length of the famous race track that encircled the streets.

meanwhile, your nights were spent in fancy restaurants and expensive clubs, the over-priced champagne giving you a real taste of the opulent lifestyle of those who lived there.

months and months of extra shifts at work had finally paid off, and so you were determined to make the absolute most of every last minute of the trip. not a moment was to be wasted, which was exactly why you and another friend were wandering around the city whilst the rest of your group slept off an awful hangover.

it was as you lifted a hand to adjust the sunglasses that were slipping from your face that you caught sight of a flash of brown in your peripheral vision. confusion prompted your brows to furrow, a feeling that only heightened as you realised what the flash actually was.

seemingly on his own was a large bulldog, pink tongue lolling out of his mouth in a display of happiness. a brief survey of your surroundings confirmed your suspicions that the dog was unattended, and your frown deepened.

unable to leave the poor thing by himself in the middle of such a busy place, you began to walk over, taking slow, tentative steps in an effort not to startle the animal.

“hello,” you cooed, voice heading up an octave as you held out a hand in a gesture of friendship. “oh you are gorgeous, aren’t you?”

your friend stifled a laugh at the sight of you, crouched down and offering your hand for the random dog to sniff, an experiment to decide whether or not he would deem you worthy of his companionship.

“what are you doing here, hm?” you continued, more to yourself than the dog. “where’s y’parent?”

as the dog tilted his head in search of gentle pats, he had also inadvertently revealed the collar sitting around his neck, complete with a silver tag that, thankfully, appeared to be engraved.

still cooing and fussing over the animal, you gently plucked the tag between your fingers. you manipulated the metal away from the sun in order to make out the letters printed there, and sighed in relief as you read.

ROSCOE. IF FOUND, PLEASE CALL XXXXX-XXX-XXX.

bingo.

“don’t worry, roscoe,” you hummed. “gonna get you home.”

your fingers danced across the keypad of your phone. as the familiar sound of the dial tone rang out, you gnawed at your bottom lip, anxiously awaiting an answer.

not wanting to let him out of your sight, you remained in a squat position despite the burn building in your thighs. the feeling of soft fur against the palm of your hand turned out to be one hell of a motivator.

“hello?”

the voice on the other end of the line was, undoubtedly, male, and also undoubtedly breathless. a pang of sympathy struck you as you noted the worry in the stranger’s voice, as if he’d been hunting for the dog for a while before your call came through.

“hello! sorry to bother you,” you started, tongue poking out to wet your lips before you continued. “but i think i’ve got your dog with me. he’s a bulldog? roscoe?”

“oh thank god,” the stranger rushed out, a thankful chuckle rumbling through your phone’s speaker. “i’ve been all over looking for him, i was starting to get worried.”

“he’s okay, i’ve got him here and he seems… pretty happy, actually,” you assured, unable to keep a smile out of your voice as roscoe’s tail began to wag a little faster.

scanning your surroundings in an effort to find some way to mark your location, you noted a café with a name emblazoned above their doorway.

“i’m right next to a roca, the little café?” you explained. "i don't know if it would be easier for you to come to me. not sure how i'd get him to follow along with me, is all," you laughed.

"a roca," the man mumbled, an affirmative tone in his voice. "give me five minutes, i'll be there as fast as i can. thank you so much, seriously. i don't know what i would have done if you hadn't found him."

your face flushed a little at the appreciative tone and high praise, and you struggled to keep the smile out of your voice as you replied.

"it's really no problem. i'd want someone to do the same for me."

after exchanging quick goodbyes, and not before being thanked another three times, you and your friend managed to coax the dog a little closer to the café, wanting to find the quietest spot possible on such a busy street.

"he said he was coming?" your friend confirmed.

"in about two minutes."

"did he sound cute?"

"seriously?"

your friend only laughed, shrugging her shoulders in nonchalance. in her eyes, the question was fully justifiable, and you would have happily answered it if the answer had not been yes.

a few more minutes passed before a familiar voice met your ears, prompting you to look up in search of roscoe's owner.

what you weren't expecting was to meet the eyes of a man who was downright beautiful. he was practically divine, his deep, tattooed skin glowing under the sun as though it had been crafted purely to highlight his biceps.

his braids were pulled back into a ponytail, and as he smiled at you in thanks, you caught sight of the slightest gap between his bright teeth.

you'd stumbled across the dog of a fucking god.

"hi!" you greeted, hoping that your cheeks didn't look as warm as they felt.

judging by the smug look that your friend was giving you, it seemed that pure hope wasn't enough. luckily, the man was far too preoccupied in attaching a lead to the collar of his dog, enthusiastically stroking him as he gently chastised him for running off.

"thank you again, seriously. i swear this has never happened before," he said with a chuckle, hand scratching at the back of his neck.

"really, there's no need to thank me." you dismissed his praise with a wave of your hand, though your smile was practically splitting your face into two. "anyone would've done the same."

"maybe, but it was you who did, so thank you..." he trailed off as he spoke, a clear prompt for you to give your name.

"y/n, i'm y/n," you responded, cringing as you instinctively provided a small wave with your name.

"y/n," he repeated, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "i'm lewis. 's nice to meet you."

before you could say anything else, the man began digging through the pockets of his trousers, clearly hunting for something.

"i almost forgot. let me repay you, thank you, whatever you want to call it," he mumbled, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he hunted for his wallet.

"stop, really, it's okay!" you assured, not needing money for the simple act of being a decent human being. you hadn't exactly done anything heroic. just kept a cute dog company until his even cuter owner arrived to reclaim him.

"fine," the man, lewis, agreed, laughing slightly as he took his hand from his pocket. "at least let me take you out to dinner?"

if you were in a cartoon, you're sure that your jaw would've hit the floor in shock. a soft, subtle nudge from your friend was a sharp reminder that you should actually answer the man instead of simply staring in surprise.

"i'd like that," you responded, biting back the wild grin that threatened to spread across your features.

"great. tonight, maybe?"

"sounds perfect to me."

"i'm looking forward to it," lewis said, the corner of his eyes crinkling playfully. "give me a text. you already have my number."

he shot you a wink and, thankfully, decided it was time for him to depart. though you were sad to see him go so soon, it served as a blessing in disguise. you were allowed to keep your cool, as he didn't get to see the sight of you and your friend freaking out, crazed grins and loud laughs escaping you at the absurdity of the situation.

you'd gotten a date with the most gorgeous man you'd ever seen, and it was all thanks to a dog.

monaco truly was a magical place.

🏷️ : @faerieroyal @starriesworlds

add yourself to the taglist here !

#.° ༘🗝️⋆₊ becca’s drabbles #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton fluff #lewis hamilton blurb #lewis hamilton drabble #lewis hamilton fic #lh44 #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula one x you

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ceruleancattail · 6 months

Note

hi!! I've been a fan of your works for the longest time!! could i request an airheaded yuu who doesn't know what they're doing half the time but they can say something randomly philosophical once in a blue moon that keeps you up at night with Riddle, Ace and Deuce? gender-neutral reader please! i thought of this one while going to bed last night so apologies if it's incomprehensible skdjksdfjkfksd

thank you!

🍭anon

Omg this was so silly… thank you so much for your request, 🍭anon! I Hope you like this!!!

Riddle, Ace and Deuce with an air-headed s/o that keeps them up at night…. (With questions)

Riddle x reader, Ace x reader, Deuce x reader

Riddle

A pair of crimson eyes tend to linger on your every step , whenever you stroll by the Heartsabyul dorm. The careful, watchful eyes of your schoolmate, Riddle Rosehearts. He is no stranger to the antics you pull, no matter if they were intended or not.

Riddle finds his reaction time improving by leaps and bounds whenever he hears your surprise. Immediately rushing to your side, ready to extract you out of whatever trouble you saw fit to land yourself in this time.

Both of his hands have long mastered the art of sliding around your waist, yanking in one smooth, fluid motion. Sometimes, the momentum gets the better of both of you, and you end up tumbling straight into his arms.

Clutching onto his shoulders, you hold him tight. Standing there in each other’s embrace, you two strike the perfect image of star-crossed lovers.

Riddle can’t help the way his lips slip upwards. A smile as sweet as ruby-red strawberry tarts. Honestly, prefect. You do enjoy having him on the edge, don’t you?

He still fusses quite a bit, though. Don’t expect to escape without a lecture. However, for all the words that fall from his lips, yours seem to have the most impact.

Odd, queer questions that would have never crossed his mind. You seem to have a knack for thinking of things people wouldn’t normally. Sometimes, he finds himself up at night pondering your queries.

Always full of surprises, aren’t you, darling?

“Hey, Riddle. Why is it that people say they "slept like a baby" when babies wake up, like, every two hours?”

“I… honestly can’t say. Perhaps it would be the peacefulness and tranquility they sleep with… no matter how brief.”

Ace

You’ll soon grow used to a weight pressing onto your shoulders. Slinging an arm around you, Ace tends to lean into you quite a bit. He tags along wherever you go, that insufferable smirk never far from his lips.

