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saetoru · 10 months

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。MEET UGLY — GOJO SATORU. (rich boy! au)

contents. college au!, rich boy! gojo, first meets, slight meet ugly but mainly he’s just annoying, established relationship in second scene, banter + fluff, kissies for da princess boy <3

dating gojo has always been, and will always be, the biggest unforeseen plot twist of your life.

the first time you encounter gojo satoru, it’s in literature class. he laughs with that dark haired friend of his a bit too loudly in the back while you try to share your thoughts on the reading from last night—it’s not that you particularly care for the class, but you’re trying to get the participation points, and you don’t want some slacking jackass to ruin that for you.

you throw him a glare over your shoulder, making him pause and blink before he shoots you a cheshire grin. you swear you hear a chuckle from the distance as you turn and continue speaking.

the second time you stumble across him is in line at the campus coffee shop. it’s the first day of the semester, and you have class in fifteen minutes across campus, but you’re tired. incredibly so—working shifts back to back late into the night is not doing you any favors, but you have to afford gas money and textbooks somehow.

you need caffeine, and you need it quick so you can make it to class on time.

except the tall, snow-haired stranger in front of you is making that very difficult as he takes forever and lists his wildly long list of syrups and add ons for his drink—seriously, who can even stomach a drink like that? you crinkle your nose as you imagine how sweet it must be. what irritates you more is that he pays for his ridiculously expensive drink that’s far too sweet for eight am with a black card. you glare daggers into the back of his head, wishing you could crack his skull in two with your stare alone.

and then he turns, raises a brow as he stares at you calculatingly—and then his lips turn into a grin as he seems to recognize you. great, you think.

“hey, weren’t you in lit class with me last semester?” he asks, making you sigh as you purse your lips.

“yes. now please move, i need to order and get to class.”

“she curved that final exam pretty generously, i thought i was going to fail—”

“i’ll take a large double shot,” you mumble, ignoring him as you place your order. you can feel his stare from the side as you pay.

“that’s pretty strong, don’t you think?” he asks, making you throw a glare at him from over your shoulder, eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

it only seems to amuse him more, making you grit your teeth—how irritating could someone even manage to be? there’s got to be some sort of record he’s holding for most nerves he’s ticked off within the span of two meets.

“well, assuming from the fact that you’re a college student with a black credit card,” you huff, “you probably haven’t had to work a single night shift in your life.”

you put away your own card as you speak—one that’s not black, and one that’s going to have a very high bill due soon from the textbooks you’ll have to purchase.

“i like you,” he grins, “you’re funny. how about i—”

you cut him off again, done interacting for the morning. “have a nice day,” you say curtly, walking over to the wait area for your drink.

he seems entirely amused by your attitude—which only pisses you off more. does everything seem to make his lips quirk into that annoying smirk of his? and why is it so handsome? what a waste of such a gorgeous face to be paired with such an insufferable personality. and, because the universe hates you, he waits around for you even after he gets his drink, following you out the door when you grab yours and leave.

“how about i take you out for coffee tomorrow?” he grins, “i’ll pay with that black card you like so much.”

what an asshole—you hope he gets hit by a car and loses a few teeth.

“no.”

“c’mon, it’ll be fun—”

“no.”

“okay,” he chuckles, “feisty. i like it.”

and then, as you turn the corner, he turns with you, walking leisurely behind you as he sips that disgustingly sugary drink of his.

“what the fuck,” you hiss, “why are you following me?”

“i’m not,” he says innocently, “why are you following me?”

where are all the cars in the streets when you need them? and why haven’t they hit him yet?

“i’m walking ahead of you jackass,” you huff, “how can i be following you?”

“oh yeah?” he takes a few strides with those abnormally long legs of his, walking ahead of you as he shoots you an amused grin over his shoulder. “now you’re following me. does that mean you changed your mind about that date?”

“you wish,” you seethe.

a few more steps, and he walks into the same building as you. great—you’ll likely be running into him every morning then. a few more steps and he’s turning the hall to the same hall as you. wonderful—you’ll probably have to deal with him to the walk to class too. a few more steps, and then you realize he’s entering the same class that you’re entering.

fucking fantastic. just what you needed. absolutely divine luck—the universe has really handed you the largest pair of clown shoes it could find.

of course he of all people would be in class with you for another semester—and he seems to brighten considerably when he realizes he’s in your class too, because his grin widens even more.

“well, look at that,” he says brightly, “you followed me all the way to class. we might as well be seatmates.”

“don’t even think about sitting near me,” you warn, “i’m going to go that way. you go that way.”

he does not go the way you point—instead, he chuckles and plops down right beside you. how on earth could someone be so easy to despise? of all the empty seats in the entirety of the lecture hall, he just has to choose the seat right next to you.

for a moment, you contemplate skipping this class entirely and trying to teach yourself everything before the tests just so you don’t have to see him—you’ve done that enough times, it shouldn’t be too hard. but then you remember that this course is notorious for having a semester long paired project that weighs for a hefty amount of your final grade—skipping is not an option.

so, with veins ready to pop any second, and an oncoming migraine, you sit through all of lecture trying to ignore the absolute worst guy you’ve ever met. not only is he rude and obnoxious and overly confident to a fault—but he’s also rich and spoiled and privileged to live in a realm entirely separate from your reality.

you think you might just hate him.

you’re broken from your thoughts when you hear your name as the professor lists the pairs she’s already made from the roster for the semester’s project. this is great, you think, she’ll call someone’s name, and you’ll have that as an excuse to sit with them and avoid the nuisance sat beside you.

everything is fine. you’ll be free in just a few moments. it’ll all be over soon.

“gojo satoru,” she calls, “if you could raise your hand so your partner knows who to find after class.”

then, as if in slow motion, the very same guy who ruined your morning raises his hand, looking over at you absolutely enthused as his eyes sparkle through the top of his sunglasses—which, only an asshole would wear sunglasses indoors.

“hey partner,” he chuckles, “how about coffee tomorrow to discuss our project?”

—————

satoru likes to think that even with his unfortunate start with you on the wrong foot, he’s managed a steady relationship with you.

you don’t tell him to get hit by a car anymore—instead, now you kiss his forehead before bed every night, hold his hand and swing his arm with yours when you’re out, cuddle him after long days and talk about life, and sometimes—when he’s been extra good, you might even do other activities with him that include a whole lot of intimacy and exclude a whole lot of clothing.

he likes to think you’re pretty in love with him—and he’s proud to claim himself as your adorable, sweet, very handsome and extremely funny boyfriend. although, you don’t really ever call him all that, but he’s fairly confident you think it, and that’s close enough.

“baby,” gojo pokes your arm from his spot on your lap, “on a scale of one to ten, how cute would you say i am?”

“an eleven when you shut up and let me work,” you mumble, stroking his hair with one hand and doing calculus problems with the other.

he pouts, huffing in disbelief.

“you know, if you keep taking me for granted, you might lose me,” he says petulantly.

it earns a snort from you as you give him an amused look.

“toru, i think your mom would pay me to get back together with you if we ever broke up.”

“she would not,” he gasps, watching as you bite your lip to keep from laughing.

“remember our first fight? you practically starved yourself in your room,” you giggle, “she had to beg me to come talk to you so you’d eat.”

“that’s not true! i had kitkats and coke zero in my room,” he defends himself, crossing his arms as he sits up. “i was fine.”

“you definitely cried yourself to sleep,” you snicker, “you’re hopeless without me.”

“i am just fine without you,” he lies through his teeth, turning away from you as he tilts his head up indignantly.

“remember when you couldn’t even last a week without me while i was studying for finals? and then your mom had to call and beg me again to spend time with you?”

“that’s not—”

“admit it, toru,” you grin cheekily, pinching his nose as you chuckle, “you’d probably die if we ever broke up.”

“and you’d be fine?” he asks incredulously—he’s almost distressed at the idea, staring at you in slight hurt that makes you laugh before setting your calculus homework aside.

you grab his arm and pull him into your side, kissing his head as he slumps onto your chest.

“i don’t know, i don’t think i’d mind watching a mopey satoru beg me to take him back.”

“you don’t deserve me,” he grumbles, “i deserve to be loved and cherished. i’m a catch.”

“i bet you’d make that ugly face of yours when you cry,” you tease, making him look up at you with an offended gasp.

“i’ll have you know i’m exceptionally pretty when i cry. the waterworks have gotten me loads of things from my mom—i’m irresistible.”

“you’d probably be on your knees in seconds,” you continue to poke fun at him, “please take me back. i’m nothing without you, baby,” you mock his voice, giggling as he glares at you unimpressed.

“now you’re just being a bully. do you even love me?”

“i do,” you grin softly, pecking his cheek, “i love you a ton. you know that.”

“you don’t act like it,” he grumbles.

you laugh, hugging him tighter as your fingers slip into his hair again. sometimes, you think you should be shocked you’re here—laying in bed with gojo satoru and kissing his cheeks as he pouts. you of the past might just kill you of the present if you saw yourself now….but something about gojo is charming enough that you can overlook the very annoying first impression you had.

enough that maybe….well, maybe you might also be a bit hopeless without him—but you’ll never tell him that.

something tells you he knows, though, when he wraps a strong arm around you and pulls you impossibly closer, kissing the corner of your lips as he grins.

“what about that time you got soooo jealous?” he grins, “we weren’t even together yet. and remember that time you begged my mom to take home baby pictures of me? you’re obsessed,” he says proudly, “i would be too. i’m adorable.”

“you’re a pain is what you are,” you mutter.

“i love you too,” he chuckles, burying his head into your shoulder.

you grin, the curves of your lips painted with love as they find his forehead, pressing delicate kisses to the skin. maybe being paired for a semester long project with the annoying rich boy in your class wasn’t so bad—maybe you owe finding the softest love you’ve ever had to the strict and unpleasant professor who gave you an A- when you definitely deserved an A.

“and how are you so sure i love you?” you ask playfully. he rolls his eyes, grabbing your hand and lacing your fingers with his.

“because you haven’t hit me with your car yet,” he bites back, making you laugh brightly.

plssss i want him so bad i cannot take it anymore every day without him feels like pins and needles in my skin it’s utter agony i feel like my life’s meaning has been stripped from me i feel like my lungs and heart both burn from the lack of oxygen i feel like i am but an empty shell with no soul lost and wandering the planet searching for a reason to go on

ps. if you have been reading along w rb! gojo i hope you caught some of the references to old drabbles ;)

#teepods.writings #drabbles.#rich boy! au #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru fluff

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lincolndjarin · 7 months

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Pretty in Pink

main masterlist ✧ kinktober masterlist ✦

kinktober : day three - afab!reader x no-outbreak!joel miller

prompt : breeding [ 18+ mdni ]

word count : 1.5k

summary : you and joel have been trying for a baby for a while now, you're skeptical when you get advice from a friend but you're willing to try anything at this point.

warnings, etc. : fluffy, smut, praise, joel 'breeding kink' miller, p in v, unprotected sex, lingerie, creampie, pregnancy talk, this is just a quick little porny fluffy drabble lmao

a/n : yippee! happy 3rd day of oct!! def expect a lot of days switching around lmao, i'm just going w the flow lol

You stare at the bathroom mirror, you feel a little ridiculous but you know he’s had a hard week and at this point you’ll do anything to help him relax. So you put on the pink satin nightie your friend had convinced you he’d love. You put on a bit of makeup before opening the door a smidge.

“Close your eyes.” You sound like a child the way you whine.

“You’re killin’ me darlin’.”

“Please?”

“Okay, okay.” You can practically hear the way he holds his hands up in defeat.

You’re learning the hard way that trying for a baby is a long and arduous task. With Sarah in highschool, and Ellie in elementary, you’ve agreed now is as good a time as any to try for one more. The only problem is you haven’t been feeling great about how long it’s taking. You’re easily discouraged despite how willing Joel seems to try as often and as hard as possible to knock you up.

So when your friend who is currently six months along offered to give you some advice you were more than willing to sit down at a nearby mall and talk. You’d expected to hear the usual technical jargon. Track your cycle, avoid using lube, and reduce your caffeine intake. You’ve been doing all of that and more for months now with no luck but much to your surprise she had only one piece of advice.

“Have fun with it.”

It sounded absurd to you but she kept on explaining. Telling you that it was important that you were both comfortable and enjoying yourselves, it helped her to try new things. You tried to explain to her that Joel was old fashioned, he didn’t like new things. He liked you naked and in a bed, nothing fancy involved.

Your friend of course didn’t seem convinced, dragging you to Victoria Secret, insisting that the sheer little pink thing you’d settled on was perfect.

Except it doesn’t feel perfect.

Because now you actually have to show him and you’re pretty sure he’s just going to have you take it off immediately and you’ll feel like an idiot and this will all be for nothing.

You take a few steps out of the bathroom, he’s sitting on the bed, back against the headboards as move towards him. wringing your hands nervously. He looks like he always does. Handsome, and in his boxers and navy blue shirt. You’re beside him now and you’re just about to lose your nerve.

“Nevermind this is stupid.” You blurt out as he opens his eyes. You give him an apologetic smile as he looks you up and down. You turn around, wanting to just change and forget any of this happened as he grabs you by your arm, pulling you onto the bed.

“Not stupid, not stupid at all.” He stares at you, infatuated as he pulls you onto his lap. He takes a bit of the see through fabric in his hands, running it through his fingers. “S’pretty.”

“Really? You like it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I thought you didn’t like this kind of thing.”

“What kind of thing? Pretty things? I like you, why wouldn't I like this.” Your face gets hot as he lifts the fabric, running a finger along the hem of the matching pink panties.

“You really like it?” Your face is getting hotter by the second as he drags you forward by your hips so you can feel his hard on straining through his boxers.

“Like it so much.” He rocks his hips up against you with a groan. “Such a- fuck, such a pretty color.” He hooks a finger onto the crotch of your panties, pulling them to the side as he ruts up against you, watching with hungry eyes as you soak the front of his underwear. He usually spends quite a bit of time warming you up but now he seems wildly impatient as he pulls his dick out over the band of his boxers along with his balls. “Want you to wear this more often, s’nice.”

“Th-thanks.” You stammer out as he guides his cock into you as you sit up on your knees.

“Sit down, sugar, take it all, I know you can do it.” Once he nudges the first couple of inches into you he brings his hands back to the sheer fabric. You do as he says, taking your time until you’re fully impaled on it, the two of you moaning in unison.

“Oh, Joel.” You whisper, feeling the blunt head of his cock bump against your cervix.

“Bet this would be even prettier stretched over a round belly.” He squeezes your hips, leveraging you down onto him as he thrusts up into you. You’ve never seen him so worked up as his hips jolt up into you, his breathing going unsteady. He’s never been one to talk during the deed, usually all you can get out of him is a few grunts and curses but now he seemingly can’t stop mumbling to himself as he marvels at the way the pick fabric clings to you in some places while flowing freely in others. “Can’t wait to have you bouncing on my cock when you’ve got your bump.” The sudden vulgarity from him shoots sparks through your veins as you slowly start moving, raising and dropping your hips, reveling in the feeling of him filling you completely as he bunches up the fabric a bit, pulling it out of the way so he can watch you take him.

