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atticrissfinch · 13 days

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Born of Confusion and Quiet Collusion | (joel miller x reader) (18+)

pairing: stepfather!joel miller x fem!reader summary: he’s been in your life since you were fourteen, the first reliable father figure you’ve had in your life. but you’re not a child anymore. and you’re not the only one who’s noticed that. warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] sleazy/deadbeat stepdad!joel, age gap (joel is 51, reader is 20), stepcest (v self-referential), daddy!kink, size!kink, fingering, oral (m&f receiving), unprotected piv, deepthroating, cum-eating, marking, ball-sucking, angst!!! a lot of it!!!, smoking, drinking, infidelity, v brief mentions of past domestic abuse and past impregnation of a minor (16) via statutory r*pe (neither apply to joel or reader), too many religious metaphors, reader has a landing strip because…I said so word count: ~10.6K | ao3 a/n: I had such a good time writing this. it didn’t turn out as PWP as initially intended, but I love it just the same. this is definitely not your mother’s stepcest fic (it’s her husband’s 🤪) but it’s still horny and sick and twisted and I hope you cry or cum or both ❤️ if people like this, there is a possibility of a part 2! title from lana my queen ♥️ thanks to @saradika-graphics for the dividers <3

Masterlist | Kofi

Blinding sun has begun to streak across the sidewalks in your childhood neighborhood. Patches of grass and wildflowers sprout from the cracks in the pavement. Vibrant chalk drawings smear from trekking feet. Sprinklers stutter and hiss for giggling children — a picturesque snapshot of youthful frivolity, submerged in the ephemeral gloss of summer vacation.

In a way, it feels like you’ve never left. For the past two years, you’ve only come home for the summer from college. Which is unfortunate considering how beautiful New England is in the summer. Instead your thighs are sticking to plastic benches at fast-casual restaurants in Texas, where it feels like the devil himself has his head between your legs anywhere you sit.

Of course, it’s always nice to see your mother. Never without a pitcher of sweet ice tea in the fridge, never without a pasted-on Southern debutante smile, and never a single hair that’s not bleached to hell on her head. Frazzled and air-headed as they come, flighty as a hummingbird, but easily reined and tethered to the earth with one hand by…Joel.

Oh, what could you say about Joel?

He loves your mother, you’ll say that much. You’ve never seen a man as drawn to his wife as you have him. The touches are constant, the compliments doled out like those strawberry bonbons on your grandmother’s coffee table. It’s been seven years and he still acts like your living room is the lobby heading to the honeymoon suite they call a bedroom.

As a result, you wouldn’t be caught dead without headphones at any given time in your home. You’ve heard far too much over these seven years to not know to be prepared.

But what Joel makes up for in physical affection, he severely lacks in any other form of decorum. His recliner is perfectly molded to his body, his side table littered with cigarette butts and empty Pabst cans. The blare of NASCAR is ever-present, and you swear you can see the outline of an ad-riddled Camaro burned into the television screen.

On any given Saturday you hear “Beer, baby,” about a dozen times.

Beer, baby.

‘Nother beer, baby.

They almost don’t sound like real words after the first several. Just a nonsensical pattern of plosives spewing into the air that your mother is conditioned to respond to like a dog.

Beer, baby.

and then,

Snick. Crack. Fizz.

And she never complains, as far as you’ve heard.

You’d tried one time to yank her out of the trance.

“Mom, you don’t have to be his little barmaid, you know. He can get his own beer,” you’d said.

She just smiled that plastic smile, slid her hands down his chest from behind his chair, kissed his sweaty temple, and said, “‘Least I can do for my white knight. Ain’t never no skin off my nose.”

“White knight with the biggest sword in the land,” Joel had tacked on for his own benefit, grabbing his crotch lewdly with a filthy grin before your mother swatted him playfully and gathered his empty beer cans.

The thing about your mother’s current questionable standards is that your biological father was a shitbag, to put it lightly. He’d gotten your mom pregnant when she was just short of seventeen, and he was thirty-five. And that’s just the beginning. He’s locked up now, but he’d had about fourteen years to do damage to her in this very home that he bought for your little family to maintain appearances of family values.

To her, Joel is her white knight. She was a single mother of a teenage girl with an ex-husband in the slammer and a dead-end receptionist job at a local travel agency.

Joel showered her with love and praise without the shadow of the back of his hand just behind. And maybe he was still fifteen years her senior. Maybe he didn’t have money. Maybe he was a deadbeat, beer-bellied local with a million excuses as to why jobs never work out for him (a “Type A” personality, he likes to blame it on. Which you’re unsure he even knows what that means given that the only Type A you’ve observed in him that he could credibly claim is his blood type).

But he loved your mother when she needed it the most. And he loved her enough that he accepted the package deal the two of you came as. So there’s only so much you could hold against him.

And not that this would ever matter, in any universe, but in spite of his dirty undershirts, his ratty sweatpants, his prominent beer gut…Joel is not an unattractive man. He cleans up very well on the rare occasion your mother has required him to, and you see a sparkle of what your mother sees in him on a daily basis.

A sparkle that, for reasons unbeknownst to you, had your hand sliding into your panties once or twice or more growing up when you were still discovering your own sexuality in your twin bed with your headphones in.

You haven’t done that for years now. You barely even remember it happened. But you don’t think of Joel that way. Joel is just…Joel. He’s your stepfather. Love of your mother’s life. The stability she needed. For seven years, that’s how it’s stayed.

When you return to your house in the evening of a hot Summer night, ear freshly talked off by your old friend from high school and a stomach satiated with your favorite local spot, your mother is working on dinner for her and Joel at the stove, still dressed in her work attire.

“Looks good, sexy mama,” Joel says, slapping her ass and gripping a handful of it as he kisses her neck.

She giggles and bats him away. “Oh, shoo. Go sit and it’ll be ready in about twenty minutes.”

He fits in one final grope before plodding over to his recliner and powering on the television, eyeing you as you slip your sandals off by the front door.

“How’s Nancy?” He asks in his deep drawl, pulling the arm of the recliner until the footrest pops up for him to prop his socked feet.

“Francie,” you correct, tossing your keys into the dish on the antique wooden console table by the door. One your mother and you had spotted at an estate sale when you were seven, and one you’ve made a mental note to make sure none of your sticky-finger relatives get their hands on before you have a solid place of your own to furnish and you can take a piece of your childhood home with you.

“Francie. That’s right. How’s Francie?”

“She’s good. She thinks Josh is gonna propose soon.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” your mom pipes in, plopping a hand over her heart as she stirs. “I always liked that Josh. Always holds the door open for me when I stop by Sal’s.”

“Yeah, he’s alright,” you say dismissively. What you don’t say is how he’s already cheated on Francie twice in as many years, but she keeps going back. But that’s none of your business in the end. Francie’s always been one to do what she’s going to do.

“Well, what about that boy you been seein’ every goddamn night?” Joel asks, leaning back in his chair.

“Hasn’t been every goddamn night,” you sass back, propping your hand on your hip in front of him. “We’ve been on four dates.”

“Been real long dates,” Joel says, a clear inclination in his voice.

“They have not been real long dates, Joel. They’ve been normal dates.”

“Oh, leave her be, J,” your mom scolds lightly. “She’s just havin’ fun, aren’t you, blossom?”

“I guess,” you mutter, studying the old magazines on the coffee table. “Hoping it becomes something a little more serious than ‘just fun’ soon.”

“Caught your eye, didn’t he? He’d be a dumbass to throw that away,” Joel says with surety. “Knew that the second I looked at your mama. You girls are a prize. Beautiful as all get-out.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, shifting your weight a little uncomfortably at the compliment.

Joel’s mouth falls into a smirk as he taps his side table. “You wanna make like your mama and grab me a beer, sweet girl?”

You scoff, giving him a look of disgust. “Fuck off.”

Joel gives an upside-down smile and shrugs before hollering at your mother, “Beer, baby.”

You let out an annoyed sigh and head off toward the kitchen. “I’ll fucking get it, mom. Lazy ass,” you mutter the last two words under your breath.

“Thank you, doll,” your mom says, a wide smile on her face as you pull open the fridge and retrieve his drink. You slam it down on his tiny table with thinly-veiled irritation, flourishing your hands towards it in a facetious “ta-da” gesture.

Joel looks at the can, then up at you. “Ain’t gonna open it?”

“For fuck’s sake,” you bite out incredulously, turning on your heel toward your bedroom. “Open it yourself,” you yell over your shoulder as you head down the hall.

“Thank you, sweet girl,” you hear him bellow to you with a laugh in his voice as you shut your door.

—

Your mom is acting different lately. Pushing Joel away more when he becomes affectionate. More short-tempered at random moments with him. You’ve already witnessed her going off on him once since you’ve been home about him not doing the simplest things. Tidying up the table, forgetting to run errands for her while she’s at work, emptying his own ashtray. Her patience is much thinner the last several weeks since you’ve been home, and you’re not sure for how long prior.

But you see her smiling at her phone one evening when Joel is out at a bar with his friends. It’s a certain kind of smile. Less plastered on, more secretive in its delight. Forty minutes later she tells you she’s playing some late-night pinochle at a friend’s and to not wait up for her. She looks awful dolled up for a card game night with “friends”, but you say nothing.

She’s playing some “late-night pinochle” with someone, alright, you think.

Joel stumbles in at 2 AM, clattering loudly around in the kitchen. You pad out of your room in your sleep shorts and tank top, squinting into the bright kitchen lights.

“The fuck are you doing, Joel?”

His head whips around, hand frozen on the handle of an open kitchen drawer. “Shit, sweetheart. Sorry, didn’t know I’d wake ya.”

“You’re being noisy as fuck. What are you rooting around in here for?”

“Ran outta smokes. I know I got a spare pack stashed in here.”

You sigh tiredly, resting your chin on your hand on the counter. “Junk drawer on the right.”

Joel follows your instructions and emerges victorious, waggling the pack in the air. “Thank you, sweet girl.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave off, pushing yourself off the counter to head back to your slumber.

“Wanna have a smoke with me out back?”

You stare at him blankly for a moment. “I don’t really smoke.”

Joel fixes you with a telling look, eyebrows raised. “Mama’s not home. You wanna have a smoke with me?”

You stand quiet for a pause, but then roll your eyes and tilt your head to the back door in a silent acquiescence. Joel smiles lightly and follows your gesture, slipping a cigarette into your hand as he passes.

The night air is still balmy, but there is a light breeze. You hunker down on the porch steps and Joel flicks his lighter for the both of you.

You’re not a habitual smoker. It’s purely social and for the occasional nerves. Your mom hates smoking, even hates that Joel does it. But she really doesn’t want you to get trapped in it. And as far as she knows, you’ve never had nicotine in your life. She definitely doesn’t know that you’d surreptitiously coerced Joel into offering you your first cigarette at sixteen. On these exact same steps.

You smoke in relative silence for several minutes, the cicadas chirping around you and the wood creaking underneath.

Then, into the dark, “She’s steppin’ out on me.”

You look over at him, legs spread, half-smoked cigarette dangling between them, and looking a little more haggard than you remember seeing him before.

Something about the softness in his face, the puffiness under his eyes, has you looking at him in a more sympathetic light that has nothing to do with the dying glow of the bulb above the doorway.

“Don’t talk about my mom like that,” you mutter gently. But he’s right and you know it. You don’t know the details, but she’s not being the most subtle about it.

“Don’t want to,” Joel replies, taking another pull from his smoke. “But the signs’ve been there for a while.”

You nod silently in understanding, feeling the burn of the smoke in your throat.

Joel sighs, tendrils of smoke billowing from his mouth. “Happens, I guess. I’m sure it’ll blow over.”

“Yeah. It’ll blow over,” you agree. Joel doesn’t respond again, just stares out at the overgrown, weed-infested back lawn. You knock your knee against his until you have his attention. You reassure him, “It’ll blow over.”

Joel stares at you for a prolonged minute, then bumps your knee back. A heavy palm falls low onto your bare thigh, stroking gently with a thick thumb. Goosebumps flare up under it immediately, a strange feeling in your stomach ramping up at the graze of him. You blink and take another drag.

