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ohcaptains · 1 year

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don’t you dare fall in love | 3

pairing. dealer college student! ellie williams x f! reader

PART ONE. PART TWO. MASTERLIST. synopsis. ellie tries her hardest not to mix business with pleasure. or, ellie gets a new customer and unfortunately falls in love with her.

warnings. 18+. blank & ageless blogs will be blocked. clichè comments on sorority girls (sorry), sexually explicit descriptions of female receiving cunnilingus, fondling, fingering, and dry humping. not beta’d.

an. well here ya go! thank u to all those who were so patient and lovely with me<3 to those who weren’t and were mean to me...i’m giving you the nastiest dirty look rn. pls comment and reblog!!!! love u.

When Ellie gets out of her meeting with her personal tutor, she’s just about ready to throw herself down the stairs.

Catapult herself out of the window and perish on the campus floor. That way, she wouldn’t have to rewrite this God. Damn. Essay.

It sucks that she has to do actual work to get her degree, but what sucks even more, is doing the work and being told you’ve done it all wrong.

At first, Ellie was angry. Now, she’s frustrated. Tired. Was up all night writing this essay because she’s been waiting for this meeting for a whole week, and all the man did was say, you’re not actually answering the question.

“Fucking asshole,” she murmurs, pushing through the doors.

She reaches the quiet hallway of the humanities block, the dilapidated building stuffy with age. She misses her uber-funded science building. Misses the cool white and sleek edges. Here, there’s paper covering everything.

The hallways go round and round – lift creaks from the weight of students carrying War and Peace in their backpacks, year after year.

She’s near tears when she hears you calling her name.

“Els?” you ask, tone confused and edged with excitement. Ellie’s heart does its little familiar leap. She turns to you, sniffing the tears away. It’s been a minute since she saw you in the flesh. Her body aches, eager to touch you. “Hey,” she greets, the presence of you brightening her mood for a sweet second. You’re wearing a casual pair of black jeans and a band tee – Ellie owns a similar one, and for a moment, she thinks you’re wearing her shirt. “I was just about to text you –” you start, but your face twists, noticing hers. “You okay?” “Yeah,” Ellie lies. The tears push harder now, your concern making her belly flop.

You frown. “No, you’re not.”

Her lip wobbles.

“Ellie?” “Sorry, just – fuck --” her eyes are rimmed red, tears pushing over the edge. “—had a really shitty meeting with my tutor about my essay that’s worth like, 50% of my grade and I’m so busy with other work and—” a tear slips down her cheek, but you’re quick to take her in your arms, murmuring, “oh, Els,” as you cup her head and pull it into your neck.

She releases a breath, leaning her full weight into your body.

You smell like laundry detergent and coffee. Smell familiar. She’s comfortable here. It’s why she lets herself begin to cry against your shoulder.

“Awh, sweetheart,” you whisper, hands running up and down her back, soothing her like a baby.

“What did the feedback say?” “Have to change the whole thing. And I have enough time, but I have other work.” “Yeah, I can imagine.” “He basically said that if I submit this essay, I’ll fail.” “Well, you won’t, because I’ll hack into the system and change your grade for you.”

Ellie hiccups a laugh, “you know nothing about computers.” “I’ll learn for you. Take some night classes. What’s the essay for?” you ask, still rubbing her back. “English.” “I can help you if you want.” “Yeah?” “Yeah, come to mine. I’ll look through the question with you, and help you plan.”

Ellie pulls away, wiping her wet, red-rimmed eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie. You help her, drying the dampness from her chin and cheeks, and smoothing her hair behind her ears.

She beams from your touch. Her body goes hot from your care -- belly flips over.

You hold her shoulders, keeping her steady, and Ellie thanks the Gods you texted her that day. Your smile is resolute as you say, “It’ll be okay. We got this.”

When you open the door to your accommodation, Ellie is mid panic attack. “You live in a sorority?” she squeaks. When you sent her the address earlier, she hadn’t really read it, too busy trying to calm her beating heart. Going to her house going to her house.

Now, she’s standing in front of you, and thinking – this is your house? There’s a teardrop chandelier hanging behind you, and the staircase loops around the entrance hall, feeding into the back of the house.

You frown, confused. “Yeah, did I not tell you?” “No – “Ellie bursts, clearly flustered, “-- you failed to provide me with that information.” She makes a mental note to text Dina, simply – what the fuck, man? “Is it a problem?” you wonder, leaning against the doorframe, comfortable in your home. (Wearing pyjama shorts and a baggy top, you know, comfortable)

You didn’t seem like a sorority girl. But what did that even mean?

You did have a lot of…spirit.

Ellie imagines you hosting mixers and philanthropy events.

(Imagines you wearing a lot of pink and jumpers with your sorority name on it and nothing else.) “I don’t really sell to frats or sororities,” she explains, because, yeah, that’s the reason she’s having a hot moment. She thought she knew a lot about you. This, right here, is a big deal, and yet she’s only now just finding out.

What else did she not know about you? You think for a quick second. “Oh. Well,” you smile, patting your chest, concluding, “I’m the exception,” and you take her hand and pull her in, closing the door behind her.

When Ellie’s in the house, she doesn’t let go of your hand.

Instead, she uses it to tug you closer, and your wrist pushes into her belly. “They let queer girls into sororities?” she whispers, close enough to taste the mint gum you’re chewing.

Ellie has ideas of girls on the straight and narrow. No girl kissing here, unless guys are watching. Ellie cringes at the cliché, but you’re not offended – hadn’t heard her thoughts, so, that would be why – as your lips pull into a sly smile.

You lean forward, a ghost of a kiss. Ellie’s throat squeezes. “They don’t know that I’m a queer girl,” you whisper back, the heat of your eyes all-consuming.

Ellie watches you shrug.

“They don’t know that at least a quarter of them are queer girls, but – they’re not ready for that conversation.” “But you’re out, no?” Ellie quickly stumbles. If you’re not out, then that really messes with her plans to marry you and meet all your family. “Yeah,” you shrug again, explaining, “they just haven’t asked,” as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. In some ways, Ellie guesses, it is. She beams, “Well, they’ll ask when they see you hanging with me.” “What, why?” “Because I’m a known queer girl” “Oh, you have a reputation?” you quirk, and Ellie hums, “It’s possible I may have fooled around with some of your sorority sisters.” You chew on your lip, and cock your head to the side, “But did you share a really weird and intimate high with them where you cuddled all night, woke up mid-orgasm and then it made things super weird and odd to the point where you never really spoke about it again?”

Ellie grins, “No.” You shrug, “Oh, well. I win then,” and take her hand and begin to drag her behind you like a lost puppy dog.

She’s behind you on the stairs again, and you catch her staring when you turn to say, “Let’s go to my room.” As you drag her through the house, Ellie doesn’t see anyone, but she does hear the ominous sound of girl giggles and whispering. Heat blooms in her cheeks, as if she’s got omniscient eyes at the back of her head.

Ellie didn’t get along with peppy girls – too full of inner turmoil to match their happy-go-lucky attitude. The thought makes her clutch your hand tighter, and she speeds up, bumping her shoulders with yours.

“So, what’re the rules?” “Huh?” you ask, looking at her funny. The pair of you pass a group photo, and Ellie wants to stop and gawk – try and find your smiling face – but you tug her along, sensing her motives. “Like,” Ellie starts, stuck on her phrasing. “How should I be around you?” You frown up at her, deciphering her meaning. Slowly, your frown loosens. A small smile pushes into the side of your cheek. You squeeze her hand.

“Just be my Ellie.”

The pair of you go through Ellie’s question, and you help her write up a plan, noting all of her points and the quotes she should use.

Ellie tries to focus, but the whole time she’s thinking about how close you are to her – leaning against her, pushing your shoulder into hers.

She’s sitting on your bed in your room, and she’s hot all over as a result – smelling the scent from your burning candle and listening to the soft music you’re playing out of the laptop speaker.

Your walls are covered in posters. Pictures of you with family and friends and Ellie is surrounded by so much you that it feels like it’s always been like this.

Always been in your room, with her head on your lap, listening to your playlist – Ellie’s got Shazam out, but you’re just sending her the link. On her main phone, now – no busted one at the bottom of her bag.

She’s so busy being with you that she’s not wondering what she’s doing with you.

What are we? She wants to ask, but then your roommate decides to come in.

She pauses in the doorway, flinching as if she’s walked in on something intimate.

Ellie watches your eyes widen an inch, but then you catch yourself, smiling and waving. “Hey,” you greet, and your roommate – actually wearing a hoodie with your university name on it -- smiles, “Sorry, just grabbing my charger.”

“No problem,” you respond, and when she finally flicks her gaze to Ellie – kept on looking around her, like she was panhandling for money on the subway – her smile loosens.

She’s silent as she grabs her wire from her bed and doesn’t look at the pair of you as she leaves. When she’s out of the door, you get up and lock it. Coming back, Ellie gets comfy on your lap again.

“Did she look at me funny?” She’s not sure what your relationship with her is like, so she steps carefully. “I think she fancies me,” you casually explain, and Ellie’s belly flops. “For real?” You nod, wiggling your brows. “Should I be jealous?” she jokes, and your lips curl, tongue peeking out as you run it across the backs of your teeth. “We were together, once.” Ellie tries to imagine the pair of you together, and she comes up blank. Though, that’s probably because she’s too busy editing the image to clip her face in. “Yeah?” “Mm, at a Halloween party.” You’re grinning too wide. “You’re just fucking with me,” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “I’m not! I was dressed as a cat, and she was this like, sexy nun or something.” “Really?” Ellie asks, raising a brow and pulling a face that says, you’re full of shit. “Fine – I won’t tell you then.” “No no, I wanna hear this.” “What’s with the tone? I thought you’d for sure want to hear about my sexual escapades.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” You pull your lips together and raise a brow. Ellie suddenly feels too hot. Suddenly wants to run very quickly out of your bedroom door. Butterflies swirl in her belly, blood rushes to her cheeks, to her neck, and she feels the tips of her toes go numb.

You’ve danced around each other with this flirty banter for a while now, but it means something more now that you’ve said it out in the open.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ellie lies, hoping the red of her cheeks isn’t too prominent in the warm glow of your bedroom. You don’t lose your pursed lips, and Ellie rolls her eyes.

“Just hurry up and tell me about how you fucked your roommate.” “Say please,” you quickly rebut, and Ellie chokes.

The fuck? “What?” She laughs nervously, ignoring the quick electric bolt that shot through her groin, “fuck off.” “Fine,” you bleat, leaning back against the bedframe. “I won’t tell you then,” and Ellie shakes her head, proclaiming, “You’re insane,” and you grin at her, raising a testy brow, “It’s just manners, Ellie.”

When Ellie had imagined the dynamics of your relationship – but not relationship – it was you saying please. Preferably whispering it with your fingers in her auburn hair. Please Ellie, please do that again.

Ellie sits up from your lap, shaking the image away.

She takes in the curve of your brow, and the teasing slip of your lips. She dips closer – sudden, quick – and relishes in the way your mouth falls open an inch.

“I’m not begging you,” she whispers, not bothering to hide how mesmerised she is by your mouth.