“Joel please-” You whine, your hands go to the headboard behind him to steady yourself. “Please touch me.” He enthusiastically obliges, one hand going to your clit while the other palms at your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers over the thin fabric. He leans forward, pulling your breast out of the nightie, sucking the tender flesh.

“These are gonna get bigger too.” He mumbles against your tit, your hips stutter as he sinks his teeth into the swollen nub. “Gonna be so round- and soft.” He sucks your nipple back into his mouth, his fingers picking up speed between your legs as you feel your stomach getting tight, your breath going ragged as you slam your hips down on him, pressing him deep against the spot inside of you that makes you see stars. “Come on- fuck, fucking take it.” He growls as he pops his mouth off of you, pulling you into a kiss as you chase the feeling inside of you, moaning against him until in one sharp motion you seat yourself on him completely, sending yourself over that edge.

His lips move from your mouth to your chin, then cheeks, then forehead, he kisses you everywhere as you work yourself through your orgasm, everything going tense as that white hot fire ripples through your veins.

When you come down from your high your legs feel like jelly and you honestly aren’t sure you’re gonna be able to keep going but thankfully he takes matters into his own hands, planting his feet on the mattress firmly behind you as he wraps his arms around your torso to keep you upright. He fucks up into you, his pace brutal and unrelenting as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“Gonna fill up this pretty pussy, make you a mama.” He murmurs against the sensitive skin of your throat, his thrusts quickly becoming clumsy as he groans. He’s quick to follow you, his cock pulses and you can feel him spill against your walls, his demeanor softens with his prick as he rubs his nose against yours. “I love you s’much.” He mumbles, gently lifting you, helping you off his lap as you lay beside him.

You take a moment, catching your breath as he leaves the room, returning quickly with a glass of water, handing it to you as he turns the lights off, crawling into the blankets with you as you lay your head on his chest.

“Love you.” He says quietly, giving you a quick kiss that you know means good night as he settles in.

You sit in silence for a few minutes before sighing mostly to yourself.

“What if this doesn’t work? Like ever?” You whisper into the darkness, curling yourself up closer to him.

You expect him to be asleep, or to brush you off, and to tell you that it will. Instead he just pulls you closer.

“Then we’ll keep trying. And if it doesn’t work then we’ll look into other options. I went through the adoption process once already, it should be easier the second time around.” He kisses your forehead and you feel him relax, you know he’ll be asleep in a few minutes. You’re just happy he’s willing to validate your worries.

“Good night, love you.” You murmur, you really do mean it.

He’s right. You’ll keep trying, and if it doesn’t happen, it doesn’t happen. There’s no way to know if you’re pregnant or not until then. (Although Joel isn’t all that surprised when you take a test two weeks later and are met with two blue lines.)

a/n : for the first time ever i actually like something i wrote lol

#lincolndjarin #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel tlou #tlou joel #joel the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #the last of us #fan fiction

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nouearth · 9 months

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an internship at wayne interprises. (part ii)

bruce wayne x male reader headcanons

part i.

warnings: smut, age gap, bottom reader, breeding, virgin!reader, top!bruce, established relationship, lowkey kind of fluffy, bruce is falling in love.

a/n: aaaand it's finally here! i hope you all enjoy the long awaited part two! i was watching american psycho recently and bruh, i forgot how hot he looked in it. like. i want to run my tongue all over him.

—as intimidating as bruce was, he never found the courage, or time really, to isolate you from your responsibilities.

—was it cowardliness that he was faced with? or was it that returning feeling that churned in his stomach, swelled in his chest, until it made him rethink the thoughts he’s had of you?

—guilt. he never felt it when he was jerking off to your pictures, which have become a daily routine now.

—but it returned in powerful marches, ached at the center of his heart, ridiculing him for thinking about his employee in such a crude, exploitive way.

—he always felt it when he saw you first thing in the morning, working quietly, mindlessly as your body had begun to become used to the caffeine.

—like wind chimes, you moved around people - around the wind - not with them, as you made your way to the break room.

—three packets of sugar and two spoons of creamer normally kept you awake, but the frozen pocket pizza in the toaster oven was the real source of your energy.

—bruce winced as he silently watched you from afar. you yawned, rubbed your eyes as the heat from the toaster oven warmed the surrounding area.

—jesus, no wonder you’re always so tired. look at the shit you’re eating.

—the march of soldiers, rioting against guilt, roared, and he was reminded of his privilege immediately after. a butler that had been providing him three nutritious meals a day since birth, and a garden of wealth that allowed him to afford a home gym with the best equipment; it was all handed to him and while he did his best to give back to the city, it was never enough to pacify the war zone of his chest. he was a person, a wealthy person, but a person nonetheless.

—you were a person.

—though ironically enough, he came to the the image of you hungrily licking the grease off your fingers when you were finished with breakfast later that night.

—there was always something new about you that he would fixate on when his hand met his cock, stroking it with a glorious amount of lube until it dried.

—though he never fretted, because your lips, your face, your nose - everything about you - milked him until the fresh stock of cum had become the only slime that layered his softening erection.

—like bruce’s nights, you’ve begun infiltrating the routine of his mornings now.

—or rather, bruce began infiltrating yours after he visited you in the break room for the first time.

—good morning, mister wayne…

—oh, new intern, right? your name was…?

—he always feigned his disinterest because he liked hearing your name come out of your handsome mouth.

—(m/n), sir…

—it sounded beautiful. the softness of your voice kindled a tenderness in bruce and it could’ve cradled him to sleep had the coffee from the break room not been so disgusting and cheap.

—the third time, he memorized the pattern you spoke in. your voice always trailed off at the end of a sentence as if it had been stolen by a criminal.

—it’s (m/n), sir…

—he wished he could be that somebody.

—the fifth time, he’d gotten used to the watery aftertaste of the coffee.

—wait, don’t tell me. your name rhymes with…

—and when you laughed because bruce was completely off by a mile, he saw a glimpse of your soul that had been sheltered by intimidation and anxiety.

—he learned he wanted to become a part of your life when he took you out for lunch.

—long overdue, but i usually take my interns out for lunch.

—bruce usually didn’t.

—oh—mister wayne, i don’t think that’s necessary… i already packed lunch.

—great! you don’t have to pack for tomorrow then.

—wait, but i haven’t set up the meeting with—

—i’ll get someone on it—already made reservations, c’mon.

—he’d learned so much about you that day, then the following, and the next; your upbringing, your hopes and dreams, your downfalls, it felt like he was walking on water with the way you willingly opened more of yourself every consecutive day.

—he could listen to you talk for hours, become poisoned by it if your voice was liquid, and bruce accepted that risk when he made another routine to invite you for lunch.

—previous nights were as followed: he stroked his cock to you, breathing heavily into the memory of your cologne, the wrinkles of your shirt, the curl of your lips when he made a joke.

—since he’d gotten to know you as more than a stained selfie, more than the meek statue that stood in the corner; instead of feeding himself with the thoughts of you that derived from pure lust, the reality of his nights had shifted.

—he stroked himself, that never changed. but he closed his eyes, breathing until he could see the ghost of you by his side.

—your shared bodies tensed into one another as his body curved forward into the arc of your back when he pushed in for the first time. you reached back to hold his thigh, pausing his thrusts because you needed to adjust, because you wanted to feel all of him in complete comfort.

—it was intimacy.

—it only melted - your body - when bruce kissed the shell of your ear, telling you that he’ll continue once you were ready. you let him in, sprouted for him like a bud in spring, and felt all of him swell larger inside of you with a whimper.

—it was vulnerability.

—he made sure you were touched, palming your erection as he rocked his own into your bud. from the nape of your neck to the hill of your back, he blessed you in the wet of his mouth, battling the sweat that had gathered on your body to see who would claim the vacancy of your body.

—he made sure to make you feel safe, drowning you in affection with his low voice, with the bridge that had constructed between your soul and his as he thrusted deeper, connected into you when he pressed into a spot that had the heavy air memorize every letter of bruce’s name.

—and finally crossed when he filled you with all of his endearment towards you, heavy and thick in combative sequence. he never pulled away in fret of losing the sentiment—in fret of losing you.

—it was love.

—from then on, bruce was devoted to melt the frost that had shielded you, just as you had melted his.

—because he was going to protect you now.

—the guilt that had been egging the shelter of his heart wilted in the pit of his stomach when he kissed you for the first time.

—and then completely died when you kissed him back.

—your arms were around his neck, and his were around your waist. you and bruce slow danced to the tune of his favorite song, in the middle of his living room, and so did your lips when he leaned in again.

—it never progressed further than that, despite the ache in bruce’s pants yelling at him to. he wanted to savor every moment with you, in case he happened to chase you away like he did with the others.

—you were special, and bruce held you like the rarest gem on earth for the first time that night.

—again, when he visited you in mornings to drive you to work.

—again, on nights where you were too tired to drive back to your apartment.

—again, after morning meetings were over and every businessmen and women left the vicinity upon the announcement of food catering a few floors down.

—and then again, when bruce’s thoughts had become a reality.

—b-bruce, ngh…

—you reached back to his thigh like in his thoughts, carefully maneuvering and pacing his thrusts into you. your breath stained deep into the cover of his pillow when bruce applied his weight into you, fitting his broad body to the dip of your back.

—i got you, hm? —nice and slow…

—his voice tickled your nape, soothing it with chaste kisses when your muscles tensed, and you breathed harder into the pillow when you let his thigh go, freeing him to do as he pleased. the warmth of your breath fogged your skin as his girth opened you to a profound feeling you’ve been too intimidated to discover

—faster, please…

—he was humored, not because you were embarrassing like the flush of your skin thought, but because you were still the same person he’d met months ago, appeased by it. you were calmed by an assurance, a kiss to your shoulder then your lips, yet your body only continued to bloom with roses.

—you’re still so polite even when we’ve done so many things together…

—bruce pressed deeper into you, panting in your ear as he delivered on your timid demands. he knew you now—read you like a book. you were too afraid to ask for anything despite becoming so vulnerable with each other, and he made sure that you were safe with him.

—your requests were silent sans the moans that have escaped, but he heard every single one of them. his hips drove into you harder for a few rhythms, then excruciating slower to coerce a plea out of you—to pull your beautiful moans along with desperation.

—he wanted to hear you, pulling himself completely out of your bud.

—f-fuuuuck, bruce! please—i need you, please.

—more, he needed to hear you want him as much as he’d been wanting you. his arms wrapped around your waist, and his fingers curled over your cock. it provided a friction, a hole for you to press into as his fist was sandwiched between your body and the bed, and you took the opportunity to desperately thrust into it.

—secretly, you’d hope to thrust yourself back onto his cock.

—but again, he knew you; silently observant and logical, and he raised his hips back, avoiding the desperate grinds of your bottom.

—how badly do you need me, hm? —how bad do you want me?

—bruce needed to hear it, to compel a truth to his prophecy. his hand unwrapped around you and you were left desperately grinding into the soft fabric of his sheets with a whine. they were music to his ears, and the drips of his cock dribbled over the curve of your bottom as if they were notes to a stave, to the sound of your torment.

—i-i need you, please…

—he exhaled.

—so bad.

—he gulped.

—so fucking bad…

—he throbbed.

—mister wayne… —please…

—bruce’s two worlds had collided: his previous thoughts of you rocketed into the current with a cloudy explosion, and he succumbed. you looked back at him with glassy orbs, sweat running down the side of your face, and bruce was overwhelmed by the beauty our deepest desires. how quickly it could destroy the barrier that we’ve built, how quickly he could destroy yours and unfurl your vulnerabilities when he finally drove himself back in one long and smooth thrust.

—f-fuuuuck...

—it was continuous. you wouldn’t admit it, but he knew you preferred being filled like this. he notified the curl of your fingers, clutching at whatever you could to fulfill the aching need to grasp onto something.

—god—

—hard when bruce came down, but slow and affectionate when he pulled out. you felt every thick inch sliding in and out of you. at times, you would purposely tighten in fear of losing bruce, but his thrusts reminded you that you wouldn’t.

—bruce reminded you again when his lips suckled on your shoulder.

—i’m close, (m/n)…

—when his hand stroked your aching cock.

—m-me too…

—and when bruce pushed all of his sweaty weight onto you with one hard thrust.

—shit, shit—

—the boiling feeling in his stomach unfurled inside of you to release his devotion in heavy, white loads. they filled you with heat, spreading thick within you as bruce slowly rocked himself weakly, squeezing every ounce of his love into you until you could feel it yourself.

—bruce—

—your eyes rolled back and you could feel the thick of his cum dripping out of you and down your legs the more he plunged into your hole, and it didn’t take very long for you to come undone yourself. the seam of your mouth kept your moans contained as you blasted bruce’s fist and the sheets with your affection, and it wasn’t until his hand came down to pump you that you exhaled a staggered, breathless groan. the drips came out heavy, sticky, and you rocked into bruce’s fist until they spread themselves thin onto your pelvis, over your cock, and stained deep into the sheets.

—as you both lay breathless, bruce remained on top, puzzled into you as he found comfort in your muscles loosening like the flaccid of your length. he continued playing with your soft flesh, squeezing and spreading the layer of seed that covered his hand, and chuckled when you silently squirmed.

—not away from him like he’d thought, but back into him.

—because he was your guardian now.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

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iguessthisisanewobsession · 1 year

Text

Ghostwriter was really asking for soup time at this point.

He had apologized for his first Christmas truce before, last year he even convinced Clockwork to help him make a copy of the original work he had ruined.

So why in god’s gracious earth did he wake up to Amity Park being in a hallmark movie.

Danny glared as the people milled about the center of town like they haven’t since the portal opening.

It was unnerving, the only thing really missing from the equation was some out of town love interest or something.

“Hey, excuse me.”

Tall and built with black hair and blue eyes.

Oh you got to be-

~~~~~~~~~~~

Dick tried to make himself look more charming as the guy he approached turned around.

When he heard that the justice league were getting concerning calls about a town In Illinois, he saw an out from the Christmas gala.

Sure Dick enjoyed the season, but the fact that he has to spend a large amount of the winter season putting up a front as the perfect firstborn was not something he wanted to do unless he had to.

That being said, the town was a bit unnerving. He hadn’t seen anything supernatural per say but the constant cheer is something he had only ever seen on the silver screen of his home. He had tried to approach several different people only to be met with seasons greetings and promptly ignored when as they ran off to do whatever small towns do for the holidays.

This guy at least wasn’t plastering a smile on his face.

“Hey, excuse me I’m new in town and looking around, my name is-“

“Let me guess, Rupert or Orlando or some shit.”

“What?”

“Well it has to be pompous and annoying. It’s kind of a trend and shit last time I checked.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about man I just wanted to ask-“

The man snorted as he left, throwing over his shoulder with a large amount of snark,

“For a tour around town? A place to stay? A friendly face? Sorry man, man but I’m not interested. The town square is full, ask someone else I have a date with a caffeine addiction.”

Dick watched a bit stupefied as the guy weaves into the ground and out of his eyesight.

“Well he seemed charming.”

Dick raised his phone to the earpiece and sighed,

“Yeah well, he’s the first person who didn’t sound like they weren’t on a script so far. I didn’t even know that midwesterners took Christmas so seriously. How long until you reach town Jay?”

I’m reaching midtown just about now. It looks like Santa took a shit on every-“

There was a sudden squeal of tires as the line cut.

Oh no.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jason gasped as he tried to calm his breath glancing at the guy he almost hit on his bike.

Jesus Christ that was close.

“Shit man are you alright?”

“Peachy. Always liked pancakes and all that.”