Joel’s hand slides off your leg, leaving a bizarre chill in its wake. He pulls himself up and taps out the smoldering butt onto the railing.

“It’ll blow over,” he confirms, pushing open the door and disappearing inside.

Tightness constricts in your chest as you desperately suck down to the filter on your cigarette, jettisoning the smoke into the air pensively.

A lot has changed since you were sixteen.

—

The night had not gone as planned. Six dates and you really thought this would be the one. You knew it would be long distance, but you thought he liked you.

You hadn’t even gone on Tinder with the intent of finding a relationship, but then you went on a few dates and you thought, maybe you could do it. He’s cute, sweet, makes you come and then fucks you well. You had thought this would be the night. The “Will you be my girlfriend” night, not the “This isn’t going to work” night. So you’re fighting back tears as he awkwardly drives you home.

Joel is in his chair, beer in hand, when you walk through the door. You’re really not in the mood, so you beeline it for the hallway.

“Hey, what’s wrong sweet girl?” Joel calls after you as you sequester yourself in your room, chuck your heels at your closet, and hurl yourself onto your bed.

Not two minutes go by before a light knock sounds at your door. “You okay, sweet girl?”

“Fuck off,” you yell back at him through the closed door. But the door opens, and Joel is there, leaning against the doorway.

“Date go to shit?”

“How tactful,” you grumble, wringing the pillow in your lap with your hands and dropping your head back against your headboard.

Joel chuckles, but he looks earnest in his interest. “Come on, darlin’. What happened?”

You shrug dismissively, throat thick with your restrained emotions.

Joel knocks on the doorway in an awkward fidget, before ultimately crossing the barrier into your room and sitting on the bed at your feet, looking at you expectantly.

You bite your lower lip, doing your damndest to stave off the tears. “He broke things off.”

“Dumbass,” Joel mutters.

“I’m the dumbass.”

“You’re not a dumbass. I would know, wouldn’t I?” Joel teases, jostling your foot lightly.

A hint of a smile forms on your face. “Yeah, you would. Dumbass extraordinaire.”

Joel matches your smile with an upturn of the corner of his mouth. He tugs at your ankle. “Come ‘ere.”

You groan, but toss the pillow aside and scoot down the bed next to him, folding your legs to the side in your wrinkled dress. Joel wraps an arm around you and pulls you into him. You sigh and lower your head onto his shoulder.

“It’s fucking stupid, but I liked him,” you say quietly.

“He don’t deserve you,” he says, hugging around your waist.

“Apparently no boy does, at this point,” you sniffle. The scent of Joel fills your nostrils — beer, cigarettes, a thin sheen of sweat. It should be off-putting, but it smells like growing up. Like maturity.

“You’re right. No boy does.”

The arm around you shifts, and once again, a hand. Warm on your thigh. Midway up this time, just below the hem of your dress. You stare down at it, conflicted.

“What do you mean?” You ask, fearing you already know the answer.

“I think you need a man,” Joel rumbles, squeezing at your thigh.

You swallow thickly, unable to look away from the masculine hand clamped onto your leg, a little less than innocently.

“Joel? Where’s my mom?”

When Joel doesn’t reply, you pry your eyes from his hand to study his face. You see his expression and the answer passes between you wordlessly.

She’s not here. You both know where she is. And you both know she won’t be back for a good while.

Joel’s gaze fixes on yours as his hand slips up a single inch, pinky dipping just under your skirt.

“Joel…” you whisper, but you don’t think he quite hears it. His eyes drop down to your mouth and stay there, watch as your tongue flicks over your suddenly very dry lips. “What are you doing?”

A casual smile twitches onto his lips as another inch is lost between him and a ticking time bomb. He just repeats, “You deserve a man.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as his hand closes the distance, dress dragging up your thigh until his pinky brushes the soft fabric of your panties. Your eyes drift closed at the feather-light touch, a war waging in your head.

Joel was not the one meant to discover the type of underwear that’s under this dress tonight. He’s the very last person you expected. As he should be. He’s your stepfather. You’ve overheard him fucking your mother countless times.

Overheard how good he is. How big he is. How thorough he is.

Your leg quivers under his palm, your jaw clenching with the discordance in your mind.

“I don’t think we should be doing this,” you say shakily, fingers gripping the sheets under you. “I don’t think you should be doing this.”

Joel’s gaze bounces between your eyes and your lips. Then he gives you a sultry look and speaks the forbidden words.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Your fingers dance anxiously as Joel’s pinky grazes up the crotch of your panties again, where you’re terrified he’s going to find you responding favorably to this scenario.

“You want me to keep it a secret from my mother that her husband fucked her only daughter?” You burst out in a single breath. You feel lightheaded and tingly. You can’t parse your thoughts and they’re starting to get crowded.

“Already usin’ the past tense, huh?” Joel says huskily, and you feel his hand burrowing in between your thighs until two fingers press at the seam of your pussy over your underwear. “Seems like your mind’s already made up, sweet girl.”

You whimper quietly, the clouds in your brain growing denser by the second. Then, without ever actively deciding on a course of action, your legs are resituating themselves into a position much less concerned with modesty. Your thighs are spreading with zero input from your critical thinking skills, and a stifled groan slips out of Joel.

“Feels like it, too,” Joel moans, fingers rubbing over what must be a prominent wet spot on your panties.

You release your first moan, and it seems to echo around your room and back into your ears, spearing through the overcast in your head. You finally vocalize what you really should keep inside at this point, but it needs to be said.

“Joel, I-I’m your stepdaughter. Y-you’re my stepfather. We can’t.”

Joel’s nose ghosts up your jaw, nuzzling into the curve of your neck. “Grown woman, aren’t ya? Ain’t my blood, neither.”

“My mom…”

“Your mama ain’t gonna find out. I sure as shit ain’t gonna tell her.”

“I can’t lie to her,” you insist, but your mouth drops open as one of his fingers strokes at the crease of your thigh and your pussy, shaved smooth mere hours ago for your date. His skin on your skin, in a place where it should never fucking be.

“You’re so goddamn sexy,” Joel breathes into your neck, and his lips land just after, shoving your concerns to the side. You jump at the stroke of his tongue over your throat, the scrape of his teeth, and all at once you’re slave to it.

You fall onto your back and he follows you down, straddling your hips and cupping your jaw, pushing it upward as he sucks at your neck. If you don’t stop him, he’s going to leave a mark. As if he hasn’t already. The deed is as good as done.

“Joel, be carefu—”

“Don’t call me Joel,” he growls, nipping below your ear.

“What do I call you?”

Joel’s mouth halts on you, exhaling over his saliva on your skin. “Daddy. Call me daddy,” he instructs, latching onto you again.

“Fuck,” you sigh, craning your neck up for his enjoyment. “That’s so fucked.”

Joel’s laugh borders on unhinged as he presses his lips to your ear and whispers, “We’re already fucked. Would be a waste to half-ass it.”

He hooks a finger into the gusset of your underwear and tugs it to the side, and you can sense him watching your expressions as your eyes clench shut in disbelief that this is actually happening, while not even dreaming of telling him to stop.

Air rushes out your chest as a thick finger glides through the folds of your cunt, confirming your arousal with damning evidence.

“Jesus, you’re juicy as a fuckin’ peach, darlin’,” Joel groans, sounding almost pained at the discovery.

“Not the first time. I used to think about you,” you admit, a runaway train, brakes shot. “When I was younger.”

“Fuck, you can’t say shit like that,” Joel moans, forehead pressing against your temple. “Give people the wrong idea.”

“Never telling anyone else. Just you. Besides, I’m all woman now…daddy,” you coo, testing the waters.

“Fuck,” he swears loudly again, another finger joining the first to massage at your clit. “Nasty, naughty girl. You take after your mama.”

You whine and wriggle under him at the comparison, but by some inexplicable, Freudian twist of fate, a distant, previously obscured light in your chest begins to beam. “Keep touching me, daddy. I’ll be a good girl.”

“Yes, you will,” Joel says in response. Not like an order or an expectation. But like it’s a given. Like you’d ever behave any other way beneath him. As if he’d known all along, all seven years, that you would end up right here. Disheveled and heartbroken on your twin-sized, pastel pink duvet, with paternal fingers that have biblically, intimately known the inside of your creator, the site of your creation, now acquainting themselves with the life she created.

Do you feel like her? Do you have her lips like you have her mouth? Has this man successfully sown and reaped the benefits of a distressingly similar — kindred — octet of lips? Matching horizontal and vertical smiles all thirsting, parched, yet drooling for him under a single roof? If he closes his eyes, could he tell the difference?

Joel’s breath is at your ear, sending chills over your flesh from head to toe, muddying your mind.

“Take off your dress.”

A full-body shudder wracks through you at the order, a traitorous flood of wetness flowing from your opening as Joel continues to explore you with his touch. You begin shrugging out of your dress straps until steadying fingers cling to your thigh.

Joel pulls your focus with damp fingers perched on the underside of your chin, your own slick marring your skin at the hand of your father figure. Your lip trembles as he commands your attention.

“Stand up. And take it off. For me,” he instructs measuredly, bringing his thumb down to stroke the point of your chin softly.

A burning starts in your throat, like the smolder of one of his cigarettes slipped into your mouth. “Y-you want me to strip for you?”

Joel’s lips slant upwards and he says, “I wanna see everything you have to offer your daddy.”

You nod, the blaze in your throat sizzling to your chest as you long to reveal all you have to him.

You extract from the cage of his limbs to upright yourself, smoothing the line of your dress down to its full length, hitting you mid-thigh. Your hand twists back to capture your zipper, and with torturous patience, you work it downward. Your straps droop down your shoulders with the slack, and you’re quick to wrap an arm around your breasts to prevent too premature an exposure. You get the feeling that a man like Joel appreciates the delay of gratification, if his ask of you putting on a show for him is any indication.

The zipper ends precariously at the top of your ass, the sides of your dress falling open to show the expanse of your back to him along with the band of your bra.

“Fuck,” you hear him say under his breath, the squeak of your mattress springs sounding as he moves behind you into an unknown position on the bed.

You languidly slip your arms from the straps entirely, pressing the dress to your tits for a moment longer before letting the top of the garment fall at the waist, holding it to your stomach instead.

“Just like that, sweetheart. That’s right,” Joel grinds out, the springs squealing again, but this time accompanied by the rasp of a different zipper.

Curiosity, eagerness get the better of you, and you start to turn. But you’re instantly met with a hard, “Uh-uh. Keep lookin’ forward. You’ll get an eyeful soon enough.”

You fix your gaze forward again, struggling to keep up this glacial charade when you have good reason to believe what you long to see is now just behind you. So you bring your hands to the side of your dress and shift it down, bending at the waist to put your ass on display in your lacy thong you’d worn for your date, until the dress at last crumples to the floor.

A low whistle sings behind you as you stay bent for a decent few seconds before standing at full height again. Your fingers fiddle with the clasps of your bra at your back, coming apart with practiced ease. The article hits the floor as well, your tits free to the air and your nipples hardening at the exposure.

“God, you’re such a good girl, aren’t ya? Finish the picture for daddy.”

You whimper, your fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your thong on either side. With a final flair of showmanship, you shimmy the elastic strap of your panties up and down with a slight sway in your hips, before bending at the waist again as the last stitch of clothing on your body sounds a silent death knell as it hits the carpet of your childhood bedroom.

The air feels thick and weighty as the quiet stretches. You can hear the hum of voices from the television Joel didn’t shut off before he sought to damn the both of you. You could wrestle with the reality that the soundtrack to your irredeemable sin is a King of the Hill rerun, but Joel is still on your bed, and you’re still hands-to-ankles, laying waste to each and every ounce of sense you’ve accrued in your twenty years.

A resounding groan shatters your trance as Joel thrusts you back into the situation at hand. “Fuckin’ Christ,” you hear, and then the loud thump of Joel’s knees crashing to the ground, rough hands startling you as they take hold of your hips. Your palms slam to the carpet to maintain your balance as wet lips suck open-mouthed kisses onto your asscheek.