Of course, it drops as quickly as it appears whenever he has to run to wherever you’ve wandered off this time. Ace has heard of air-minded people, but this is the first time he had to deal with one. There ain’t nothing but fluff and feathers up there, huh?

For all his teasing, Ace always is there to yank you out of whatever trouble you’ve stirred up. His arm stretching out, wrapping tightly around your torso. You could feel every pulse beating through his skin as Ace pulls you close. Out of harm’s reach.

Man, have you never heard? Curiosity killed the cat. You’re so lucky he was around to help you out. So how about a kiss, for all that effort?

Speaking of effort, you’ve made Ace burn more brainpower then the entire Night Raven curriculum has in an entire year. You had a weird fondness for weird questions that keep him tossing and turning in his sleep. Do you enjoy causing him sleepless nights?

There’s really no need for the questions, then.

He’s already thinking about you all the time.

“If money doesn't grow on trees, why do banks have branches?”

“You have no idea how bad I want to kiss you right now.”

Deuce

For most of his misguided youth, Deuce was always the one charging forth, headstrong. Never stopping to think about the consequences. He would have called it courage, back then.

Now watching you leap mindlessly into mess after mess, he’s changed his mind. Deuce trails after you like a lost puppy, following your every step. His curiosity often aligns with yours, although Deuce has to admire your… bravery for just going straight in. Whenever someone catches your interest, off you go! Without a care in the world.

Sometimes, that curiosity takes you too far. Then, Deuce springs into action. Honestly, he should start timing his sprinting towards you. Deuce swears he never runs this fast on the track.

He isn’t one for niceties whenever you’re under the slightest hint of danger. Arms stretched out, he’s tackling you straight out of the hit-zone. Mid-air, Deuce’s arms snake around your torso, clutching you in an tight embrace. His own back, your shield keeping you from all harm.

Both of you end up on the floor, a panting Deuce above of you. His hands pat your face frantically, words coming out in broken, jerky stammers. You have to assure him that you’re alright before his shoulders even think about starting to relax.

He’s just happy you’re ok.

Well, Deuce would be a bit lonely at night if you got hurt. He tends to call you from his dorm for homework help, although the conversations tend to drift elsewhere most of the time. Specifically, your odd questions.

Deuce’s drawing out entire diagrams, and both of you spend hours over the phone, discussing various fantastic theories. Each one more weirder then the last.

Deuce never thought he’ll have so much fun just talking.

You’re just special, aren’t you?

“Do married people live longer than single ones or does it only seem longer?”

“Hold up, I’m opening my laptop right now-“

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #deuce spade x reader #deuce x reader #deuce spade #deuce #ace trappola x reader #ace x reader #ace trappola #twst ace #riddle rosehearts #riddle #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle x reader #lucky charm🔷

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comfortless · 29 days

Note

Hello! This is the Frankenstein anon back with more praise and another prompt that you might like. Again you are amazing and everyone you come out with stuff, I weep for joy! Please continue what you are doing because it is absolute art✨

Okay onto the prompt. So lately tiktok has been putting onto this telenova drama called Hilda Furcão which is pretty much this priest and prostitute fall in love but due to societal pressures, cannot be together. The YEARNING in this show is amazing and I can’t help but think of Priest Konig in this situation. Imagine he falls in love with reader who works at a brothel but because he’s a churchly man, he’s fighting demons in his head (and down yonder) cuz he YEARNS for her but the lord says no🥴

Please keep doing what you’re doing and I’m constantly cheering you on with your work! ❤️

In the Arms of Flowers

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. pining, lots of talk of religion/silly metaphors, fluff, ridiculous attempts at courtship from both, dark (if you squint), implied cyber stalking, violence/murder, minor character death, some angst, sexual violence (not done by König), König becomes horribly obsessed and reader is fine with it, virgin!König-> oral (both receiving) piv smut.

wc: 11k.

There’s a garden in the churchyard, one that’s always been, even before his vows were taken and the cassock was pulled around his shoulders.

It’s the very place that the arching den window in the clergy house faces out towards, and the very place that an angel descends from Heaven to stalk through night after night.

Even when the thunder clamors and rolls to light up the sky above, the pretty thing is there, kneeling amongst the blooming lilies. A listless sort of purity swallows over her, bathes her in the white of petals and the bright illumination of each bolt of lightning above, arcs a halo over her head like a proper mirage.

The whole town knows these doors remain open, but never does she even look toward the church or the home of holy men at all: only the flowers. The lilies and carnations seemed to be her favorite to haunt, weaving through the petals as they sway for her in breezes like whispers from the pouting lips of cherubim.

He’s prayed for this lost soul many times already; clutched the rosary between his fingers and whispered to the Lord to protect her, to heal whatever aches, to bring her wandering feet into the chapel one of these days. But as most lilies, this one’s beauty is gone away by mid-morning.

Tonight, he wills himself to bring her in for prayer and refuge from the coming rain. Its been a long time coming, and regrettably he’s hesitated at every other opportunity. Nothing’s changed, the scene was so commonplace even the others have commented on it prior.

Maybe he hallucinates her holiness; the halo has become made up of fallen petals now as they arch over the crown of her head where she’s found sprawled out amongst them. She raises herself to sit upright, dusts the dirt from her knees and offers a wary glance with each step he takes until his soles halt in soil that would soon be mire.

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave,” the angel breathes out with her eyes darting from his collar down to rest at the expanse of short blades of grass between them. “I don’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

She doesn’t meet the concern in his eyes, and König is no stranger to sin. To the shame and grief that he’s absolved from far worse than her in the stuffy wooden confessional.

“You’re welcome to stay.” A silent prayer rests there in his breath — please stay, though even he wasn’t certain as to why there’s a demand stirring in the pit of his stomach for this woman clad in a dirtied white dress.

She smiles then, gazes right up at him in such a way that immediately sparks something misplaced, something tucked away beneath studying scripture and kneeling before the wooden altar. A sin of the flesh, a heated poker jabbing at both his heart and his loins.

“No, I’m okay,” she assures with a slight dip of her head, already taking steps back to dart away, back to whichever gilded little nest of baubles and starlight she took flight from. “I was just heading home.”

And that’s it. He doesn’t plead for her to come inside, the offer has been laid out already. It’s not his job to force a belief that one doesn’t want, only lend a kindness and a cushioned pew, advice for the lost and a choir for bleating lambs.

He bids her goodbye and walks back to the clergy house, ignoring the strange looks of his peers as they all prepare to bed down after a nightly prayer. It’s rare to smile here, when sacred words are passed from the wrinkled, cracked lips of his seniors. But König does smile, the grin is as bright as the seconds of white lighting up the sky in intervals as he silently thanks God for such a sweet vision amidst such darkness.

The fixation does not falter for the following three nights. She doesn’t return to the churchyard to whisper secrets to the blooms, but the angel weighs on his mind so heavily that König finds himself convinced that she must have been his calling, a soul that he would assuredly save.

His sermons now lack their passion. The parishioners come to him with weighty hearts and misery in their eyes, but bless him all the same, even when he’s distant. Away with the fairies, some would say. He can’t help but wonder when one such service rolls to a closing prayer if whoever conjured such words had also been in the presence of a seraph.

“Do you need prayer?,” one of his fellow priests asks as the flock trickles out, worry clear in the wrinkles laden beneath this eyes and the way his lips draw down before pressing thin. “You don’t seem to be sleeping well.”

And König regrets the words he speaks next, when he describes the woman from the flowers in detail greater than necessary: how her eyes seemed so soft, her smile fragile, and her body language more docile than that of even a lamb. He mentions the dirty dress, the way she seemed to be trying to escape something yet refused the shelter he offered.

The other priest nods and sighs, his eyes squeezing shut in thought, and though König has not feared a scolding since he abandoned home nearly two decades prior, the way the ordinarily calm priest seems so frustrated by this sends a swell of fluttering anxiety beneath his ribcage.

“The woman you describe is a temptress,” his elder explains coldly. His sharp, dark eyes rest on König’s face as though the disparity in their height does not exist at all. “Best to let her be, she does not want our help. Leave it alone.”

“Ja. Verstanden.”

The warning is enough to dull the buzzing in his chest, the mush that’s been made up of his head until he sees her again.

The bakery in town regularly makes donations of pastries and thick loaves of bread for church goingson. It isn’t regular that he’s been asked to pick them up; the eldest of the priests usually does so, some blood relation to the owners that König has never cared enough to ask about. The old man never did well in the summer months, though, far too frail now to bear the heat snaking over his pale skin and leaving burns.

With the mistake of rambling onward about this perturbing fascination still grating at his mind, he doesn’t hesitate to volunteer, to take the old truck and step away from the stained glass and crucifixes for a brief outing. A moment of respite.

There’s a complimentary mug of coffee presented across the expanse of the counter when the cashier greets him with a smile so broad it seems faked.