~~~~~~~

Danny felt a blush hit him as the behemoth of a guy let out a snort. It was embarrassing that he didn’t notice the guy until he almost became a smear, the dude was built like a tank and wearing a red helmet.

“I shouldn’t’ve taken that turn that quickly.. sometimes forget I’m not at home.”

“Oh yeah? Where’s home for you?”

“Gotham if you believe that.”

“Explains why you drive like you’re chased by death.”

“You have no idea..”

He took off his helmet with another snort and shake of the head. A white wisp in a sea of black shook out while mirthful blue eyes met his.

Crap..

“Name’s Jason. You are?”

“Nunya,”

The guy raised a brow mildly confused.

“Pardon?”

“Nunyabusinessbye!”

Danny took off before he was done with the sentence. He could feel eyes on his retreat for the second time today.

‘Jesus, smooth recovery Fenton.’

~~~~~~~~

Tim rubbed his eyes as he listened to his older brothers bicker over the coms.

He couldn’t understand the issue with the surveillance! All the cameras and mics are properly functioning but for some reason everything is corrupted and it’s driving Tim up a wall!

A break, Tim needed a break from this Airbnb and something caffeinated.

~~~~~~~~

‘Just ten minutes, ten minutes and he could get his drink, he could rant to his friends on the group chat afterwards and wait out the story. ‘

And with as much bravo as any tired young adult, he entered the shop.

Danny almost left the cafe as he heard another unfamiliar voice bellow out.

“What do you mean you don’t have coffee, it’s a coffee shop!”

Blue eyes, black hair, surprisingly smaller than the first two and eye bags that could rival Danny some nights.

Danny was done.

Fuck the treaty this was war.

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mudisgranapat · 3 months

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Civilian!Reader X BF!Simon

Imagine Simon being secretly obsessed with you

You and Simon met at a bar while he was out with Jhonny. Soap tried to get your number, but you had just broken up with your boyfriend, so you weren’t ready to move on. You let him buy you a drink, later sitting on the table with him and Simon, since the small place was crowded and you didn’t feel like standing up. After a couple of rounds, you’re talking about how your ex-boyfriend cheated on you, and Soap won’t stop saying he could help you forget him if you would just let him get between your legs.

You politely decline, and the three of you spend the rest of the night drinking and laughing, getting along surprisingly well. Although Simon is more social after a few beers, he’s still not much of a talker, preferring to spend most of the night listening to you and Jhonny talking. By the end of the night, Jhonny ends up getting your number after all, but so does Simon. You tell them you just moved into town, and could use some company.

With time, the three of you become friends, and you are later introduced to Kyle and Price during one of the many nights you meet Simon and Jhonny for drinks at the same bar. You never understand what exactly they do, but you don’t really care, it is nice to have some friends for a change (even if they are oddly secretive men with incredible muscles) .

Soap never misses a chance to flirt with you, even though he is well aware that, by now, he is deep into the friendzone.

Simon, on the other hand, spends the whole night listening to you, never once making an inappropriate advance. A perfect gentleman. No matter how small the problem, he’ll notice right away when something is bothering you. “What’s the matter, love? Someone at work giving you a hard time?” He’ll ask, using his fingers to tilt your chin up and look you in the eye. You sit beside him on the crowded bar, and tell him all about your problems. You rant about how your boss is too demanding, how the coffee from the shop you get your daily dose of caffeine from is getting too expensive and how you car is making a weird noise. Simon listens to you, nodding along the conversation and taking long sips from his beer.

The next day when you go to work, you notice the sudden silence that surrounds you on your drive, realising only a few minutes later that the weird metal clanking that used to come from the back of your car is gone. Your day gets even better when you stop at the coffee shop across from work and see that they were lowering the price of drinks due to “management changes”. You don’t even bother asking what that means, simply strolling into work with a smile on your face, ready to tackle all the issues your boss is bound to raise about the last stack of paperwork you handed him. But when you open your email, you’re shocked to see that all that your boss had to say was “Keep up with the good work”.

You immediately text Simon about how your problems seem to be melting away since you last talked to him. He’s pleased to hear that, and tells you that he’s always available for you if you need to talk. You come to the conclusion that talking to him and putting your problems out into the universe is manifesting some serious luck into your life.

Simon becomes your lucky charm. You don’t know what it is, but just talking to him seems to make all problems go away. Suddenly, there isn’t a part of your life you haven’t shared with him. From family problems to leaking sinks, he’s listening to you with a cigarette on his mouth, always looking into your eyes like you’re the only person in the world.

“Seriously, Simon. Thank you so much for listening to me complain all the time. I don’t know what I would do without you. Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person I can talk to.” You tell him one day over a cup of tea, after confessing to him that your ex-boyfriend had been stalking you for the last few days, but that you were too scared to go to the police.

“I’ll always be here for you, love.” He says as he wipes a stray tear from your cheeks. You feel them heat up at Simon’s sudden contact. What you don’t sense is the possessiveness that hides behind his words, the warmth that floods his eyes when he looks at you, only to quickly fade away when his eyes divert. Simon smiles, his face concealed by his mask, and the crinkle in his eyes translates to you a kindness that deceives the desire that seeps from his mouth.

Because, oh, how you had fallen into his trap. His perfect little angel, who now can’t go through a mild inconvenience without talking to him. Who isn’t afraid to confess her darkest secrets to him, and let him into her life without any hesitation.

Since he first saw you at the bar, he couldn’t believe how naive you were. Immediately telling him where you lived, how long you had been into town for and that you didn’t have many friends, since you had transferred in for work and your boss made you stay extra hours. You had no idea how dangerous of a man he was. Simon couldn’t stop thinking about how easy it would be to control you, to make you all his. While Soap distracted you with his nonsense flirting, Simon indulged himself wondering how long it would take to manipulate you into thinking you needed him, and how good it would feel when you finally gave yourself up to him. His obsession grew, and there wasn’t a night where he didn’t think of you on your knees in front of him, a pretty thing, reduced to his worshipper.

He wanted you to need him, to crave him, to be addicted to his words and to his touch. So he listened to you, he let you cry on his shoulder and hug him when you were lonely, he picked up every time you called and answered your messages with meaningful words. He played the long game, and now there you were in front of him, fragile and broken, waiting from him to pick up the pieces, waiting for him to cast his “good-luck” spell and make it all go away.

But it was never about luck. Simon was the one who sneaked into your garage and fixed your car, blackmailed your favourite coffee shop into lowering their prices and roughed up your boss inside his own office. He made a key to your house so he could make repairs without climbing the window, taking his time to watch you while you slept, happily unaware. He threatened your relatives when they made you upset and your ex-boyfriend… Well, he might not survive this one. Simon had already given him a beating the night you two met, when you told him he had cheated on you. Back then, he had only known you for a day. Now, you belonged to Simon, even if you weren’t aware, and nobody messed with what was his.

Note: A little imagine for you guys since i haven’t finished the chapter from my fic. hopefully you’ll accept this as my redemption.

god, i love psycho/toxic simon 😭 writing this because i literally can’t fall asleep thinking about this so i had to write it down. sorry if there are any mistakes, i’m literally writing this at 3 a.m.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #simon ghost x you #john soap mactavish #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley #nella writes

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total-dxmure · 1 year

Text

✦ MARLEY AND ME →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER ONE

pairing: modern!ellie williams x single mom!reader

summary: you’re a single mom just doing the best that she can to make ends meet. ellie can’t help but think that you're the kindest, most beautiful girl that she’s ever met. compared to taking care a little girl that's in her terrible twos, coming to terms with the fact that you’re a lesbian is a walk in the park. awkward first encounters, ellie’s broken gay-dar, and her overwhelming urge to take care of the care-giver. . . the road to domesticity is a long one, but it’s well worth the pining that it takes to get there.

warnings: hella SMUT! in future chapters, eventual substance use, no use of y/n (you have nicknames/petnames), the reader is marley’s biological mother, talk of coming to terms with ones sexuality, mention of a shitty baby daddy ( though there is no co-parenting between them), ellie is a total girl mom, lots and lots of fluff, ellie is an anxious dork in this fic, reader is broke but happy, ellie takes pride in being a provider, this is going to be a multi-part fic, ellie is an absolute simp for the reader since chapter one and will remain her #1 fan.

⬶ previous chapter | next chapter ⤅

Ellie counts the tiny bite sized pieces that you cut the pancakes into. You’re meticulous about it, taking your time despite the impatient look on the little girl’s face. She also notices the fact that all the woman has ordered for herself is a cup of coffee. No cream, just sugar and caffeine.

The auburn haired girl, from across the restaurant, is trying not to be too obvious about her staring. She’s trying to find any wrinkles on your face that might clue her in about your age, but she finds none. Ellie decides that you couldn’t be too much older than she is, and if you are, it was only by a few years.

She walks back up to your table, noting that you still haven’t called her back over to order any food for yourself. Every once in a while she’ll watch as you bring your fingers up to your plush lips to lick off syrup. She watches your mouth intently as you speak, noticing the endearing way your lips pull up at the corners. You smile when you talk, no matter what Ellie says to you. The waitress decides that she likes that. She likes that a lot.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything? The food here is really great, I promise.” Ellie offers, already reaching down into her black apron so that she can scribble something down.

Your smile falters, the slight switch of emotion not going unnoticed. The baby across the seat tries to say something, but the young waitress can’t make any sense of it. It just sounds like babble to her. You, however, understand what the little girl is saying right away. You must be able to speak the ancient language of “toddler”.

“Those aren’t flowers, baby. They’re ferns. Can you say ‘fern’?” Your tone shifts ever so slightly, your eyes dazzling with pride.

It’s the way that you look at the little girl sitting in the highchair that makes Ellie weak in the knees. She’s never been the biggest fan of kids, but the tiny butterfly clips that were fastened in her hair and her great, big eyes nearly has Ellie falling to her knees. In fact- she does. She crouches down and holds out her right arm, assuming that the baby was trying to point out something about her tattoo.

Warm, sticky little hands reach out and brush against her skin. Ellie’s lips are twitching up into a wide smile before she can school her features back into neutrality. You’re too busy admiring Ellie now that she’s practically in your lap to notice your daughter getting all grabby. You try to tell yourself that you feel for the woman since she’s showing your daughter affection, but her green eyes and freckled nose has your heart pounding harder than you deem as healthy.

Your daughter tries to sound out the word, and as quickly as your gaze had been snagged by the gorgeous girl in front of you, it was on your daughter just as fast. Your eyes widen, chest swelling with pride.

“That’s it, Marley! Say it again, baby.”

Ellie looks up at you from where she’s crouching, and suddenly her fitted black shirt feels a little too tight. She feels as though she might just burst right out of it, her chest expanding to make room for her swelling heart. This entire time she had thought that the little girl had to be your baby sister, what with your young looking face and the wrinkled band t-shirt you were sporting, but now she understood that the girl was your daughter.

Quickly the woman searched your finger for a ring, not wanting to be drooling over a married woman, but didn’t see one. Whatever guilt had just struck was gone in the blink of an eye, like a flash of lightning. Ellie was often teased by her friends and co-workers about her bad luck with women. Any girl that she’d ever had a crush on in the past was either straight, disinterested, or already seeing someone.

She’d be lying if she said that she had ever been in a proper relationship. Most of it was just short lived pining, immediately followed by devastating disappointment.

Ellie can’t help but wonder how it might feel to be on the receiving end of those beautiful, pride filled eyes of yours. They were beaming with admiration, so much so that Ellie could feel the warmth of it from where she stood. You were like the sun, and the pull towards you was gravitational.

The restaurant was dead, aside from you and a few regulars that she saw on a weekly basis. She didn’t feel as guilty as she should have for neglecting the other customers.

“How old is she?” You watched as the woman stood up, stretching her athletically built body from side to side, her muscles tired from a long day spent on her feet. She noted the way you watched her, filing it away somewhere in her brain so that she could go home and properly go through the “gay checklist” before she made a fool of herself by hitting on you.

“Two,” You replied with a smile. You completely melted as far as your daughter was concerned. “It’s almost like I blinked and all of a sudden she was up walking and talking. Right now we’re learning our colors and shapes.” You shrugged, picking the fork back up so that you could feed her another piece of pancake.

The little girl, that Ellie now knows is named Marley, eagerly opened her mouth.

Your daughter was the kind of little girl that could easily be plastered all over magazines. She looked like a doll. Really, if you were standing far enough away, you could mistake her for one. Babies were usually drooly faces and loud screams, but not Marley. No, she was a perfectly mannered and happy baby. With big doe eyes that matched yours and a wide, tiny toothed smile.

“Well you and your boyfriend must be proud. She’s gorgeous.” She knew it was normal, polite even, for people to gush over babies. She wasn’t lying for the sake of being nice though. Marley really was perfect.

Ellie instantly shut her mouth, so hard that her teeth audibly clacked together when she noticed the way that you winced.

She felt like shit about it, but a small stab of hope pierced clean through her heart. She was in college, and pining after a woman with a kid probably wasn’t something that she should busy herself with, but she couldn’t pull herself away from you. A simple “ready for the bill” would have sufficed as far as conversations went, but she wanted to know about you.

Because really, you were hands down the most beautiful girl that Ellie had ever seen. Your perfection didn’t stop there though. You were nice, and not just in a conversational sense. You were radiant in the way that you spoke to others. The second that you had sat down, you’d cracked a joke with the elderly man two tables down. You probably felt bad about him sitting all by himself. She’d seen you smile at every single one of her coworkers that had walked past you. You even seemed upset to bother her and ask Ellie if she could put your daughter’s juice in a cup with a lid. And here you were, talking to the waitress like you had known her for years.

No one, not even Joel, could fault Ellie for being dangerously attracted to you. Maybe it was the fact that you had such a nurturing aura about you, but Ellie couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to take care of you. She could tell by the light bags under your eyes, which you had skillfully tried to cover up with makeup, that you were a hard worker. Here you were, at a restaurant with a wide selection to choose from, only ordering food for your daughter. You were what Joel would call “a keeper”.

The inevitable moment of parting was coming though. Marley had devoured most of her flapjack, save for a few small bites that you were currently feeding her. That and your coffee mug was nearly empty. Ellie silently cursed herself for not filling it back up a few minutes ago. Maybe, if she had, you would have felt obligated to stay for a second longer. She reached into her pocket, placing the bill onto the table and taking a small step back.

“Here’s this, for whenever you’re ready. No rush.” Ellie held her hands up, taking another step back.

Much to her embarrassment, her hip banged against the side of the table that had been directly behind her. The wooden chair that had been underneath it scrapped loudly against the checkerboard tile, causing a few heads to turn and look at her. And of course, knowing her luck, you had seen and heard it all.

‘Smooth, Ellie.’ She thought wryly to herself, the taste in her mouth going sour.