“Oh, fuck,” you sigh loudly, your feet arching onto your tip-toes as the kisses close in on your aching core. Two thumbs part the split of your pussy from behind, and Joel doesn’t waste another second diving in. A large, flattened tongue licks a line up the length of your pussy, clit to entrance, leaving your legs shaking.

Another deep, gratuitous moan rings out, and Joel’s mouth is stroking over you with rigorous passion. Joel comes up for air, but only to take an aggressive bite into the globe of your ass, one sure to leave behind unmistakable, irrefutable physical evidence of exactly who had been there.

It’s foreboding.

But why does it feel like sanctuary?

A tug at your hips, and you’re at last spinning back around to face him.

And his eyes are ravenous. Ruinous.

His mouth descends onto your mound, slobbering up the small strip of hair you left as a guiding path to whoever sought to grant you pleasure.

An almost-boyfriend.

Or a stepfather.

But he goes against the grain, kissing further and further north of your throbbing cunt, over your stomach, up your sternum. Your spit-slick tits find refuge in the confines of his hands, groping, pushing, pulling at them as your nipples drag against his palms.

You manage to steal a glimpse between you, fiending for a sneak peek of that sword he constantly boasts about. He hasn’t revealed much, other than a sizeable bulge and a red, shining head poking out from the band of his boxers. It’s enough to have you imagining what it will feel like inside you, crying out for it to become reality.

His lips claim your neck with purpose as he steers you toward your bed, the backs of your legs giving way and cascading the both of you into a sea of bedding. Your head nestles among your pillows as Joel works his way south again.

Joel looks up at you as he approaches the seam of your pussy. Heated exhales tease at your clit as he says, “You always screamin’ about why your mama keeps me around? Lemme show you why.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows to take in the sight of your stepfather’s mouth sinking down onto your pussy and dancing his tongue over the bundle of nerves that has been throbbing for him. The first sucking pull of his mouth on you has your head tipping back in an entirely unhindered moan, and you have to flop it back down, your chin colliding with your chest in your haste to view the bob of his head between your legs.

Joel’s work is impressive to say the least. His tongue drags up and down the length of you, stopping to circle your clit with a pointed tip and suck you back into the wet warmth of him. Your entrance leaks in excessive excitement as he riles you up with gusto, hands framing you at the inside of your thighs and spreading you wide for his consumption.

He breaks away, not allowing himself to go far, to croon over your soaked core, “Such a sweet pussy on such a sweet girl.”

You exhale heavily, browns furrowing in overwhelming pleasure as he directs his attention back to your clit. A finger tests the bounds of your opening, stroking the perimeter of the point of no return.

He knows the outside of you now. He’s familiarized himself with every inch of the surface of your skin, either with his eyes, or with the aid of his mouth. Inside is foreign territory. Inside is unforgivable.

He slides in so easily, it’s like you rolled out a welcome mat and propped open the door. He’s filled you to the webbing of his fingers in a manner of a half-second, and you feel dizzy with it.

Then he’s fucking you with it, and it’s like you’re floating. The grip of your cunt around his finger has him moaning around your clit, sending vibrations throughout your body.

He crooks his finger, stroking at the softest part of you, and you feel yourself unraveling at an alarming pace.

“Daddy…daddy…” you call out desperately, hands thrusting into the sheets to scramble for something to keep you earth-bound.

“You gonna come for me?” Joel says, hovering only for a brief moment above your clit to ensure you maintain your high. “Come on, come for your daddy,” he finishes, diving right back onto your clit and thrusting a second finger into you along with the first, honing in on your blessed g-spot like he had it marked on a map of you from the second he met you.

All said and done, it takes him minutes to bring you to the brink of destruction, where you’re squeezing around his practiced fingers and arching for the sky, screaming exactly what he’d instructed you to call him.

His mouth remains warm and diligent against you as you work through the throes, pulling the full extent of your pleasure to its frayed ends, until you’re pushing him away with trembling hands to get some reprieve.

Joel’s head falls against your thigh as he levels his breathing, soaked fingers streaking your hip. The bed frame wobbles as he starts to grind against the mattress.

“Goddamn. I usually make your mama come at least three times before I even stick my dick inside her. But feelin' how tight your little cunt is clenching on my fingers I’d be a damn fool not to take a test drive right fuckin’ now. One’ll have to be enough.”

You whimper, your legs falling open to accommodate his broadness as he moves up your body. Your fist tugs at his shirt as you say, “Wanna see you too.”

Joel glances down at himself and gives a little wince. “Not nearly as pretty as you are, sweet girl.”

“I don’t care.”

Joel sighs, sitting back on his haunches. “Alright, but you ain’t gettin’ the whole rigmarole,” he says, reaching behind him to grab the back collar of his shirt and pull it over his head, damning it with the rest of your clothes on the floor. His cock is quickly freed of its confines as the godforsaken pile builds, and you get your first real look at him.

And for all the little white lies Joel tells, you have to give him credit. The boasting was not borne of a necessity for overcompensation.

Joel is big.

You should have guessed. In every passing gloat from Joel, your mother has never argued the opposite. She only ever grows embarrassed, smacks him lightly for being crass.

Apparently his doting compliments and pussy-eating prowess are not the only reasons she’s kept him around.

“‘M I what you expected, sweet girl?” Joel asks, his eyes hooded as a hand strokes down the length of himself with a casual, justified pride that only exists in men who are impressively sized and they know it.

The dumbfounded expression on your face refuses to dissipate as you shake your head “no”, followed by a flurry of rapid blinking as you nod your head “yes”. Then a confounded response sputters out, “I-I didn’t know what to expect. You always said…but I didn’t….”

“‘S okay, darlin’. Normal for a girl to go cockdumb when she sees a dick like this for the first time.”

You just nod, a woman possessed by her deepest, darkest desires, regardless of how sick and depraved they may be to the sound mind.

And, god help you, you are not currently of sound mind. Maybe you couldn’t prove that in a court of law, but in your own psyche, you certainly are clearly lacking in the logic sector at the moment.

Joel really has nothing to be concerned with in the looks department. Your eyes are transfixed on one thing only, up until your field of view is robbed of it, replaced by the glassy-eyed lust on Joel’s face as he drapes over you.

“Fuck,” Joel groans, his expression nearly pained as he takes in the enraptured silence of you. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just can’t stop thinkin’ about how your mama must’ve felt before she pushed you out. This is the closest I’ll ever get to feelin’ that for myself.”

A whine escapes you as you wrap your arms under the backs of your knees, deliberately spreading yourself as wide as you can for him with blatant intentions. Let him feel it for himself. You’re so hungry for him, you feel fit to burst over it. You’ll be the newer model of her. You’ll be a tight, young hole for him. You’ll give him what she hasn’t been giving him, what you haven’t overheard in weeks from their bedroom.

“Fuck yeah, sweet girl,” Joel moans, positioning his cock at your waiting entrance. “Show me how your mama felt twenty years ago.”

You’re certain your own fall from grace should not feel so heavenly. But the first shove of Joel’s cock inside you toes a line dangerously close to a reckoning. The stretch of your walls around him, the death grip you have on your assured destruction, the fullness he’s wrought upon you nothing short of gluttonous satisfaction.

“Daddy, that’s so good,” you sigh into his ear, and it earns you a rumbling grunt as he bottoms out.

“Jesus, baby,” he moans, burying his face into your neck. “She teach you how to keep it this tight for me?”

She.

He sinks inside you, makes room inside his wife’s daughter for himself, and how thoughtlessly her identity is reduced to…she.

Your breath hitches as Joel pulls out to the head and he slams the full length of him into you, your ankles locking at the small of his back, your wrists around his neck.

You’ve heard Joel’s sex noises countless times before across the hall, muffled by closed doors. He’s an entirely different animal when you’re mainlining his sounds, his words directly into your ear. The scratch of thirty years of cigarettes in his moans, the chant of the devil in his terms of endearment, the authoritative intonation of a guardian.

He beats inside you like a drum, a deafening reverberation, punching air out of your lungs with every punitive thrust. His balls slap against the split of your ass like the muted clap of hi-hat cymbals, keeping tempo for you as your mind drifts away.

Flashes of reality wade through your hedonistic bliss, like they’re desperate to haul you to shore, save you from this entirely avoidable fate, resuscitate your suffocated sanity. Your brain beseeches you to notice your glaringly exposed circumstances. Your bedroom door as ajar as your mouth moaning for him, your window curtains spread wide as your legs, your ceiling light as illuminated as your soul emitting the final streaks of vibrancy before the sun sets at dusk.

You’re recklessly laid bare for Joel and the world around you. A single rogue pair of eyes could end that world as you know it. Your mother could walk through the front door, down the hall at any moment. Even still, your heels dig into his flesh to hold him inside you, your skin yearns for the drag of his hair-spattered potbelly against your soft stomach.

You long to be full of more than just his cock.

Through hiccuping breaths you say, “Come inside me.”

Joel lets out a conflicted keen as the pendulum of his hips swing. “I can’t, baby. We can’t.”

Your fingers tug at his hair as you whine like a child in protest. “I’m on birth control. I promise.”

Joel’s breath grows labored as his orgasm looms over him, a strain in his voice as he wrestles with your pleading request.

“Fuck,” he yells out, his hips stilling inside you as you moan on his cock, high on the prospect of his spend painting your insides with sin.

But you don’t feel him throbbing, pulsing within your walls. He’s not winded and gasping from a climax wrung from your clutch.

“Daddy…?”

“I can’t, baby.”

“Please. I need it inside me.”

Joel groans, but his cock drags free of your pussy, leaving you empty and fundamentally altered. Joel’s hand brushes across your forehead, a boundless devotion in his eyes. “How about I shoot my load inside your mouth, huh? So you can have part of me in your belly. You wanna suck your sloppy cunt off daddy’s cock?”

A broken moan slips out of you as you stare down the layers of what seems a lot like love in his gaze. Maybe more than one kind of love. Something more akin to a convoluted amalgamation of parental, platonic, sexual, worshipful love and affection.

A warm hand cups your cheek and you nod in compliance to his suggestion. Joel’s lips press a kiss against your forehead, leaving a burn in its wake. He takes your hand and leads you off the bed with him. He doesn’t have to ask, you just drop to your knees in a showing of submission.

“You felt how big daddy is. Think you can fit him?”

“I can,” you state assuredly. You take initiative, gripping the base of him and gliding up and down your stepfather’s cock with your own slick.

“You sure? She’s able to take all of it, but it’s a struggle. So be real positive.”

“I can do it,” you say confidently, poising his tip at your mouth.

“Go ahead and show me, then.”

You take him into your mouth and you half expect him to dissolve on your tongue. A Eucharist to tide you over until he spills his wine, heady and white across your supplicant taste buds.

But he’s solid, hefty as he slides deeper, a presence unignorable.

“That’s it, sweet girl. All the way back,” he coaxes, and a whimper seeps out from you around his girth. His hand strokes over your hair in blessing as he knocks at the back of your throat, your face screwing up as your reflexes activate. You stave off the worst of them, eyes watery as they gaze up at him. “Still got more to go.”

You nod as gently as you can, feeling the strain in your jaw.

“Daddy’s gonna fuck your face. Loosen you up a bit, okay?”

A greedy noise of approval from you and Joel’s fingers are entwining in your hair, gripping hard enough to pleasantly sting. Your mouth is wet and drooling when Joel pulls your head off of him, until just the tip weighs down your tongue.

“She digs her fingernails into her palm to make it easier. Don’t know if that helps.”

You whimper and glance down at your hand. You’ve already got half-moon crescents piercing the heel of it. Timidly, you open it up to reveal it to him.

A throaty growl fills your ears as he tightens his hold on your hair. “Like mother, like daughter, I guess.”

Like mother, like daughter.

There’s a loud grunt and Joel is fucking into your mouth with little mercy. Your dry lips crack to accommodate the size of him, your cheeks concaving to maximize his sensation, and the back of your throat taking a beating as his head punches the tender flesh with impeccable rhythm.

As your one hand threatens to prick blood under the pressure of your nails, the other seeks to draw it from Joel’s hip. You’re not trying to stop him, or even harm him, but you need him to feel what he’s doing to you. How certifiably insane he has you, a puppet with holes for him to fill and control. You’re a living, breathing creature, but he fucks your mouth like you have no need to breathe at all.