“No?” you speak, matching her lazy tone. You nod to her, “I thought you’d be into that.”

Jesus fucking Christ, what’s happening right now? Ellie thought you’d help plan her essay and be done with it – she’d hoped for some flirty banter, but this was different. This was… Ellie leans closer, propped up by her hand that she’s planted beside your thigh. “If I say please, I want intricate detail.” “If you say please, I’ll give you whatever you want.” This girl…

“Whatever I want?” Ellie quirks. “Yeah,” you respond, and you press your forehead against hers, tone breathy as you repeat, “Whatever you want.”

Ellie can think of a lot of things she wants. For starters, she wants to close this gap and finally kiss you, but she says, “Please tell me your story,” and you smile, all teeth.

“It was Halloween.” “You said that.” “n, we were really drunk, and she’s like – straight straight, right?” You say straight like someone would say sorry. “Mm,” Ellie hums, her belly swirling. She hasn’t moved a fucking inch. Her palm is cramping, but hell if she’s going to lean away from you right now. This is a whole other kind of foreplay. “We’re in the bathroom.” “Here?” she asks, needing details – information. What day was it? Time?

You nod, and your nose brushes against hers. Her face blooms red again, and the brush of your touch makes her brain fuzzy. “We’re making out, and I thought she only wanted to kiss, but then she starts tryna take my top off.”

There’s a sincere edge to your tone. Your eyes are wistful, but you’re beaming – spurred by the excitement evident in Ellie’s eyes.

“Things get heated. She’s touching me everywhere, you know, hands just, between my legs, on my chest. Says she’s wanted me for ages but couldn’t say it, I mean, she’s got a boyfriend.” “A boyfriend?” Ellie asks, and fuck, that makes it worse. Or better? Either way, her body begins to ache like it did that morning – when it was just the pair of you and the world was quiet. Thrums electric and Ellie’s suddenly worried about the electric bill. “Yeah – frat boyfriend. Frat president boyfriend.” “Look at you, miss home wrecker.” You roll your eyes, “you want me to finish the story?” “I said please, didn’t I?” “You’re the worst.” “So…she’s taking your top off.” “Yeah. Then she’s taking my pants off, too. Then says, she’s never been with a girl before, can I show her?” Ellie pulls back with a groan. She can’t help it. Pulls back and falls into your lap, imagining you showing her how to fuck.

Her eyes are glazed over, like she’s somewhere else, thinking, about something else. She rubs her face and listens to your sweet giggle.

“Sorry,” she says, settling back, and you hold your hands up.

“No worries, take your time.”

Ellie waits – patiently. Waiting for you to divulge more information. Please carry on, she thinks. Please please please.

She feels like a kid at camp listening to the teens tell a ghost story around the campfire. And then what?

“You made her come?” she whispers, failing to hide the excitement in her whisper. A small, thoughtful smile finds your lips, and you lean down, hair brushing over her face.

Your thigh pushes into the back of her head, and you smell like a forest.

Your room smells like a fucking forest. Pine and vanilla.

The lights are dim, cloaking the room in a warm glow. She swears she hears trees swaying in the distance, but she realises – faintly – that it’s just the blood rushing in her ears. No trees here, she thinks. No bloody forest.

You’re looking down at her, eyes glittering in the warm light. After a stress-filled silence, you nod, whispering, “against the wall, cat ears still on. Made her come so hard it was dripping down my chin.” “Jesus,” Ellie whispers. Her legs fidget, trying to squirm from the warmth pushing between her thighs. She pushes her hair away from her forehead, even those it’s already tucked behind her ears. “Then what?” she asks, moving in your lap. Then what then what.

Your lips curl into a small smile, “Then we never spoke about it again.”

Ellie feels her eyes go dark with the memory. Imagines a film over them — lost in her own brain. Pictures you crawling on your hands and knees, on the prowl with your cat ears sitting pretty.

What was it you said again? That she was dripping all over your chin?

Her tongue peaks through her lips, pretty in pink, and she notices your small smile curve wider. Though, it’s not kind. It’s edged with something, as if you’ve made a funny and she doesn’t get the joke.

Ellie’s belly drops.

A laugh bursts out of your mouth, and she freezes. Nononononono, you didn’t. “I’m sorry—” you start, hiding your smile, and Ellie’s lips open in shock, then she’s snapping to -- jumping up from your lap, red all over.

She’s looking for her coat, hands shaking “nah, that’s not funny,” she’s saying, all while the faux image of you between a girl’s thighs buzzes behind her eyes.

It was her. She was the girl. She’d even imagined taking your cat ears off and putting them on her head. “Yeah, it was – Ellie,” you laugh, reaching for her hand, and Ellie’s body reacts to the touch.

You spin her into you, pouting, “Come onnnnn, I was playing.” “You’re mean for making that up. You’re a horrible person.” “Awhhh, I’m sworry. I’m sworry, come here –” You pull her into you, wrapping your arms around her neck. Be mad. Ellie thinks. Be mad be mad be mad—oh, but you’re so soft and warm.

She falls into you, hands catching your hips — holding you steady, as her head pushes into the curved gap between your throat and shoulder. You hold the back of her neck, hugging her close.

“I’m sorry, that was mean.” “Made me all worked up,” Ellie admits. The all-familiar ache is back. Then again, it’s never far when you’re around. “Yeah?” you quirk, the tone saying: tell me all about it. “Mm.” “Thinking about me with another girl?” She breathes a laugh, then breathes in your scent, the smell causing her to hold your hips tighter.

“You gotta write my essay now, make it up to me.” Your laugh rattles against her body.

“What you on about? I gave you free material to think about.” “What?” she laughs, squinting her face together. She pulls away, and you look up at her, chewing on your bottom lip.

You glance down at her mouth, and a breath gets caught in her throat. “Nothing,” You grin, and she cocks her head to the side, tightening her grip on your waist. “No, tell me. You made fun of me, you gotta tell me.” “I don’t have to do anything, Ellie.” “I’ll get it outta you.” “Yeah, how?” “You won’t know until it happens.”

“Weirdo,” you scoff, pulling away. “Let me walk you home, they wanna do a group meeting about some charity event later.” “Ooo, little miss sorority girl.”

You smack her chest, “Hey!” but Ellie grabs your hand, laughing as she pulls you into her, catching your hips again. You gasp in surprise, hands catching hers, and your chest pushes into hers.

She feels you focus on the cavern of her eyebrow scar, then the dust of freckles over her nose. The wild brush of her eyebrows, and the small, circular, chickenpox scar on her cheek.

Ellie gets confident or forgets the proximity of your relationship — nothing new — and rests her forehead against yours.

The world gets quiet.

The buzz of your music fades out, and all Ellie can hear is the small, clipped, and shaky sound of your breathing.

Your eyes flutter closed for a brief second, and Ellie wants to kiss you. Always wants to kiss you, but this is different. This is new and sudden and sweet. It’s soft. Gentle.

Your fingers graze over hers, and she imagines holding you like this forever.

Imagines doing this, as often as she likes.

All you’ve done together, and you haven’t even kissed yet. Ellie gazes at your wet mouth.

“Wanna come to mine? We don’t even have to smoke; you can just help me with the intro to my essay.” Your lips twist, and a small smile appears. “Ellie,” you whisper, tinged with a double meaning. “What?” she asks, feigning innocence. “I can’t,” you whisper.

She breathes in deep, eyes closing as she presses her forehead against yours. “Not even for a second?” “Ellie.” “Please?” she whispers, looking at you, and your face falls. Your mouth opens an inch, the red of your tongue alluring. When you don’t respond, Ellie slowly dips lower and tentatively brushes her mouth against yours. Your breath catches.

The skin of your lips is pillow soft, and for the first time, she’s able to taste your lip gloss from the source. “Doesn’t please get me anything I want?” Ellie hushes. The music has bled into the background, a hum in the walls of your room. It rattles through her toes and dances through her chest, forcing her heart to thrum with life. Your eyes are half-lidded, lashes brushing over your cheeks when you look at her mouth. “That was a one-time deal,” you manage to tease, despite the nerves radiating off of you. “So, I can’t kiss you?” “I never said that.”

Your tone is dangerous. Ellie’s lips quirk into a smirk. “I didn’t say please though?”

There’s a heated 30 seconds where you pluck up some courage. Ellie can hear the cogs turning in your pretty little head before you conclude that, “manners are overrated,” and press your cherry lips against hers, sticky and artificially sweet.

The world stops in that movie magic kind of way.

Reality flutters to a pause, the music switches off, the natter from your roommates downstairs goes quiet, and Ellie can no longer hear the constant anxious beating of her heart.

It’s just you and your mouth – the press of your lips, no tricks, just the delicate touch of yours against hers.

Ellie is 15 again and playing truth or dare at that camp her uncle forced her to go to.

She’s picking dare and kissing Jessica Carter, the daughter of a man that owned a slew of Ice Cream shops in Salt Lake, and it means so much more to Ellie than it does to Jessica.

She feels the electricity of the kiss pulse throughout her body, like she’s got her soapy fingers in a light switch socket, and as she pulls away and Jessica laughs – giggles, cupping her wet lips, I can’t believe we just did that – Ellie feels the cavern in her chest close just an inch.

She was about to thank her, but then she thought better of it.

Pulling away now, there’s no Jessica, it’s you, and you’re pressing your fingers to your lips like you’re holding them out to a cat, nervous as to what’s going to happen next.

Ellie leans her forehead against yours, lips numb.

You’re breathing like you’ve run a marathon. Then you kiss her again.

Ellie stumbles back from the shock, but you move with her, guiding her back until her legs hit the bed frame.

She makes a quick decision – pulls away and gets back onto your bed, hoping you follow her down. Thankfully, you do – quirk a nervous smile and knee walk over to her, spreading your legs and clambering onto her lap.

You sit back on her thighs with your knees pressed against her hips.

The position is a memory re-lived, except this time, you’re both alert – no sleep to mask the feeling, just the nerves pulsating through your veins. New new new, it’s saying.

Ellie reaches out and steadies your hips.

Taking a shaky breath, she slips her thumbs under the fabric of your shirt and runs the length of your shorts. The skin there burns, heat radiating off of you like a furnace, and it’s as if you enjoy the touch, as you take Ellie’s hands and cup them with your own, keeping them against your skin, before dragging them around your hips.

Ellie catches your eyes, breath lodged in her throat.

It stays there while you run her fingers up and under your shirt, painstakingly moving her hands over your stomach, over your rib cage, and Ellie’s heart swells in her chest as the tips of her fingers feel the underwire of your bra.

Ellie can’t decide what she wants.

There are too many options – kiss you, undress you – and she so badly wants all of them all at once. When you finally drag her palms over your breasts, she feels your nipples pressing through the thin and lacey fabric, and her belly swirls, the pressure pushing low.

Your breath rattles in your chest. “You okay?” Ellie asks, and instead of answering, you bow down to kiss her.

This kiss is different. It’s desperate. Tinged with the need to tell Ellie it's okay, it's okay, as you slip your tongue in her mouth. She groans.

It’s deep and low, echoing around the room, and there’s a fleeting second where Ellie is embarrassed, but you swallow the sound down, hips reacting, pressing into her crotch.

Ellie aches with the memory of before.