König’s fingers twitch when he grasps at the handle; the uncertainty was something he had sworn he would outgrow one day with God’s healing, but it never seemed to stray far from him. It rests over the back of his neck like a feeding vampire when he takes his first sip, one that burns his tongue and stings at his eyes when he notices the woman seated at a table in the corner.

It’s her: temptation and fate packaged up in a loose fitting sweater that covers the pulse in her neck and a short skirt.

She holds her phone, not the mug stationed before her, staring down at the thing with the most somber expression he’s ever seen on a lady before. She taps her thumbs at the screen, talking to someone, but there’s a loneliness in her expression apparent like the rust on the old truck parked outside.

Poor little thing.

She glances up when his staring is detected, confusion stripped bare upon her with a pinched brow and a slack jaw. Then, follows realization and she offers the same smile she did that night, some seventy or so hours prior.

“Morning, Father.”

There’s not a fractal within König that wants to make the sweet spirit uncomfortable, but each step he takes towards her table seems to make her shoulders tense. She knows that he knows, sees that sympathetic look in his eye and hates it.

Maybe even hates him for the divinity he wears in the sable cloth pulled over his shoulders.

That doesn’t stop his approach.

König sits across from her with shaking hands and a forced smile like the one the cashier wears, drops his mug onto the table and offers her his hand. Fingers bending to graze the palm as though beckoning a frightened animal when it’s he who feels most afraid.

The angel merely eyes him cautiously for a moment before she takes the cup into both of her hands and gives him a fragile huff, dismissing his attempt to pray for her soul. Again. Yet, the sting he feels is not from a lack of a starved savior complex being satisfied, only… that he has yet to touch her somehow. That sudden thought stifles him in full.

But angels are nothing if not merciful and loving; she picks up on his dejection and speaks again in his place.

“How are the carnations?”

“Hm?”

“The flowers in the garden… the red ones,” she elaborates with a soft laugh, hides it behind the rim of her cup when it��s raised for her to take a sip. Her mouth looks soft, compelling, and he’s staring again. “I like them the most.”

He knows he should stop this, that what’s become of an innocent meeting has left him feeling anything but. There’s a howling chasm in place of the heart of a worthy devotee. She’s nothing like the women who frequent the church — the only other women he sees. Brighter at best and alluring at the worst.

“I thought the lilies were your favorite…” It’s unsuited for a priest and a man so tall and broad to sound so breakable, but his voice only comes in an hurried breath, embarrassed and small.

She shakes her head, tousles her hair in the process. “I like all of them. The ones at your church grow prettiest.”

“I see…”

The woman gives him an expectant look, as if prompting him to speak more, before her phone chimes and the air seems to shift from tentative yet sweet to something vast and cold. She doesn’t seem eager to be interrupted in such a way, either; her expression falls from that subtle playfulness to something akin to a regretful acceptance.

She stands from her seat abruptly and takes a step towards the door. “I have something I need to take care of.”

God gives and takes away.

“I can bring you some,” he offers, winding in the too-small wooden chair to face her. Too late to reel in the flirtatious nature of such an offering, too late to bite his tongue and remember the vows he had taken. The burden upon his heart seems far more pressing than any words from an old book. “Carnations and lilies… some of the others, too.”

The woman almost seems shy when she glances over her shoulder and offers him the most imperceptible nod. “Yeah, sure… I’ll see you around.”

His angel leaves him to rot in thought at that lonely table, in this tiny bakery. He does not think to repent for the way his temperature and pulse spiked in her presence, for the way he takes her empty cup and stuffs it into one of the boxes of baked goods to collect later.

Riding back to the church is dreadful, because she’s already fastened to his heart like a ribbon on a pretty bouquet. He’ll ask the sisters from the cloister to clip flowers for him, tie them up in a lace that will leave her face warmed and lips pouting.

When the people in the church have their fill of sweets and bread, König tells a lie, maybe several.

He claims he doesn’t know why that innocuous porcelain thing is resting where food once had, doesn’t know why the baker would have stuffed that in there too. He takes it to his room and claims that he would return it come morning.

The bed has always felt far too small for him alone, but he pictures her there with him, sat upon his lap when he brings the cup up to his lips with his eyes closed.

It’s cold and hard, difficult to imagine it to be a kiss at all, but he pretends her lips are upon him, eager and willing. It takes only rolling his tongue back to flick over itself, envisioning it being her own, for him to feel his trousers grow too tight. He doesn’t touch himself. He can’t bear the thought of it, not with the cross staring down at him from the far wall.

And finally, regret comes.

Shame, too, because König is aware he’s become a bit of a creep; enchanting himself with second hand kisses whilst his angel takes another man to bed. A man undeserving, but… he could be. He was deserving enough to become a holy man, surely she could see he was worthy of her as well.

The bed is too small even when he curls into himself and pulls the blanket up passed his eyes. Sleep is too skittish to come for him, even when he prays in a whisper to be absolved of his lust.

The dreams are only filled with images of an angel trapped in a rose bush, the thorns sinking into her wings until blood is drawn, but still she smiles. She reaches toward him with shaky limbs, whispers something so dreadfully mournful he knows to his very soul that she is his purpose alone.

It’s what wakes him in a fit, compels him to venture out through the yard with a heart set on seeking guidance. There are moonbeams above and animal calls from the surrounding trees. All of God’s creations are in perfect, dreamy harmony.

Why couldn’t he be the same? Always the outsider in one way or another; always the sore thumb rather than the loving green. Desolation is an art, a skill he’s learned to hide back: clenched teeth to still a wrathful tongue and a layer of muscle to guard that wounded thing in his chest.

There is no better peace than the quiet of the church in the late hour. Moonlight through stained glass and empty, antique seats that would make the worldly whip out their phones to snap pictures in a heartbeat. The doors are always open, for the sinners and the devoted alike, though the confessional is rarely touched when there would be no saint awake set on absolving.

Perhaps that’s why he takes to the booth he needs to make himself smaller to fit into: one shoulder and one foot first, then the next set. He’s never cared for it, left it to the better and smaller. The sound just past the thin partition rattles him. It isn’t the creaking of wood below his feet, but something softer. A weak sniffle. A cry from the other side.

“I’ll leave in a moment,” comes a voice, broken from tears and so horribly sad that the usual script entirely fails him. He recognizes the voice, though a bit warbled now. The voice that would make the choir pause, an angel’s sweet tone.

“Wait… no. You can stay. I’m hiding, too.” A breathy laugh comes forced and misplaced. Priest or not, König has never been the best at consoling anyone, let alone one so far above him.

“I’m not hiding,” she tries to sound braver now. He can imagine her chin tilted forward and that sweet smile trying it’s damndest to paint its way across her face. “But… why are you?”

“Don’t know.”

“Who are you?” The crying seems to have ceased entirely for now. Clearly whatever seemed to ail her could be remedied by her own curiosity. A cute, unorthodox little thing.

“König.” It served well enough as a confirmation name when he could not settle on one of the saints. King of them all, one of the other saved men had said in jest. Ironic, now.

“I like your voice, König,” she murmurs, deliberately testing the pronunciation on her tongue in such an alluring way that a small shiver runs its way down his spine.

“Danke… and you?”

God forgive him, he doesn’t even try. Doesn’t try to bring shame or guilt, read her scripture or pray for her soul. He only listens in silence when she tells him her name, beautiful and charming as he had expected it to be. The woman then tells him of her work, of the motel she ventures to at night… the troubles with money and even vaguely, some of the men she suffers through. This had been a bad night. Strange how a singular hour could have broken someone down to such a desperation to open up, to grasp for what small comfort they could receive.

But she came for him.

She must have hoped to see him.

He thanks his god for that.

— — —

“I bought a phone.”

“I see that.” Her fingers graze over the stems of the flowers, cleanly cut by hands more patient and stable than König’s own.

The angel isn’t looking up at him, not this time. There isn’t even a smile on her face when she cradles the bouquet close to her chest, petting over it where she sits upon the motel bed wearing nothing but some strappy, barely-there lingerie. Pure white with pink lace over the cups of her bra where her breasts swell with each shaky intake of breath.

In this week apart, he’s kept the device hidden in a loose pocket and spent many a night scouring the seediest websites looking for a hint of a body that may belong to her in this very area. Only one seemed to match. The messages exchanged were about hours and pricing, establishing a location, and terms he didn’t quite understand. He didn’t harp on the small details, but finding her messages to be so rigid and dry did surprise him. There were no cute hearts or winking emojis, it all felt horribly transactional.

Priests don’t make a lot of money, it all goes back to the church, but he’s thieved enough from the offering bowls to have a night with her alone. As disheartening as the lack of flirtations seemed, he hoped not to squander whatever opportunity this outing proved to be.

The balaclava covering his face wasn’t purchased with the intention of making her nervous, only… shielding himself from curious stares. The whole town knows his face, his name, the words he speaks so resolutely to his flock. Just as well as they know of who she is, what she does.

Even this knitted shield couldn’t hide himself from her, though. The very moment he entered this drab, modestly decorated room with flowers in hand she had only looked further lost.