You’d inhale through your nose, but it’s clogged with snot and running in rivulets down to your lips, servicing him with further lubrication for your debasement. The salty wet cascading down your cheeks blurs your vision as you force yourself to maintain precious eye contact with him.

There’s a divine burst of air in your lungs as your head is wrenched from Joel’s cock, and you cough and sputter, willing yourself to suck in the sex-tainted oxygen around you.

Joel’s hand cups your jaw, smearing the mixture of snot, saliva, and tears on your skin. “You’re gonna take me deeper this time. All the fuckin’ way back. Wanna feel your goddamn nose smashed against my belly button.”

You sniffle your congested nostrils, but nod. You’re not sure why you say it, but you whisper, your voice distorted by stuffiness, “Fix me.”

A pitying noise falls from his throat as he slides his thumb into your mouth for you to suck in pacification. “Ain’t nothin’ need fixin’. You just needed a better daddy. ‘N that’s what I’m here for.”

A muted sob puffs around his finger, and you think you might see glistening in Joel’s eyes for a passing second. But he clears his throat and it’s gone, his hand around the base of his cock again and his thumb prying open your mouth.

When the head of him pushes past the block of your throat, Joel’s grunt could probably be heard by the neighbors. Nevermind that where you now stand is in perfect frame of your first floor window, a glowing halo at the side of your house. The alarm on your bedside table blinks 12:35 AM, so the Christensens are likely fast asleep. But although you may have a fence, Douglas and Cheryl have a second floor, where their bedroom window could peer right into yours.

And yet you stay on your knees, unhinging your jaw for the eight, maybe nine, inches of cock your stepfather is feeding down your throat while your mother is absent, getting reamed by her boss or coworker or friend's friend ten miles away. You’re sure the view is remarkable. A perfect, vignetted cameo portrait of familial implosion.

Your mother most certainly did not raise a quitter, that much is evident when the last inch of Joel’s length is seated in your mouth and your nose contorts at the prominent curve of his stomach, just like he wished. Joel’s arms are secured around your head, holding you to his gut in a manner that might be endearing and benign if you weren’t simultaneously choking around his entire cock.

Instead he’s cutting off your air supply and using his unyielding embrace to rutt into your throat in short bursts as you fight not to eject him.

The mess when you resurface is notable. If you were still trapped in that dress, the front of it would be sodden, soaked through with spit. You’re not sure there’s a spot on your face that isn’t coated in some form of your own fluids — the slobber from your mouth smearing over Joel’s hairy abdomen and transferring to your forehead and temples, and even more rivers of saliva dripping onto the carpet.

You feel debauched and torn apart, and you still croak, “Again.”

Nails in your palms do nothing for you now. You've already crucified yourself.

Once he’s buried deep again, he secures the back of your head with a single arm, and then you feel the breadth of his other hand around your throat.

“God fuckin’ dammit,” Joel groans out, nearly as wrecked as you’ve been all evening. “Can feel my cock in there.”

Joel’s hips move in staccato jabs, just to feel the glide of his fat head demolishing your throat through the skin of your neck pressed against his hand. If you hadn’t tapped rapidly at his hip, gasping for air, you fear he may have been content to die there.

You collapse onto your hands and knees, rasping and pulling air into your deprived lungs, cheek colliding with the dampened carpet as you catch your breath.

“What a fuckin’ trooper. You are a one-of-a-kind wonder, sweet girl,” Joel pants out, hands on his knees and his cock angry and purpling as it bobs and jerks in denial of its orgasm.

Through your slouching to find your breath, you smile.

“Let’s give you a little break, huh? Come and give daddy’s balls a little kiss.”

He clasps a hand on your bicep, helping you back up onto your knees as you regain composure. You’re a bit wobbly, but you ground yourself with hands on his thighs, resting your forehead just to the side of the root of him. Your tongue lolls out and swipes up his sack in a languid stroke.

Joel hums his approval above you, his hand reclaiming its place on the back of your head lightly. With his guidance you dip down, slipping one of his balls into your mouth as he moans out praises.

His balls are large and lush with hair, on par with the rest of him. They hang low, dangling inches down into the space between his thighs. You cradle them in your hand as you caress them with your tongue, sinuses slowly draining as his concentrated musk penetrates your nostrils, filling your olfactory senses with him. You pop one of his balls out of your mouth to pamper the other in equal measure.

Joel begins to pull at his cock with long, tempered strokes. “Fuck, that’s right sweet girl. Treat ‘em real gentle. Might have a little brother or sister in there.”

You whine as you widen your mouth, succeeding in fitting the pair of them inside thanks to your sufficiently stretched jaw, properly warmed up from his dick.

“Shit,” Joel says, the faintest hint of laughter in his voice as he gasps, branding at the waist slightly at the overwhelm of your hot mouth encasing him. “‘F that greedy pussy ever clamps around me again like this filthy mouth is…might even be a son or daughter in there too.”

You moan a little too passionately at that, your mouth packed full of possibilities, and Joel’s hips jolt forward at the sensation, a pleasurable noise of his own spilling out.

“Jesus, can’t moan when I say shit like that. You’re gonna make me…” Joel groans again flexing around his cock. “Gonna have to hit it from the back next time. ‘Lot easier to not just blow my load up that cunt when I don’t got you lookin’ up at me with them puppy dog eyes, beggin’ your daddy to come inside you.”

Next time.

How do you feel about a next time?

You don’t even know what’s going to greet you come daylight.

Joel’s fingers yank on your hair as your mouth works dutifully on his balls, finally saying, “Fuck, daddy needs to come, sweet girl.”

He slips from your mouth, but it opens again for him instantly as he starts to jack himself in earnest. He lays the trickling head on your tongue as he grunts and gasps, and you raise a hand to tease at his balls, squeezing them tenderly as you see his eyes roll in response.

“Fuck, fuck, open up for me, little mama,” he groans, signaling the first thick burst of spend shooting to the back of your raw throat. Joel growls his way through his climax, rope after never-ending rope of come pooling on your tongue until it overflows the corners of your lips and down your chin and neck.

Joel swears as his pulses slow to a stop, taking the tip of his cock and dragging it over the puddle of him on your tongue, spilling more from your mouth and down your tits. “Good girl,” he pants, finally withdrawing his dick. “Swallow for daddy.”

You obey eagerly, pushing all he gave you to the back of your throat to join where the rest of him had already been. You present your clean tongue, preening slightly, and Joel returns a sleepy, immensely proud grin.

There’s a scraping at the front door, and you both dart your heads to the open doorway.

“Shit!” Joel bites out panicked under his breath, shattering what you both have built as he bolts out the door, pulling yours shut as well as his own in his marathon back to the bedroom he shares with your mother.

You hear the front door open and you’re snapped out of your daydream of a night, lunging for your light switch to kill any suspicions of you being conscious. You flatten your hands against the back of your door, pressing an ear to the wood as you stifle your breathing.

You hear the noise on the television cut to silence, then footsteps. The door across the hall squeaks open and…nothing, save for the faint sound of fabricated snoring. You hear your mother sigh, the two thumps of her heels kicking off, and then, “Might as well be right where I left you.”

A stretch of silence, then you hear the low hum of her voice in a string of words that sounds like, “‘F I could, I’d probably just leave you altogether.”

You hear her feet padding down the hall, then the snick of the fridge in the kitchen.

As quiet as you possibly can, you twist the handle of your door and peek through a small gap. Joel lays naked on his stomach on top of their sheets, back rising and falling with his breath, facing you as his head dents his pillow on the bedside closest to the door.

The protector’s side.

And as silent as you tried to be, you see Joel’s eyes squint open directly at you as your door opens. You stare each other down, and you feel your heart begin to pound.

When your lip starts trembling, you close the door.

It’s not until you’re nestled under your covers that you realized what he had called you when he’d come across your tongue.

—

The morning comes uneventful, despite your entire world shifting on its axis. A normal Saturday. You exit your room just as your mother is tidying the kitchen table of breakfast and Joel is starting up the shower in their bedroom.

“Mornin’, blossom. You want some eggs?”

She seems as chipper as ever, scraping off plates and putting them in the dishwasher.

“Uh, no. Thanks,” you dismiss, heading straight for the couch and curling up as you grab the remote.

She joins you shortly after, folding her legs up under her in a frightening mirror of your own.

“I’m sorry about that boy, sweet pea.”

“Hmm?” You ask, looking away from the TV to observe her.

“J told me about what happened with the boy. He’s definitely a dummy.”

“Oh,” you say once you realize what she’s talking about. Truth be told, you haven’t spared that boy a second thought since Joel wrapped his arm around you last night. “It’s whatever. Boys come and go, right?”

“Some of ‘em stay,” she says, glancing down the hall to the sounds of the shower.

You follow her gaze, undoubtedly battling the dissonance in her head of what she’d done last night, and who was waiting for her back at home.

Only she doesn’t know that he wasn’t up pacing over her. He wasn’t waiting for her at all. And it might just be in your own head, but you hope he was maybe the slightest bit…disappointed at the sound of the front door.

You probably shouldn’t be thinking that.

You see the confliction swimming in her eyes, and you place a hand over hers.

“But some of them aren’t going to stay forever if you’re giving them a good reason to leave, mom.”

Her eyes meet yours, tears brimming and threatening to break. “How do you…?”

“You could see it from space, mom. And he can too.”

She brings a knuckle to her waterline, dabbing at the tears before they can fall and muddy her mascara. She sniffles and shrugs with a raised hand, letting it fall back down in a helpless gesture.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doin’, sweet pea,” she says, letting out a small, pitiful sob. You clasp your hand over hers and squeeze, feeling your own eyes begin to prick at seeing your mother choked up. “You ever…like you get so comfortable, things are goin’ so good, that you start to get anxious? And before you know it…you’re…you’re sabotagin’ yourself. Throwin’ stones, tearin’ down everythin’ that ever brought you a lick’a happiness. Like…like you need to destroy it before it destroys you?”

A lump forms in your throat as she speaks, and you clench your hand a little harder than you intend to. It hits you pretty hard, the reality of it all. Joel is in the shower, washing your dried spit and slick from his cock. Maybe even with your mother’s soap. Wiping away what didn’t already rub off on their shared sheets.

“Yeah, mom,” you say, your throat scratchy from more than just the emotional influx. “I know exactly what you mean.”

The memories come back in succession. Joel’s hand on your bare thigh. Your dress dropping to the floor. Coming on his mouth, his fingers. His cock pushing inside for the first time. His hand feeling his length down your throat. His spend dribbling from your lips.

You deserve a man.

Good girl.

Swallow for daddy.

Why did you do it? That safety, that security Joel has been for you since you were a teenager. The reliable presence, always sitting in that chair three feet to your right. Sipping his beer, spilling on the remote, losing potato chips in the couch cushions.

It’s all twisted up now with memories of his naked body, his satanic tongue and devilish grin, the stretch of his cock that you’ve now felt inside you — still feel inside you, if you’re honest. The soreness persists in the entrance of your pussy, the wall of your cervix, the column of your throat. Evidence of your betrayal to the one who gave you life.

She granted you breath, and you used it to moan “daddy” beneath her husband. Allowed him to take that breath from you as you gagged on the very flesh that makes your mother gasp his name in the sanctity of their marriage bed.

Maybe your mother desecrated it first, but he and you…he and you incinerated it. Rolled around and fucked in the ashes.

She may have gathered her train, lifted her dress for someone else. But the veil hasn’t been removed yet. And you’re nowhere near ready to admit to her that she no longer has somewhere to sleep. She can remain blind for now.

A tear finally drips free down your cheek.

“Yeah, mama. You…you have no idea. How well I know.”

A watery smile crosses her face and she leans toward you, cupping your face in her hands. “We’re gonna be okay, blossom. We get through shit, don’t we? Can’t take us down.”

You nod in her hands, the lump in your throat closer to a golf ball now. “Yeah, mama.”

She strokes the plush of your cheek, wiping at your lone tear track. Then something captures her interest, and she draws back, tilting her head.

“You let him do that to you before he dumped you?”