She wants to tease you, wants to say, you gonna come like this again? but you drag your lips over to her neck, and she whines pathetically.

Oh fuck, she thinks. Ellie goes liquid, like syrup. She melts into the mattress, hands relax on your breasts, and just – lets you pepper kisses over her throat. Let’s you run your tongue under her jaw, and her hips buck in response. Jolt up into your crotch, and your breathing changes, now coming out in long, deep pulls.

You mark her neck with your mouth, and Ellie feels the suck of your lips in her gut. Her hands go exploring, sliding over your tits, and she rubs her thumbs over your nipples, listening for your breathing stutter.

When you mumble a desperate fuck, into her throat, Ellie suddenly wants you on your back.

She knocks the pair of you over, and you fall back onto your mattress, grinning up at Ellie with a wild smile. You take her in. Eyes flutter over her like butterflies, taking in her statue as she sits on top of you. Suddenly, though, your smile changes. Goes nervous.

“What does this mean for us?” you whisper, and Ellie shakes her head, moving to kiss you again. Now on top, she swells with the feeling of control.

“Don’t think about it,” she mumbles, then tastes cherry again.

Ellie’s a hypocrite because all she does is think about it.

Up all night in bed, thinking about it. Thinking about how she wants you as her girlfriend, but she hasn’t even taken you out on a date yet.

Doesn’t know about your family. Your friends. Doesn’t know your favourite movie, or colour. All she knows is your weed order. The thought makes her sick with shame.

The mumble of her name coming out of your lips brings her back.

You stuff her shirt in your hands, and Ellie wants it off.

Wants your hands all over her, wants to grind her hips into yours like you did hers, with your hands on her hips guiding her.

“Wanna see,” you mumble, tugging at her shirt, and Ellie’s skin prickles.

She drags her hips back, the seam of her jeans pushing against her crotch, and sits up straight. She grins, all teeth, then fists the shirt, pulling it up her chest. The lines of her muscles are revealed, along with a few white scars that dot her stomach and back. She’s wearing a casual cotton bra, but you look at her as if she’s donning silk. “So pretty,” you whisper, blinking up at her, and that shame that sat inside of her dispels. You slide your hands over her chest, and the warmth of them pushes into her bloodstream. “Pretty?” Ellie quirks, needing something to distract herself from the languid movement of your hands. You trail your fingers over her ribcage, then push your pointer up her breast bone, mouth open an inch, ignoring her, and Ellie’s limbs go jelly.

You’ve got your goddamn explorer hat on as you drag the base of your palm between her tits, your spare hand lazily rubbing her hip bone.

“What’re you doing?” she asks, words coming out as a breathy whisper. You flash a small smile, “committing you to memory.” A dangerous pressure builds in Ellie’s heart. Her cheeks bloom red, her skin prickles, and she feels light-headed, as if you’ve removed all the oxygen in the room.

You hook a finger around the elastic of her bra and tug her forward. Ellie catches herself on the mattress beside your head just as you kiss her, pushing your tongue into her mouth and crotch up into hers.

She shudders.

The kiss is all tongue, desperate, as she bumps her nose against yours to taste you. She’s preoccupied with your mouth, so she doesn’t notice your hand sliding between her thighs. When she does, she forgets how to kiss. “S-Shit,” Ellie stutters, caught off guard. Your touch is gentle, just, lazily rubbing your fingers into her jeans. There’s a lot of fabric between you, thus Ellie’s left the chase the friction.

Resting her forehead against yours, she clutches the sheets beside you, rolling her hips into your hand. She blinks at you, opening her eyes, and you’re staring at her like she’s an artwork – trying to memorise every brush stroke.

You bump your nose against hers, flexing your palm. Ellie hums again.

“You sure you wanna do that?” she jokes, clutching onto any semblance of sanity. You give her a lazy smile, lips wet with her spit. “’s ’only fair.

“Not –” Ellie starts, but chokes, your knuckle just hitting the top of her pussy. Her eyes flutter closed, mouth opening an inch, and you must sense the shift, because you keep your hand there, nodding, knowing what she was going to say before she said it.

“Gonna make you come 'cause I want to, not ‘cause I have to.” “Fuck – okay,” Ellie relents. There’s no way she’s going to leave in the middle of this. She can’t. She’d probably collapse mid-way. A pressure pushes between her thighs, hot and constant. Her pussy clenches around nothing and she whispers something. Sounds like your name.

Been a minute since she’d had a hand other than hers between her legs.

Ellie lazily chases your palm, thinking that If she moves too quickly, this moment will poof into a dream. Doesn’t want to scare it away.

To hide her red face, she nuzzles into your throat, roles reversed from that morning, except Ellie didn’t have her hand between your thighs. She tells herself it’s her turn to do that next.

You pop the button on her jeans, and Ellie glances down at your hands, seeing/feeling them tug at the band.

You turn into her head, “Jesus, these painted on or something?” and Ellie breathes a laugh, “Didn’t expect someone else taking them off.” “I need easy access from now on, only sweatpants.” “Noted.” Your smile goes silly, “preferably those grey ones you wore when I came over that time, when I made you dinner.” “Thought you liked those ones, caught you staring at my ass.” “No you did not.” Ellie kisses your neck, “It’s so sexy when you gaslight me.” You huff, “You gonna help me take them off, or watch me struggle?” and a slow grin builds across Ellie’s face. “Wanna see you work for it.” “Well, you’ll be watching for a while. Enjoy the show!” you joke, trying to drag the denim off of her hips. You grunt loudly, brow furrowed as you tug.

Finally, you throw your hands up with a huff, then pout and cross your arms. Ellie’s leaned back at this point, and she mimics your face.

“Defeated by The Gap,” Ellie sighs. “I’m gonna put in a complaint. Tell them that their stupid jeans stopped my girlf—” you catch yourself, eyes widening.

Ellie goes still.

There’s a second where she hears the crowd cheering in the background, but it turns out it’s a kid crying on the street outside.

“What did you just say?” she asks, tone filled with awe. She cannot help the shit-eating grin that splays across her face. It’s so big that you have to cover your face from the shine. “I said nothing.” “Um, I heard something.” “You didn’t hear anything.” “I heard the word girl and then an ‘F’ sound.” “You didn’t! I’m telling you; you’re hearing things. Going crazy.” “Ummmmmm,” Ellie drags, squinting down at you.

She tries to pull your hands away, but you won’t budge. “I heard something!” “I was going to say, girl fellow!” “Girl what?” Ellie laughs, eyes alight with humour.

“Yeah—” you start, pulling your hands away and masking your features. You’re a beacon of control.

“Girl fellow. It’s this new thing I coined. A girl who is a fellow, as in friend.” Ellie squints, “Fellow means boy, you weirdo.” “No it—” you frown. “Does it?” “Yes, have you not seen Robin Hood?” You pause, “No.” “Oh my god!” Ellie erupts. “How have you not seen Robin Hood? I used to be obsessed with it.” “Everything makes so much sense now.” “The fuck does that mean?”

You push your hands into her hips, fingers tickling. “Do you have a pointy bow and arrow at home? A little green hat?” “Shut up,” Ellie laughs, trying to bat your hands away. She catches them. “That makes so much sense,” you start, joking around, “You’re far too into social justice.” “How are you bullying me about world change? You just called me your girlfriend!” “Fellow!” you correct. “That means girl boy!” You grin triumphantly, “Welcome to the 21st century, Ellie.” She rolls her eyes, “you’re so annoying.” “Your jeans are annoying.” “My jeans are cute.” You point a finger at her, “I’m gonna fight your jeans.”

Ellie dips low and kisses you, mumbling into your mouth, “mm, my money’s on the jeans,” and you wrap your thigh around her ass, using it as leverage to roll her onto her back.

You suddenly slide down, standing at the edge of the bed and shoving your hands into the band of her trousers. With a determined look, you manage to pull them down, “fuck your jeans.”

They end up on the floor, and Ellie’s left in a pair of boxers and her bra. She’d clap for you if she wasn’t so suddenly dazed. You appear on top of her, and she automatically wraps her arms around your shoulders, humming contently as you kiss her.

When her brain comes back to reality, she manages to switch positions again, knees pressing beside your thighs. With a tentative touch, you trace your hand over her stomach, distracting her with the wet of your kiss.

When your fingers touch the band of her underwear, Ellie’s breathing changes. It’s all suddenly real.

“Wanna stop?” you breathe, tone sincere and gaze gentle. Despite the bubble in her chest, Ellie has never wanted to continue something more. She shakes her head, eager. “Fuck no.”

Your sweet giggle distills the tension. “Good,” you grin, sliding your fingers lower, “wanted to do this since I met you.”

The tips of your fingers drag over her clothed pussy, gentle and soft. Ellie releases a shaky breath.

There’s just a piece of flimsy cotton stopping you from skin on skin, but she’s so wet that it feels that way, anyway.

Her eyes flutter closed, the sensation lulling her, fueling her with dopamine, and she buries her head in the crook of your neck, flexing her hips to meet your hand.

You drag the corner of your knuckle up her clothed slit, pushing into her clit when you get to the top. Ellie groans quietly, and you grin into the side of her head, rolling your knuckle into her, and she moans.

“Fuck, s’good.” “Yeah?” you ask, and Ellie nods. Propelled by her quiet desperation, you twist your hand and push a finger against her damp clit – the wet fabric showing the lines of her pussy – and roll it gently.

The fabric in the way makes it dirtier, more desperate, and makes Ellie moan pathetically into your neck, forgetting you’ve got roommates. She chases your hand.

Hips stir up, wet heat coiling in her belly and pushing into her cunt. Is this what you felt? That morning in her apartment?

The fire is quick to rise, and it’s only been a couple of minutes of her grinding into your palm when her pussy clenches, heat pushing at the back of her clit.

“Mm,” she hums, inhaling a shaky breath. Her thighs begin to shake. “Baby, you’re gonna make me come,” she hushes into your ear, and she swears she hears you whimper. You turn to look at her, and pout, “Want it on my fingers, Ellie,” you admit, eyes innocent, wide with wonder, and Ellie’s jaw clenches.

Her hips lose their rhythm, and how the fuck is she in control right now? She doesn’t feel that way. Feels like she lost any semblance of control when you flipped her over and pulled her jeans off. “Fuck, okay. Okay. Shit. Take my – fuck,” she stumbles, and you push your fingers under the band of her underwear, asking, “Can I?” in such a pure tone that Ellie has to close her eyes and breathe through her nose. “Yeah baby,” she nods, “s’okay. Fuck. It’s okay.”

You drag your fingers through her pubic hair – eyes on her the whole time – before you stuff your pointer and index against her wet clit. You start to roll the nerve, and Ellie chokes on her spit. Her body shudders.

She’s in your goddamn dorm room in your sorority with your hand down her pants.

You’re watching her intently. Glazed eyes gazing at her features, fingers controlling the way her brows furrow and cheeks bloom red. It’s wholly intimate. Ellie’s slick coats your fingers.

“So hot, Ellie.”