“You look very pretty,” he tries as he removes the mask and drops it to the floor, kneels just a hair from where her feet dangle from the bed. “I’m glad that I found you.”

“Thank you.”

The flowers are placed on the side table, petals falling down to the thin carpet below. A cascade of red like blood and white like doves feathers. Purity and a wound in one.

The poor thing looks scorned when she does give him a glance then, but she forces herself into a position that stokes a hellish, unnatural flame within him. Her thighs part as her hands rest on the cups of her bra, pushing the thin fabric down to reveal areola, her soft nipples, sights that he had never seen before.

“You shouldn’t even be here, König,” the lady warns when his gaze sweeps over the innocent flesh laid bare before him. The angel isn’t even wet. Her panties are pristine over her womanhood, and it dawns on him that… she wouldn’t risk what he was even for the generous donation he had given.

“I don’t want to ruin you.”

But she should. Crumble him into salt, cast him away with the wind. Should.

She sees something holy in him too… albeit, not in the way that he would like for her to.

He swallows hard as he rises to his feet and sits next to her. The hands that were so accustomed to being joined in prayer find her breasts now with tentative touches, a curious squeeze, until he wills himself to readjust the fabric and conceal her properly.

“Ja, but… I just wanted to visit you.”

“You don’t need to pay me just to see me.”

The tension in the room finally begins to dissolve. Not by much, but when she sighs something that sounds like amusement, the restless throbbing of his heart does begin to settle.

As much as he would like to take her like some beast in rut, lay some claim to her in bursts of white seed, he doesn’t even know where to begin. Each curve of her body looks as though it would feel like a miracle beneath his palm, under his tongue.

It’s just that nothing is going to happen, not here, not now that he’s brought a prostitute flowers and revealed who he was to her. She sees something pitiful, where he only sees someone to love.

He can’t tell her that he dreams of her, that he views her in the same way he views his god. That would only scare her away, lead her to believe he’s a lunatic rather than a man only just now having his first taste of love.

“Then could I see you every night? So that you don’t have to…” His head dips, because no matter how he tries he knows any word he says is foolish.

This isn’t something she’s doing because it is fun for her; it’s a job just like his own. Flesh or words spoken… did it even matter? And yet, König could feel a malicious, gnawing envy at the thought of a bolder man taking his place tomorrow evening. That man wouldn’t hesitate to peel away her pretty lingerie and fuck her, shove his tongue into her mouth while his cock sat between her legs as if it belonged there.

“König,” she sighs next to him, pityingly.

His jaw tenses as his fingers curl into his palms. The hopelessness of it all crashes down around him as though sung out from the loudest of the choir. He hardly notices when she presses her head against his shoulder, only realizes how close she’s come to him when her hand curls over one of his own.

“You’re the strangest man I’ve ever met.” It’s not a compliment but it feels like one when she laughs like that, airy and soft. “The sweetest one, too.”

He smells her perfume from this close, something scented like fruit or maybe maple, sap-sticky and saccharine. All of her flesh feels warm against the plain t-shirt he wears, a warmth he would give anything to dive into, but not without her explicit command. A powerful seraph in the form of one painfully cute, gentle lady. If anyone could see what he saw now, they too would forsake those holy books and eat from her open palm instead.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confesses, a peculiar bitterness hanging on his tongue.

“How about a walk?”

He pulls the balaclava over his face again when they make their way out into the quiet, darkened street. Hand in hand. It’s not from shame, but a necessity, perhaps, because his pale face has only flowered into a lasting pink since laying eyes upon her on that mattress, sprawled out and waiting. The blush only deepens with every squeeze she blesses him with, every hushed word spoken as she tells him about her favorite places.

She’s dressed in the same white dress they had initially met in, now clean of the dirt from flower beds. Somehow even more radiant at this close, too.

The churchyard and the clergy house are nothing in comparison to the way the rest of the town feels when the moon rises. It’s a world all their own, a place where no one looks at her as if she were a simple harlot, but a queen amongst chipping wood and tarmac. There’s even a skip in her step as she walks ahead of him, her hips swaying beneath her skirt. All because there’s no one here but she and her most loyal and only acolyte.

He wills himself out of her grasp when they cross the threshold into the cemetery. The darkness there is enough to pull him back to earth; thoughts of how easily swayed he’s been linger in the back of his mind. The want doesn’t even begin to reel back its claws, but the guilt does sink its pearly fangs in alongside it.

“I get it. You don’t want to be seen with me,” she says a small step away, drawing her hand up to her chest. It’s the saddest she’s ever looked, and he doesn’t have the words to further explain that he has no god damn idea what he’s doing: here, with her, in the midst of something that feels so normal even though it should not.

“Nein! That’s not—“

“You don’t want to touch me. You barely talk…”

Because the words don’t come easy. Because he’s never felt such an overbearing devotion to anyone, anything apart from what he prays to. How could she… this woman that shared in such loneliness with him not see him for what he was, not see him in the way that he sees her?

“You’re misunderstanding.”

“You just want to… to convert me, is that right?,” she hisses, sounding more shaken up than he had ever hoped to hear.

All hesitation had to be swallowed back.

There was no other option. He could feel her slipping away, a pain he wasn’t prepared to face.

God gives and takes away, but König refuses to let go.

His eyes narrow, his breath halts entirely, and he cups her face in his hands as gently as he can. The distance between them feels like miles as he lowers his head to kiss her through the knit barrier. It’s flighty and petrifying on his side… he feels cold sweat wet his brow when the warmth of her pulls through.

She could hit him, spit her curses like a proper witch, and he would only fall to her feet and kiss her heels. But… she does none of those things. Whatever pain was brewing here is ripped away with the night breeze.

Her hands peel away the balaclava, discard it somewhere into the tall grass where it wouldn’t be found, and she grants him his first, proper kiss.

With only the cracked headstones and cemetery angels watching, what once was tentative becomes a full indulgence. König samples from her mouth as though it weeps honey when the gentle peck graduates to a parting of lips. His hands run down the length of her sides as she grasps at his shirt, they pull her in close until her chest meets his own and two pairs of eyelids flutter.

She feels more heavenly than his imagination could have prepared him for, her tongue hotter and her sounds… the soft sighs and shaky murmurs of approval that fill him with both a maddening love and an urge to burn everything away if only it would keep her safe and near.

The world ceases to be entirely, cast down with Lucifer to the sulfur and smoke. Her lips remain parted when they break apart, a haze over her eyes reflecting the veil clouding his own irises.

Was a kiss really forsaking his vows? Was that really such a painful treachery? No… no it shouldn’t be. The issue remains that he can not see her as just some woman. Something as small as this could consume him entirely.

The night is spent with an abundance of those shared kisses when they return to the motel. Tentative touches, too. He’s never held a woman, not in the way he gets to hold her then. She presses tightly to him, her back to his chest with her hand keeping his own in place over her middle. She’s so soft, swans down plush and smooth as silk ribbon.

There is mint lingering on her breath each time she speaks. No talk of her work, only… she confesses how she had feared him so initially, how she worried that a holy man stepping into her life would only be further condemnation: an angel terrified by a devil that does not exist at all.

He knows he’s lost a part of himself here when he tells her he wishes to meet with her again, that if the church is no longer the place she fancies to walk, he’ll meet her amongst the dead again and again when the old clergymen sleep. Those promises he had reserved solely for God turn on themselves now, when he reveres the idol he shares this bed with.

Though her hips press back against his groin when his fingers crawl up to her sternum, and the desire strikes up within him, his cock remains untouched here. He doesn’t whisper a prayer for forgiveness into her hair when he grows hard, just tucks her in closer and smiles where his head rests atop her own.

It’s the closest to bliss he’s ever felt.

— — —

“You weren’t here for morning prayer.” The voice isn’t accusatory, just observant. The nightly prayers were missed too, though a reprieve is granted by way of those remaining unmentioned.

But the guilt does eat at König when he sees the concern in this man’s eyes, splinters at his very soul until he asks in a fragile voice if he can speak to the old priest in the confessional.

Everything here feels much too small and the booth is more or less the same. The wood closes in around him, bathes him in a blackness that even the glow of candlelight within these walls can not reach. The partition separating them does not help bolster courage, it only leaves him feeling more alone.

The clergyman listens in silence as König confesses that he has become weak. He does not mention the lady of the night, but there’s no need to at all: finding himself so captivated with a woman that he considered breaking every promise to the higher power was bad enough. He does not mention how he’s considered pleasuring himself, touching her too… only that they shared a night together embraced, counts the kisses that were exchanged with each digit of his hands.

There’s a pitying sigh from the other side before the man begins a lengthy prayer that König does join him in. With the “Amen” that follows, he’s told only to rid himself of those thoughts, to bury them with fasting and prayer. No more visits with this temptress, remain on the right path. The very, very simple things he must do to receive God’s forgiveness and favor once more.

“You are not a disappointment,” his elder reminds him with a small pat to his cheek and a smile. It’s more fatherly than the sparse affection he received from his own flesh and blood before coming here.