She could feel heat reaching all the way up to her ears, and right when she was about to turn on her converse-clad heel and hide somewhere in the storage room, you pointed past her.

“I think that table needs a beating. How rude of it to trip you up like that.” You said, your brows playfully knit together in faux anger.

She audibly let out a breath of relief, unable to keep her face from sporting a smile. “Oh, I’m definitely taking it outside the second you leave. Wouldn’t want to beat it senseless in front of a child.”

Ellie thought that she had died and gone to heaven when you laughed at her miserable joke. Your eyes squinted at the corners, head thrown back slightly as your shoulders shook. Everything about you was hideously adorable. It should be illegal, actually.

“How courteous of you.” You teased, propping an elbow on the table so that you could rest your cheek against your hand. The look in your eyes screamed “play with me more”, and it took everything inside of Ellie not to back up into the table a second time.

Were you flirting with her? No. . . no way. You had a baby, which meant that a man had been involved at some point. Sure, lesbian couples had children all the time, but in most cases it was a long and arduous process. That and it was usually horrifically expensive. She couldn’t see you coughing up tens of thousands of dollars to conceive a child. Not when you were practically a child yourself.

“Well, you aren’t the first person to call me that.” Ellie decided to keep the teasing light hearted.

Ellie wasn’t exactly. . . subtle about the fact that she was gay. If the forearm tattoo of ferns and a moth wasn’t enough to clue people in, then her way of dress, posture, and demeanor surely tipped them in the right direction. You couldn’t think that you were play-flirting with a straight girl, that was for sure.

“Courteous? You? Who the hell told you that?” Her friend teased as he breezed past the both of you, a drink in either hand for the table in the far back.

Ellie clenched her teeth, turning her head so that she could give him a look. Jesse loved to publicly embarrass her it would seem. Not that she exactly needed someone to do that for her, not when she did it on the regular herself.

“Joel.” She snapped back, listing off the first person that came to mind. She instantly regretted it though, because Jesse only snickered as his reply. Did he really have to poke fun at her while she was talking to a girl? Knowing him and his antics he was probably doing it on purpose.

Ellie was left to fiddle her fingers, hoping that she could somehow recover for a second time within the span of a minute. God, she was totally blowing. . . whatever was happening between the two of you.

“Is Joel your boyfriend. . . ?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

You didn’t look all that disappointed when you asked. It just seemed like you were trying to keep the conversation going for a little longer. Still, Ellie’s freckled nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Ew.” She said simply, her mouth moving before she had the time to really think about how to properly answer. She wasn’t exactly a people person, and she quickly paled as she realized that she might have come off as rude. She fumbled, holding both of her hands up, a stuttering mess as she wracked her brain for the right words to say.

Once again though, she didn’t seem to need saving. You were laughing at her instantaneous reaction, finding humor in her awkwardness.

You found her endearing. Genuine people were few and far in between, and Ellie seemed to be one in a million. You could tell that she was the type of person that didn’t sugar coat things; she called em’ as she saw em’.

“Okay, okay,” You said through giggles, shaking your head. “So he isn’t your boyfriend.”

“Not at all. Joel is. . . well- he’s Joel. I was in foster care for a while, but he adopted me when I was fourteen.” This conversation was always a mood killer. Once the ‘O’ bomb was dropped, people often treated her differently. They danced around like they were standing on eggshells and looked at her like she was something to be pitied. Yeah, she had been an orphan, but she hadn’t had the opportunity to meet either of her parents. There was no one to miss. She had Joel, and she felt like that was all she ever really needed.

It was just her and Joel. That was her normal, and it was more than enough for her. Though. . . she’d probably die if she admitted that out loud to him. His brain would probably explode if she got all sappy around him, anyway.

“Well he sounds great then. Fourteen is a tough age- I bet you were super angsty.”

Ellie should have known that you’d be different. There was no “I’m sorry’s” or the awkward “dead parent” conversation.

“Oh, I was the worst.” Ellie agreed, a smile lighting up her features when she made you laugh for a third time. God, she must be on a roll.

“Well, here’s this,” You placed a twenty dollar bill on top of the ten dollar check. “You can keep the rest. I’ve been chatting your head off. I feel kinda bad.” You admitted, grabbing your purse and the small backpack that seemed to be packed to the brim with a child’s necessities.

Ellie could feel her palms beginning to sweat, so she nervously wiped them on the thighs of her black, well worn jeans. Should she ask for your number? Or would you see that as her shamelessly hitting on you and act weird?

Being gay, especially in a place like Jackson, was tough. Every female that she tried to make friends with got weird after she asked for their contact information, and men often saw her as some sort of accessory. As if hanging around her would make them look more non judgemental. That and the fact that males automatically assumed that she held all of the unshared, age-old mysteries of girlhood, and that she would divulge all of them.

“Hey-” Before she could even ask though, you had already opened your mouth.

“Do you mind if I asked for your phone number? Or if you feel more comfortable, I can get your instagra-”

“Phone number is great.” She breathed quickly, pulling out a piece of paper and a pen from her apron so that she could hand them over to you.

She would have just given you her number, but she was scared that she might never hear from you again. This way, she could be the person that built up the courage to call first. And she would. . . after a glass of whiskey. . . or a few hits from her bong.

You smiled warmly up at her, scribbling down your number as well as your name before folding it up into a square so that she could shove it into her back pocket.

“Have a good day. Don’t forget to text me, alright?” You shot her one last smile before picking your daughter up out of her highchair and placing her down on the ground. The little girl’s tiny shoes slapped against the floor as she walked quickly beside you, your hand already reaching down to grab a tight hold of her small palm.

You were almost out the door, the bell chiming as it swung open, when Ellie shuffled awkwardly.

“Drive safe!” She called out while she knew that you could still hear her.

You shot her one more megawatt smile before disappearing from view.

“Drive safe.” Jesse imitated her voice from behind her, his arms crossed over his chest as he smirked down at the petite female.

“Do me a favor? Shut the fuck up.” Ellie gave his arm a light punch before walking back into the kitchen, praying that none of the cooks would give her a hard time about her very obviously flushed face.

why not to buy tlou2 remastered (please read).

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mediumgayitalian · 2 months

Text

“Oh, shoot, sorry. Go back to sleep. Sorry.”

Nico shifts, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. The light in the infirmary is low, and strangely soothing. It’s almost hard to keep his eyes open. But he manages, rubbing his knuckles under the curve of his eyesockets, and searches in the dark until he finds what woke him up.

Will stands a couple feet away from his bed, figure curled and shadowy, owlish eyes wide and almost unnaturally reflective in the dark.

“‘S’okay,” he mumbles. “Couldn’t really sleep anyway.”

“Oh.” There’s a shuffling sound, and suddenly Nico feels warmer where Will has stepped closer. “You in pain?“

“No. Just bad at sleeping.”

“Hey, me too.”

Surprise at Will’s easy admission and a little bit starstruck at the bright flash of Will’s grin, Nico doesn’t have the chance to beat himself up over being so flippantly open. His teeth seemed to glow as much as the whites of his eyes, which would be creepy, except it’s hard to feel anything but calm as a cool night breeze wafts the scent of lavender from the sill planters in every inch of the infirmary, and it’s hard to think of Will as anything but warm. Especially the hand he places, briefly, on the curve of Nico’s knee.

“Insomnia?”

“Something like that.”

“Still. Sorry for waking you up.”

Nico hums, fiddling with his skull ring. “Why were you up, anyway?”

“Oh, I won’t have time to sleep for another couple days.”

There’s a mellow cracking sound, and then all of Will’s knuckles begin to glow a soft, sunset yellow. Nico startles.

“Apollo thing,” Will explains. A smirk is now visible at the corner of his mouth, forcing a dimple on his right cheek. In his hands, almost hard to see under the glow, are three small vials of something Nico doesn’t recognize. “Getting meds and salves in order.”

Hesitantly, Nico drags his gaze away from the clinking glass bottles, forcing himself to meet Will’s eyes. They’re ridiculously bright. Is that an Apollo thing, too?

“Why does that mean you can’t sleep?”

Will gestures to the myriad of occupied beds outside the curtains Nico has pulled up. “Shitton of injured, man. I got way more people than I got stuff. I prepped for the Romans beforehand, obviously, but I didn’t have a good hand on their numbers and didn’t prep enough. I’m short on supplies. Haven’t slept since Gaea did.” At Nico’s look of alarm, he quickly assures, “But don’t worry, I had Cecil brew me something strong. It’s disgusting, so I think it might be his Coffee Redbull Matcha Heartstopper Special, With A Shot Of Crushed Caffeine Pills For Good Measure, but I’m not sure. Hands are only a little shakey, though, feel.”

In a mirror of a few days ago (fuck, Nico hopes he’s kidding; how long can people go without sleep?), he darts out and rests his hands under Nico’s. Sure enough, they’re trembling, although nothing nearly as bad as before.

“Dangerous levels of sleep deprivation aren’t as bad as delivering a baby, huh.”

Will shudders. “Don’t even joke.”

He looks so genuinely horrified that Nico can’t help but laugh. All they’ve seen, all they’ve suffered — and golden boy is gagging at the miracle of life. If Nico wasn’t so sure that he’d seen at least as many gory nightmares as Nico, if not more, he’d tease him for being squeamish.

…Actually.

“What kind of school nurse wannabe is squidged out by birth?”

“Nurse?” Will squawks, snatching his hands away (Nico finds his own hands, strangely and suddenly, cold). “I didn’t go to seven years of med school to be called a school nurse wannabe!”

Nico narrows his eyes. “You didn’t go to med school. You’re fifteen.”

“As I said.” He grins teasingly. “I didn’t go.”

It takes Nico a second, but when he gets it he cannot physically hold himself back from kicking him. Solace, weak from muffled laughter, stumbles sideways into a lamp.

“Ay! Be careful, you wanna kill the camp’s only brain surgeon?”

“If he’s being annoying,” Nico bites back. He can’t quite stop smiling, and he’s embarrassed about it, but thankfully the darkness hides his face. “There’s no way you’ve done brain surgery.”

The shitty cot Nico’s been coerced into camping on for the next three days creaks as Will perches on the edge of it.

“Have so. In the woods, two years ago, removed a brain tumour. Stressful as shit.” He flashes another sideways grin. “Couple dozen more medical emergencies under my belt, and I might actually be as qualified as a nurse in this country’s garbage medical system. Thank the gods for them, honestly. They do a shit lot more than a lot of doctors claim to.”

Sensing the topic change for what it is, Nico doesn’t press any further. “That what you wanna do?”

“Aw, man, I don’t even want to think about it. The idea of someone else running this infirmary gives me a stress ulcer. Y’all do a lot of stupid shit and frankly some of the procedures I have performed exist in no medical textbooks anywhere, medical or no.” He snorts. “Anyways.”

His hands are blazingly warm again, almost like sun through a maginifying glass, when they pat his shin twice. He stands, stretching — more bursts of light appearing along the length of his spine, lighting what his fading knuckles leave out.

“Try to sleep again, Neeks. You’ll need it.”

“Maybe I should be the one to say that to you,” Nico says. Will waves his hand dismissively, and in a fit of impulse Nico reaches out and grabs it, meeting his raised eyebrow with a stubborn set to his jaw. “I mean it, Will. No one’s awake right now. I just woke up. Why don’t you crash for an hour or so? I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

Will hesitates. “If anything happens, that’s on me. It — I can’t let it be on me.”

“Do you trust me?”

Stupid question. Of course Will doesn’t trust him, Nico let someone die in front of his eyes, Nico is the bringer of death and darkness, why would he —

“Yeah.” Will sighs. Nico looks up, startled, but the medic is eyeing one of the few spare cots, face screwed up in consideration. “You’ll wake me?”

“Immediately,” Nico assures hastily. He nods his head at the bunk next to him. “Sleep, man. You look like you need it.”

“Oh, well, just what I’ve always wanted to hear from you. You look stunning, by the way.”

Nico knows it’s a joke, but he flushes anyway. Thank Hades again for the dark infirmary, and the length of his hair.

“Whatever. Sleep or don’t.”

“I’m going, I’m going.”

In seconds he’s out of his flip-flops, slightly-scratchy blankets turned up and wrapped tightly around him all the way up to his neck.

“Thanks, Nico. I owe you.”

In the next breath, he’s out, all that’s visible of him the flutter of his light eyelashes and the tangled mop of blond hair. He snores, slightly, with every puffed exhale; a tiny, stuttered sound, not unlike a cat. It’s kind of cute, and Nico’s smiling before he realising.

“You don’t owe anybody shit.” He shakes his head fondly, leaning back onto his pillows to keep an eye out. “Goodnight, Will.”

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ugh-yoongi · 1 year

Note

For your Yoongi drabbles - reader has a crush and talks about “him” constantly, but Yoongi doesn’t know it’s him until someone else spills readers secret.

this was so cute, thank you for requesting! sorry for the giant meme, but it is literally the exact vibe of this so i had to use it.

loose lips

pairing: yoongi x f. reader genre: friends to lovers, miscommunication (??), fluff warnings: swearing, drinking, namjoon namjooning, unedited rating: e for everyone! there's nothing bad in here wordcount: 1k

it's bee's birthday! send me yoongi requests and/or fic recs!

Min Yoongi is a lot of things.

He’s meticulous and prone to overwork and also lazy and uninspired. He’s chronically over-caffeinated and always half-asleep. He’s the first to blow off plans and the first to pout when he no longer gets invited. He’s brusque and a bit of a bastard but also pleased to be fussed over and taken care of. The kind of person who needs to be wrangled into physical affection, because he just can’t seem to verbalize his desire for it.

Min Yoongi is a lot of things, but he is not, under any circumstances, prone to gossip.

Jung Hoseok, on the other hand, has no such hangups.

Which presents Yoongi with an interesting dilemma. He has to piss, but he has to pass the kitchen to get to the bathroom. And Yoongi is a lot of things and not one of them is prone to gossiping or eavesdropping, but it’s hard to push aside the intrigue of you and Hoseok speaking in hushed whispers in his own kitchen, heads pressed together like conjoined twins.

It looks like a whole lot of conspiring is going on. He refuses to pout.

“You seriously haven’t told him yet?” Hoseok says, and Yoongi can just make it out, but he’s known Hoseok long enough to register the exasperation in his voice. God knows he’s been on the receiving end of it more often than not.

You groan. Probably shoot Hoseok an exasperated look of your own that Yoongi isn’t privy to. “It’s not that easy.”

“It absolutely is that easy. How hard is it to say—”

“Can you shut up?” you whisper-shriek. “You are so annoying—”

“—Hey, I have feelings for you. Would you wanna grab coffee?”

Yoongi is pouting before he even realizes his face has contorted. Sure, he can be jealous. Someone will always be a better musician, have more money, live in a nicer apartment and drive a nicer car and wear nicer clothes. Now, though… someone out there can have you, and that thought tastes sour in his mouth.

It’d been Jimin’s idea to come to Itaewon.

At least they’re at the bar with the good whisky, because Yoongi will max out his credit cards to escape the hell in which he’s found himself. It’d been bad enough with Hoseok, but now he has to deal with it from Taehyung and Jimin, too.