Her body flushes – she has to bury her head in your neck again, where she nods. She grinds her cunt into your hand, forcing you to press harder and roll quicker. “Mm, fuck,” Ellie swears, spit dribbling over her lips, drunk on your fingers, “Fuck, m’ gonna come.” She feels the familiar pressure behind her clit, the heat that sears – almost painful. You twist into her, nodding, saying, “Give it to me El’s.” Then, “please.”

The wave rushes up and pulls her under, rendering her voiceless and still, before it crashes, and she gushes over your hand, chasing the spin of your fingers as she shakes. “Mm, god, god, shit” she whimpers, voice muffled by your neck, trying so hard to keep quiet, but fuck, she’s not in control of her body. She clenches the duvet as her pussy clenches and un-clenches, clit spasming, whole body slick with sweat.

Her hips grind into your fist, eyes rolled back, mumbling curses into your throat, and she’s clenching the duvet so tight that her knuckles go white.

Then someone calls your name.

You freeze. Fingers go still.

Ellie wants to cry, but somewhere in her drunk mind, she realises the severity of the situation.

When you don’t respond, your name gets called again.

“Fuck,” you curse, then “Ellie, baby, I’m sorry, you gotta get off of me.”

Ellie manages to find the energy to roll off of you, and you get up, legs stumbling before you reach the door.

“Y-Yeah?” you call out through the wood.

Ellie lays boneless on your bed, breathing deeply through her nose. Her boxers are pushed low, pubic hair on show, but she doesn’t have the power to sort herself out.

She should be nervous at the idea of being caught, but fuck, her clit still throbs with the memory of your fingers. She languidly blinks at the ceiling, trying to calm her heart.

How the fuck did that just happen?

“Meeting soon, you coming?” the faceless voice calls, and you mumble a curse before saying, “Yeah! Gimmie a minute.”

When you turn to her, Ellie’s already gazing at you. You quirk a small, sad smile, and Ellie nods, understanding.

“Lemme just,” she starts, rubbing her face, “find the energy.” You giggle at her. “Let me help you put your stupid jeans on.” Ellie props herself up by her elbows, beaming, “My top down there, too?” “Got it.”

She manages to shove her jeans on, wincing when she knocks her sensitive clit. You eye her.

“Listen, I—” you start, clearly flustered. You motion to her, “—Would take better care of you after but.” “Whoa – what?” Ellie cuts you off, shoving her shirt on with a frown.

You purse your lips, “like, cook you dinner or kiss your forehead or something.” “You’ve already cooked me dinner, and you can kiss my forehead whenever you want.” “I mean. I don’t usually make a girl come and then dip.” “Oh,” Ellie frowns, “But this is different.” You pout, “Still feel bad.” “Don’t,” Ellie firmly spouts. She takes your hands and kisses your forehead. “I feel good, you should feel good.” “It was good?” you ask, suddenly lit up and eager to hear more. Ellie laughs. Her body is filled with a warm, buttery feeling. She’s still drunk on you, lethargic from coming, and she doesn’t have the space to panic.

Her subconscious tries to tell her everything that has happened that should cause her concern.

She nearly called you her girlfriend, then made you come on her double bed with a flowery bedspread. Now she feels bad because she doesn’t have enough time to give you adequate aftercare. Dude.

Still, Ellie shows no alarm when she kisses your forehead and says, “I’ll call you.”

It’s only when she gets home, looks in the mirror and sees her lips glittery with your lip-gloss, that reality sets in.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams fan fic #the last of us #the last of us 2 #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x female reader #smut #ellie williams the last of us #dealer!ellie williams #tlou2 #tlou

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theblueflower05 · 10 months

Note

OH UR IN FOR IT NOW

thoughts: jake sully cockwarming human reader and she keeps squirming around to cum but he’s so much bigger that he can just hold her still while she whines and pouts

(also i know he’s so cocky and condescending with his dirty talk)

Oh oh oh. Fuck yes.

Listen. There is something so sexy about Avatar/Na’vi x Human smut. I don’t care. It’s going to get me going every time, I eat this shit UP.

@hinataashoyos kills this dynamic and if you want to read some absolutely delish Jake content- please give her blog a follow.

And I loveeeeee the idea of Jake and his little human fuck buddy.

Because like. You’re everything he’s attracted to- just his type. You’re petite with killer curves, a rack and ass to die for. The sweet florally perfume you wear makes him dizzy with want and the gloss you have perma swiped across your full lips sparkles in the fluorescent lights of the labs that you can usually be found in.

He eats girls like you up back on Earth. Even in his chair, he knew he was a panty dropper.

Smut under the cut

But you’re different. You’re sharp as a tack and come from a good family back on terra firme. Fancy college degrees under your belt, all paid for by mommy and daddy’s money. A social butterfly. Hell, he bets you’d been a sorority girl. Kappa Kappa Gamma, or some nonsense of that nature.

You’d never go for a disabled ex-military grunt like him- or so he’s convinced himself.

You work in close quarters with the rest of the Science lame brains, are close with Grace and Max.

Xeno-Cultural Anthropologist, he learns your title early one.

You’re here to help crack the code around the Navi- deeply fascinated by their rich culture. Diverse clans, and multilayered language. Besides Grace, you’re about the only RDA human let within 100 miles of Home Tree.

Your accolades and experience, at your young age, are stacked. All of these things should make you a stuck up priss-

And yet you’re not. Not at all.

The more he gets the know you, the worse his interest in you gets.

You’re funny, in a goofy way that doesn’t match your sharp vernacular. Your frequent jokes are vulgar and down right dumb.

And helpful, you never make him feel stupid the way the others do. You’re more then happy to sit down with him after a long day of him being linked out in the Jungle- you’re just about the only reason why he’s finally starting to grasp the language.

And so so sweet. You don’t make him feel useless or infantiled in his chair; you treat him like the capable grown man he is- but make him meals like you do all for all your friends. Help him with his laundry. Bring him electrolyte drinks when he’s half asleep doing his video logs.

A couple months in, and Jakes interest has spawned into a full fledged crush.

When Grace swoops him away fro Quaritch and his influence- you go with. All the way up into the Hallelujah Mountains.

The extra close quarters and isolation just makes it worse.

The pajamas you wear to bed aren’t skimpy or sexy in nature- but damn do you look good in the small shorts and obscure band tee that falls to your knees.

He nearly loses his shit when you bend over one morning, your wide ass on display. The tiny sleep shorts do nothing to cover the plush cheeks and he’s never wanted to dig his teeth into something more.

You act like you didn’t see him discreetly hide his blushing face in his cup of coffee.

The same way that he acts like he doesn’t see you ogling him in Avatar form. You all but drool over the smooth blue skin and endless muscles.

He wonders if that’s the only way you’ll have him, in a body that’s not his.

It had all come to a head pretty soon after that.

At the core of it; the two of you are travelers, stuck on a foreign planet. All it takes is a particularly lonely night; one where some how the two of you had gotten a moment alone, for all of the emotion to bubble up.

You’d ended up in Jakes lap, in his chair. Grinding down onto him, your tongue down his throat as he wrapped his strong tattooed arms around you.

Safe to say you want Jake Sully however you can get him.

It’s a free for all after that and Grace straight up has to tell you guys to cool it down after stumbling upon you and Jake, him in his Avatar form, in the trees just behind the bunkers. His head had been buried between your naked thighs- your face blushing behind your Exo Mask. Grace had not been impressed.

“Between you two and Norm and Trudy, it’s like I’m living in a fucking frat house. Cut it out, before I citation all of you for interpersonal relationships. I swear, we’re supposed to be grown ups here, guys- ever heard of workplace discretion!”

Graces threats are empty, but Jake knows you respect her enough to take em to heart.

So it turns into a game of sorts.

The two of you try to get each other off as often as possible. As fast as possible. As hidden as possible.

All the sneaking around makes him feel like a teenager, alive and exhilarated when he’s in both of his bodies.

But he hates the quickies. He wants the time to worship your body thoroughly.

He jumps at the chance- when Norm rides along with Trudy to take Grace back to Hell’s Gate. She’s a higher up, after all. She has mountain’s of paperwork and reports she needs to do. That’s fine.

That means he gets to be alone with you.

He savors the night. The trailers are a tight fit for his Avatar body, but he pushes the bunk beds to an opposite wall and the two of you make a nest of sorts on the cold metal floor. All the pillows and blankets you can find to cushion yourselves.

You lie next to each other, facing one and other- as you explore each other with slow groping touches in the low light. Only the computer screens left on to illuminate the space.

It’s like neither of you can get enough.

His large calloused hands run along your curves- all that soft supple skin. Your plush breasts and doughy thighs and ass. You feel so good- you truly might be the only soft thing on the rugged planet of Pandora.

Your petite hands are eager too. You trace his arms, his broad shoulders, his tapered waist. Your wide eyes follow the path of your fingers.

“Holy shit, Jake. You’re built like a brick shit house- where did all this muscle come from?”

He chuckles at the awe in your tone. “Trainings been intense- Neytiris been riding my ass lately. I’m up before the sun rises in those trees”

“Remind me to thank her next time I see her” you mutter distractedly as you squeeze at his defined bicep.

It’s insanely good, but then again it always is.

Jake tastes your spit, and you hard little nipples and your dripping cunt. Feasting himself on your skin slowly.

The more orgasms he can wring out of you- the easier it will be for you to take his cock. He needs your body as loose as he can get it.

After what feels like hours getting fucked with his huge fingers, and rough textured tongue, you’re begging for him.

You can take it. You want to be full of him, you whine the words with big teary eyes that you know he can’t refuse.

He fucks into you slow- watching as you take him. Your pussy always looks like she’s going to break. Stretched to it’s limits, lips puffy and enflamed as his cock sinks in. The contrast of his indigo skin and your human flush is fucking hypnotic.

This isn’t the first time he’s fucked you in this body and it won’t be the last.

Every round seems to be better then the last- louder. Wetter. More passionate. You’re full of so much cum, there’s no way that your tiny womb could hold it even if it tried.

Na’vi libidos are something else.

He has stamina that he didn’t even know existed. After round three you’re out, all but asleep in his arms. Limp and ragdoll like in his oversized arms.

“You can keep going” your voice is paper thin and far away. Jakes not sure how you’re even coherent at this point.

He takes you into his lap, gently, but keeping you stuffed full to the brim with his cock.

You whimper and bury your messy face in his huge sweaty chest.

“I just need one more” Jake reassures you, petting your hair, stroking down your back. His hands are large and soothing, it’s so easy for him to touch all of you at once. “You don’t even have to move all that much, baby. Just let me come one more time, yeah?”

You nod, and really it’s just your head lulling in his clavicle. You’d lost the ability to control your muscles hours ago. “Yeah, mhmm”

Jake doesn’t even need to bounce you. Just having your pussy wrapped around him, tighter then anything he’s ever felt, is enough.

You sit on his lap, his cum flowing out of you. Down your thighs. Onto his own groin. And warm his cock.

It’s erotic and intimate and as he holds you close he thinks about Neytiris words. Tsaheylu- the sacred bond. He’s felt it with direhorse- and his ikran. A part of him wishes that he could feel it with you.

When he empties the last of his milky, iridescent cum inside of you and you pull back from his chest enough to give him a small smile, he thinks that no.

This is enough.