“Danke… thank you,” he breathes when his eyes bear the burden of tears.

God loves him and so do the sainted men.

But to never see her again would be worse than flagellation.

He chokes down the pain with more water when his stomach roars with hunger, hides the broken heart with smiles and prayer. Holy clothes feel heavier now. The money he stole to spend that night with her is returned to the collection pool in a week's time. The smartphone he had purchased is tossed out with the rest of the garbage in the bins. Even the cup is returned to the bakery after being rinsed in the sink.

Still not a part of him feels absolved from this torturous puppet show.

He thinks of her more than he ponders over his fear of Hell itself. God feels like an old memory as the days pass. He counts them in his daybook, an ‘X’ next to the dates he had gone without seeing her. Ten becomes twenty, and it becomes no less agonizing.

The prayers come easier, at least. He joins with his fellow men, kneels with his hands clasped before him, speaks such heartfelt words now that on more than one occasion he’s shared a healing tear or two with the other clergymen.

God is an old friend, yes, but that title is just a placeholder for the one his prayers are truly for. The little angel of the garden, the woman who has given him nothing at all but stole his heart all the same. Was she not the same as God from that aspect?

After a month, he’s finally given the privilege to stand before the altar and preach to the parishioners again. His sermon is directed by the other clergymen, a subtle admission of his own misdeeds as he guides the flock away from the sins of lust, of worldly pleasures that would steer them away from the right path.

Amidst the men and women crowding the pews sits a new face. She wears a hat, looking uncertain and skittish as a bunny amidst a pack of starved hounds beneath its curved brim. Her coat is tugged tightly around her where her hands grip to keep it closed and snug. No one is out to get her, not here, but there’s a purplish bruise on her neck. A sad stare trails up to meet his gaze when he stammers through the words of scripture.

Then, she smiles and his heart only feels full.

The sermon ends clumsily enough, but she waits for him in the center pew. He ensures the others have cleared out before he takes rigid steps toward her, where he sits a foot or so away on the bench; the feigned friendliness is only a front for the rapid beating of his heart and the way the blush upon his face paints up to his ears.

“I waited to walk with you… like you promised we would,” she says in place of a greeting. There’s no chiding in her tone, just curiosity. Gentle, like she’s speaking to a wounded bird, and perhaps that’s what he’s become: some big, ugly vulture. Holy in its love of everything from the sky to the rot down below.

“I’m sorry. I..,” he laments, grasping for an explanation that does not come.

“No, I understand. It’s alright, König.”

He knows he doesn’t deserve the gift of her redemption with how easily he turned away from her, from the blooming of… something. It was best not to use that word anymore.

“I just didn’t want to wait any longer. I missed you,” she huffs when the silence extends between them, breaks up the tension in the air but not what creeps over her own shoulders.

“Your bruise..” He wants to tell her of his sleepless nights, of how he pictures her in place of any old deity upon a throne in heaven, but settles for where his eyes linger on her neck.

No explanation is provided, but she lets him bring his fingers to it, ghost over where the purple melds to yellow in the shape of thick fingerprints. Add wrath to the ever growing list of his sins, because it’s all he feels amidst the envy and love.

His fingers dig into the plain back trousers when they rest upon his lap again, something foreign buzzes beneath his skin. The thought that any man would be brazen enough to lay hands upon his very own angel.. It’s unbelievable, unforgivable. His thoughts spiral so quickly it’s frightening. Timid things can become vicious, too, when backed into corners.

She manages to keep this growing storm in check when she stands and smooths her skirt, and offers to tidy up the church in an act of ‘repentance’.

The chores are simple and the sisters that linger far past service seem grateful to have her here as she takes up the broom and sweeps away at the dusty floor. They chatter away with her, take her hat and rest their hands over her shoulders when the cleaning winds to an end. His angel closes her eyes in prayer, doesn’t so much as open them to send him a knowing glance when they pray for her to find a good husband, someone who deserves such a lovely, godly woman.

She shares a meal with them while König keeps to himself with scripture in hand, mindlessly roving over the words even when his thoughts drift to the night of their first kiss.

He reasons that it’s only natural when she gives him such a display of acceptance too. It only solidifies what he knows already: this woman is no succubus— she has not crawled from the depths of Hell to drag him back with her, she’s only heavensent. An angel with a broken wing or a gaping wound somewhere… something to care for.

She’s encouraged to return by several fond voices. A few of the women even offer to walk her home, the daylight is dying and it’s dangerous for a lone lady out at night. The angel smiles at him then, sharing in the knowledge that she prefers the dark. Not the wicked things, but the peace and the beauty of the moon.

And she returns when he abstains from her.

She confides in him after each sermon that she does long to see him more often, but she likes the way he speaks of Mary Magdalene and the other women in scripture, pokes fun at the lilt to his voice when he notices her amidst the crowd of others. She says she likes him a lot before they part ways in the evenings, but she doesn’t tempt him with pouts or trailing fingers.

He thanks her for respecting his faith each time - despite being the one who crossed several boundaries initially. Though he keeps his hands to himself now, the looks he gives to her are pleading and soft. If she would pull him into a kiss now, he would let her have all of him. They could run away together, from the church, from her clients…

It’s on one of those cloudy Sundays that he does ask her if she’s stopped. He braves the look she gives him when his question comes as a hushed stutter. The comfort between them no longer feels tentative. It’s just there. Ever-present as the sky above.

“Well, you haven’t,” she whispers in response, propping her elbow up on the back of the pew. It’s as if she believes it could be so simple, but it’s not. Not for either of them.

The spiels of Heaven and Hell won’t reach her, so he doesn’t bother with those. She offers him an invitation with her words and the way she remains so open that it’s difficult not to take.

It’s been months since he touched her last and the love has only seemed to have grown. Strange. Perhaps he is as odd as she’s imagined him to be. There have been weddings in this very church, talks of long years of courtship, and even then what those men must have felt for their brides had to have paled in comparison to this. It had to.

“Tell me how to,” he breathes without any underlying thought. Saints don’t question their gods, they only serve them.

“You’re actually considering it…?”

“I might.”

The silence crowds around the bench while her fingers brush over the pages of a hymnal in repetition and his only inch closer to her clothed knee.

“You could meet me at the cemetery tonight… We could talk more there.”

“At night is probably not the best time.”

“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Friends don’t kiss. Friends don’t feel the way he feels now, or how he’s felt for the past few months. Platonic arrangements don’t require repentance. But, he bites his tongue and tilts his head back, lets it roll off the shoulder when his hand draws back to his lap. Another time.

Not where the Heavenly Father could see, if he were even watching any longer.

“… Tomorrow morning would be better.”

“Then I’ll come get you. Don’t you dare try and get out of it,” she chirps with the wildest glint of mirth alight in her eyes.

Stay.

If the church caught fire now and the rafters came to sink into the earth not a part of him would or could even care as long as she were just here. But he watches her go without a word of opposition, watches her nod toward the sisters standing out in the yard and clasp her hands in front of her, smiling to herself as though the world were made for just the two of them.

It stings during nightly prayer, and it burns when he lies in bed to wait for the morning. There are cicadas singing and footsteps on old wooden boards to remind him that he isn’t entirely alone, the scent of tobacco drifting from his window when another plaster saint hides beyond the veil of night to smoke. He doesn’t sleep, his eyes remain fixed upon the ceiling until the darkness of the room drifts to a dull gray with the sun’s slow rise.

And König does not wait for her to fetch him. Morning prayer dissolves into a mournful cry because there is no part of him that can fathom or interpret any of this. A trial should not feel like a blessing when he’s faced with it. God must be playing the stupidest game imaginable to test him with someone so lovable, so charming. Where the church leaves him feeling filthy with remorse, she purifies him with only a curl of her lips and starlight dancing in her eyes.

None of it is fair.

The guilt must be something obligatory, summoned up like puffs of dust from the floorboards. Worshiping idols is a sin, but it’s not the angel that feels like one, it’s the attention he pays to the cloud in his head that does. That’s the one that should go.

He grits through prayer with the other men, doesn’t chime in with unnecessary words of devotion this time. The coffee burns his tongue when he downs the mug and forgoes breakfast. There are dark rings beneath his eyes when he ventured to the washroom to brush his teeth, and there are whispers in the halls that the young priest must be either coming under a possession or God is preparing him for something. Something big and exciting. He ignores those and the stern glances from the little nuns in their robes, huffs something of a joke about a momentary sabbatical when he lumbers out of the walls of the church.

There are no new bruises this time, but König has the memory of the last ones stuck in his skull. A clear image of four small marks on the side of her neck, another on its opposite. Larger, more pronounced. Five marks from a hand that never belonged there. Kerosene and a match are what the thoughts running rampant in his head would look like to an outsider.

She tells him on the thin picnic blanket that she’s got a new client, that he gives her enough to where she doesn’t have to consider any others now. The man has a much stranger set of interests, ones she hadn’t delved into before him, but she’s merciful enough to withhold the details that would lead König to make the crucifixion seem a gentle affair.