You furrow your brows, unable to follow her line of sight where it lands at your neck. “Let him do what?”

“Got a hickey the size of Texas there, sweet pea,” your mother giggles, brushing her thumb over your throat.

Your stomach lurches, your eyes masking panic. You’d flown too close to the sun. Reckless, stupid, irresponsible. Let him defile your skin with nicotine-yellowed teeth and a thick, adulatory tongue.

It’s written on your face, on your neck, plain as day. How does she not know? How does she not see?

Because her only daughter, a child sprung from her womb when she was just a mere child herself, would never do that to her. An act so treasonous is unthinkable. Laughable. Not worth a fleeting thought.

To her.

To you…that very thought has been brewing since you were fourteen, alone in your room, the pads of your fingers pruned and your mutinous mind alive.

What if it wasn’t her? What if it was me? What would he say to me?

You deserve a man. Good girl. Swallow for daddy.

Your mother just smiles, oblivious to the context of her observation and the wretchedness within you.

“It’s okay! Nothin’ a little makeup can’t cover, huh?”

Your palms sweat as you nod.

“Come on,” she says, gripping your hand in hers as she stands, guiding you along with her. “I’ll help you. It’ll be like old times when I used to give you makeovers.”

You are hyper-aware of the slickness of your hand in hers.

She has to know, she has to know, she has to know.

But she doesn’t.

Words jam in your ravaged throat, no longer loosened by your stepfather’s brutal misconduct, as you silently follow after her into her room. She ushers you on the bed as she gathers her makeup from her vanity.

She sits beside you, smiling as she begins to tap concealer onto the bruise. “Cover it up, and it’s as good as gone. Never gotta see the boy who gave it to you again.”

You nod again lightly, your eyes falling closed as she pats at your skin. The shower turns off in the bathroom, and the sickness in your stomach roils again.

He’s washed you off now, smelling of her eucalyptus shower steamers. He bears no marks. He shares no burden. Honor by marriage is not honor by blood.

Hence why your mother’s affair can blow over. It can be fixed. Swept under the rug, forgiven in confessionals and late-night whispers during love-making.

But betrayal like this? Of daughter to mother at the hands of a father and husband? That’s Armageddon. And you didn’t pay much attention in church growing up, but you listened enough to know…the apostates are destined to lose.

Rummaging noises bleed from the bathroom, and your mother glances toward the door.

“Joel Miller, you stay in that bathroom for a minute. We’re havin’ a mother-daughter bondin’ moment in here,” she calls out to him with a broad grin, loud enough for him to hear it through the closed door.

Bonding. Oh, yes, you’re very bonded now.

“Should just attach you two at the hip while we’re at it,” he calls back. “You share damn near everythin’ with each other.”

You can't decide if he said that on purpose. If he’s twisted enough to joke about your circumstances to your mother’s naïve listening ear, or if he really is just a dense-headed dumbass, ignorant of the magnitude of his words and actions.

Regardless of how he meant it, the blush pink gossamer blur smoothing over the events from last night is beginning to slip away, the images sharpening each passing moment that you spend with your mother. What your mind was attempting to bang down your door over, grabbing hold of your thoughts to try and thrust you into reality, is finally coming into focus.

You can’t come back from this.

And what was it all for?

The sun shines through the open drapes of the window onto your mother’s back as she smiles and shakes her head at Joel’s comment, the shade cast over you shifting gently with her movement. She rolls her eyes in good-natured jest as she unknowingly conceals the mark of the devil on your neck.

Both her devil and your own.

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girlboypersonthingy · 3 months

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Hazbin Boys x reader- Comfort ❤️‍🩹

This is a request from an anon- hazbin boys comforting reader with depression/mental illness. Includes Lucifer, Angel, Husk, Sir Pentious, Vox and just a dab of Alastor. Original request here + a heart felt message from yours truly 💌

TW: depression, mental illness, sickeningly sweet fluff

Notes: gn!reader, NSFW during Angel’s part 18+ plz

Lucifer 🍎

Oh my goodnessssssss, prepare to be treated like absolute royalty.

I’m talking foot rubs, back rubs, playing with your hair

Not only will he make you food, he’ll literally try to feed you and offer you sweet praises when you do eat. Eating can be a real chore sometimes…

“Good job, my love. It’s gonna be okay…okay?”

I think Luci is pretty touchy in general, but when you’re down in the dumps, he gets extra clingy and touchy

He’ll pretty much constantly have a hand on you- holding your hand, a hand on your back, a gentle rub on your shoulder

Will unfurl his wings and drag you close to him in bed, wrapping his arms and silky feathers around you as he lulls you to sleep

Like imagine a midday depression nap all tangled up with Luci, curtains drawn so the room is nice and dark, the temp is perfect, the bed is hugging you just as good as your babe next to is. Ugh. Plz, I want this. I need this.

Will try to gently coax you out of bed and try to get you out of the house. He knows it won’t be easy for you but he thinks getting you cleaned up, dressed and out doing something fun you’ll feel a bit better. You’ll at least be distracted from your sadness for a bit.

He’s so kind and nonjudgmental too. He gets it completely. He has depression too. Even the king of hell deals with mental illness, okay? Mental illness does not discriminate

He’ll offer the best advice he can muster up, using his own experiences to help you out of your funk

All in all, he’s just an absolute sweet pea. So doting, so caring.

Angel Dust 🕸️

Also has mental illness, also gets it completely.

KING OF DISTRACTIONS

Angel is a sweet boy but I don’t think he’d be too great at offering advice…

So he does his best to distract you from your feelings, doing whatever it takes to get you to smile, even just for a second.

Will ask you what you want to do first, whatever will make you happy, he’ll go along with it.

If you insist on rotting in bed, he’ll probably respectfully pull you out of bed, tell you “this ain’t good for ya, babe” and force you to go do something fun, something relaxing, something for yourself

Sorry not sorry but he’ll def offer to cheer you up by fucking you, letting you fuck him, eating you out, sucking your dick. Go ahead, take your stress out on him, he can take it ;)

Also the king of self care.

SPA DAY SPA DAY SPA DAY

Will draw you and him a bath, rub your shoulders while you sit in the warm water together, will even wash your hair for you

Forces you to wear a face mask with him lmao

“C’mon, (Y/N)! Lemme paint ya nails! You’ll look sooooo cuuuuuute~”

Expect lots of touching and kisses with him at night, especially if you’re having trouble sleeping

Rubs your back, rubs your arms, will rub gentle circles on your butt if you’ll let him, kisses your head, kisses your cheeks, kisses your nose

ALL THE KISSESSSSSS 💋💋💋

Husk 🃏

Okay listen…this guy is obvi a great listener and he’s pretty good at giving advice. Honestly, he’s probably the best person to go to.

Husk is an old soul, he’s pretty wise, has a lot of life experience, death experience, his own experience with mental illness and even addiction.

He could just listen to you talk for hours, waiting for you to pause before he replies. He’d never interrupt. He’s so patient with you 🥹

Will keep a close eye on you and any new habits you’ve seemed to pick up. He fixes his own issues with booze but he’s the type to say “do as I say, not as I do”

Won’t let you spiral into addiction like he did…it’s not an option.

I think Husk would be a good mix of “Come here, give Husker a hug. It’s alright, hun. Let’s go take a little nap, yeah?” and “Hey, I know what’ll cheer ya up!” *proceeds to show you the coolest, craziest magic tricks*

He’s a good balance of comfort and distraction

Anything he can do to help, just say the word

Will tell you funny shit he’s seen the folks around the hotel do just to see you laugh for a moment

“One time, Angel was walking right in front of the bar at like 7 in the morning and tripped over literally nothing and face planted! I had the best seat in the house. It was hilarious.”

This is my own personal headcanon, idk why but I feel like Husk can cook really well. He’d totally make you food, even bring it to you in bed if you don’t feel like getting up

Will absolutely let you play with him like a kitten, won’t even be upset about it. Play with his ears, give him pets, let his fur be your stim toy, let his purr soothe your achy heart

Sir Pentious 🐍

Plzzzz, he’s such a simp. I love this slippery, special little guy 💚

Big on cuddles! Will cuddle you all day, all night if you want. Loves the physical contact, and loves it even more when he can feel you relax a bit against him.

Will make his eggs boys do anything for you. Whatever you want, you tell them and they’ll happily oblige.

Kinda random but I think he’d be the type to try and pull silly little pranks on ppl around the hotel just to get you to laugh. He’s such a silly goose omg

He doesn’t really understand what you’re going through so he’ll just keep asking you what he can do, how he can help, what you want, what you need from him.

He doesn’t get it but he’ll do anything for you.

When you’re feeling particularly lazy and it’s extra hard to leave your bed, he’ll literally carry you around. Just lounge in his arms, darling, he’ll take you wherever you need to go. Don’t need to go anywhere? Fine, you’re gonna come along with him to do his daily tasks. Sit in his lap and just watch as he works.

Just wants to keep you close. He can’t stand the thought of you being alone when you feel like this. No matter where he is or what he’s doing, he wants you close.

Unless you insist on having some alone time or needing some space. Again, whatever you need from him, you got it.

Although, he may get a little teary eyed and pouty when he leaves you. Can’t stop thinking about you all day and probably comes and checks on you several times.

Vox 🖥️

“CANCEL MY MEETINGS, HOLD ALL MY CALLS, TELL EVERYONE IM NOT RESPONDING TO EMAILS UNTIL TOMORROW!”

Guy needs to focus on his baby right now. You are his top priority, everything else can wait. You are just too precious to put on the back burner.

Will be sure to tell Val and Velvette to leave you two alone. He doesn’t want them upsetting you any more than you already are.

This man has his assistants waiting on you hand and foot. He’s gonna stay in your bed with you, cuddled up with tons of blankets, both in your pajamas as you watch movies while ordering his staff to bring you whatever it is you desire.

Will eventually yank you out of bed bc he can’t stay still for too long but you’re coming with him. Wants to keep you company always

In public, Vox isn’t the most romantic or touchy. He’s a busy man with a huge reputation to uphold. While he would never completely ignore you and he’s no ashamed to show some PDA with you, you sort of always find yourself following in his shadow when he’s hard at work.

Once he sees how much your mental health is affecting you, he becomes much more attentive, much more protective of you.

He’ll hold your hand or keep his arm around you when out and about. Will give you a gentle kiss and a prideful smile before getting on set for a news shoot.

If you’re having a particularly hard day, everyone get out of the way! Hes taking the day off, he doesn’t give a fuck what anyone says or thinks.

You are too important to him. Without you, what good would all his accomplishments be? Without you, who would he share all this with?

He needs you to stick around 🩵

Alastor🩸

I think Alastor would be absolutely clueless but he’d try his best nonetheless!

He’d also be one to try and distract you.

Wanna go to cannibal town and visit Rosie? She’ll help cheer you up! She’s a great listener with tons of good advice to give

Will reluctantly invite you into his room and lead you to the half of it that looks like a swamp/forest. He will take off his coat and sit in the grass with you, staying silent but watching you look around in awe.

He’s got lots of cool powers and will summon or manifest little things here that he thinks will bring a smile to your face.

Summons little lightning bugs to carefully dance around your face, holds back from slaughtering a deer that’s approaching just so you can admire it from afar, will watch with a genuine smile as you lay back in the grass and relax to the sound of crickets chirping and light jazz music.

If you asked…he might give you a hug. Might.

Also sends his shadow to check up on you every so often but if you notice this, he will deny it with all his might.

790 notes · View notes

7s3ven · 5 months

Text

NOBODY’S SON, NOBODY’S DAUGHTER. luke (pjo) pt 3

PART 1 > PART 2 > PART 3 > PART 4 (last pt)

( masterlist )

IN WHICH… being the boyfriend of Zeus’ daughter is easy for Luke but their relationship is tested when a new arrival has his eyes set on someone in particular; Y/N.

“You’re in the wind, I’m in the water. Nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter.”