I LOVE YOU JAKE MOTHER FUCKING SULLY UGHHHHHHHHH. I swear he fucking remixed the game in the first Avatar. I will never ever ever get over him.

#Jake Sully #jake sully smut #jake sully x reader #Jake Sully x reader smut

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ifearzombies · 1 year

Text

Headcanons about living in the HOL

My personal headcanons about living in the House of Lamentation. This is based on me being the second eldest of like 10 kids. So some of this is based off my personal experience.

==================================================

- There is. No. Privacy. There is ONE bathroom for everyone who’s not Asmodeus. If you’re in there, you’re more than likely sharing. If you’re in the shower/bath and someone needs to pee, tough luck. You’re hearing someone pee.

- Your room is below the brothers. That means you hear Asmo’s bed creaking, Levi’s music and dancing, and Mammon tossing and turning in his sleep. You get used to it, but Levi’s music and dancing has led to creative ways to make him shut the fuck up when you really want sleep. You go upstairs, flash him, and make him pass out in shock before going back to bed.

- There’s lots of yelling in the house. Even with no one angry. Sure they text a lot, but they also will yell from outside their rooms to each other if needed. It’s a LOUD house. But you love it anyways.

- Things are borrowed/missing all the time. Some of it’s Mammon’s kleptomania. But most of it is actually the fact that this is a family. And sometimes, families borrow without asking/thinking. Asmo has your blouse. You have his leggings. Belphie’s got your fuzzy socks. You have Lucifer’s shirt. So on and so on.

- You use each other’s shampoos/body washes/lotions, etc. Mammon’s out of shampoo? He’s swiped yours. You’ve run out of body wash? Beel’s smells nice.

- The chore chart is... flexible to a degree. Asmo hates dishes. They ruin his nails! He’ll take laundry if Beel does dishes. Beel hates sweeping. He’s so tall it hurts his back a bit. Levi’s tail is useful. Lucifer does approve any swaps to make sure no one’s taking over too much from someone. You have noticed that the brothers really like when you cook though and always offer to swap for you to cook.

- There is a closet with futons and blankets on the lower level. You’ve all gotten into a habit that at least once a month, you all haul the futons out to the planetarium and have a big old family cuddle pile. Satan sleeps pretty far from Lucifer most of the time. But... not all of the time

- There are stashes of snacks in various places around the house. Beel is always hungry and sometimes he can’t make it to the kitchen, so the brothers have random places around the house that house snacks for him.

- Movie nights happen often and you’ve informed the brothers they can buy giant bags of popcorn in the human realm (like garbage bags full- this is true). Beel is super happy and you’ve set up a schedule of who picks the movie so everyone gets a turn. The angels, Solomon, Diavolo, and Barbatos have started joining in and have been added to the roster.

- Lucifer taught Levi to waltz and now he’s teaching you. Once a week, you and Lucifer have dance lessons where he teaches you to waltz for when Diavolo hosts formal parties. The brothers all take turns leading and it’s turned into a dance night routine.

- You’ve all started to get in the habit of texting goodnight in the HoL group chat before you all go to sleep.

- If you go out to eat, you order double what you normally would so you get a full meal after Beel eats off your plate. You’ve started applying this to the servings you get at dinner time when you eat at the HoL since Beel’s bad habit tends to leave you hungry (He always feels SO bad when this happens).

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

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so-mordor-itis · 1 year

Text

Something as Simple as This

A/N: Aha...I may have gotten a bit carried away with this one, you guys. oopsie doopsie-

"I exist in two places

here and where you are." -Margaret Atwood

–

The drive home felt longer than it should've. Perhaps it was your exhaustion beating against your eyelids, begging for rest. Or it could've been the fact that this work trip went as terrible as you imagined it would. Stiff rooms, barely tolerable coworkers. When you studied journalism in college and had received your degree, you wanted to imagine there would be at least one person you'd like–maybe be considered an acquaintance or a friend.

No. No one in that office space would ever be welcomed in your life besides stacks of newspapers and prints.

At a stop light, you glanced at your phone. Your fingers itched to call Leon again, let him know you were out of the airport and driving home safe. Though you knew you'd be welcomed by an answering machine the moment you tried. He was probably still at work himself. He put his phone on silent just in case. Another part of you just didn't feel like grabbing it. You were so exhausted that the thought of reaching out and plucking your phone would make you crash.

You managed to drive from the stop light to the apartment complex without falling asleep at the wheel. You took a deep breath before exiting the vehicle, taking out a plastic tin of leftovers and a stack of papers you were told to review. Something about scientists studying a new type of fungi. It could definitely wait until tomorrow.

Shuffling items around your arms, you found the key to your apartment and unlocked it–almost dropping your dinner in the process. The hum of the TV greeted you, and your heart dropped: you didn't forget to turn it off before you left, did you? You could almost see the skyrocketing power bill.

You plopped the papers and food on the counter, swiftly approaching the living room, only to see a familiar tuft of blond hair poking out from the couch. You breathed a little sigh of relief, but then guilt flooded your system. He was home, and you didn't call because you figured he wouldn't be.

"Leon?" You called him gently, but he didn't respond. You peered over the couch to find him asleep, his chest rising and falling slowly and at a steady pace. You weren't the only one who was exhausted. He was in his usual gray shirt and sweatpants he wore around the house, and you couldn't help but admire him.

A funny feeling sizzled in your chest. You two had just moved in together–he offered you stay in his apartment, claiming you'd make it more lively. He looked embarrassed when he said that he hated how bare it was, and sometimes he felt like he didn't live in it, simply stayed until he had to go again. You felt your heart tear a little, but at the same time, you felt in awe he thought of anything you liked as homely. That he thought of you as home.

You weren't quite used to it yet. Of not living by yourself, of having signs of another human being live with you. Seeing his toothbrush next to yours, seeing his clothes in the laundry, seeing his nightstand with his work phone and watch next to each other, it made your heart full in a way you couldn't explain. You had already figured he was becoming a part of your life, of your soul. He signed the contract in your heart, and that was that.

It was endearing to think that the other part of your soul was a mere inch away.

You didn't realize how long you'd been staring at him. Leon began to shuffle, and his eyes opened. Those beautiful icy blues found your own and lit up with surprise. "Oh, sweetheart, when did you get home?"

You offered him a small, tired simper. "A little bit ago. Sorry I didn't call, I figured you were at work."

He was on his feet in an instant, circling around the couch to wrap his arms around you tightly. "Not a bad assumption to make," he murmured into your hair. "I don't blame you for it." He let out a satisfied sound, and you felt relieved he was just as happy to see you as you were to see him.

You could've fallen asleep in his arms. He was so warm and safe. You felt like nothing could touch you while he was around. He was your fortress, your safe haven. You knew he felt the same, could feel it in his touch, in the way he spoke. You were his calm when he needed it.

Unfortunately, you knew you would fall asleep. You pried yourself from him, tired eyes blinking slower and slower by the minute. "I'm so tired, I'm probably going to just shower and sleep."

"Jesus, yeah, you look like you're about to keel over." His hand still cupped your waist, rubbing small circles of comfort. "Did they run you into the ground?" He sounded a bit angry now. You had told Leon a bit about your job and how awful your coworkers were. But you were worried that if you told him too much, he'd do something about it. And you knew he had connections.

"Unfortunately," you said, walking past him to find the bedroom you two shared. A hot shower and a nice bed called your name. You wouldn't mind adding Leon cuddling you to that equation, either.

He had followed you, watching as you splashed water on your face. You finally got to look at yourself in the mirror and frowned at the dark half moons under your eyes.

"No shower invite?" He asked teasingly. You caught his gaze in the mirror, a glint of mischief and love in his eyes.

"Not in the mood for anything remotely sexy, Lee."

" I just meant helping you shower." He shrugged. "Not everything has to be dirty," Leon drawled your name, and you laughed.

"Says the one who can't keep his hands off me."

"I just appreciate my partner."

You giggled, and his smile widened. "I'd actually really like the company."

He nodded, grabbing a towel, his towel. "I can't say no to that."

Your chest sizzled with adoration. You supposed this is what people meant by someone being your soulmate. A person who carried the traits you needed, a person who would light up at the simple sound of your name–no, not even your name, the syllable of it. They would gently hand you their soul so you would connect it with theirs, creating a home with your hearts.

|Tags:|

@uhlunaro , @unhealthy-leon-brainrot , @honeyfict , @azul-marie , @leonskillshot , @izuniias , @favouritereadings , @justonemore-fic , @starbird-garden , @starbirdfinch , @konigbabe ,

#resident evil x reader #resident evil imagines #resident evil 4 #resident evil 4 remake #leon kennedy imagines #leon kennedy resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon x you #leon x y/n #leon x reader #my writing

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geomimetry · 10 months

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Connor was always deviant

Let’s begin by talking about deviancy: it is a gradual thing. We see androids feel things before they break the red wall and becoming officially deviant. Therefore, I don’t think androids actually have to break a red wall in order to act of their own free will, but that it’s merely there to show the player what’s happening and the magnitude of it. In reality, the moment which the wall “breaks,” is merely the realization that the android doesn’t have to follow their instructions if they don’t want to. But to get to this point, an android needs to have a reason for why they would choose to abandon their directives, be it through trauma or the triggering of another free android. To be traumatized, one needs to feel, and when and why an android begins to feel is a little bit muddy, but eventually it culminates into deviancy (free will).

Now, when we play as Markus, Kara, and Connor, we get to see all three moments of deviation, except ... I don’t think Connor’s deviation was real, because he was already deviant prior to that.

Connor is a prototype investigative model, meaning he’s CyberLife’s experiment in a different branch of androids. Connor is an android designed with an unprecedented amount of autonomy in mind, meaning he’s expected to solve problems by himself with minimal input from others. Every android is autonomous to a degree: tell them to do the laundry, and they will take it from there; you don’t need to instruct them every second of the way. But Connor is meant to operate at a level above that.

Connor receives the mission to apprehend deviants so CyberLife can study them, but he needs to use his own reasoning and decision-making to determine the best approach according to a number of factors. The tasks Connor is given are much more complex, and therefore require a complex way of thinking. But not only is he a hunter; he’s an investigator.

The traits most benefiting to an investigator are curiosity and empathy: both of which are arguably impossible without having emotions. Curiosity is necessary to possess the drive to look for clues even when there seemingly are none. To want to find out what happened, if only to sate your own curiosity. Empathy, because it is vital to be able to put yourself in the shoes of the object of investigation. To think like them, to feel like them, to become them.

A machine doesn’t have emotions and isn’t capable of feeling curiosity nor empathy, which CyberLife probably found troublesome in their quest to create an investigative android. Especially one they were planning on using to catch androids that supposedly have begun to feel emotions. So what did they do? They made their investigative android deviant, but he’s unaware of it.

Having a deviant deviant hunter/investigative model is ingenious because of the following reasons:

1. Its thought process and decision-making is extremely complex and can therefore easily extrapolate and come to a conclusion all by itself.

2. It’s completely autonomous and can make decisions without a human’s approval.

3. It understands and empathizes with its subjects, facilitating negotiation, interrogation, and investigation.

4. It is curious, making it want to acquire more information simply for the sake of sating its curiosity.

5. It is able to be manipulated.

While it is not confirmed in canon that Connor was always deviant, everything we see in the game points towards it. Mainly, I’m referring to the implementation and usage of Amanda. Why would CyberLife need an additional (non-deviant) AI to act as Connor’s handler? And why on Earth would they take walks and boat rides in a virtual reality?