She tells him because she wants him to be proud that it’s only one now. That she’s making some sort of progress for him. None of it is fair, and he knows without asking that she feels more akin to the way that he does than any of the holy men.

And still he can’t help but ask, “Do you love him?”

“Of course not,” comes her immediate response, and there’s a near imperceptible glare there, judging by the fire in her eyes. It’s cute… and he feels the world's ugliest fool for daring to ask for reassurance as though this relationship was any sort of normal. If it were even a relationship at all.

Their hands touch, reaching for the same flaky pastry in the basket she brought along and Heaven’s bells ring out in his ears when her gaze sweeps over him. Everything is sugared dough and right again. She offers him her lap in place of a pillow for his head when the clouds grow thick and gray above, feeds him from her own hand and runs her fingers across his face with the other.

“How did you get the sky in your eyes?,” she asks him, makes him blush so easily his heart stutters within his chest. He feels like a boy in her presence, and in a way, to her, maybe he even is just some inexperienced whelp nipping at her heels.

The angel does not judge, she softly rakes her nails behind his ear and neck until he shivers in her hold. His hair is next, a victim to her comfort as she tousles it between her fingers, strokes him like the smallest of kittens when he feels anything but.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he mutters, raising a hand to brush at her cheek. Warm as he expected, yet softer. There’s nothing wicked here, only a woman. A woman who loves him as he loves her.

“Your eyes are pretty… sad. I love them,” comes the sweet reply that reduces him to nothing but scattered feathers and a howling ache.

Did he even exist before now? Before her? This woman has filled him with such purpose, breathed new life into a stagnant soul. The church was a safe place for a man scorned by the rest of the world, but that blanket felt unnecessary now. He wanted to feel her hands move over him like this, smell the petals in her perfume, hear her voice speak to him, all of it. Forever.

“I think that I lose myself when I’m with you.”

“Does that hurt you?”

“Nein… I’m happier like this.” It’s the closest to a confession he can whisper.

And he returns to her, morning after morning König rushes through paying his dues to God and his men to return to her like this.

When the graveyard is silent and the dew still sticks to the blades of grass, her voice sounds sweeter somehow beneath the glow of the rising sun. The birds sing around them and often she pushes wildflowers into his hair, clasps her hands around his neck and teaches him to kiss.

Her tongue moves with grace, his is only a thing of greed. Each chaste peck is met with a hunger from somewhere so foggy and forgotten it never had a home at all, not before now. The angel needn’t show him where to rest his hands, they pry at every part of her: gentle brushes against her cheek and neck, kneading at her shoulders, further, further until he does finally starve off any lingering thought of what is good or evil to explore the curve of her lower back.

Most of the time words come in afterthought, once lips are wet and plush from this gentle devouring, after she steels herself from running her hands any further down than his stomach. He tells her in truth that he prays to her, not for. Not anymore.

The shadows cast from the aspens keep them tucked far away from sight, from God and his people alike. A temple for two without four walls to close them in. The only place on this earth that he’s ever found himself in perfect solace.

“I want to try something,” she breathes just when he’s prepared himself to leave. The tree at his back, knees parted, where she remains sat across from him. There’s nervousness there, not the fretful way she looks after a long night, nor the way she looked to him upon their first meetings. “Do you trust me?”

“Ja… more than anyone,” he reassures in a soft tone of voice, tipping her chin up with the tips of two fingers to further accentuate it. Her beauty and her uncertainty always strike a chord within him, a fire that never dwindles. When her eyes search his own, his breath catches.

He doesn’t say a word when she peels away the robes from the front of his trousers. Her hands linger on at the waistband for a moment, takes enough time to offer the gentlest peck to the side of his neck before continuing. It’s another first, being exposed to a woman like this when she lowers the band and has him shimmy backward to free his cock from his pants. Soft with shame or embarrassment, a concoction of other things he could not name, but the moment she looks up at him with pure delight he feels himself grow stiff.

“Wow… You’ve got a perfect cock,” she assesses with a laugh, finger running up the length of it as it twitches to life under her touch.

Scheisse.

He strokes her cheek with reverence as she bends down before him, watching him carefully through her eyelashes. Her warm breath drifts over his manhood and he’s already horribly aware that this would not last long. Another lesson, like the kisses, maybe. She could mold him any way that she likes and he would be pleased to play the role of her Adam.

The tongue isn’t what he anticipated. She flattens it against the tip, breathes a laugh when a keening whine is pulled from his throat. To see such an ugly, vulgar thing pressed to the beautiful mouth he’s kissed a dozen times now. It feels wrong. There’s no hesitation when her lips wrap around him. And then all of it— everything is just right. Every moment spent in this hazy, loving glow with her is right. If Hell were to come from this, then let it.

He can’t tear his eyes away from her, can’t bring himself to speak when he feels the way his cock hits the back of her throat, feels her swallow around him and make such a pleased noise as she wraps her fingers around the expanse she can not take.

Its pitiful, the way he must look: mouth agape, eyes lidded and heavy… He brings a hand to her hair, and runs his fingers through it as if she isn’t letting him fuck her mouth, but rather in the midst of something far holier, softer. Sacrilegious or divine. If God we’re watching, let him.

She pulls back a little, an obscene, wet sound in answer when her mouth is drawn back enough to merely press a kiss the tip, puffy lips glossy with drool. “Is this okay…? Not too much?”

“You are so pretty… it feels… just keep going.” His voice no longer possesses any feigned confidence, it begs like a wounded thing, chanting, “Bitte. Please…”

His hips tilt up when she parts her lips again, all trepidation be damned. This is something, something he’s aches for and never had the chance to feel. All of the ache, the longing to be diminished, to unite with the angel who fled Heaven for him. The cock pushes at her open mouth, smears thick beads of precum over her cheek, before she takes him in again with a delighted, muffled sound. Her soft mouth, the tongue that thoroughly laps at his shaft and follows her movements to wrap and suck at the head. Otherworldly, and… unfathomably bittersweet.

Her lips suction around him, the movements of her wrist only increasing, and with the second roll of his hips he feels his stomach begin to tense as pure heat rolls its way through him. A gentle coursing becomes a blinding inferno in mere seconds, and regrettably, instinctively, that hand so gently combing through her hair comes to snare it instead and force her down further.

His soft grunts and low pleading morph to something choked and almost agonized. It’s the purest rapture, a pleasure so absolute his eyes prick as he bows lower to cover over her as she swallows his devotion by mouth. The angel pants breathlessly when she pulls away with saliva and semen still stringing them together, cleansed by his thumb tracing over her lips, replaced so swiftly by his own mouth. The kiss is so chaste it feels misplaced here, but she nuzzles against him in this comedown from ecstasy, doesn’t even chastise how he lasted a mere two minutes.

And he vows, vows in the sweetness of her comfort and love that no one else will ever have this again.

— — —

Abstaining from meals during a fast is a struggle in and of itself; abstaining from her is some long-forgotten circle of Hell.

It’s not avoidance, but a necessity.

To think that his first sexual encounter would provoke days of concern, a wistful daydream about a future he never would have thought to have had otherwise. There was a desperate, starving desire to repent when he first arrived home after that, but nothing that a bottle of communion wine and a cold shower could not wash away. Repentance has lost its merit to him.

And after seven days, he’s perfectly aware of what he must do. To absolve them both from things where atonement seems far from a necessity at all. He folds his holy robes and leaves them on the bed in the room too small, set neatly next to his Bible. The rosary was the one thing that König could not bear to part with. The beads, red and shimmery, were chosen and strung together with him in mind. It’s slipped into the pocket of his jeans after the plain, black t-shirt is pulled over his head.

There’s a hammer in his gloved hand, and he doesn’t recall where he found it. Lying with its head rusted in the churchyard, perhaps half buried beneath the soil. Some of the other clergymen are talented at fixing things, but König’s never been very good with that. His first rosary was broken with a careless slip of his fingers, and he’s shattered more porcelain than he could count on accident.

Even communion wine can be a bit too strong, sometimes. Or maybe that’s only when the bottle’s been entirely downed. He’ll blame one of his betters when the stock is counted and one turns up missing, if they bother to come seek him out again at all.

The motel is dead at this hour, so late into the night. The few normal visitors have already been accounted for with watchful eyes, and the angel waits in one of the rooms on the second floor. He imagines the laces on her lingerie, the healing bruises on her throat, and that sweet expression upon her face. Or maybe that one was reserved solely for him. He prayed… no, he hoped so.

After tonight, there would be no more mercies for him. Or perhaps there would be an abundance, blessings from the vultures and the wolves and the maggots he would feed. New gods that were still far lesser than the angel who suffers men in sheets, but only looks to him with love.

And he doesn’t have to wait long, because the demon finds his way here with haste. Does he come here every night looking as proud as he does now? His attire even resonates with death, black with those white details, a costume that seems so fitting for one about to meet the very face he wears.

Killing someone isn’t so easy. Cain murdered his brother with a rock, described in such loose detail that one would think a playful throw led to Abel’s end. But it’s not so, not when the victim is hellbent on living.