Warnings : Luke ain’t gonna betray anyone this time, don’t worry, not following plot, communication problems, relationship problems, Y/N and Luke are little rocky together, a little bit of angst

—

TAG LIST : @lostinhisworld @julielightwood @outerbanks-stuff @jennapancake @csifandom @evrybodydies1 @kkrenae @s0ulsniper @annispamz @justanotherkpopstanlol @soraya-09 @simpforeveyone @papichulo120627 @corpsebridenightamare @lilacspider @prettylilsimp @urmomsbananabread @ur-lacol-dsylexic @hottiewifeyyyy @kamiliora @be-bap @finnickodaddy @th0tblckgrl @shoyofroyoyoyo @uniquely-her @imafrkinsimp @syraxesrevenge @ahh-chickens @dracoslovergirl @midnightstar-90 @8812-342 @liv1104 @krkiiz @arialikestea @ch16rles @lizziesliz @maryclx01 @lukecastellandefender @yuminako @coryoskywalker @julielightwood @crybabysbakery @jsbaby @liviessun @p3pperm1nttea @angie-esc @purplerose291 @prettylilsimp @10ava01 @froggiesstalks @happy-jj @czennieszn @gisellesprettylies @loveyava @csifandom @luvvfromme @mashiromochi @kamiliora @yorksyree

—

Life was good for Luke. He was still the most respected swordsman at camp, the Hermes cabin was as energetic as ever, and he had been dating his longtime crush for months now. Everything was perfect.

“Hey Sparky.” Luke said as he walked into Y/N’s cabin without a second thought. She was still lying in bed, glaring at him with her E/C eyes that he loved so much.

“It’s six in the morning. Get out or be quiet.” Y/N waved him off but he was persistent.

“You promised to train with me.” Luke frowned, hurrying over to kneel beside Y/N’s bed.

“Tomorrow.” She muttered, closing her eyes so she could sneak in a moment more of sleep.

“You said that yesterday. And the day before. At least hold my water bottle!”

Y/N couldn’t resist Luke when he looked at her with those puppy eyes. Eventually, she found herself standing in the centre of the arena dressed in loosely fitting armour and holding a heavy sword. “I never agreed to this.” She muttered, furrowing her eyebrows.

She wasn’t even fully dressed, still in her pjs under the armour, while Luke was ready to go. He took a huge gulp of cold water from his bottle, grinning.

“Just one round, Sparky. Fight me like you mean it and I’ll let you sit out.”

But fighting Luke was never an easy feat. Five minutes later, Y/N was still locked in a complicated battle with her brown-haired sweetheart.

“Slow down, will you? I just woke up.” She muttered, sloppily blocking a blow that was aimed at her chest. Luke merely chuckled, swinging his weapon even faster.

“Sorry, Sparky. But I’ve got to train somehow.”

“By almost maiming your girlfriend?!” Y/N exclaimed as she ducked. She quickly rolled across the ground and stood up behind Luke.

“Yeah. Something like that.” He sent her a mischievous wink as he spun around, metal clashing against metal. Y/N scoffed, kicking his ankles. She liked to play dirty. In one of their first capture the flag matches, Y/N had bit Luke. And had drawn blood. That was the start to their close relationship.

“I’m tired, Luke.” She complained, slouching. “Let me rest.” Despite wanting to continue training, Luke let Y/N off easy. He knew he wouldn’t get another mock fight out of her in this state. She happily skipped over to the bench, lying down on it.

A ghost of a smile appeared on Luke’s lips as he stared at Y/N. Her head suddenly turned and Luke bashfully looked away. Nothing could make him shy… nothing but Y/N. She laughed at him, knowing the effect she had on Luke.

“I’m going to change. And maybe get some last-minute sleep. You wanna come or are you gonna stay here and train?” Y/N raised her eyebrows as she took her armor off. Luke was quick to drop his sword and unbuckle his chest-plate.

“I’ll come with.” He said. Y/N muffled her laughter and simply knocked Luke to the side with her hip.

“New kids sure are pouring in.” Y/N mumbled. Just yesterday, another boy had arrived. He was around Y/N and Luke’s age, which was uncommon for newcomers. How had he managed to avoid the monsters for so long?

“Remember when that girl tried flirting with me last week?” Luke asked, chuckling to himself. Y/N quietly snickered as she nodded her head.

Just last week, a new girl had began flirting with Luke. People tried to warn her but she didn’t listen. Y/N hadn’t even stepped out of her cabin before Clarisse pinned the newbie to the cold ground and forced her to stay away from Luke.

“Clarisse sure is working hard to prevent anybody interested from approaching us.” Y/N found it amusing because Clarisse never cared about couples until Y/N and Luke started dating.

“So. You up for training again tomorrow?” Luke questioned, changing the topic. Y/N playfully scoffed.

“Luke, you know your my second favourite boy… but no.” Y/N didn’t know how many more late nights and early mornings she could take.

“Second? Who’s first?” Luke sped up slightly, furrowing his eyebrows at Y/N.

“Percy.” She shrugged, “Sorry, Luke, but he’s a better breakfast buddy. And he doesn’t wake me up at the crack of dawn.”

Luke lightly pouted. He knew Y/N was joking but there was no way Percy was ranked above him. “I won’t wake you up early anymore.” He uttered, making Y/N pause.

“I guess I’ll have to change my list then. Percy’s been demoted to number two.”

Immediately, Luke’s eyes lit up. If he were a dog, his tail would’ve been wagging back and forth. Luke opened the cabin door, letting Y/N walk in first before he followed.

“We still have an hour before breakfast so Luke, don’t disturb me. Do whatever you want as long as it doesn’t wake me up.” Y/N sternly pointed at him and he mockingly saluted.

“Yes, ma’am.”

While Y/N lay down, Luke resorted to looking around the cabin. There wasn’t anything of significant interest apart from the closet shoved into a deserted corner, which Luke ignored. The last time he opened a mysterious closet, he was dragged into it. Of course, it was a prank meant for an Athena kid but they were too smart to fall for it. Especially when said closet was placed in the middle of a flower field.

Luke looked at Y/N, who was already sound asleep. He smiled, creeping over to the side of the bed. He found peaceful solitude in tracing his eyes over Y/N’s soft features. He would’ve stared at her for hours if she didn’t groggily wake up five minutes later.

“You’re distracting.” She groaned, glaring at Luke.

“I’m not even doing anything this time, Sparky!” Of course, as Y/N’s boyfriend plus friend, it was his job to annoy her. “How am I distracting?”

“Your staring is distracting. Come over here.” Y/N motioned to the spot beside her on the unusually large bed. Luke gleefully climbed in, immediately hugging Y/N. He was as affectionate as ever, even more so now that they were officially together.

Y/N hummed as Luke tilted her chin up, lightly kissing her. “Luke.” She mumbled against his lips, “I wanna sleep.”

“Five more minutes.” He uttered those famous words.

“Sleep now, act like a couple later.” Y/N pulled away, lying down on Luke’s chest. She closed her eyes, sighing deeply.

“Can I come with you when you teach the newbies to sword fight? I’m in the mood for watching you pummel them.”

Luke chuckled, hugging Y/N even tighter. “Sure, Sparky. I’ll try not to embarrass myself too much.”

Y/N sat on the bench, beaming at Luke. His eyes remained glued to her despite one of the younger kids tripping over their own feet.

“Hey, you’re Y/N, right?”

She almost jumped when someone sat beside her. Suddenly, Luke’s face shifted. Y/N turned her head, glancing at the boy beside her.

“Oh. Yeah. Um, you’re one of the new kids, right?” Y/N questioned, tilting her head to the side.

“Yeah. I just got here yesterday. I’m honestly still a little confused so it’d be great if you could show me around.” He smiled, showing off his pearly white teeth.

“I guess I could try? I’m a little busy because of my duties as head counsellor. By default, of course. Because I’m the only one in my cabin.”

“Oh, who’s your godly parent?”

Y/N hesitated for a second before she cleared her throat. “… Zeus.” She wasn’t proud of having him as her father. He was unbearable, especially when he ignored her for so long then proceeded to act as if he hadn’t.

“That’s cool. Can you control lightning or something?”

“Perhaps. Percy has some water powers so maybe it applies to me too.” Y/N shrugged. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Luke excuse himself from the campers across the arena.

Y/N watched him with bated breath as he approached her. “Hey. Is there something wrong with your armour?” He asked the boy beside Y/N. “Because we’re going to start mock fights soon. Clarisse will be monitoring.” Luke jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.

“Ah, no. Everything’s good. Don’t worry. My armor’s fine.” The unnamed boy stood up, walking over to the rest of the group.

“What was that for?” Y/N softly asked, “He was only asking for some help.”

“He was flirting, Y/N.” Luke cooly replied, sitting down next to her. “I know guys like that. Their way of flirting is asking for help.”

“You don’t know that, Luke.”

“Yes. I do, Y/N.”

“The overprotective nature was cute at first, Luke. But you can’t assume every guy who talks to me is interested in me.”

“I see the way they look at you. I mean, how could they not? You’re beautiful and kind and great at fighting and on top of that, you’re Zeus daughter.”

“I chose you, Luke. Not any of the other guys desperate for my attention. You think I’m not jealous when I see girls giggling at you? Of course I am. But I know that you’re mine. And you have to know that my heart only belongs to you.”

Luke cracked a small grin. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m sorry, Y/N. I just got jealous.”

“It’s okay, Luke. I’m sorry I called your overprotectiveness annoying. It’s not. I still think it’s cute. I was just caught up in the moment. I guess I just didn’t want to feel helpless. A daughter of Zeus should not be helpless.”

“You aren’t helpless. Whoever thinks that you are needs a major reality check.” Luke shook his head, glancing over at Clarisse. “You wanna get out of here?” He whispered, nudging Y/N.

“I, um, actually agreed to show him around.” Y/N mumbled, pointing over at the boy. Luke pressed his lips into a thin line.

“Okay.” He gently said, nodding his head. “I’ll keep Annabeth company while you show him around. But if he tries anything funny, I will punch him.” Luke warned.

“I know, Luke. I know.” She smiled, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. She was partly hoping that the boy from before saw their interaction so he would put whatever sneaky schemes he had to rest.

“So, let me get this straight, Annabeth found out Percy was Poseidon’s child when Clarisse cornered him in a bathroom… and shoved his head into a toilet?” Y/N raised an eyebrow as she picked another strawberry, placing it in the straw basket Luke was holding.

“Yeah. And then Percy practically attacked her with toilet water.” Luke chuckled to himself as he bit into a strawberry. “Annabeth told me all about it. It was hilarious.”

“Sounds like Percy.” Y/N replied, plucking a few more berries. She handed one to Luke, who took it like a child being given candy.

“So, how was showing that boy around?”

“Well, I thought his name was Alston and it took about two hours for me to realise that his name was actually Allen. He never corrected me so I never knew.”

Luke huffed in amusement as he slung his arm around Y/N’s shoulder. “Sounds like you. Any idea of what cabin he’d gonna be in?”

“Ares.” Y/N immediately answered, taking Luke by surprise. “He’s hungry for power. He has a thirst for it. And he can’t seem to tear his eyes off the Ares kids, it’s like he’s drawn to them. What about you?”

“Good guess. Ares as well for me.”

“Are you sure you aren’t just copying me?”

Their playful banter went on for quite some time. It was normal for the couple to tease and push. That’s how they were before they started dating too.

“Have you ever tried chocolate on strawberries?” Luke asked, picking up another red berry.

“I’m not obsessed with them like you are, Luke.” Y/N was never much of a sugar person. She liked desserts for a certain extent and chocolate wasn’t her favourite like Luke’s was.

“How come I have a cute nickname for you and you don’t have one for me?” Luke questioned, gazing down at Y/N.

“I’m not big on pet names. And I could hardly call Sparky cute. Unless you want to be called messenger boy, don’t push it.”

“I’ll message you my heart.” Luke grinned as he pulled out a slip of paper that was stamped with a red heart.

“What’s this?” Y/N turned it over but Luke stopped her from opening it.

“Read it when I’m gone otherwise I’ll be too embarrassed. It’s just a little gift for my amazing girlfriend.” Luke quickly kissed her before he hurried off, taking the strawberries with him.