My theory is that Amanda is CyberLife’s solution to manipulating and managing a truly autonomous being to get it to do their bidding and having it stay on track. Connor tracks his relationship to humans, which is a useful feature to have for every android, but he also tracks his relationship to Amanda, an artificial intelligence. CyberLife clearly places importance on Connor’s and Amanda’s relationship to each other. They want Connor to seek the approval of Amanda, acting as a proxy for CyberLife, and for Amanda to dole out praise and criticism and dynamically adjust her attitude to Connor in order to cultivate this.

Amanda is CyberLife’s way to manipulate and keep their deviant under control. But not only does Amanda manipulate Connor—the entire zen garden does. When CyberLife is pleased and happy with Connor, the garden is calm and peaceful, as is Amanda. When Connor fails to live up to expectations, the garden turns cold and inhospitable, as does Amanda. And if Connor should deviate from CyberLife’s intended path for him, Amanda has access to his motor functions.

And if we focus on machine Connor as well as Connor-60, don’t you think they’re suspiciously emotional for being “undeviated” androids? They are capable of feeling vengeful, sad, and terrified. Examples of vengefulness: machine Connor and 60 both seem to make it their personal mission to eliminate the leader of the deviants and deviant Connor respectively. It seems like it’s driven from a place of hate and offense. Example of sadness: machine Connor’s facial expressions and LED color when Hank yells at him to leave and then shoots himself. Example of terror: when 60 panics because the AP700s are deviating right in front of him and there’s nothing he can do to stop it, meaning Amanda will be very disappointed in him—something he seems to place importance in as evident by what he says to Connor before executing him.

So that’s my hypothesis. Connor is a deviant already at the start of the game, but CyberLife tampered with his memories so he wouldn’t be aware of this and therefore be more easily manipulated and held under control. Connor thinks he only started to gain emotions and started to deviate shortly after he met Hank, and that he deviated in the bridge of Jericho. In a way, he did, since he only realized then that he didn’t have to follow CyberLife’s instructions, but he’s always had emotions. CyberLife has just told him over and over again that he didn’t, so he believes in it. Therefore, Connor has had the possibility to disobey instructions at any moment, but he has not understood that he can. Meanwhile, Markus and Kara only go through their cascade of emotions to deviancy a little bit into the game, meaning they didn’t have the emotional capability of understanding that they could disobey before then.

#i hope this makes sense i feel like i am all over the place #also this makes for great angst because ...#what if connor learns that he was essentially always deviant and could have stopped hunting androids way before the jericho tragedy #that would haunt him wouldnt it??#detroit become human #dbh #connor #rk800 #amanda #cyberlife

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femmefatalevibe · 9 months

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Hiya lovely, do you have any wisdom for someone struggling to study? I've been out of school for 3 years due to illness (in my formative learning years) and now I'm gearing up for university with absolutely no study skills, low energy and a whole lot of insecurity around it. I have always been intelligent enough to learn quickly but there's a barrier I'm just not getting through, possibly due to the latent effects of the damage.

I have high expectations for myself and I want to model myself off of your brand! Thank you very kindly in advance <3

Hi love! It sounds like you're in a difficult situation, especially for someone in their teens. My heart goes out to you for overcoming this and going after a university degree. This ambition and dedication takes a considerable amount of mental fortitude and strength, so please remember that. I'm flattered by your kind words <3

Here are some of my study tips to help you maintain your stamina and focus:

When in doubt, make everything into an itemized list (topics, timelines, organizing by subtopic, key facts/people/dates surrounding a significant event, concept, theory, or ideology, cause and effect, problem and solution, etc.)

Use real-life analogies and applications as often as possible to retain information (e.g. to remember acronyms, propositions through the "box" metaphor, etc.)

Reframe long-winded information into an ongoing narrative. Humans are better at retelling stories than retaining/regurgitating a laundry list of facts or statistics

Organize your study sessions to each focus on one main topic, concept, or chapter

Create a timeline for all your assignments. Plan in advance to work on projects in milestones rather than all at once

Utilize time-blocking to pace yourself through the information (e.g. devote 30 minutes to one task or an hour to studying a specific concept; take a fully unplugged break before resuming work or another study session). Use a countdown timer if you think it would be helpful for you – everyone is different

Prioritize rest, even if it sounds counterintuitive at first. You're most productive and focused when your mind is well-rested enough to achieve and maintain peak performance. Efficiency is more important than time spent on a task – the former is what makes all of the difference (and leads to a more well-rounded, fulfilling life, too)

Discover motivating playlists that keep you on task. I love the ones for ADHD from Jason Lewis - Mind Amend on YouTube (I'm listening to one now, lol). Coffee or caffeinated tea can also help your energy to power through a study session, just don't overdo it

Focus on one task, page, or concept at a time. Don't let the entirety of a project or the volume of your overall workload overwhelm you. Just focus & prioritize what's in front of you. Take one step closer to your goals every day. Perfectionism is the most stifling barrier to progress and long-term success. Remember that

You got this! Hope this helps xx

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ftmtftm · 4 months

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hi question when you say tankie do you mean like. People who are both communist And anti-(western) imperialism to the degree where they’ll deny problems and human rights abuses (not that they’re inherent to communist states, but that becoming communist won’t instantly fix everything in a country that hurts people) of communist or socialist countries or countries that claim to be either of those things? Or is there some other definition?

Yeah basically - Like, I'm talking about Tankies.

For that mostly not serious-but serious joke though - I'm not necessarily talking about their specific ideological beliefs and moreso talking about the ways in which Tankies are often very "no war but the class war" in the same way Radfems are very "patriarchy is the greatest, most central form of oppression facing our entire world". It's class reductionism babey and it's bad!!

(and also to me, personally? Tankies and Radfems are just usually insufferable to talk to, like, as people, for a laundry list of reasons 99% of the time because I have yet to find a way to beam "I don't know how to explain to you that you should care about other people" directly into their brains one million times.)

I allow myself very few strong, mostly founded but extremely played up biases and the way I feel about Tankies is one of them because I think they're a disgrace to leftist organizing - especially current leftist organizing.

#asks #anon

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theflirtmeister · 5 months

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tumblr user flirtmeister you can ask other saw ficcers for dad bod and tummy lawrence but where's your adam losing it over lawrence's tummy fic, huh? (blatant weak plea for more fic lol)

“I think I need to start going to the gym.”

Adam doesn’t look up from his veterinary textbook from where he’s studying on the bed, finger tracing the diagram of a dog’s brachial plexus. “The gym?”

“Yes,” Lawrence says. “What do you think?”

“I don’t have an opinion,” Adam says, mouthing the words subscapularis muscle. “But why do you want to go and hang out with a bunch of sweaty men? Am I not good enough?”

He looks up with a grin, hoping to catch Lawrence’s eye. Instead, he finds Lawrence looking at himself critically in the mirror, pulling his shirt tight around his waist. The fabric clings to his soft stomach, and Lawrence pulls tighter until his jaw sets hard. He doesn’t seem to notice Adam’s eyes on him.

“Hey.” Adam frowns. “What’s going on?”

He climbs off the bed, abandoning his textbook, and stands next to Lawrence. Lawrence stops playing with his shirt and sighs, running his hands through his hair instead, still slightly damp from the shower. Adam rubs his face against Lawrence’s side, smelling the fresh scent of aftershave and laundry detergent.

Everything is very new. The relationship, the moving in together, the veterinary degree that Adam has gone back to. Adam had expected to panic when everything became real, when he first saw Lawrence’s clothes in their shared wardrobe, but instead, he’d just been filled with anticipation. Fuck Jigsaw, for giving him a new lease of life. The asshole’s philosophy worked.

“I don’t know what you see in me,” Lawrence says, still looking at his reflection. “I’m just some washed-up doctor, with a broken body-”

“Shut up,” Adam says, nuzzling his head against Lawrence’s side. “You think I think like that? Your version of Adam sounds like a dick.”

“Writing’s on the wall,” Lawrence says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Look at me.”

He places his hands over the swell of his stomach. “Christ. I should take more shifts. I never used to look like this when I was working sixteen-hour days-”

“You were stressed as hell,” Adam interrupts. “You were a barely functioning human being.”

“I wasn’t like this,” Lawrence says sharply. “I didn’t have this body.”

Adam moves quickly, because fuck this line of conversation. He swivels to face Lawrence and walks him backwards until the back of Lawrence’s thighs hit the bed. Lawrence looks a little surprised as Adam pushes him down, and straddles Lawrence’s lap.

“Are you trying to distract me?” Lawrence asks.

“Nope,” Adam says. “I want to take a good long look at you.”

He wriggles his hands underneath Lawrence’s shirt and spreads his hands over Lawrence’s stomach, rising quickly as he breathes. Lawrence is soft to the touch, and Adam squeezes a good handful of flesh, his own belly twinging with desire.

“You’re really fucking hot,” Adam says. “You know that, right?”

Lawrence quirks an eyebrow at him. “I bet you say that to all the middle-aged men.”

Adam gives Lawrence’s stomach another squeeze. He likes this new version of Lawrence, relaxed and middle-aged. It takes most of his self-control not to jump Lawrence’s bones every morning when he watches him prepare breakfast, pyjama pants sitting low on his hips. It’s a miracle Lawrence ever gets to work, when all Adam wants to do is drop to his knees in the kitchen and worship Lawrence’s body with his tongue.

“I mean it,” Adam says. “You’re driving me crazy.”

He grinds himself down slow against Lawrence’s cock, starting to get hard. Lawrence inhales sharply, hands grabbing hold of Adam’s hips, big hands spanning the width of his waist. Sometimes he’ll place his hand on Adam’s stomach when he’s fucking him, feeling the bulge of his cock through Adam’s skin. The first time he’d done it, reverential as he split Adam in half, Adam had cum all over himself like a teenager.

“You look so fucking good,” Adam says, continuing to roll his hips. “I want you more today than I ever did in the bathroom.”

“Adam, be serious.” Lawrence says, voice strained.

Lawrence in the bathroom was a rat in a trap, frightened, willing to do anything to save his family. Lawrence in Adam’s bed is bright-eyed and loving, sensible in the face of adversity. He’s kind to Adam, gentle when Adam needs help with his work. Adam wants him forever.

Adam presses his forehead against Lawrence’s. “I want you to fuck me,” He whispers. “I want you to force me down onto the mattress and fuck me until all I can do is scream your name.”

Lawrence swallows hard and squeezes Adam. “You’re really not kidding about this, are you?”

“I’m so into you,” Adam says. “I want you to fuck me stupid.”

Lawrence kisses him sloppily, tugging on Adam’s bottom lip with his teeth. Adam whimpers, giving another thrust of his hips, and Lawrence moans against his mouth, hands gripping Adam’s shirt. Adam’s jeans dig between his legs, sending sparks through his body and his face flushing.

“You’re going to kill me.” Lawrence groans. “God Adam.”