The demon is smaller, but strong. He’s been in situations like this before, doesn’t have to spit the words to tell König so. They’re felt with each blow, with the sharp edge of the knife this bastard manages to dig into his side. Just barely, before it’s jerked out of his hand and thrown several paces away. The skittering across the tarmac is enough to chant doom.

There’s blood. More with the first strike of the hammer. It seemed so much easier in thought rather than practice. In his imaginings, the head would split with the first fall like an overripe apple, crumple in and the breath would leave the demon in an instant. Instead, it’s dozens. Blow after blow while the smaller man struggles below him.

A strange catharsis comes over him when his soul grows murky, when his hands are slick and the struggle comes to an abrupt end. The sobering only comes when he’s spent an hour driving down the most forested roads to find a place to dump the body. There’s no tact to it, laying a man to rest in shrubbery and dirt. With a head so collapsed it’s hard to think of this as a man at all. A corpse, something no longer simply human.

König does not pray for him when he rests the hammer in the deceased’s hands. Does not offer it more than a passing thought when he peels away back toward home. The deed is done and he’s free of those horrid burdens tainting his heart, keeping him held back on a short leash to divinity.

Like fate, she’s found out in the garden again after the bloodied shirt and stained gloves are discarded. The wound is patched with what he could find available, a hastily tied strip of gauze covers his side. A week or so at best until the gash would heal into an ugly, jagged scar. It seemed even a bastard devil’s blade couldn't be sharp enough to fell a Goliath when he’s caught by surprise and horny.

He feigns merely emptying the garbage into an outside bin, plays off the sting of the gash with a humble, lumbering gait. She beams up at him through lines of tears running down the sides of her face like small, silver streams beneath the darkened sky above.

He’s not a saint anymore, no… a guardian angel. The archangel Michael with his sword set ablaze and divinity scrawled into every scale of his chest plate. Something holy and glowing, unsullied and beautiful.

Like her.

“You’re crying…”

“Sorry… bad night. Client just ghosted me.”

No. This was good, couldn’t she see that? All the sleepless nights, the prayer and the constant, overwhelming longing. Everything he had suffered for her, and still she only comes to him with the thought of that horrible thing in mind.

“He’s dead.” Maybe it was just the fear of a loss of money. He had enough saved up someplace, and the collection pool would be beneficial enough to pivot them towards a new life. No church. No lonely motel. He had to test it, give her a trial and hope that she did not simply break.

The look that crosses her face is one of confusion… Then comes a strange twist of relief. Her mouth falls slightly agape and her arms squeeze slightly around his middle.

“We just spoke a few hours ago. How…?” Finally, suspicion.

Maybe he’s too drunk on playing God now to care, to realize this isn’t how a good man would have handled things. The only thing that holds any weight, that resonated with him any at all is the thought that he loves her, that he will protect her until his dying breath, pray at her feet and anything else she might ask.

That’s what pulls him to press her down against the bed of the truck, to kiss her with every lesson she’s blessed him with in mind. Tongue and teeth, fire and spit, she accepts all of it. She doesn’t beg him for an answer: she’s seen the worst of men, taken cocks far less deserving. Her hands find his hair as they drift away here, gives the strands a sharp tug to usher him closer, roll her tongue against his own.

The sheer tights she wears beneath her skirt are ripped at the seam between her legs by large hands, panties pushed to the side before she finally presses against the broad chest against her to gain some space. Her breath is shallow, face warmed and hair a mess, still the loveliest thing he’s ever laid his eyes upon.

“Are you afraid?” He tilts his head to the side, curious, as if there were no reason for her deny him of this now after he had just *killed for her*. After he forsook what once was all he knew all for her. He would do it again without question, with no gain at all, but the sting of rejection was not something he could entirely choke back.

But his angel never runs out of mercies, it seems.

“No… just give me a second.”

She slips her hand down between her parted legs, demonstrates for him just how to prepare a woman. He watches, mesmerized, as she circles the bud above her slit, dips her finger downward to spread wetness along her flesh. Dew over petals. A finger slips inside of her, and all at once is shoved aside.

“Let me,” he pleads, already pressing both hands to her inner thighs, tilting her hips upward as his head sinks between them.

“You don’t have to,” she whispers, but grants him his wish with feverish nods that betray her words, allows him to kiss her sex as he shifts himself into a better position.

There’s nothing to go off of but her sounds, the cries of pleasure when his tongue lolls out to lick at the nub where most of her reactions stem from. He mutters against her about her taste, something so ethereal he could not even begin to place. Her scent envelopes him in full, and he’s never felt closer to anything prior. She allows his clumsy licking, moans louder for him when he can’t stifle his own groaning. The pants are too tight around him, and patience is another virtue he finds that he lacks.

She doesn’t reach some fantastical height of pleasure when he presses a finger into her cunt, but her body seems to fit even that like a glove, squeezing around him as he lazily circles her bud with his tongue. She doesn’t come, but she tugs him by the hair to usher him back into another kiss, hands roving down his abdomen to free his manhood from the barriers of fabric. And finally… finally he’s granted entrance to Heaven.

The first thrust leaves him spiraling, lost into a world of silk and honey. And the angel does not give him any time to recover, she writhes beneath him, shifting her hips to pull him in deeper, muffles each whine and groan from his lips with her tongue hungrily lapping over his own.

He’s thought about having a woman many times, but never imagined it could feel this good. To be so complete, every woe or fear cast aside in the act of mindless pleasure.

He doesn’t know where to put his hands, to keep his eyes shut or gaze down at her and cease this assault on his mouth to tell her that he loves her, that she feels like pure fucking paradise and he’s already on the verge of coming undone. He settles for moving, dragging himself in and out of her in slow movements, turning his face away to bite down on her shoulder when the feeling of her walls cinching him like a vise threatens to spur him into finishing on the spot.

“That’s just… god… you’re good at this,” she gasps when a hand is sunk between their bodies, flicking at her clit as he spears her open. Her hands find his back, raking her fingernails down past his shoulder blades. It’s agonizing, trying to fight back the urge to breed her full, watch his come spill out from her perfect cunt until he finds himself hard again. The very thought makes him gasp, grind himself deeper inside of her as her nails dig into his back.

“Mein… this is… you understand…,” he’s babbling, hardly coherent, and she only seems to accept it. The angel chants her agreement amidst the beginning of her rapture.

She cries out for him when she comes, her sex pulsing around him as she shivers that all restraint is immediately lost. She hugs him so tightly, squirms as she hisses a curse into his ear.

It’s a miracle he’s even lasted this long. He halts his pace for a mere second to prop himself up, gaze down at her in absolute reverence before that fire swallows him whole. It’s unceremonious when he comes: a growl and a wail as he buries he face into her neck and pumps every last drop of his seed into her pussy.

He doesn’t want to pull out, doesn’t want to leave such a complete embrace. The world has already ended for him, a long time ago on the very night they met. There’s no need to drag out their ruin with whatever else occurs when she’s out of his grasp.

She strokes over the marks she’s made, gentle, tickling touches of her fingertips and shy giggles when their eyes meet again.

“I thought I would never get to do this with you,” she admits, quiet when her hands drift to cup his jaw instead. “You’re perfect, you know that…?”

He wants to cry, wants to fuck all of his woes away, kneel before her and beg that she find a place where they can never be apart. Steal her away to some cabin up in the Alps, where flowers grow in thick patches on the hillsides, a wild garden of her very own.

“… You should stay with me,” he huffs into her ear, fingers dimpling the flesh of her hips as he tries desperately to force himself closer to her.

“You can’t mean the church,” she giggles. “So where should we go?”

“We can figure that out in the morning, hm?”

#könig x reader #konig x reader

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kazutora-kurokawa · 1 month

Note

idk if your taking requests rn but, could u please make a tr x reader scenario where the reader is naive and someone tries to take advantage of them but tr won't let them (this is so messy I'm srry😭)

TokRev x Naive!Reader: Not On My Watch!

♡ SFW, gender neutral reader, random sleazy dudes, violence and threats but not against reader, hot men being protective ♡

Characters: Kazutora, Chifuyu, Bonten!Mikey

note: thanks for requesting anon 🩷 hope you're doing well

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Kazutora

🐯 This man is on high alert when it comes to you, he just doesn't trust people fr

🐯 His heart skipped a beat when you walked in the living room looking extra good, like where is you heading off to?