Y/N sat down in a sunny patch and opened the letter, staring at Luke’s neat handwriting. “A love letter…” She whispered, her eyes widening. She has received plenty of love letters before, mostly before she came to Camp, but Luke’s felt special. He was pouring his heart out to her through his inked words and messily drawn hearts.

“Hey Y/N. What ya reading?”

She held back a small scoff as Allen approached her, hands clasped behind her back.

“Something private.” She said, hoping he would get the hint. But he didn’t.

“Is it a love letter? Who still writes those, these days?” Allen plucked the letter from Y/N’s grasp and before she could stop him, he dunked it in a nearby puddle. “Oops.” He merely smirked.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Y/N seethed, watching as the ink bled out from off the paper and Luke’s beloved words floated away.

“You’ll get another love letter. No need to be so uptight.” Allen laughed, not noticing how Y/N’s vision flashed red with anger. She was never one to get furious but Luke’s gifts meant the world to her.

“Are you crazy? Stupid? Perhaps mentally impaired? Why would you do that? Even if the letter didn’t mean much to me, you have no right to grab it and ruin it!” Y/N stood up, wobbling from side to side. Her body felt unusually heavy.

“It was just a joke, Y/N.” Allen reached out to touch her. He grasped her wrist but was suddenly flung back by an unknown force. As he lifted his hand, he yelped. It had been burnt, and badly. His skin was sizzling and some parts were even charred black.

“Don’t touch me again.” Y/N muttered, storming off. Allen clicked his tongue, watching her leave.

“Crazy bitch.” He muttered under his breath. He went to the infirmary and got his hand patched up before returning to the Hermes cabin.

“Yo, what happened to your hand?” Chris asked almost immediately. Luke’s eyes flickered over to the bandage that was wrapped around Allen’s hand.

“Y/N. The crazy girl went ballistic after her little love letter fell in water. I grabbed her and then she flung me back. I didn’t even know she could do that.” Allen scoffed.

Luke didn’t wait around to hear the rest. He was out of the cabin before Allen could say another word. He burst into Y/N’s room, making an instant beeline for her figure hiding beneath the blankets.

“Go away, Clarisse. I told you, I don’t want to talk.” Y/N said, shifting around.

“It’s not Clarisse, Sparky. What happened? Why’d you burn Allen?”

Y/N slowly slid the covers off her head. “I didn’t mean to. I was so angry that I didn’t know what was happening. He dunked your letter in water, Luke! So I snapped at him and he tried to stop me from leaving by grabbing me. And I don’t know how it happened, but I burnt him and sent him crashing into the strawberry bushes.

“Oh… are the strawberries okay?” Luke furrowed his eyebrows together, concerned.

“Luke,” Y/N glowered at him, “This is about me! Not the strawberries!” She hit his chest. “It’s not like it’s my fault he touched me. He deserved it anyway.”

“I know, Sparky. I know. I’ll take care of him. You just focus on calming down. It’s not your fault. I’ll write you a million letters if you need.” Luke hugged her, pressing a long kiss to the side of her head. She laughed, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Thanks, Luke.” She mumbled, pressing her face deeper into his shirt.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Y/N froze. She stiffly rested in Luke’s embrace, staring blankly at his bright orange shirt. An awkward silence rested between the pair and even though Luke didn’t comment on her lack of response, he still wondered why didn’t she reply?

“Don’t you think it’s a little unfair how we’re always fighting against the Hermes and Athena cabin?” Clarisse said as she sharpened her sword. She clicked her tongue.

“It is a little unfair. Annabeth is always one step ahead of us.” Y/N sighed. She clenched her jaw when she spotted Allen walking towards her. “Oh, great. Jerk alert.” She whispered to Clarisse, rolling her eyes.

“I’ll leave you to beat him up.” The Ares girl replied, shoving her way past Allen.

“Y/N. Hey. I just wanna say that I’m sorry. I didn’t know the letter meant that much to you.”

She stared at him, unimpressed. “Okay.” She murmured.

“Okay? That’s it? I apologised to you and all you say is okay?” Allen scoffed.

“Just because you apologised doesn’t mean I forgive you.” Y/N resisted the urge to roll her eyes in fear they would get stuck. She spent so much time being annoyed with people.

“Do you have to be such a bitch about it?” Allen snapped.

Y/N deeply inhaled. She stiffly smiled at Allen before standing up. “I have to go.” She uttered, brushing past the boy. But just like last time, he grabbed her hand and unfortunately for her, there was no electricity to save her.

“Accept my apology.” He said, gripping her arm so tight he may as well leave a bruise.

“I told you not to touch me.” Y/N tried to pull her arm out of his grasp but he was relentless.

“Leave me alone, okay!” She exclaimed, lifting her other hand and slapping Allen’s check. “Stay away from me, you creep! Honestly!”

Y/N scoffed in disgust, storming off. She went to go find Luke, but she found him on the porch of the Aphrodite cabin, talking to the same girl that tested their relationship before it even started.

Y/N slowly licked her lips and looked away, fidgeting with her hands. She decided to leave Luke alone for now, ignoring the dull ache she felt in her chest.

After months of pure happiness, everything was coming crashing down. And there was nothing Y/N could do to stop it. She sighed, collapsing on her own wooden porch. A new game of capture the flag was going to start soon and she didn’t have time to brood.

“Hey, you good?” Clarisse asked as Y/N slid her helmet over her head and the first conch blew. Y/N simply smiled, nodding over at her best friend.

“Yeah. I’m good. Don’t worry about it, Clari.” She smiled again to reassure Clarisse. She glanced over at Luke and the Aphrodite girl, whose name was Lana. They were laughing together. They had been for the past few days. Y/N didn’t know if it was her or Luke but lately, they hadn’t been talking at all.

Clarisse followed her gaze and pieced everything together. “You can switch positions with someone else.” She offered because they both knew Luke was going to be the one to get the flag. “Today feels like an offence day for you anyway.”

Y/N silently smiled at Clarisse as she switched jobs with one of the Ares kids.

“Thanks, Clari.”

“No problem, baby. If it weren’t for Luke, I might’ve dated you myself.” Clarisse playfully smirked while Y/N laughed.

“If it weren’t for him, I might’ve taken you up on that offer.”

Communication was important in a relationship but for some reason, Y/N and Luke could never talk peacefully. It always turned into argument and one, if not both of them, would turn away hurt.

Y/N was ready to go by the time the second conch blew. Usually, she guarded her team’s flag but today, she was hunting through the woods. Each of her opponents were more surprised than the last to see her because it was always Luke’s job to duel against her. He was really the only one who could beat her.

“We surrender.” The blue leader said, hands help up. Y/N smiled, slinging her spear over her shoulder.

“Easy peasy.” She said to her teammates, who laughed with her. “This might be the quickest game yet. Let’s grab that flag and get outta here.”

Y/N didn’t know who she was expecting to be guarding the blue flag. Maybe Percy or Chris or even Annabeth herself. But not Luke.

He easily disarmed her teammates, leaving Y/N for last. “Rematch, Sparky?” He uttered, mockingly swinging his sword.

“Really? We don’t talk for a few days and that’s all you say?” Y/N replied as she blocked the blow.

“Well, last I recall, you’re always busy with Allen.”

“Not willingly. You know that.”

“What was he doing in the arena with you then?”

Y/N scoffed. “Annoying me. What are you and Lana always talking about?”

“Don’t turn this on me, Sparky.” Luke warned as he stepped to the side, barely avoiding Y/N’s weapon.

“We really need to figure our shit out, Luke. Maybe somewhere that’s not on a battlefield.”

Y/N and Luke were both headstrong and stubborn, which is what made communication so hard in the first place.

“Lana’s only a friend, Y/N. Barely that. I’m only helping her. What do you call Allen?”

“An obnoxious fly.” Y/N whacked Luke in the head, taking him by surprise.

“You seem closer than that. He’s always touching you.”

“And every time he does, I wish I could burn him. Are you sure you aren’t jealous?”

“Are you sure you aren’t? Your eyes are always on Lana.”

“Because she likes you, Luke. And she hasn’t gotten the hint that you’re taken.”

Y/N’s teammates exchanged looks and quietly crawled away from the now private conversation.

“Why don’t you trust me, Y/N? You know I’d never cheat on you.” Luke furrowed his eyebrows as he wiped away beads of sweat with the back of his hand.

“You have to trust me first. Why would I choose Allen over you? That seems like an unfair deal.”

“Maybe you just like the attention. I mean, you didn’t even say you love me back.” Luke shrugged, stepped back to avoid his leg from being slashed by Y/N’s blade.

“I’m not ready for that, Luke! You know what,” Y/N paused gripping her spear tightly. “I’m sick of this. I’m sick of arguing and not trusting each other. A relationship requires trust and despite being friends before all this, we’re doing a lousy job of it. So…”

Y/N pursed her lips as she trailed off. “So, maybe we’re just trying to make something impossible work.”

Luke suddenly froze, realising the small argument was going somewhere he didn’t want it to. “You don’t mean that, Y/N.”

“… I do. Luke, we’ve been avoiding each other and over what? Stupid things. You’re blaming me for talking to guys and I’m getting mad at you for even looking at other girls. Luke, we’re not in a stable relationship. We’re both insecure and there’s no communication between us. Don’t you see it? I think the best thing to do here… is take a break.”

It was silent, save for the chirping birds. In the distance, Y/N could hear Clarisse let out a battle cry. Luke sighed, stepping aside. “Just… take the flag, Y/N. Take it. I don’t care about it anymore.”

“We’re going to talk about this later, Luke.”

“Yeah. I know, Sparky. Just… go.” He heaved another heavy sigh, almost shaking. Y/N gripped the flag, sparing Luke one more glance before she sprinted through the forest.

Luke watched as she not only stole the flag but also his heart with it.

#luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #rick riordan #pjo series #pjo tv show #percy jackson fanfiction #luke castellan #luke castellan pjo #pjo fandom #the lightning thief #zeus #hermes #greek mythology #percy jackson #annabeth chase #grover underwood #grover pjo #luke pjo #poseidon

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forbidden-sin-bin · 8 months

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Sex and Filthy Smut headcanons

(Eminem x F!Reader Hc’s and drabbles)

Rated: E for explicit… no wait, this needs an X rating for possibly being the filthiest thing I’m gonna write in my life. God save my soul (probably not but hey at least I asked)

Warnings: I mean… look at the title. Need I say more??? Smut. Sex. Lovemaking, Intercourse. Whatever the hell you wanna call it. The whole 10 yards is here. It’s porn, not gonna lie at all.

Tags/Keywords: Smut, Heavy Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, fluff, fluff and smut, Pre-established relationship, Sexual Content, Kink, Overstimulation, Dom/Sub, BDSM, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Oral Sex, Giving/Receiving, Healthy Relationships, Feel Good, Everything sinful under the sun is found here, Author is going to hell, anyone who reads this is coming with me

A/N: Yes yes, ain’t no fuckbuddies or friends with benefits headcanons here, sue me. There is NO angst or sadness here. None, zero, zilch. Those kinds of relationships almost NEVER end well 98% of the time. This is all about you and him ONLY. Give it up for romance y’all.

Not gonna lie, there might've been more I wanted to add to this hellfire list of headcanons but once you've seen how much stuff there is below I hope you'll forgive me for finally putting this out here.

I hope by reading this, will provide you with comfort and satisfaction.

VERY special thanks to @smutty-books for beta reading and feedback along with helping me with this monster of a list! Please check them out and show them some love! (Seriously thank you Smutty for the additional ideas and content. you made this Hc's list a million times better and twice as much content included.)

(WARNING: Past this point is VERY EXPLICIT CONTENT. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.)

General HC's:

Oh boy. Oh boy oh boy ohhhhhh boy.

You want sum fuk? You got sum fuk and way more.

As long as you’re his s/o, congrats on your sex life being absolutely demolished and rebuilt by this man. You’ll probably never find a better person in the bedroom for the rest of your life. It literally doesn’t matter if he’s your boyfriend or your husband, sex is a staple activity in your relationship that you both enjoy.

Fast and rough? Slow and steady? Maybe a little bit of both? You bet he’ll be saying fuck yeah to all of those.

His sex drive has always been relatively quite high, even after all these years. Being 50 and counting ain’t gonna stop him anytime soon.