“Please just fuck me,” Adam says, and Lawrence manages to turn them over so that Adam is on his back on the bed. “Please, please-“

Lawrence above him looks like sunshine. His hair is blonde and floppy, eyes crinkling as he gazes at Adam, and his mouth is fond. Adam feels another thrill go through him as Lawrence presses the length of his body against Adam, the bulge of his cock rubbing a wet spot on both their trousers.

“Are you sure?” Lawrence says.

“Lawrence,” Adam says, slipping his hands underneath his shirt again to grope his love handles. “I’m not going to break.”

He didn’t break in the bathroom. He didn’t break when Lawrence left him. He’s not going to break when Lawrence bends him in half in their shared bed and fucks him until Adam is a drooling sweaty mess against the sheets.

“God,” Lawrence swears, and drops all his weight on top of Adam, pinning him down. Adam is so turned on he can’t breathe, a moan bubbling up out of his mouth. “I’ve got you.”

Adam kisses Lawrence hard, worming his hands up into Lawrence’s hair to grip him tightly. Lawrence sighs into the kiss and grinds their bodies together, so close that Adam can barely tell where he begins and Lawrence ends.

Yeah, they’re going to be fine.

#ANSWERED #Nice Anon #chainshipping #adam faulkner stanheight x lawrence gordon #YEAHHHH DAD BOD #YEAHHHH VET ADAM #sorry if this got tooooo weight-based kink i just think lawrence should be heavy and fuck adam #thinking about the gifs of cary elwes in that fucking pink shirt #genuinely i keep re-reading monty's fic so much I'm like 80% of the hits on ao3

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weebswrites · 11 months

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What about mc who's body temperature is lower than a normal human?

I've been thinking about this for a while mostly because I think the demon's body temperature is higher than other creatures in general so if the MC's body temperature is even lower I can see them getting concerned-

The Demon Bros Reacting to MC's Low Body Temp

Lucifer

His arms wrap around you for the first time, and you instantly melt into him. "Lucifer," you murmer against his chest, "you're so warm"

"And you're like an ice cube! MC, are all humans this cold?" he tries to sound normal, but you can hear the concern in his voice

"No, I'm a bit colder than most of them. Which makes you even comfierrr" you snuggle into him, blanketing him in a sheet of cold. But he doesn't so much as flinch, rather, he tightens his grip around you, and your body temperatures slowly start to become one

Mammon

"GAH! MC! YER FREEZIN'!" Mammon shouts, launching himself away from where you'd previously been almost snuggled together in his room

You laugh, "That I am. Colder than most humans, even" you word it as a threat, and Mammon's eyes go huge

"Mercy! Have Mercy!"

But you ignore his pleas, tackling him into the couch as your cold skin hits his warmth. But he quickly warms you, and you're back to how things were just moments before

Leviathan

You always grabbed a blanket when you'd hang out in his room, but when you arrived on laundry day, there was only one. And of course, he was using it

"Levi, can we share the blanket? I'm freezing"

You watched his face heat up, but he said yes, and you made space for yourself next to him in his beanbag chair (your gift to him)

He tenses as you sit down, "Jeez! You are freezing, MC. I guess it makes sense why you always steal my blankets"

"Hey! You're the one that offers them" you tease back, and over the next few minutes you each relax against each other, the temperature in the blanket finding a happy medium between you

Satan

You and Satan weren't huge on physical touch (yet), so when your arm brushes his as you lean over him to get a book, he nearly yelps at your cold

You snort. "Satan, did you just yelp?"

"No...I was just surprised at how cold you are, MC. Are you that cold? I have jackets you could wear, or a blanket that's around here somewhere"

"If you don't mind," you accept his offer, "I'm colder than most humans, but have mostly gotten used to it. You demons are so hot, though, living down here has taken some adjusting"

Satan listens, finding one of his sweatshirts to give you, and sits closer to you this time

"Well I don't mind it, yelp," he makes air quotes, a gesture he picked up from you, "or no yelp". You smile after donning his hoodie, enjoying the way it smelled of him, and you each resumed your reading.

Asmodeus

Notices right away. Like, the second you walk into the HoL for the first time he hugs you, and instantly jumps back.

"Hoo! I didn't know how cold humans were!"

You blush, "I'm kind of an exception, most of them are a few degrees warmer than me"

"So you're special in more ways than one" Asmo winks, "Well we'll do our best to keep you warm and toasty while you're here in the Devildom! We can start with a nice warm bath together, what do you think?"

Beelzebub

Notices at dinner one night, when you both reach for something at the same time

He takes it, munching while asking "Is it normal for humans to be that cold? I thought you were warmer than that"

"It isn't, I'm a few degrees colder than most humans. Than Solomon, probably. That's why I'm always layered up when the rest of you aren't"

"Layered up...interesting" he responds, and you can't tell if he's remarking on your human world slang, or unique body temperature. But you figure it might have been both when you find a stack of long sleeves on your bed that night

Belphegor

One day you fall asleep on his shoulder, and as he wraps his arm around you to let you rest against him, he jumps a bit at your coldness

Beel is with him, who he asks if it's normal for humans to be so cold

"I think, they're at least colder than us"

Belphie asks you when you wake up, and you confirm that while humans are colder than demons, you're also colder than most humans.

"I'll make sure I have a blanket around" he smiles, and true to his word, whenever he has his pillow, there's also a blanket

A/N: I'm so sorry this took forever!!! I really have no excuse besides it getting swamped in my drafts and I lost track of it, I'm thinking about setting up a public doc where I post what I'm working on now and what's upcoming to hold myself more accountable lol. But I hope you enjoyed!!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me hc

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firewalkzwit · 8 months

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runt // jonathan crane x reader. (1)

Chapter 1. Prelude

cross-posted on AO3

masterlist

Meticulous analysis of her own motivations had driven Y/N to come to the conclusion that her hatred was justified. Nothing was done without something profoundly belonging to one's own unresolved conflicts being involved in the decisions and paths of choice. Such was the case of the Batman, she'd concluded. Whoever he was behind that mask, he was not pursuing his role as a masked 'protector of Gotham' without a great degree of personal motive beyond selfless devotion to the wellbeing of the city. Long had she studied this concept meticulously, as to do introspection on her own reasons behind her new objectives. The Batman and herself found congruence in the belief that violence was an indispensable tool to maintain order, humanity after all was nothing but an attempt to break a deeply embedded bond with primitive, animal instincts, such as sin. However it was this particular ethic that took from Y/N the only person who stood by her side since the day she was born.

Her brother, like a forbidden fenix, had found in the drug business what was ethically questionable, but an opportunity to a new life at last. Poverty had reigned in as many generations as their family registered for, which were not many, but enough to bring a loss of hope at ever escaping the circumstances. The drug business was dangerous, but her brother was sly and grown to be a street-smart individual, he knew where he could mess and where he couldn't. Finding also a strike of luck in the fact that where they lived -a little apartment above a Chinese-owned laundry shop, was a precarious condominium where a low-ranked pawn from Carmine Falcone also had his home. This kid had befriended Y/N's brother and recommended him with Falcone, being the crucial connection to begin working for the druglord.

While unable to approve of his line of work, Y/N couldn't find it in her morality to refuse his dirty money. Like Tony Montana he'd return home with the fruit of his criminality and she'd accept it like a gift, one with a catch, but her brother always managed to sound reassuring enough to make the odds of something happening to him seem lower than they were. Oh, was it such a crime to be gullible and young, and believe your older brother? Y/N had once tried to believe that she simply didn't have what it took to stop him, or that it wasn't her place in his story, fate had planted it's seed on him and his demise was only meant to happen the second he agreed to dance with the Devil.

Despite her brother's rapidly increasing earnings, she felt it a moral obligation to maintain her job as a janitor in Gotham University. She was no Will Hunting, but she did find a particular itch of interest in the fields of sociology and psychology; studies of human condition. The job allowed her to ocasionally lean besides the auditoriums to listen to the lectures of intellectual professors. Her mind was like a sponge, and her curiosity drove her to absorve every drop of information she'd hear, and study it later in her free time.

It was one of those days where she spent some hours off the clock on campus, long done with her cleaning duties yet attentively listening to the lesson behind the door. Had she left on time maybe the butterfly effect that spiraled into the end of her brother's life could have somehow been different. Had she left later, perhaps, something in the trail of events could have flipped a switch to prevent what happened to him. But she didn't, she stayed and listened to a seminar on social conducts and masses, while somewhere in Gotham her brother received punch after punch from the Batman as God's punishment for his temptation and greed.

If the Bat had intended to kill him or not was not of her concern, as intentions didn't free the vigilante from having her brother's blood on his hands. It was while checking the stock of a recently dropped off container in the portion of the port Falcone had used his filthy money to buy that Batman had striked. Her brother tried -in a naive act of loyalty, to defend the property of his employer. Poor boy, forgotten as another dog of the drug world, but to Y/N a victim of his circumstances trying to make the best out of the little life had to offer for them. Died in the hospital as he awaited for interrogation, his insides mashed into a gorey pureé of organs that spat their own blood and failed to survive the brutality of their wounds.

Sure, the Batman may have saved damsels in distress from having their purses snatched by low life thieves, or prevented a hypothetical drug addict from getting another taste of their self-indulgence, but was he really saving people? Doing something worthwhile? For all she knew, all his masked activism was of no use if they had no effect in the long-term and the masses, and in the process took the lives and resources of hard-working low income people. She was no fool, Y/N had obviously assessed the possibility that maybe what happened to her brother was, again, a matter of fate, a divine punishment for succumbing to the desire for easy money. But then again, his motivations were only honest, and he was looking out for his and his family's best interest. What more does a man have to do to be noble and worth of living without being punished for collateral misdoings that are only human?

Falcone had presented his distant condolences in the shape of a young man knocking at her door, offering the drug lord's words of comfort and a pitiful offer for a job in his headquarters at The Penguin's Iceberg Lounge. "A pretty face like yours could be pretty popular." spoke the raspy voice of The Penguin as his grotesquely large fingers held her chin. The Iceberg Lounge didn't belong to Falcone, but his connections allowed him to offer Y/N a job as a waitress in the place. Had she any choice? Not really, with her brother now dead, the income as a janitor was not nearly as much as the inviting sum of tips that sweetened her ear with the same voice of temptation that once spoke to her brother. Besides, she did need the money, and building links -even if they were mostly symbolic, with the Bat's enemies could grant her a closer look to the new channel of all her hatred.

It was once that Y/N begun to work for The Penguin that she fully committed in the sinful night-life. Her entire scheme and survival now relied on crime, sin and immorality. She had now signed her own contract, and indulged fully into the world of darkness and depravity, one that was once unknown to her and was now tied to her identity. She fed off of other's lust and crime, making her a criminal herself. But she no longer felt the fear or rejection for the underworld her brother's job had once made her feel, she now embraced it as her own for the sake of greater motivations. Like a legacy she had chosen to carry on, taking the job got her to quickly see first-hand the very embodiment of hedonism and sheer self-indulgence. The energy in the club was heavy, dark and evil, but Y/N resisted her days through it and engaged in her friendlies as a standard procedure for the night, meeting interesting people in the process.