Do you think she’ll ever tell him? This is getting painful.

I don’t know. Hey, are you going to eat the rest of your fries?

Are you fucking serious? Of course I am, I bought them for me—

It’s stupid. It’s so fucking stupid, because everyone seems to be in on a secret he isn’t, but he looks across the bar and finds it hard to care. There you are, laughing wildly as Hoseok twirls you around on the dancefloor. All the lights in this place combined can’t outshine you—not on your worst day, but especially not when you’re like this.

So. Yoongi’s pouting again, plush bottom lip jutting out far enough to brush against his glass of whisky. He’d finally given up and splurged on something top shelf. Figured it’d get him to where he needs to go faster than anything else, because Yoongi is a lot of things and a dancer isn’t one of them, so he’s doomed to spend the night at this table, sandwiched between Taehyung and Jimin.

Listening to them drone on and on about the guy you’re interested in.

He wonders what he’s like. How the two of you met. He pointedly does not think about whether or not this guy’s a dancer, a musician, if he can always afford top-shelf whisky. He wonders if you’re gonna make Yoongi meet him. If he’s gonna have to play nice and pretend to think this guy is cool and interesting. He can pretend, he thinks.

If it’s important to you, Yoongi can do anything.

Namjoon will know what to do, because Namjoon never actually knows what to do about anything and still somehow always arrives at the correct answer.

“Why am I here, hyung?”

Yoongi clears his throat. Spears another piece of beef and puts it on Namjoon’s plate like a peace offering. Orders another round of beers even though he hasn’t touched his first. “Uh,” comes his eloquent response. “Well—”

“Jesus Christ,” Namjoon mutters, face-planting onto the table. “This is worse than I thought.”

Min Yoongi is a lot of things, but if he’s worse than Namjoon thought, he’s in deep shit.

“Um—”

Namjoon picks his head up. Studies Yoongi for a minute, clearly looking for something, before he pinches the bridge of his nose and says, “It’s you, hyung. She’s hung up on you. And I shouldn’t even be telling you this, because we all just assumed both of you would eventually remove your heads from your asses and get it together, but fuck, this is painful. I can’t do this anymore, you know? I’m not your feelings friend. Jimin is your feelings friend, but he said you just sulked the entire night at the bar—”

“I didn’t sulk,” Yoongi argues, but the words are spoken around a pout.

All he receives in return is A Look. “That’s what you’re focusing on?”

Yoongi is a lot of things.

Today, he’s a coward, which is new.

He’s not usually a coward, it’s just… he knows how to be jealous and how to sulk and pout and not get what he wants. Those things are easy. But he has no idea how to deal with the bomb Namjoon had dropped on him. He’s not even sure it’s the truth. What if Namjoon was just fucking with him to get him to stop sulking? That’s absolutely something Namjoon would do because he’s done it before.

He sighs. Stops to catch his breath because you live on the sixth floor in a building with no working elevator and he doesn’t work out, so he’s really going to be pissed if Namjoon lied.

“Yoongi? What’re you doing here?”

His heart really does stop this time, because there you are, fresh-faced and smiling and a little confused, and Yoongi knows his face is splotchy and red and that his hairline is sweaty. “Yeah, hi,” he says, and it comes out like an immensely displeased grunt. Doesn’t sound at all like he’s happy to see you, and—oh. Yeah. He can understand now why you might’ve been hesitant to say something.

“Sorry, I just—these steps, you know?”

“Yeah, they said the elevator’s finally getting fixed next week.”

“Thank fuck.”

Your brows knit together. “You planning on coming by more often?”

Yoongi is a lot of things, but right now he’s impatient. So he closes the distance between you in record time and says, “Yeah. Listen, Namjoon told me this guy you and Hobi have been talking about is actually me—”

“That duplicitous snake—”

“—and I’ve kind of been losing my mind over it, because I feel the same way, so if it’s true I’d really like to kiss you, but I’m not entirely sure Namjoon wasn’t just fucking with me—”

“Oh, like that time he told you he’d seen your rejection letter from SNU just so you’d stop stressing over whether or not you got in and that you’d be even more excited once you did, in fact, get in?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Namjoon is a bastard. You should kiss me, though.”

Min Yoongi is a lot of things.

As he presses his lips to yours—soft, soft, soft—more than anything else, he’s happy.

#beeday drabbles #jewel answers #jewel writes #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi fluff #yoongi scenarios #yoongi imagine #yoongi drabble #yoongi fanfic #bts imagines #bts x reader

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neopuppy · 2 years

Text

Sleep Therapy (M)

Pairing. demon Jaemin x femaler reader

Genre. That Boys Is A Monster AU, life after Be There For You, explicit smut, M/F, dark fic

Warnings. heavy dubcon/noncon elements(don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable. I’m serious. thanks.), somnophilia, breeding, rough and unprotected sex, impreg kink, demon lore, camera use, praise, degradation, obsessive behavior

WC. 6.6(6)k

Now Playing. Slept So Long/Jay Gordon

‘Just wanted to watch you sleep. Wanted to be part of your dreams.’

It’s been hours.

It’s been days.

It’s been weeks.

Herbal teas, over the counter Melatonin, even prescribed sleep medication that could knock out a small child for days scattered your living room table; piled up only to mock you.

Useless, all of it completely useless as you enter another night of restless sleep.

Debilitated by lack of rest has forced you to take a sabbatical from work, per the suggestion of your regular physician. One week at the hospital under careful watch had you in tears every morning, pleading for something to help you. Anything.

It was more than the bags formed under your eyes. Hallucinations had become a reoccurring issue the longer you walked around like a living dead girl, unclear visions of men transforming into monsters; nightmares turned into reality.

“A sleep clinic might be our last hope,” your physician shrugs, having only reached this point with you after insisting you must be exaggerating. “I’ve contacted Dr. Na at the Vision Clinic, he’s the best Somnologist in the district. You should be in great hands.”

Great hands.

Great hands that led up to built up arms confined in a lab coat. Broad shoulders and a warm handsome smile that seems too blinding to even stare at for much long.

Dr. Na floats around his desk to greet you, light as a feather with the most calm of demeanors.

He smells lovely, soothing in a way similar to a hot stove warming up holiday cookies. Nothing too strong, but just enough to pick up a whiff of as he embraces your hand in greeting.

“My new patient.” He speaks with sparkling pearly white teeth on display. Every inch of him is a reminder of how wealthy Doctors are, from the silver Rolex watch adorning his wrist down to his freshly shined designer shoes.

He manages to maintain warmth in his gaze despite the obvious differences between the two of you.

Greasy hair, flesh empty of life and sweats you’ve turned into daily wear paired with fluffy Ugg slippers stand before him on your meek frame. Shyly nodding when he double checks how to pronounce your name and directs you to sit.

Dr. Na seemed too young to be a seasoned professional in this field. He couldn’t be much older than his mid-twenties. Albeit difficult to truly take him in full admiration as he sits against the ledge of the large crimson wooden oak desk placed in the center of his office. He takes time to run through your chart again, repeating the things you’ve heard for months now. No prior health issues or concerning conditions, a proper diet and lifestyle, nothing that could conclude how you’d end up here.

“How’s your caffeine intake?” Dr. Na asks with a charming lift at the corners of his mouth.

“Haven’t had any in two months now.”

“There are many causes behind insomnia.” Dr. Na nods, scribbling notes down while explaining. “I’ll schedule an MRI scan for later today to conduce if this could be connected to a chemical imbalance.”

“Chemical imbalance?”

“Emotional stress, perhaps trauma, lifestyle changes.” He smiles, akin to the way a Kindergarten teacher may when speaking to a naive child. “We will figure it out.”

Scribbling a few more notes, Dr. Na rips out a section of paper instructing you to head down to the cafeteria designated for patients to eat a proper meal. “I’ll be sending out the order for new medication to try. When it arrives at your room please make sure to follow the nurses directions and take them all. I will come by to check on you as soon as I have an open window of time.”

Dr. Na shifts to stand, the full size of him shadowed above your frail exhausted frame. “We’ll see how your nightmares play out this evening, once I can look through your MRI scan results we can move on to other options, such as hypnosis.”

“Hypnosis?” Even your speech comes out in a lazy drawl. Tongue heavy and dry, dizzy on your feet when you get up to head down. Already aware that you wouldn’t be eating much, even lifting a fork to your lips drained you.

“Of course, it’s one of my specialties.” He chuckles. “Might sound silly but I have a real knack for mind control, you’d be surprised how easy it is to dominate the human mind. It’s easier than training an animal.”

If it wasn’t for the speckled white dots infiltrating your vision, you might’ve noticed the slight change in Dr. Na’s expression. The flicker of black consuming his iris, the drag of his tongue across his upper row of teeth, and the amused hum passing through his throat as he takes in your appearance up close.

It’s been hours.

It’s been days.

It’s been weeks.

It’s been longer than that, months of watching you come in and out of your apartment. Endless days of parking far enough across from you to fly under your radar.

There was no rush, until there was.

Suddenly you had a companion walking you to your car after work, you had a reason to shop for pretty dresses, you sprayed more perfume on and smiled to yourself when opening up notifications on your phone.

Suddenly you felt further away, distracted by him. The stupid new much too friendly Economics professor who had found a way to stayed plastered to your side.

It’s too late anyway.

The sound of Jaemin’s knuckles cracked, echoing loud enough to lift your head with a glance around the coffee shop you frequented. He stayed leaned back in a corner less lit up, less noticeable, especially to someone as oblivious as you.

Someone so carefree and innocent, someone who didn’t even bother to make sure to grab the right drink from the counter when the barista called out your name. It was too easy to blindside you, drop a concoction of sleep medication in your cup as he picked up a quad shot Americano sitting near your milky vanilla latte.

Sip after sip had you yawning despite the powerful caffeine. Time and time again your usual morning pick-me-up failed you, to the point that you argued with the baristas about changing ingredients and formula.

It was too late.

Half asleep and drowsy, your key prodded at your front door in frustration, collapsing against it with your eyes shut and a crushed sigh.

The trap had been laid out, more out of enjoying the breakdown of watching you suffer and lose interests in everything the more you stayed awake night after night.

It made him laugh, entertained pulling on invisible puppet strings where he watched from down the hall as you crumbled to your knees, whining desperately for the key to unlock your apartment.

Weak, a perfect victim.

Jaemin had spent time finding you, it hadn’t been easy. Escaping hell never is afterall, bargains had to be made.

A vessel for his spawn, a strong healthy human vessel that could survive demonic childbirth. That was Johnny’s demands.

‘More than 1, I expect you to bring back many.’

You’d only be the first of the batch, the first to carry his lineage, the first to take his seed and hand over every bit of strength your little body had left in it after he finished.

and you’re perfect, immaculate in every way to carry his first child. The epitome of woman from the inside out. The sole purpose of your existence to be bred full, nothing but a hole to fuck.

Jaemin can’t deny the sick pleasure he gets just from watching you nearly pass out at your front door. A bump on your head the next day would be the only hint of what possibly took place. The bulky arms cradling your limp figure to bed would feel like a faded memory, the sound of your door being kicked shut, nothing more than a foreign thought, a distorted picture of a man hovering above you stripping off your clothing to settle you into your bed more of a nightmare than a dream.

Demons don’t have hearts, they don’t feel, they don’t care.

But you’d always be the first.

You’d always be special in comparison to the rest. The first kill of the hunt, the first prey to fall victim, the conquest alone would be more monumental than any of the rest. You’d be his favorite memory, the one he chose first.

Hunger and ache to destroy mattered more, and as his thick fingers dragged down your stomach, following the path of breaths lifting your ribs higher and lower, he salivates. He swallows at a dry itch at the bottom of his throat, fingers crushing your waist to dip in harder.

“Sleep tight princess.” He always spoke to you, a mere muffled sound in your mind.

Muffled sounds, staggered breaths, heavy weight suppressing your lungs and throat. Pain and fear, a dark sensation followed whenever the recollection of thoughts swarmed around.

It could be after a shower, brushing through your hair, applying lotion, dressing for work. The shadowed memory of something you can’t prove ever happened lingers.

Not even the pain in your lower back, the soreness between your thighs or marks blooming across your skin make any sense. Every idea or thought only seemed less plausible. No sign of break in, no clue to indicate intrusion to your home.

The thought of a demon stalking you day and night would never cross your mind.

Demons aren’t real.

Religion had never been an interest for you, your family hadn’t pushed any beliefs to follow. Most of what you’d learn about religious mythology stemmed from horror films, and demons just seemed like such an outlandish idea. A joke.

Why would you ever assume the doctor assigned to solve your problems could be the root of them.

Jaemin watches you sleep for the hundredth time, removing the crisp white lab coat to hang on a hook. He sits near the special bed for out-patients, away from the noise of machines and heart monitors. It’s quiet, peaceful and calm even as you sweat, breathe heavily and twist to hide your face.

Ruined. Mind deteriorated by dark evil, by happenings you have no control over.

It’s not the first time he’s visited your slumbering figure, your bare skin more ingrained in his mind than your clothed one.

The doors locked, nurses working the night shift too busy with sick patients to check on someone knocked out with sleep disorder.

Upon Dr. Na’s instructions no one should come by. As he undoes the buttons of his smooth ironed shirt he grins to himself. A camera’s set up in the room to capture your sleep schedule, how often you wake, if you sleep at all.

The dosage of medication you consumed tonight would be enough to tranquilize even a large dog. There’s no way you’d wake up tonight.

He didn’t want you to remember tonight, as much as the thought of your eyes fluttering open letting out a shrill scream when you see the visual above you made his cock twitch. A tingle burned from the bottom of his spine to his throat. It’d be fun to have you half-lucid, shouting and begging for him to stop.

But it’s more appealing to watch your arm flop limp at your side. Entertained by the way you seem uncomfortable even as you sleep.

Special.

Jaemin thinks about it, pushing the hospital gown up past your waist. He sucks at saliva filling his cheeks taking in the cute pair of light rosey toned panties hiding your center. You’re not even wet, yet, not that he cares. His cock only hardens thinking about it, smoothing down the expanse of your inner thighs. You’ll struggle more to take his size, cry and curl in to get away. Grip at the sheets by your head for some semblance, for anything to ground you and focus your pain elsewhere.

It’s not the first time he’s slowly tugged off your underwear. It’s not the first time he’s stretched your thighs open as far as they’re willing to go. The small scrunch in your nose informing him the pull hurts your hips, it aches up to your groin.

This is good, Jaemin thinks, this is good because he wants you to remember this. He wants you to know you’ve been claimed, fucked by something devilish and unholy. Touched and destroyed by sin in its human form. He wants you to see how well you take it, how your pilant body still manages to jerk and roll up seeking more of his length to dig deeper inside of you.

Tossing your underwear aside, he pauses to blink at the red light flashing on the camera. Recording everything he’s about to do.

He’s waited, waited so long that his cock twitches fiercely against his thigh at the visual of your exposed cunt.

Jaemin wants to take his time, savor the natural scent flowing from your middle. Drag his fingers aimlessly between your folds until you slicken up obscenely, bite every inch of skin, slap and knead handfuls of meaty flesh in a rough manner. Turn you on your stomach to force your ass up in his face, push your pussy folds open just to watch your hole plead. Empty. Begging for a fucking demon to fuck you even if it hurts, even if you don’t actually want it.