🐯 You told him you were going to have dinner with your boss and he's lowkey livid, he asks to take your place and goes to confront the guy

🐯 Comes back an hour later with blood on his jacket, your boss gets replaced too so go figure 🙌

Chifuyu

😺 He just so happened to catch you right before you left out the house and asked you where you were going, not in a possessive way, just so he knows where to find you

😺 You told him you were on your way to pick up a kitten (aww) from a guy on Craigslist (😨)

😺 He grabbed you and sat you down on the couch to explain to you why Craigslist is unreliable, untrustworthy, and unsafe

😺 Please just go to the pet shop next time, you're gonna give this man a heart attack

Bonten!Mikey

🩸 You two were at the opening of one of Bonten's clubs and you weren't wasted, but you definitely weren't sober either

🩸 You wandered off from Mikey and he eventually found you outside about to accept a ride from a shady looking motherfucker and immediately intervened

🩸 Literally pulled his gun out and threatened the guy, he about that action when it comes to you fr

🩸 Scolds you about being naive and trusting random ass strangers while you're inebriated

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Taglist

@arlerts-angel @i-literally-cant-with-this @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katkusuo @happy-trenchcoated-impala @drunkcheesecake @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies

#tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo revengers x reader #kazutora x reader #chifuyu x reader #mikey x reader #mikey is such a protective parent in this one lmao

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lanadelnegan · 1 month

Text

Ghost - Part 1

Negan x Glenn’sSister!Reader

Summary: You escaped Alexandria to mourn the death of your twin brother, Glenn, only to have an unforgettable night with the man who killed him.

Warnings: 18+, smut, dry humping, heavy making out, mentions of family death

Idea requested by anon. Thank you 🫶 song inspo here

It's been one month since the lineup - the day Negan took my twin brother's life. I left Alexandria the moment Maggie returned and told me what happened to Glenn. I wasn't there there for the line up, and I hate myself for it. I could've convinced Negan to kill me instead. My brother had a family, a wife, a baby on the way. Much more to offer this world than me.

I've never seen Negan or his men. I know nothing about him, except that he's going to regret taking Glenn from me. Because I've made it my life's mission to destroy him. Even if I have to go down with him.

But for now, I needed an escape and time to mourn, so I found an abandoned cabin nearby to stay in for a while. A few things were left there by the previous residents - enough to get me by for at least a couple months. The cabin is hidden in the middle of the woods, which is probably why no one has found me all this time. Until now.

It was just getting dark and starting to storm after I settled on the couch to read a book. I fell asleep moments later, listening to the rain pour when the sound of the front door creaking open startled me. Before I could get up to grab my gun, a tall man in a soaked leather jacket entered and closed the door behind him. I was frozen to the couch when I locked eyes with him.

“You here alone?” He asked.

I nodded before realizing that was a stupid thing to admit to a stranger that could easily kill me on the spot. “Um, for now. My husband should be back soon.” I lied.

He chuckled, nodding his head like he didn’t believe me. “Well darlin, I didn’t mean to scare you. Just need a place to stay for the night before I head home. I promise I’m not a threat.” He flashed his pretty, white teeth at me.

“I’m supposed to believe that? You’re a complete stranger.”

He sighed like I annoyed him before reluctantly taking his gun out of his pants and kicking it towards me on the floor. His hair was black, slicked back and dripping with water. Oh, and he was stupidly handsome.

“Fine. You can take the couch.”

He nodded appreciatively, setting his bag down by the front door. “Got a shower?”

“Bathrooms down the hall to your right.”

He nodded again before making his way to the bathroom and I exhaled a long breath. This was the first human interaction I've had since leaving Alexandria two weeks ago. It felt strange being in the presence of someone alive.

Realizing he would need something to change into after his shower, I gathered some men's clothes out of the dresser from my bedroom and went to lay them on the floor outside of the bathroom. Just as I was placing them down, the bathroom door opened, clouding my vision with steam. He stood before me shirtless with a towel wrapped around his waist.

I blushed. “Oh, my bad. Was just going to drop these here for you.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” He took them out of my hand, grinning down at me.

My eyes wandered down his wet torso, following the drops of water that lead from the black pirate tattoo on his pecs to the perfectly carved v in his abdomen. This was going to be a long night.

Two hours and a bottle of wine later:

My feet were propped on his lap as I lied on the couch, laughing at every lame joke he made. This man was patient, considering he’s been listening to me overshare every detail of my life for the past hour. Every detail but Glenn. I'm not ready to talk about what happened out loud and especially not to a stranger.

He was hesitant to talk about his personal life at first, but I quickly broke down his walls and in a short time, I felt like I knew more about him than any other human on the planet. We focused on the past, taking turns telling each other about our lives before the dead started walking.

“Wait, wait. A high school gym coach? I bet all the girls had a crush on you.”

His thumb teased my ankle while his other arm rested lazily on the back of the couch. “Why would you assume that?” He chuckled.

I blushed, realizing just how tipsy I was. “Look at you. You’re like, insanely hot.” The liquid courage had definitely taken over.

He smirked, rubbing the bare skin on my lower leg. “Shouldn’t your husband have been back by now?”

“Oh, yeah.” I sat up, setting my feet on the ground and scooching closer to him as I got comfortable again. “I lied earlier. I just didn’t want you to be some psycho murderer.” I said, rolling my eyes as if the thought were crazy.

“What makes you think I’m not?”

“Are you?” Leaning in closer, I rested my cheek on the the back of the couch and grinned at him.

“These days, aren’t we all?”

I stayed silent for a moment, looking for any sign of seriousness in his eyes. “Even if you are, I trust you.”

His eyebrows raised. “That’s pretty bold of you, doll. You know nothing about me.”

“I know you were a high school gym coach.” I reached for his hand and he gladly accepted, rubbing the back of mine with his thumb. “And that your wife’s name was Lucille. And that this isn’t the first time you’ve been here. This is your hideaway too - when you just need to get away.” I rambled on and he never took his eyes off mine. “Oh and your favorite color? Definitely black.”

“Another assumption?”

“Am I wrong?”

He chuckled. “No.” His eyes darted back and forth between mine. “Why do I feel like we’ve met before?”

“Maybe we were soulmates in another life.” I giggled.

“I’m not doubting it, doll. Feels like I've known you forever.”

My gaze dropped to his lips and he followed, leaning in closer. Closing the gap between us, I pressed my lips to his. They were soft but the stubble around them tickled me and I imagined the same sensation between my legs.

His hand slid through the silky strands of my hair, gripping it gently while pulling my closer to deepen the kiss. He tasted like wine and smelled like aftershave, and I never wanted the moment to end.

My fingers explored his damp hair while his tongue explored my mouth. With subtle moans escaping our throats, we got high off each other. Eventually his hand roamed to the end of my tank top, making chills spread over my skin. His fingers brushed slightly underneath it, trailing smoothly over my waistline and barely dipping into my shorts.

I pulled him closer, urging him to climb over me while I layed back on the couch. He held himself up with one arm as he hovered over me, settling between my legs as he kissed me.

Slipping my hand underneath his white t-shirt, I rubbed his toned stomach before following the happy trail down to his shorts and finding his hard cock pressing against the material . He was long and thick and in my hand while I stroked him. His head fell beside mine as he groaned in my ear, thrusting into my touch.

“Fuck, baby.” His voice was low and raspy.

My hips aligned with his waist until I felt the tip of him through his shorts pressing directly into my center. Luckily both of our shorts were thin enough to feel just enough friction as he slowly pushed into me over and over and over.

He fucked me slowly through our clothes, making me moan and scratch at his back. I've never done this before - with clothes on. But it somehow feels better than the actual thing. At least anything I've ever experienced. I became wetter with each of his thrusts and my heart raced in my lower core.

“We should stop, baby. As much as I would love to make you scream for me all night..” He paused, kissing below my ear. We’ve both been drinking.” He sounded like he was talking himself out of it, and I respected him for it.

I sighed. “You’re right.”

He grinned down at me before kissing my forehead. “You are so fucking beautiful. Why are you out here alone? What are you running from?”

There it is. The only thing we hadn’t talked about yet. And never will.

“It’s getting late. We should go to bed soon.”

His head dropped defeatedly but he nodded. “Right, fine.”

He climbed off of me, sitting back on couch, but I wasn’t ready to leave him yet. I looked down, noticing my book on the ground and picked it up before handing it to him. He raised an eyebrow at me but took it.

“Read to me?” I asked, grinning before lying back down and cuddling my head in his lap. He adjusted slightly, still hard from moments ago.

“You want me to read to you?” He chuckled, opening the pages and finding the spot where I left off.

“Mhm.” I mumbled, snuggling in closer and closing my eyes. His smooth voice put me to sleep in no time.

The next morning:

The sun peaking through the bedroom window and a pounding headache woke me up. I sat up quickly, remembering the events of last night.

Jumping out of bed, I looked all around the house, but there was no trace of him. His bag was gone, and every trace of our night together was erased except the empty wine bottle on the coffee table.

Was I going crazy? Was he even real? Was it all a dream?

These are the questions that kept me up at night while the days ran together and became longer. My hopes of my mystery man coming back were out the window, and I was starting to think being alone out here was making me mental.

A couple weeks later, I decided it was time to return to Alexandra and leave behind the memories of him. I left home to mourn Glenn, and now I’m leaving another safe haven to mourn the loss of someone else.

On my journey back, I did a lot of self reflecting, promising myself I’d never get close to someone again. I’m tired of losing people. Even ones who may not exist. I’ll go home and forget about him and focus on what matters. Getting justice for my brother.

Part 2 here

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