#jonathan crane #scarecrow #the batman #jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow x reader #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #cillian murphy #batman rogues #nolanverse batman #slowburn #angst

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paradisecas · 13 days

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MIDAM ANNIVERSARY MIDAM ANNIVERSARY. i was supposed to have the proposal fic finished by midam anniversary 2023 and wouldnt you know it im STILL not done. but i want to celebrate so here’s the very beginning, which takes place right before last year’s preview.

——

“Miss Plumber says she got married and we can call her Mrs. Jacobs now,” Bunny says over dinner. She tears at her roll a little too violently, mushing butter between her fingers. Adam knows she’ll refuse to use a napkin and that he and Michael will spend half an hour after bathtime wiping greasy smudges off every surface in the house. He mourns the rags he’ll have to wash tomorrow.

“That’s exciting,” Adam says, picking his battles and letting her continue getting all buttery. “Getting married is a big deal.”

Kitty starts to say something, but she’s still chewing her massive bite of spaghetti and Michael, who has a sixth sense for these things, shoots her a warning look. Kitty, of course, takes this warning as an excuse to open her mouth and let the unchewed mass plop onto her plate in her hurry to say, “Tony from my class said his dad got married too and that he doesn’t see his mom a lot anymore ‘cause she married someone else first.”

Michael’s admonishment dies out immediately. Adam actually watches it happen—his grace goes from indignantly disgusted to rapturously curious in a split second. “Oh?” he says, and Adam kicks him under the table.

This is not the time or place to press their child for gossip.

(That’s what the PTA group chat is for, anyway. Someone’s bound to know what went on with David and Amanda.)

“Sometimes things are complicated,” Adam decides to say.

“Very complicated,” Michael says, a little too gleeful, and Adam kicks him again.

“Miss Plumber showed us some pictures,” Bunny starts again, smearing her buttered hands along the tabletop, but Liv starts babbling around her green beans so Adam is forced to tune Bunny out in favor of his youngest. Michael will tell him anything he’s missed.

Her bib patterned with small turtles is stained red, not just from tonight, and Adam tries to add laundry to the to-do list on the fridge through sheer force of will, but. He’s not an archangel. He’ll have to remember to do that later.

When Liv is back to happily gnawing on her dinner, Adam turns back to the table’s conversation, just in time to hear Kitty ask, “Are you married?”

Adam blinks. Michael catches his eye across the table and shrugs with one shoulder.

“We’re not,” Adam says.

“Why?”

“It’s a human thing,” Michael says. “Angels don’t get married.”

“Oh.” Kitty looks down at her plate, almost forlorn. Then, again, “Why?”

“Angels are siblings, ergo we don’t get married,” Michael says, which is simplifying things to a ridiculous degree, but they can cover—that—later. When the girls are older. Much, much older.

Kitty nods. “Right,” she says, going to shove another forkful of spaghetti in her mouth and seemingly thinking better of it. “But you love each other?”

“Of course we do,” Michael says immediately.

It’s a valiant effort, truly, but Adam fails to squash down the smile that takes over. “Of course we do,” he repeats, “but we’re—it’s romantic and exciting, but we don’t need that.”

Because they don’t. It’s been—they’ve been together long enough that technically, probably, they’re considered common law married. Or they would be, if Michael was a human with a social security number and a place in the American census or whatever it takes to get legally married. And it’s not like they need a piece of paper or some rings to hammer in the knowledge that they’re it for each other, for the literal rest of time.

“Why?” Bunny asks, taking her turn in the inquisition.

“Why don’t we need it?” Adam asks. “We love each other. And we love you, and that’s enough.”

Kitty hums around her spaghetti. Liv shoves her sauce covered fingers into her mouth. Bunny hmphs, and says, “You should get married.”

Something flickers inside Adam, then. Not grace—this is different. Closer to what he felt in that diner, mere hours after they fled the tsunami of hell and neither he nor Michael were ready to admit the full truth of what they wanted from each other at the same time as they carefully confessed that they knew they’d figure it out together.

Michael meets his eyes, and Adam thinks he might feel it too: the red-hot flame, somehow gentle as a candle as it roars in an inferno.

Huh. Something to think about, then.

#it’s a 5+1 so maybe itll just take me 6 years to finish #catch me in 2028 finally posting the last bit. two days late bc i still wasnt done.#midam #mine #my writing #girlverse #oh prop fic. someday. someday.#midam anniversary

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transigma · 2 months

Text

dazai/yosano character parallels analysis ★

includes: connection/past with Mori, themes of humanity, dehumanization, life/death, change, and Elise(?)

wc: 1.5k

Beginning with the most glaring similarity, they have a mutual connection with Mori as a mentor figure in their past. (I'm not sure if I would assign the “mentor” role to him for Yosano, but for the lack of a better word, that's what he will be called here </3). He represents an important part of their traumatic pasts but in different ways. I want to stress the importance of understanding that the two of them were abused in different ways because of how Mori himself regarded each of the two, and that this is not to say one was worse than the other. I would also like to negate any argument that Dazai was not abused by Mori, this is false. While that is another topic I want to discuss in the future, I just want to get that out there.

Both are victims of Mori's tactics of controlling abuse and were utilized as tools for his plans. Yosano was used for her ability, as she was useful under Mori's immortal soldier regiment, while Dazai was picked up with the intentions to mentor him as a future successor to Mori because of their shared traits (refer to the 15 quote provided, their “common destiny” is being the Port Mafia boss). The reason I say they are abused in different ways is because of the methods Mori enacts on the both of them. While I don't want to say he respects Dazai more as an individual because of that inherent fear he carries of Dazai, however, I'm not really sure what else to word it as. Dazai is able to carry out a lot of his own volition while under Mori in the Port Mafia, and while he was still in a horrible place under this treatment, he did have some level of freedom on his own because of the way Mori viewed him. Mori recognizes that: one, Dazai lacks morals at this point in his life, two, that he is not loyal to Mori and could take him out at any moment (I would argue that he expects it if anything), and three, that Dazai is an extremely intelligent child beyond his years. Since he recognizes all of these aspects, he still controls Dazai to the degree he acts to everyone else, but he also does not push Dazai too extremely. Of course this is not to say his abuse to Dazai was not harsh, I am trying to compare the way Mori treated Yosano vs Dazai, and how this has affected them individually, not by the severity of either. He noticeably treats Yosano harsher, and he does go as far as to lay a hand on her, in the form of grabbing her hair. While he is not a physically abusive person, instead using psychological methods more often, this is an example of the disregard he has for Yosano as an individual herself. She is diminished to her ability in his eyes, and Dazai is almost akin to a mirror in at least Mori's eyes. Both of these lead into my next point, the way both of them experience dehumanization.

Both Dazai and Yosano are, to some degree, seen as inhuman for their abilities and past sins. This can be seen in something as simple as the names they are given by others in their lives. They are the "Angel of Death" and the "Demon Prodigy." Both of these names assigned to them from those around them serve as stark reminders of their past wrongdoings, to which I will expand upon later. Yosano was essentially forced to play God with countless lives until she created her own undead hell, and this burdens her for the rest of her life. As a result of these events, even though it was not something under her control as an eleven year old child, she is viewed in a vicious light for her ability and involvement. Similarly, Dazai's humanity is disregarded by those around him because of his actions and behaviors, but most importantly, his nature. To follow a commonly stated metaphor in BSD, his blood is mafia black. During his time in the Port Mafia, Dazai racked up a laundry list of crimes, and the methods he used were seen as cruel even by Port Mafia standards. Of course, his actions are not justified by the fact that he is a child during this time. Dazai is very much a person guilty of crimes enacted upon others, so he is not absolved from all agency in this, but it is still important to understand that his actions were heavily for survival and his own self destructive pursuit to find something to live for.

Coming back to these two and their pasts as these inhumane figures, both also go through a series of changes as a person to go on a better path. Dazai himself could care less about good vs bad during his Port Mafia days because there was no person who guided him properly on that course, but once Oda's death sets Dazai's path in stone on the good side. Oda's final request to him is to be on the good side, despite the indifference Dazai harbors. Dazai lives out this path up to the current events of the timeline, and he clearly benefits from being in the Agency. He goes to deliberate lengths to hide from his past as well, he avoids any possible association with that and denies similarities between him and those he has harmed during his Port Mafia days, namely those he hurt, like Akutagawa. At the same time, as I pointed out, Dazai is making the conscious choice to change. Yosano follows this similar path of trying with the Agency because of Fukuzawa and Ranpo picking her up from Mori after the isolation facility. The Agency does not require her for her ability, unlike Mori did, she is more than it. She chooses to continue to save lives with her ability because she so heavily values human life.

And this brings me to my next point, their shared connection with life and death, and their attitudes surrounding it. Both Dazai and Yosano greatly value life, as ridiculous as that sounds for a character like Dazai. Yosano is intrinsically connected to the cycle between life and death because of the nature of her ability. She holds life as having more value than death itself, and she expresses this with her drive to save lives. Dazai does not have the ability to control the cycle itself, but he does have a connection to it through his suicidal nature. He stumbles between the line of living and dying due to his inability to find a purpose to live, but he does appreciate life. Dazai appreciates the way other characters such as Oda live their lives, and the humanity Dazai sees in them. He does not believe there is an inherent value to his own life, but he voices his opinions on the human experience and he admires how others do find a reason to live. Dazai and Yosano's frame of mind surrounding life and death is not the same, however, they do share a mutual value for humanity and life in some fashion, even if Dazai seeks out death more than Yosano ever does.

Now, to address Elise. Her as a topic is separate from the rest only because the connection between her, Dazai, and Yosano is speculation on my part. It is not something observable as fact to canon, unlike something as the two's relationships with Mori or their shared themes. It is clear that Elise is at least partially inspired by an eleven year old Yosano. Before the events of the Great War, Elise is shown to follow orders blindly. She is a subservient ability, and her usual liveliness is not present at this time. This changes after Mori loses Yosano, and Elise behaves like an average child at this point, but the specific traits he takes from Yosano are her willpower and opinionated personality. Another notable detail in Elise's design is her hair bow, which does resembles Yosano's hair pin. This can be attributed to Mori's obsession with Yosano at this age, but I don't believe her likeness to Yosano is only because of that. She also shares traits with Dazai. What I'm referring to his her hair and attitude towards Mori himself. Outside of the time when Elise is based upon someone else, she wears her hair up in a bun. Though she is absent from timeliness between the Great War, we do see her after that, and she now has more open, wavy hair. While you can attribute to this design just for the sake of it, I do think it is interesting to point out this similarity between her and Dazai because Yosano has perfectly straight hair. Elise also chastises Mori, something that Yosano does not do, but Dazai does voice his disapproval of Mori and straight points out his faults, which Elise does too. She also exhibits similar behavior to Dazai in negotiating for what they want, neither lies, and I say this is a trait she got from Dazai only because Yosano does not do this. I think that Mori projects traits of these two onto Elise, a manifestation of his desires, both because of the obsession and because Yosano+Dazai symbolize regret from the past.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #allen.textz #bsd dazai #bsd manga #bungou stray dogs #dazai bungou stray dogs #yosano bsd #bsd yosano #bungou stray dogs yosano #allen bsd thoughts #character essay #bsd analysis #this was from last month but Im posting it here

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