He wants to take his time, but he can’t. It’s been months of pulling out, jerking off on your pretty face, cooing and mewling above your cum splattered stomach. Smearing the warm arousal up your chest dreaming of the day he pours load after load inside of you.

and it’s time, it’s time to ruin you for good. Force your unconscious body to take and take.

One hand delicately tugs and strokes himself, hissing as he jerks away from his thumb rubbing across the head. Precum gathered there smearing around the tip, coating it in a thin layer of sticky gloss. His other hand works away the gown hiding your full breasts, ripping off the flimsy garment easily. Easy access to strip a patient, easier access to have you bare and ready for him.

His breath staggers, gliding the pads of his fingers down your chest. Your sternum rising and falling as a human should, because you’re full of life, full of emotions and feelings he could never understand anymore.

The connection to his human self evaded his memory years ago. Void of the life he once had, lifeless, mindless and consumed by nothing but the desire to create pain. To watch a stupid human like you in agony.

A stupid, stupid, pretty little human. Nothing more than a warm blood filled fleshlight to fuck.

Jaemin lets out a chuckle, dropping his neck back to stroke himself above your stomach. Slapping down the middle of your abdomen a few times just to watch your skin tremble beneath, just to picture how far deep inside of you he can reach. With your hips pushed up and expanded, he knows you’ll birth a child for him easily. A new spawn to create a powerful army in hell. The first of his bloodline to lead and carry on the fight for evil.

He knows you’ll make it through, because he won’t give you a choice.

Rubbing the head of his cock up from where your stomach dips to your navel, he almost wishes you’d wake up. Your weak arms would push up, slap his chest, punch his arms, burst into tears with protests.

That will come, in time.

In the meantime, he prods your belly button, smirking at the thought of fucking you there too. Fucking every hole on you just for fun, because who fucking cares what the king of hell demanded. Jaemin’s going to fuck you until only his needs are met and fulfilled.

The thought races through him spine to balls, hunching forward as he shifts on his knees. The bed dipping and creaking under his weight, switching to rub the tip on your clit.

Still dry.

Dry but warm. Warm enough to be incinerated by the jagged rub of his size passing between your folds. It’s dry, but it’s fucking good, just to feel your fleshy folds struggle along his veiny stiff rod. Just to feel your skin pucker against the sticky pre-cum coating areas of his shaft.

He grunts, rubbing his cock against the plush feel of your parted pussy folds, sneaking quick glimpses of your hole— so tight and closed up. Too tight to take his size without it hurting, without ruining your pussy to only take his cock.

He’s way too big, and he knows it. He knows it from the amount of times he's played with you, just swiping against your cunt. Teasing himself to the point of mind-numbing overstimulation by putting in just the tip. Whimpering even in your sleep from the push ripping you open.

Sucking at the drool lining his bottom lip, he staggers for a minute, pushing side to side against your pussy. Lazily drawing his eyelids up to take in your angelic face once more, so much purity and tenderness. All of it soon to be his.

The slumber you’ve drifted off into isn’t peaceful in the least. It’s hot, weighing down on your chest, an itch passing through your nerves. Running through endless hallways filled with doors leading to nothing, nothing but black emptiness.

It’s been Jaemin all along, smoothing your hair away from your face. Snaking his lips over your body layering patterns of kisses. Jerking off for hours on your face, chest, stomach, anywhere he felt like.

He thinks about it again, nudging in not even half of the tip against your resistant entrance. A rubber band-like snap pinches around the width of his size. The skin sucking around him already appears damaged, further arousing him to inflict pain upon you, to make it hurt. Make it hurt knowing you have no choice but to take it and enjoy it against your will.

Groping your jaw with one thick hand, he turns your restless passed out face to watch him; easy to picture your eyes shooting up full of red vessels and tears. It burns from his chest to his lower back, swiveling his hips to push in the rest of the tip of his length. The bulbous mushroom shaped cap suffocates inside of you. Dry and tight as fuck, he thinks fervently, hissing between his teeth shining under the dim light as his lips part in moan.

It’s more than good just to feel you choke around the tip, your mouth falling open with a staggered breath allowing him to pinch and roll your plump bottom lip between his fingers.

Jaemin pauses, once more absorbing just how lifeless and limp you lay spread open. Part of him craves for you to wake, to stare up in shock paralyzed by fear, to be able to relive the torture he’s prepared to demonstrate. To enjoy it, because you’re actually nothing but a filthy slut; his own little human fuck doll.

It’s time. It’s finally time.

Saliva drenched digits drag down your chin, the center of your throat, dipping between your exposed breasts. Hardened pebbled nipples peak upward, more stiff from the chilled air circulating the room than excitement. You’re too unaware to feel aroused or anxious, too lucid, lost in the nightmare grappling you through hell.

Even if you were to wake up, Jaemin would only fuck you harder, tackle you down to take, take, take.

A shot of exhilaration curls through his gut, tugging his spine toward his navel as he hunches closer with one hand planted by your head to stay propped up. Jaemin’s gaze locks on your core, a pussy made just for him, because it doesn’t matter who fucked you before. He’d be the last.

The slow drag out of you draws an anguished sounds from the back of his throat. He needs to see you one more time, one more time before he claims and makes you useless for anyone else.

With a fist wrapped around his length, his other hand palms your cunt, shoving your swelling slit open to see the full visual of your hole. So empty, tiny, like a fucking virgin.

It really makes his head spin for a minute, rubbing the pad of his finger in a circular motion over your entrance. The airy gurgle that escapes your lungs shoots his eyes wide, focused on your face burying into a pillow. He tugs on himself a few more times, mindlessly rolling two digits over the precum that won’t stop leaking. He needs to fuck you, now.

Stifling a grunt, Jaemin shifts an inch closer, wrapping a thick bicep under your thigh to spread you open more. The head of his cock swipes between your core, slapping down heavy. Heavy and loud despite the lack of wet to clash against. Wedged up as close as possible between your thighs, and Jaemin has to grit his teeth to contain a growl. Pushing his hips forward to rub the underside of his cock against your clit, he wants to let out a throaty cry; a muted sound of pain when he feels it.

You’re clenching around nothing, seeking something.. someone to fuck you. Unaware of what your body is even asking him to do. Each drag spurs your hole to clamp down more, the first push of wetness spewing out smears against his balls. His throat tightens up swiping between you again, the tip teasing and brushing against your entrance without entering.

Jaemin’s nostrils suck in, inhaling a deep breath as he watches his cock bounce off your fleshy folds in slow-like-motion. Nasty, so nasty and raw, wet for anyone like the textbook definition of a fucking whore.

The next stroke along his cock glides easily, wet from your dripping pussy, wet because your body wants him whether you’re awake or not. He doesn’t care, but he knows it, he knows from the way you stare. The dreams you have of him not even under his influence.

Pressing at your hole again has him drooling, laving at the innerwalls of his mouth to collect the saliva that won’t stop from pouring.

“Fuck.” Jaemin finally grunts, biting down on his teeth as he sinks inside of you. It’s wet and tighter than he could have ever imagined. The hand wrapped around himself hardly comparable after many nights spent jerking off on your backside.

A smooth thrust fills you up eagerly, a perfect fit making it too hard to hold back from cramming into you balls deep.

Jaemin stills for a minute, long eyelashes fan on the tops of his cheeks. Swallowing harsh enough for his Adam's apple to visibly bob up and down the length of his dipped back neck. “So fucking good, just like I knew you would be.”

Palms scramble along the sides of your thighs, grinding forward to watch your mouth fall open again. A silent cry he wants to hear echo through the room simply not enough. Reaching for your waist, Jaemin pins your upper half to the bed, wiggling his hips to keep your thighs around his sides.

“Wet like a whore.” Jaemin snickers, clicking his tongue along the backs of his teeth. The painful circle of his hips fills the room with gasped whines, grinning to himself because you’re enjoying it. You like getting fucked, even in your sleep. He could care less with the sole mission to breed you full of cum consuming his head. He thrusts finally, the head of his size catching on your hole earning a louder moan.

The warmth gripping his dick feels mind-numbing, the most he’s felt in months since hunting you down, and his pace alters immediately as the feeling finally gets to him. You’re his for the taking, his and only his.

“Mine.” Jaemin mutters to himself, ruthlessly thrusting back into you in a jerky motion. It’d be painful if you were awake, his pace alternating from meticulously deep rolls of his hips to sloppy, aggressive and messy. The sound of wetness more overbearing than the clap of your skin colliding.

He’s frantic, knowing he can fuck you like his as long as he pleases, and you can’t do anything about it.

Jaemin’s thick arms bracket your head, nose hovered above your lips. Moan after moan sounding more excruciating than the last. Fucking into your tight cunt like a man who just discovered the glory of a fleshlight, reckless abandonment. The ache against your groin and thighs one guaranteed to last for weeks to come.

“So fucking good for me angel.” Jaemin praises, head thrown back when you clench around him. It makes him laugh like a maniac, amused by the idea of you listening, hearing everything he says. Dropping his face to your throat, he licks up your jaw to your earlobe, nibbling before he whispers. “Pretty baby loves getting fucked like a slut.”

A sigh sings from your lips, the prettiest sigh he’s ever heard. A sigh that runs in circles throughout his mind, turning to drop his cheek against yours with wide eyes focused on shut ones. The heavy weight of your eyelids taunting him, pushing him to fuck harder for just a glimpse of your hidden iris.

He could cum off that alone, and it punches through him with the next thrust, burying his thick fat length as deep inside of you as he can. Surely deep enough to rip through your insides, the weight of his heavy cock poking between your pressed together stomachs with each pointed thrust.

Jaemin’s obsessed with the grip your pussy gives, needing to feel you lock you and struggle to take him through your unwanted pleasure once more. Snaking his hand between your connected lower halves, he roughly rubs at your engorged clit, fat between his fingers from neglect. The need to cum more prevalent for the both of you than he cares about, but it feels too good to force his size past your shrunken entrance.

“You’re so fucking good for me. You don’t even know.” Jaemin babbles to himself, nose digging into your cheekbone to quiet the groan ripping through his chest. The sound of your wetness fills the room up in the most obscene way, splashing against his thighs and stomach with each impactful land of his hips.

“Ah—fuck!” A string of curses soars free, jostling you up the hospital bed that struggles to stay in place as he fucks you at a near inhumane pace. The whites of your eyes gleam with his next thrust, rolled back from the powerful hit that arches your back involuntarily.

“Fuck you all night, gonna fuck you everyday.”

Jaemin cries out, ripping a chunk of your hair with a balled up fist to unveil the column of your throat, biting down as the coiling heat in his gut becomes too overwhelming.

And he cums, screaming with his teeth dug into your skin. Bits of flesh scraped off by his sharp canine teeth, but still not enough to wake you, even as you let out a weak moan intensely squirting release around his size.

It’s almost too hard to stay put inside of you, having to realign his weight to keep his cock in despite the wet arousal bursting trying to shove him out.

It’s more desperate than he wanted, to fuck you like he owns you, because he does now. You’re his from inside out now. You’ll always be his.

Jaemin’s flopping down to his stomach, pushing your pussy folds open to ensure every drop of cum disappears. He has to fight back the urge to lean in, slurp of the slick wet coating your labia to watch your hole convulse, twitch and swallow down the white mess of cum passing through.

“We always have tomorrow to keep trying.” He grins wolfishly, throwing your gown back on without a care. “and the day after that.”

The camera shuts off, near the end of it’s battery life, and he thinks the timing couldn’t be more perfect. Scooting back toward your heaving figure, he leisurely trails up one of your thighs, playfully pushing them apart to memorize how damaged he’s left you. A fat wad of cum bubbles deep in your stretched out hole, gaped around nothing, sore and painful looking.

When morning comes you’ll wonder again why your body hurts so much. You’ll cry miserably, losing your patience, ready to end your battle, ready to give up. That’s what Jaemin wants anyway.

“Goodnight angel.”

It’s been over a week now of staying at the clinic, and you feel worse than when you arrived.

“How long has it been since you’ve had a good nights sleep?”

The questions rhetorical, not that you’d be able to decipher the true meaning behind your doctors words.

Between nightmares altering reality and mixing up different prescribed medications, you no longer had a grasp on time. Nothing felt real anymore, even the metal table before you reflecting your exhausted lifeless appearance felt like some horrific illusion.

“I can’t remember.”

Dr. Na leans closer to you with his elbows propped on the table to perch his chin in his hands. A soft yet devious smile painted on his lips as he watches you lose your fight.

“I’ll show you what you have forgotten.”

Dr. Na could say anything to you at this point really. Beyond the horrific visions taking over your brain, your body felt like it was breaking down on you. Every muscle sore, even your bones ached, new marks of bruising appeared everyday.

“I believe, I’ve figured out what’s keeping you awake.” The doctor says, turning to a rolly table at his side. Click clacks of typing sounds throughout the empty room, clearing his throat as he turns a black screen to face you.

“You have?”

Dr. Na stands, he smooths back a bang piece of hair that's fallen loose. The lab coat fitting his frame perfectly begins to slip from his wide shoulders and he removes it without breaking eye contact.

“You see, you’re a special case to me.” He continues, rounding the table to stand behind where you sit with his heavy palms weighing down on your slumped shoulders. “I’ve invested so much time and energy into you.”

Dr. Na’s lips pout behind you, gathering your hair off to one side to tickle down the side of your marked up throat. Marks left behind from his ruthless grip choking away your breath while he fucked you harder and deeper without anything or anyone to restrain him.

“In return, I need you to listen.”

“Doctor?” He could be speaking a foreign language as far as you’re concerned. Tilting your chin to the side to look up at him, your forehead wrinkles confused, met with the always handsome comforting face. Big doe eyes that round in a precious way that makes you feel as if everything will be ok.

“Shh shh” pinching your chin, Dr. Na turns you to face the screen, leaning the weight of his chest against the back of your head as he reaches over. Fingers click down, a video of your sleeping figure taking over the laptop screen.

“Did I do something in my sleep?” You wonder, watching as you struggle to stay still. Your feet kick the more you turn side to side, it’s uncomfortable to see yourself in distress.

“Not quite, angel.” Dr. Na huffs, continuing to push his chest closer to you. He has you hunched in closer, face lit up by the screen. Surprised as the doctor appears, and bright red eyes flash in the direction of the camera. A glitch because of the dim-lighting, you decide. “But I did.”

It’s shocking, disgusting, and humiliating to see what happens next. The choked gasp that pours from your mouth trapped by a large hand slapping down on your lips.

“You see, I chose you sweetie.” Dr. Na’s tone falls an octave, the sugary sweetness behind his words disappearing. “This whole time, I molded you, prepared you for this.”

He nods, pushing his other hand down to grip and hold your stomach. “To carry my future child, to birth my spawn.”

Screams go muffled beneath the palm splayed over your mouth, shoved up with an arm belted around your waist to bend over on the table. Dr. Na rips at the hospital gown covering your backside, arching your neck with his powerful hold on your face to force you to continue watching him take advantage and use your body.

“I said shush!” He sounds more demonic now, displaying an inhuman strength as he shreds off your underwear. The chill air floating through the room smacks your core quickly sending your knees to clink together. Fearful as you watch the man on screen rip you open from the inside. “Almost liked you better asleep.”

He has the audacity to laugh when tears trickle down his fingers, kicking your thighs open with a knee as he plants against your bent body. The cool table melting against your heated flesh with his hips smacking into your bottom. Three fingers shove into your mouth as you attempt to scream for help, someone, anyone to hear you and stop what happens next.

“You see,” fingers drag up the backs of your thighs, gripping roughly where they land on your ass to spread you apart. Sucking in air between his teeth at the sight of your ruined hole, swollen and painfully stretched from the amount of times he’s fucked you through the night now. “You’re perfectly healthy, couldn’t be better. A little stupid, but you’re human afterall.”

He doesn’t explain more than that, thrusting his fingers deeper into your mouth to quiet the coughs and cries spilling out of you. The sound of a zipper opening has you weakly attempting to thrash back, fight him off.

He’s too big, he’s too strong, too powerful to kick away.

The first touch of his bare skin shoots your eyes open, crying out as his girth lands against your core.

He’s too big. He’s too fucking big, and he’ll break you.

Pleads fall empty trying to pray for mercy, his cock only leaking out more spurts of precum as a murmured ‘please God’ sounds.

“God can’t help you now, sweet little angel.” He sneers, rubbing the length of his size between your folds just as he begins to on the screen. The hold on your jaw forces you to watch each action, to watch the way he manipulates your body to do as he pleases.

“Don’t want it princess?” He grunts shakily, growling in his chest because you’re already wet. So fucking nasty, hot and wet between your thighs, canting back to meet his cock ramming against your meaty folds. “But look at how much you loved it.”

He shakes your head in a mocking manner, much like a child being punished for uttering a bad word. The screen too blurry behind your tears, but the image is clear enough to see your doctor take advantage of you in your most innocent helpless state.

“Please, please doctor…please.”

The sound of his tongue clicking in dismay echoes like a jeer, circling your entrance with the tip the more you plead. “Jaemin. Enough of this bullshit doctor act.”

Nothing he says to you makes sense anymore, incapacitated by his weight crushing your feeble body to the table. Deeming your pussy wet enough, he scoots forward to sandwich past your clamped thighs, kicking a foot roughly between your knees for more leverage. He wants it to hurt, wants you to scream to make up for all the times he’s let you enjoy it, wants to see you cry and beg for him to stop.

One swoop forward gives him exactly what he desires, shallowly fucking his full heavy girth in even with how tight you still manage to be. The video on screen displays a similar act, different in position, lacking the blood curdling screams and cries you let out as he mocks and laughs.

“So pretty baby, you’re so pretty for me.” Jaemin licks at his upper lip, jostling against you a few times as he turns you by your chin to look at him, cracking your neck with the strain. “Can I fuck you? Huh?”

He laughs again, an arrogant disgusting laugh, emphasizing the question with another piston of his hips. “Can I? My sweet angel can take it. You already have.”

It’s too easy, you’re nothing but a mindless hole succumbed to his strength. The man behind you more demonic than anything, the gentle features of your concerned doctor turned dark, menacing, purely evil.

His hips hammer wildly, keeping your face turned to the side to watch the way he ravages your body. To watch him destroy and rip away your soul.

Every choked miserable cry you let out only heightens his pleasure, snapping his hips brutally against your backside. The pain hits from both ends with each dig of your thighs and pelvic bone cutting against the table.

“You were tighter the other night.” He spits, wadding up saliva to aim at the middle of your fast. The nasty thick wetness trickling from the bridge of your nose to the puddle of snot and drool accumulated on your lips. “Already fucking loose, you know what that means?”

Fingers squeeze past his relentless hips, shoving between your buttcheeks to scratch at your rim earning a shriek and scurry of your feet to get away. The sadistic laugh that booms out behind you sending shrill fear up your spine, tightening up around the length punching in and out of you with intention to hurt.

“Ah, fuck, yeah. Like that.” Jaemin pushes back, choking your neck from behind to hold you down. Palm smacking down angrily on your rim. “but not today.”

He reaches around, finding your clit between his middle and index finger to pinch and roll until you lift onto your tippy toes with a gurgled scream. “Can’t fuck a baby into you back there.”

“Doctor, please! Stop!” Between heavy breaths and sniffles, Jaemin keeps laughing, biting on his lips from the conflict in your tone. Your pussy locked around his length begging for more the louder you cry and protests.

“Don’t have to beg.” He taunts, licking up your back to bite down on your jaw, his fingers continuing to pleasure your bundle of nerves incessantly. “Gonna fuck you full of cum regardless. You’re so wet for me princess.”

It’s sick, sensing the last semblance of energy leaving your fingertips, the hold you had on the table goes numb, shaking against your will as orgasm rips through you making Jaemin growl and fuck harder past the convulsing around his size. He crushes against you completely, knocking your lungs free of all air, desperately twitching as he paints your insides once again.

He’s quick to recover, faster than you can process, pulling out to throw you down onto your knees and stroke the last spurts of cum onto your lips before you can try to crawl away.

“You’re mine now.” Dr. Na’s chest beats up and down drenched in sweat. You shouldn’t like it, but as you wait for the bile to rise up your esophagus you can’t look away. The pads of his fingers clean your chin, pushing release past your swollen abused lips. Nodding with his chin that you swallow it all.

“What did I just say?” He tuts, pushing two digits down on the middle of your tongue until you cough and choke. Jerking out with a river of drool streaming out onto the floor, onto his designer loafers.

“I’m yours.” You repeat, sniffling with a cough as the tangy taste of cum lodges in your throat. It’s everywhere, rubbed raw onto your skin, stuck between your teeth. The statement is nothing but true as he watches you swallow.

“Exactly.” Dr. Na scoops you up, perched on the edge of the table to slap your thighs open. “You’re mine, and I’ll make sure you never forget that.”

#jaemin smut #na jaemin smut #nct dream smut #nct smut #nct jaemin #jaemin fanfic #na jaemin fanfic #nct dream fanfic #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #neopuppy fics #jaemin imagines #onek #jaemin scenarios #nct dream imagines

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teabutmakeitazure · 3 months

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Pinprick in the Backdrop (blurb)

>Yan! Chrollo x Fem! Reader

>Word count: 2k (exactly)

>a/n: this was a heat of the moment writing

Oneshot

You are surprisingly awake considering that you only had 3 hours of sleep in the last 2 days. It’s probably the caffeine but you would rather not admit it. Especially not when you woke up to Chrollo reading beside you in bed after you had flat out refused to share a bed with him. You haven’t slept since.

Despite all that, the exhaustion and deliriousness shows in your movements and conversation. Had you been cheated out of those 3 hours of sleep as well, you would probably have started hallucinating. Regardless, bitterness has been a loyal companion to your words ever since you left home. You suppose the companionship is justified, for when you are snatched away from your home and threatened with heinous things in sugar coated words, that is the only thing you can use to retaliate with.

The marble of the kitchen counter digs into your spine as you lean against it. It’s a dirty shade of dark grey granite that you don’t particularly like, and it also reminds you of Chrollo’s eyes. Other than that, the open kitchen facing the living room reminds you of your apartment. It’s a sad reminder but omnipresent and ever annoying.

Your lovely… partner (because you still can’t bring yourself to verbally give him any proper relation to you) is almost back and you are certain he will be in a good mood. He’s been in a good mood a lot lately. It almost seems suspicious. Chrollo is usually happy when he’s planning something with a very high success rate. Having the suspicion that he is up to something without having any means to find anything further is not fun.

Whatever. You open the door as usual when he knocks the way he showed you, and immediately turn on your heel, all patience gone due to your tired state. Chrollo follows behind you, hair down (something he does in front of you a lot after you compared his hair to the receding hairline that Dory’s father has) and hands inside the pockets of his fur lined jacket. The sofa is where you decide to settle with a book in hand (it’s Kant of all possibilities), clearly wordlessly screaming to be left alone only to have Chrollo settle right next to you.

A few moments of silence pass before Chrollo clears his throat. It fails to gather your attention so he does what he does to get you hissing at him. It works instantly and is 100% effective - so far anyway - in grabbing your attention and focus. Thus, with one smooth motion, he slides up to you, thighs colliding gently. It’s like you got an electric shock, the way you jumped and squealed. You immediately shift to the other end of the sofa, book thrown onto the space between you both, and glare daggers.

“Now that I have your attention,” Chrollo says, elbows resting on his knees, “there’s something we need to discuss.” A comment is already on the tip of your tongue, and you halfway open your mouth to let it out but Chrollo cuts you off. “We need to speak about sleeping arrangements.”

You give him a look that says ‘I would rather not’ but humour him anyway. “There’s no need. I get the bed, and you take the sofa. Like we agreed before.”

“Yes, but you aren’t sleeping.”

“I’ll take the sofa if you want the bed that much.”

“That isn’t the issue.” Chrollo sighs, a sight so rare you had to rub your eyes. “It’s your sleep. Darling, if you don’t sleep, you’ll start hallucinating.”

“I think I already am.” You give him another look with a brow raised. “Did you just sigh?”

He mirrors your expression. “I did.”

“Oh my God. I can’t believe my eyes.”

Confusion grows on his face, but Chrollo instantly pushes it aside. “It’s almost sunset. You should go to bed as soon as it gets dark. You can lock the room if you like. As long as you sleep that is.”

Your other eyebrow raises as well. The devil himself negotiating with you? That too with good intentions? How rare. There must be a catch somewhere. “I’m sure a measly door lock won’t ever stop you,” you accuse. Though your words are often honeyed, the bite they have is always delivered.

Chrollo tilts his head, doing that thing he always does when you are being unreasonable. He tilts his head and gives you a smile before reassuring you that he won’t do any such thing. The promise he makes of not ‘pouncing on you’ or anything similar does little to satisfy, yet you agree. If he is offering something sincerely, you would be a fool to refuse it.

It’s been four hours in bed.

You still can’t sleep.

If the heaviness behind your eyes is anything to go by, your body is extremely exhausted. Even with so much exhaustion, your body refuses to succumb to sleep. It’s probably due to the presence of your ‘favourite’ person. Not even the door and walls are able to minimise his aura.

You can quite literally feel his existence. It’s agonising. Although the curtains are drawn and it’s completely dark, it still does not help in the slightest. A reminder of Chrollo’s promise comes to mind, and you huff out of annoyance. Who does he think he is anyway? Him and his tacky jacket with an upside-down cross. Sure, he’s some sort of bigshot criminal, but he likes philosophy. Philosophy. The only thing about him that stands out is his perspective.

Another huff, and you turn to the other side. If he thinks he can scare you with his mere presence and take away the peace in your life, he’s wrong. And you’ll prove him wrong by going to sleep! Before that…

You wiggle out a hand from under the covers and tap the empty space of the king sized bed just to be sure as your eyes adjust to little lighting in the room. The only source is the street lights outside behind the curtains, so it doesn’t surprise you when it takes a few minutes. Upon discovering no warm human body with you in bed, you retract your hand and snuggle in. However, a familiar silhouette in the darkness causes you to rise abruptly.

“Mama?!” Eyes widened, you lean towards it, hoping to confirm your suspicions. Though you are now squinting and almost able to make out the figure, disappointment accompanies the revelation of the silhouette’s identity.

Phone’s flashlight now turned on, you are face to face with none other than the man who promised not to enter the room. “I’m sorry to disappoint you. Believe me, if I could, I’d turn into your mother only so that I wouldn’t have to see you so disappointed.”

An offended gasp escapes your mouth, and you huff for a third time before going back under the blanket. Bitter betrayal is all you can feel with only a hint of embarrassment (because why should you be embarrassed? he is the one who snuck into the room. how did he do that anyway?)

The mattress dips under Chrollo’s weight, and the curtains are promptly drawn to let light in. You immediately scoot to the farthest edge of the bed, only to be followed by Chrollo. Out of pure spite, you try rolling again yet fail as you take a fall to the floor. However, not even such a thing can deter you as you cross your arms, turn your back to the bed and remain lying on the floor.

There is nothing in this world that holds the power to stop you from being petty. Nothing. If he won’t respect your wishes, then he can have a try at sleeping on the floor with you.

You can hear the springs of the mattress, probably from him moving, and then footsteps. They sound like they’re coming from the other side of the bed and- is he coming your way? Why is he standing near you? You can hear a chuckle before you see him lie down on the floor right next to you, facing you with a smile. That bastard…

You huff for a fourth time before standing up. One knee on the mattress, you manoeuvre yourself to quickly go back under the covers and starfish before Chrollo makes his move. Smug victory makes you smile but the expression is quickly wiped off your face because the fiend has settled on the gap between your right arm and leg.

Another try it is then. This time, you curl into a ball, taking the entire banket with you, and settle on the corner of the bed. The attempt also proves to be feeble because he sits right next to you and rests his head where your shoulder is.

Now you have had enough. With the blanket wrapped around you, you simply get up and head for the bedroom door only to find Chrollo already standing there. How this demon incarnate can move so quickly, you will never understand. Thus, after your betrayed gasp, you make a beeline for the bathroom and lock the door before he can put his foot in the gap like last time. You are successful in this, and you celebrate by calling him an idiot in your head.

But what now? You’re inside the bathroom with a huge blanket wrapped around you. This is no place for a night’s rest, but you also don’t want to go out there where he is probably waiting for you. Goodness, you can already see the smug smile on his face as you come crawling back. Fine then. You’ll stay here until you feel sleepy.

And you do. You pace back and forth in the little space you have, huffing at your situation for the umpteenth time as you curse out Chrollo and the woman who birthed such an imp. Minutes blur as you continue back and forth and every single profanity you know has been uttered at least thrice. When your legs deflect the curses back at you tenfold, you end up standing in front of the bathroom door with your ear pressed to the wood to listen to any sign of life in the bedroom.

When you feel somewhat sure of the room’s emptiness, you quietly unlock the door. After several seconds of waiting, you open the door just a crack, and when no one has yanked it open in your face, you open it yourself. The hinges creak a little, making you cringe at the noise, but the lack of human presence in the room and the closed door gives you comfort.

You immediately head for the bed, its tempting call beckoning you over. However, you are halfway there when a voice whispers right into your ear. You jump immediately, heart hammering inside your chest and a scream erupting from your throat out of surprise. A shadow stands as you turn to look behind you, no aura and no detected presence. Adjustment of your eyes to the light reveals Chrollo, a hand on his mouth in what you assume is a stifled laugh.

Disbelief and anger make themselves known, and you are quick to curse him out to his face. He, on the other hand, promptly composes himself. It is when your little fit of anger is over that he strikes. A hand reaches for your face, and although you flinch, you do not fight back. Chrollo’s palm cups your cheek as his thumb rubs the skin under your eyes and he smiles at you like he’s admiring a piece of gold jewellery he just polished.

“Get some sleep,” he says. “Your steps are becoming disoriented. I won’t bother you again.” The hand on your face retreats, and the door to the bedroom closes. As you stand in the middle of the room, the blanket still wrapped around you, you think over one question. How could he have noticed such a thing in such a dark room?

#yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #chrollo x reader #chrollo lucifer x reader #yandere hunter x hunter

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ifearzombies · 1 year

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The Little ‘I Love You’s

Lucifer:

- Wakes you up early so you can have quiet moments alone with tea or coffee and food that Beel won’t have a chance to steal. - Brings you little things back from the human world when he goes. While he knows you want to stay where you are, he knows humans miss ‘home’ too. - Steals a smooch when no one else is looking.

Mammon:

- Steals from you less than anyone else. He can’t help his nature, but he avoids your room for items to steal as much as he can - On days you’re feeling down, he will interject and tell you that you’re doing something. He never tells you why, but it’s clearly to distract you. - Nights when you have nightmares he is always the one that hears you and comes to cuddle you and hold you. You don’t know how he always knows, but you’re glad all the same.

Leviathan:

- He’ll wait for you for the latest episode of whatever “has too long a title” anime he’s been passionate about. Fantasy is an experience, and it should be shared. - He makes you outfits you see in the shows you say you like. They’re made just for you- your size and shape despite him not having ever measured you. - His snack and ramen rations now include some of your favorites so that the next time Beel destroys the kitchen, you can come to him.

Satan: - He cleans his room on the nights you want to spend in his bed. Well. He makes a path and clears off the bed- but you can at least walk through the room and use the bed with him. - He has a shelf with just books he thinks you’ll like based on what you’ve told him. A mini library in his room for your quiet night time moments where you cuddle and read. - Like Lucifer he steals smooches when no one is looking. You will never tell him of this shared habit of theirs. Asmodeus: - He paints your nails and brushes your hair while he tells you how beautiful you are inside and out. He’s more complimentary when you’ve had a bad day - You are allowed to use his bath, even if you do not want him to join you. - He tucks a flower in your hair every chance he gets. Beelzebub: - He saved you a snack from his snack bag. He heard you mention you were craving it and wants to share it with you. - He carries you every chance he gets and uses that as an excuse to give you affectionate nuzzles. - He lets you climb him like a tree to sit on his shoulders to reach stuff and holds you steady. Belphegor: - He will go to demon form just to wrap his tail around you while you cuddle. - Invite you to the attic for what he and Beel call ‘Sandwich Cuddles’ and when you do, you get to use his favorite pillow - He makes it a point to drink stuff with high amounts of caffeine when you have plans to stay awake just for you. -------------------------------------------------------- MC: - On days Lucifer runs himself ragged and it’s his turn to cook, you message the household and say you feel like cooking. Lucifer knows why you do it and says a secret thank you once the meal is over. - You know Mammon can’t help but steal. You have a place in your room that you know Mammon looks through. You put some money in there whenever you see it empty. Mammon knows you do this and never steals from anywhere else in the room. - You show up for your anime-fest with pizza and drinks and bring your futon mattress so you can cuddle on it while you enjoy the fantasy anime together. - You bring a new mystery book with you every time you spend the night with Satan. You haven’t clued him in that Cat Mystery is a genre of mystery novels yet, but with each one you bring, he’s started to catch on. He’s eager for the next one. - You treat Asmo to a spa day and get facials and massages with him. You tell him that maintaining his beauty is a lot of work and he’s SO GLAD someone finally sees that!

- Beel is an easy man to please. The way to his heart is quite literally his stomach. It takes days of planning, but Beel always loves when you do a feast day and spend an entire day cooking to make enough food to make him full. He’s cried literal tears of happiness over it. It can only be done once a month, but the absolute pure joy in his eyes is worth it.

- You hold Belphie and tell him. He struggles so much with thinking you could never forgive him for literally killing you. But you hold him and tell him you love him. You run a hand through his hair and tell him you forgive him. And when he says he doesn’t deserve it, you remind him that forgiveness is a gift. And you gave it to him a long time ago.

#obey me #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me levi #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphie #obey me belphagor #obey me shall we date

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months

Text

Same as it ever was 4

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as neglect, bullying, manipulation, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Between your home life and work, you just can’t catch a break. Especially after you draw the ire of your boss.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen ft. Pete Brenner

Note: Oh my, we be sad gurls and bois.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

When Pete rumbles with snores, you move to the couch, hoping for what little sleep you can summon. You can't lay there beside him knowing what you know. You can't steam in the spite of knowing that he can sleep just soundly while sneaking around.

Two wrongs can never make right. You're not absolved. Far from it. You're mad. At him. At yourself. At life.

As you drift in and out, the apathy comes. You can't care. If you let yourself feel, you'll fall apart. You don't have that choice. Someone has to hold it together for the kids.

You get up first, like most mornings. You're restlessly impatient to get the day started if only to get away from that house. From the husband who isn't much of one.

Simone and Malik sit at the table eating cereal as you check your phone. You're on track so far. As if fate is throwing you a soft ball, the morning is going smoother than ever.

You get the kids packed and in the car. Every step is taken on habit alone. You walk them to the school doors and wish them a good day. Then you go back to your car and idle in silence. You're empty, you have nothing left.

You make yourself pull out and join the snailish roll of traffic through the school zone. Your drive to work is over before you know it as you stay locked in a trance. Before you just went through the motions, now it's like you're a ghost, floating aimlessly from one place to the next.

You enter the office, the walls a blur in your vision as you find your way blindly to your desk. Your head is pounding. Amid your early morning scramble, your desperation for distraction, to think of anything but reality, you hadn't even had a coffee. Your entire being throbs from the caffeine withdrawal.

You cup your forehead as you boot your computer. Eventually you'll get up and grab a cup of the weak break room brew. You lean heavily on the armrest of the chair and wiggle your mouse.

For once, you're thankful to be at work. No fighting kids, no laundry, no scoundrel husband. But you're there and it's just as hard to live with yourself.

"Morning, sunshine," Mr. Hansen's booming tone has you careening back in your chair as he comes to lean on the corner of your desk, "aren’t you bright-eyed and bushy tailed. Long night, huh? Husband finally loosen you up a bit."

You give him the daggers. That look that says 'enough'. Your motherly chagrin blazing at full force. He winks and laughs as he taps the end of your nose.

"You're real cute when you're pissed off, you know that?" He puts a hand on his hip, smoothing his index and thumb of his other across his mustache.

"Mr. Hansen," your voice is gravelly with dry fatigue, "is there something I can do for you?"

"Well, I can think of a certain wakemeup," he snickers, "but I'm thinking that you're not really into it. Still, you look like you could use it."

You huff and turn your chair to glare up at him. Can't he bother anyone else? He had his fun, he humiliated you, he made you hate yourself. So what else does he want?

"If you don't mind," you push your chair back and stand, "I'm going to get some coffee."

"Oh, sounds fun," he shoves away from the desk and trails after you, surprising you as he stretches and arm across your shoulders, "this company shit, it's garbage. How about I make you my own personal brew? I got a keurig in my office, just got some French Vanilla–"

"No thank you," you grumble and pull away from him.

You enter the kitchen first as he continues his incessant pursuit. He likes Malik when he wants to tell you about his legoworld. You go to the machine and find the carafe empty. You rinse it and fill the tank.

"You're mad about yesterday," he says as he leans on the counter, "if you're into snuggling, you coulda stuck around–"

"No," you growl as you measure out the coffee grounds.

"I let you go take care of the crotch goblin so I thought we'd be square–"

"Mr. Hansen, it's not you," you close the lid and flip the switch, "really."

"Ah, got it, it's the hubby. He's not taking care of his marital duties, huh?"

"Please, sir, it's not… it's not that," you falter as the lie sticks on your tongue. "Tired, need coffee."

"You look like you need sleep," he shifts closer as you stare at the slow trickle of coffee, "tell you what," he lowers his voice, "you come in my office, give me a good tug and I'll let you sleep in a meeting room. How's that? I'll make sure you get your eight hours."

You open the cupboard, taking out your mug from the bunch of mismatched porcelain, and set it on the counter. You can't even look at him. Not only because he repulses you but he reminds you of how pathetic you truly are.

"I'm good," you insist, "thank you, sir."

He scoffs, "I'm giving you something you're not getting elsewhere. Action and sleep," he runs his knuckles up your sleeve, "beggars can't be choosers, can they?"

You look at him. You're so fucking exhausted that your eyes are too dry to eke out a single tear. It's the only thing keeping you from tipping over the edge.

He smirks and looks at your blouse, reaching to pinch one of the front buttons, "look at that, all put together."

You glance down at the misaligned buttons. You don't even care. You're a mess. You're old and used up and unwanted. Even he only wants to get off, it doesn't matter who does it. At the end of the day, he'll be just as happy to do it himself.

You're speechless. It's nothing like shock. It's exasperation. Are all men really like this? Is this what Pete does? Is she some girl at the company?

"Forget it," you take your empty mug and spin in your low orthotics.

You stride out and stumble to your desk. You can do this. You just have to get through the day. And then what?

Get the kids, go home, cook dinner, do homework, bath time, bed for them, clean the endless mess…

Tomorrow? The same thing, over and over, until what? Until when? When do you admit defeat?

Hansen struts out of the breakroom. You look up as you see him sipping from a mug; your mug. He meets your gaze as he drinks deeper and passes by.

You wonder the same thing about him; when will he give up?

🗄️

You feel yourself slumping lower and lower. Your eyelids are scratchy and burning as you fight to keep them open. You cup your chin in your hand, elbow planted on your desk as the emails blur before you. You can do this…

In a minute, you’ll get up and get a coffee, undisturbed, and really start working. You won’t fall asleep. How could you? Right here in your office chair. On the best nights, you can barely sleep in your own bed. Lately, it’s only been bad nights.

Once you find the energy, you’ll get up. You swear you will. It’s all you have to look forward to. That cup of coffee. You can smell it. You know it’s burnt by now, stale and bitter, but your stomach growls for it.

A few more minutes.

You hear snorts, strange noises that seem to rumble from within you. The clacking of keys and soft clicks continue, almost forming a rhythm as your screen ripples to bars of colours. You feel a weight over you and a sudden shift.

You hit the floor, bouncing on your ass as your seat hits your shoulder. You look up as you awake, only realising then that you dozed off. You blink at your coworkers before focusing on the figure glaring down at you. Mr. Hansen has a hand in his pocket and a foot on the bottom of your chair. Shit.

“Working hard,” he muses tritely.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stutter, disoriented. You can’t believe you fell asleep. You hope this is just a dream, if so. “I… I didn’t–”

“Get up,” he demands.

You scramble to get to your feet. You reach for the chair and he kicks it further away. You’re overly aware of your audience. No one will look directly at you in fear that they might draw Hansen’s attention, but it’s obvious by the lack of typing that they are very aware of the scene.

“I’m very sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to. I was– I’ll stay awake. You don’t have to worry.”

“Go home,” he says curtly.

“Home? No, I can make it through the day. It was a mistake.”

“Go. Home.” He repeats pointedly, “this isn’t a hotel.”

“Please,” you murmur, “please, Mr. Hansen,” you clutch your hands together, trying not to speak too loud, embarrassed as your voice cracks, “I–”

“Don’t make me call security,” he warns as he steps back on one heel, his posture victorious. He arches a brow in challenge. You’re certain he’d love to see that, you dragged out like an intruder. “Come back Monday, well-rested, and HR will deal with your disciplinary report.”

“What?” You gulp. In all your time there, you’d never been written up. Not once.

“Keep digging that hole.”

“Okay, okay,” you go to your desk and open the drawer to pull your bag out. You hook it on your shoulder and turn around, nearing him as you reach for the coat hung on the back of your chair. He watches you with a smug smirk, “I’ll be back Monday.”

“We’ll see.”

His ominous words put you on edge. You recoil and stare at him. What does he mean by that? You’re not stupid enough to ask. You put your head down and march out, burning with embarrassment as you pass your rapt audience.

“Hey,” Hansen claps his hands, “back to work.”

🗄️

You barely make it home. You set an alarm as you get in the front door and collapse on the couch. You don’t care that it’s lumpy and uncomfortable, you don’t care about anything. You forget all your worries for the blackness that clogs your mind.

As quickly as you close your eyes, your ringer goes off. You wake with a groan and roll over, shoulders cramped and stiff as you reach for your phone. Two o’clock already. Your head pulses with the dregs of fatigue. You feel marginally better.

You fill a travel mug and head out to pick up the kids. Along the way, you can’t help but shrink behind the wheel as the morning pricks in your mind. You don’t expect things to go well on Monday.

You pass a Burger King and slow down. You don’t have the money for a Whopper. No, that’s not what you’re thinking. It’s not spending you’re planning on.

You pull in and get out. You enter and approach the counter, sheepish as a twentysomething greets you from the other side. You smile as you come forward.

“How can I help you ma’am?” He asks, hands on the side of the till.

“Oh, uh, I was… I was looking for an application,” you eke out. “For a job.”

He nods, you see the surprise flick in his lashes, “oh, well, we don’t have physical applications anymore but…” he reaches over to a stack of small flyers beside the till, “if you scan this QR code it will take you right to careers page.”

“Um, right, yeah, makes sense,” you take the slip as he offers it, “thank you.”

“You lookin’ to order?” He prompts with a strained smile.

“No, sorry, I gotta go get my kids,” you fold the flier and turn away, “have a good one.”

You head back to your car. You drop into the driver seat and curse. Fuck, your hips are killing you. You don’t imagine doing weekends standing behind a till will do much for that but you don’t have much of a choice. Even with the second job, you doubt you’ll be able to pay for the babysitter to cover it. What a stupid idea.

You shove the flier into your purse and back out from between the lines. You check the time as you set out to the school. You arrive just as the bell rings and the kids are let out into the yard.

You find Malik with the other grade ones as Simone seeks you out on her own, too cool to hang around with the other grade sixes. She can be a bit of a loner but not in a sad way. She can intimidate even you.

“Hey, how was school?” You ask as you take them to the car, “did you do anything fun?”

Malik tells you about the popsicle stick houses they made as you buckle him into his car seat and Simone does up her seat belt on her own. You nod and smile, humouring your son’s slightly lisping story.

“What about you, Simone?” You ask as you look over at her.

“I just read. I’m almost done number four,” she shows the cover of her latest fantasy series, “but they wouldn’t let me stay in the library during recess.”

“Good, you need the fresh air,” you tease, “speaking of, I was thinking we could go for a hike this weekend. How does that sound?”

“A hike?” She grimaces, “is dad coming?”

“Err, we’ll see,” you shrug, “I spend all day in the office, I’d like to get out before the winter gets here.”

“I’ll go if dad does,” Simone opens her book, “it won’t be any fun without him.”

“Daddy, daddy,” Malik claps his hands, “I love daddy!”

“I’ll ask him,” you nod and keep a frown from tugging at your lips.

You stand straight and gently close the back door. You round to the driver’s door and get it, quiet as you turn the engine. You’re not even good enough for your own kids.

#lloyd hansen #pete brenner #dark lloyd hansen #dark pete brenner #dark!lloyd hansen #dark!pete brenner #lloyd hansen x reader #pete brenner x reader #fic #series #dark fic #dark!fic #au #same as it ever was #the gray man #pain hustlers

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