Can, and will, want to fuck you on any and every surface of the house.

Living room couch? Perfect spot for bouncing in his lap or to blow him hard.

Dining room table? He’ll have you either bent over and railing you from behind or sitting on top while he devours your dripping wet pussy.

Taking a shower? You’ll be saving water if you do it together… yeah. Definitely not because of at least a half dozen things you can do in there with soothing hot water pouring down your bodies.

In the studio?…

Okay maybe not the studio he’s gotta work without getting distracted and lord save you two if anyone finds a sliver of evidence that you two fucked in there-

Not a PDA guy much, which also extends to any sexual antics outside. He won’t be taking any risks getting the two of you caught lacking

As long as you two are in the house, it’s free game

His views and methods of sex vary depending on which era we’re talking about

If he were in his 1999’s/2000’s era, then yeah, absolute horndog. He’s constantly so busy and on the move, sex would be a quick trip and onto the next. It would’ve scratched the itch, but arguably wouldn’t have sated his appetite for long. If he ever had a chance to have a good, drawn out sex session, it’ll leave him looking like he had a serious hangover but he’ll be waking up so relaxed.

Him being quick to fuck around and quick to leave was his style pre-Relapse. It’s a common thing you see around music artists in general and he was no exception. That doesn’t mean he was closed off to finding an actual solid relationship, it just becomes that much harder to find someone genuine. Most of the time though, he was busy putting out albums and producing music with a 9 to 5 regimen.

Post-Relapse/Recovery Em had insane stamina due to the excessive amount of exercise he put in. Call me insane, but I have a feeling this may be the time where he had the least amount of sex drive-

NOW HOLD ON HEAR ME OUT

He was starting out his sobriety around this time, I’m no expert but I would have to think that he hasn’t fucked or hooked up with anyone since then cause sex may have been a risk or his body was recovering, therefore most likely putting sex as a low priority. That isn’t to say he wasn’t busting a nut oh no, he probably became best friends with his hands again.

The time between Rap God/Monster Era was slowly building back up his drive, transitioning him to the Revival/Present Day era where he’s back on his blue-balling bullshit. Mans been practically putting out mating calls in his music and in interviews I mean COME ON HAVE YOU SEEN IT

He’s wise enough to not be caught slipping with hoes cause he won’t be caught with those hoes. At all. He’s not a hoe fucker no more. You heard him.

Finding an actual healthy relationship with one person? Someone give it to him, now.

(Anyone who remembers that one shot in that Rainy Days behind the scenes video where he points the camera to his crotch and says “EVERYTHING is for sale.” If that isn’t a man in heat I dunno what is; And that’s just one example out of many lemme tell you)

THE POINT IS, HE CAN GO FOR ONE ROUND, OR MANY, MANY MORE.

He’s determined to make you feel good more than him, but he’ll absolutely be having fun with how you’re gonna come. He’ll love exploring your body, finding out every little spot that gives you shivers down your spine.

Oh yeah, did I mention that he's got a big dick? He's got a big dick.

Don't try to deny it when you can't help but glance at his crotch all the time. It might be bias, or it might be fact that you can see the bulge in his pants.

Dom/Sub Roles:

He’s a dom, no question about that. Most of the time he’s a soft dom, not overwhelmingly asserting himself over you but firm enough to have you listen to him. Of course, he’ll be praising you a ton if you’re doing good and listening. But if you’re acting a little bratty, a little petty… yeah, he’ll make you behave, let’s just leave it at that.

Enjoys having you bent over his knee while he fingers your pussy, making sure you’re all nice and ready for him to enjoy.

If you squirm too much, expect a light spanking and a firm reminder to behave.

Again, not over the top with his dominance, cause at the end of the day, he wants to take care of you, to make you feel comfortable and show you how much he loves you. So praising isn’t just a dom thing, it’s genuinely how he expresses his affection to you.

If you insist on it, he can go even harder as a dom, upping his antics and getting off on seeing you beg for relief. Punishments will be even meaner and if you slip up even just a little, looks like you’re gonna have to start all over. No amount of pleading, teary whines from you will get him to change the cold, hard look in his eyes as he’s watching you.

Absolutely insistent on a safe word, no matter the situation.

Marshall’s immediately shifting to a protective, nurturing caretaker the moment your safe word leaves your lips and making sure your needs are met, completely understanding and shushing any apologies that threaten to leave your mouth for ruining the moment. You come first and foremost.

Amazing with aftercare. Will make sure that you’re okay and well taken care of after a session, praising you lovingly as he holds you close. If it was particularly intense, he’ll be checking in on you for the next day or so whilst feeling quite proud of himself that he can reduce you to a begging, dripping mess yesterday night. But he's by far more proud of you for trusting him and letting him experience you in such a vulnerable position.

All it takes is for him to say: "Such a good girl" and you're all his. (Can't blame you honestly-)

He'll be using your petnames even outside of your passionate sessions, even if it's just coming home to greet you after a day of work or passing by each other in the house to do something, a quick: "Hey peaches" or "How's my babygirl?" never fails to want to leave you smiling shyly, even after a bad day.

While being a sub is not what he would usually do at all, it’s not impossible. Once he’s far into a relationship with you and fully comfortable, he might actually give in to your insistence.

He has a need to feel like he’s in control, like he’s leading; Being on the opposite end is a big deal for him, so if he ever subs it’s a huge fucking compliment and privilege that shows how much he trusts and loves you to bare himself to you.

He’ll definitely be grumbly about it tho, and probably trying to act all teasing at your attempt to dominate him. But once you get past that first phase and he lets himself relax and give into your control… he doesn’t want to admit it, but he feels so fucking secure with you.

When he fully gives in, he’s preening and leaning into your touch. He’ll be such a good boy under your lavish praise and having all of your attention on him.

It feels almost foreign, not being the one in charge and making all the decisions for once. But once he gets used to it, he'll be doing whatever he can to receive your approval.

Seeing him at your mercy, letting you take the reins, makes it your priority to see him come undone by your command, holy shit, it's fucking beautiful.

If he's up for being a little more bratty (not unlike he's been on his petty shit for decades as his core personality trait let's be real here) and expecting to be punished and/or your dominance be harsher, the thought of pushing you to your limits with how much you're willing to keep up with him makes him really, really excited on the inside.

It’s both of your secrets, so don’t fuck it up, a'ight?

Teasing/Body Parts:

Speaking of secrets… he’s incredibly private, but at the same time, don’t be surprised if he ends up writing lyrics that may or may not allude or be inspired by your sex lives. You swear this man will be the death of you, smug bastard.

If you’re ever turned on by listening to his music or his voice, it’ll be such a massive ego boost for him, holy shit. No need to feel embarrassed, cause he’s fucking flattered.

Even tho his residence is far from any neighbors (and definitely soundproof), he’s got a playlist for your ears to get aroused to.

Imagine Marshall whispering in your ear or talking in that low voice of his and well damn now you’re horny is an understatement of the goddamn century.

And it’s not just you! Marshall gets off hearing you moan like crazy, another sign that lets him know he’s doing a damn good job. Hearing you whimpering gets him going, but making you scream? Jackpot.

Unsurprisingly to a lot of y’all, but he loves tits. He loves ass for sure, but feeling your breasts is just- Yes.

Love fondling them, licking, biting, sucking, you name it.

Now do the same for him-

OKAY OKAY HEAR ME OUT HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN’S PECS

MAN’S GOT HUGE FUCKING HONKERS. HOLY SHIT.

(No wonder he’s such a titty guy-)

But seriously, play with his chest and he’ll be moaning and writhing under you. Music to your ears.

Rest assured your ass will not be forgotten or neglected. No fucking way he’ll ever leave any part of you un-worshipped. Even when you’re just passing each other around the house he’ll playfully slap or squeeze your ass with a smirk. Cheeky fucker.

May or may not prompt him to just throw you down and pin you against whatever furniture is closest and have his way with you right then and there.

Or it could be the other way around! You can't help but give his sexy behind a mischievous swat or grab, or his pecs. He'll probably pretend to be miffed but you'll be catching him returning the smirk you have on your face. Oh, by all means, have your way with him right then and there as well. Equal rights, equal sexy times.

Grabbing your backside and pulling you closer to him, pressed against his chest and his growing bulge in his pants oh sweet Jesus-

Will for sure spank you while you’re riding him or he’s railing you from behind, the sounds of skin slapping against skin while he sees your ass jiggle with every thrust is just so fucking hot

He wants to reach deep down, as far as his cock can reach, nothing in the house is safe from him pounding your pussy and giving you a creampie.

Speaking of that, He LOVES to come into you or on you. It gives him a feeling of claiming what's his. Anytime he sees his cum dripping outta you or running down your skin, Marshall’s ready to go again.

Or he could use a sex toy, making sure his cum stays inside and your pussy ready for him in a few.

Kinks

We’ve already covered the dom/sub parts, but there is SO much potential for other kinks that you and him can get into so let’s get right into it

Breeding Kink:

I mean how can we not start this off without mentioning that

Can, and will ram you harder and faster than a piston AND make sure you both cum multiple times

If you’re walking the next morning, that means he failed the assignment so now he’s boutta rectify that

Dirty talk is cranked to a hundred as he’s growling in your ear on how much of a slut you are for his seed, how he’ll fill you up and make sure your womb is carrying his baby, how gorgeous you would look with your belly swollen with your little creation, etc.

Even if he’s sure that he doesn’t want anymore kids (given his age or experience, which is understandable), imagine the baby fever he gets when he sees or imagines you with kids

He’s perfectly happy with just you and him, but the possibility of you, him, and maybe a little one you made together from your love? His pupils are dilating like a cat getting ready to pounce

Even if the possibilities are extremely unlikely, the mere thought of it and he’s giving you the 🥺 eyes. (Every time you see him make those eyes at you, it’s probably cause he’s feelin the breeding urge)

If you're not able to, that doesn't change a thing; he wants to make you feel like you're his no matter what, and you are! He loves you for you.

Obsessed with coming inside you after railing you into the mattress, filling you to the brim with his seed

Loves giving you a creampie and then watching it leak out of your pussy, might take the initiative to stuff his spilling cum back into you

Or he could just fuck you at multiple different times during the day like the stud he is

Hell he may as well just not pull out and you’ll both be falling asleep still connected

You'll be waking up with his member engorged and slowly thrusting in you while he nuzzles into you, taking in your scent, kissing your lips so softly until you both cum. After that he takes you to the shower and you both wash each other

Loves marking your skin with his mouth, letting anyone know that your his and his only

Your cunt and everything else is thoroughly satisfied every time the breeding kink comes on don’t you worry about that honey

Size Kink:

Hey don't judge his 5'7 ass. Marshall's got other big things minus his height; Big hands, big ears, HUGE CO-

If you're smaller than him: He praises you for taking him in so well, whispers words of encouragement with every inch he pushes into you until you can feel his tip brushing against your cervix. Doesn't want to overdo it in fear of hurting you, but with your insistence he'll be going all out in due time

If you're taller than him: He LOVES it. No cap you being taller or bigger than him is so fucking sexy. Makes him more eager to make you come and more confidence in exploring different ways to do so

Takes a hand in yours and guides you both to press against your stomach, feeling for his cock thrusting into you

Praises you constantly as he feels your walls stretch around him so perfectly

Once you feel like you can take all of him, all of his restraint is gone as he pounds your sopping wet cunt relentlessly

Body worshipping is a must regardless of size

Feral/Primal Kink:

You know how possessive he can be, and that still translates to the bedroom. Even when he knows you're his, he can't help but feel turned on by his possessiveness for you.

And when you're all his, he can go fucking. Crazy.

It's also the dom feeling in him as well, but he has a need to claim you: Not out of insecurity, but out of his desire to make sure you know how much he loves you.

Likes biting your ear as an affectionate gesture. Sometimes he enjoys lightly tugging as a playful gesture to get you riled up.

Marshall thinks the growling thing is dumb as hell but if you're into that he'll try to give you some throaty growls in your ear, but expect him to start cracking up at his attempts until he's used to it

He thinks he can't do it yet he doesn't realize the low rumble in his throat whenever he gets a jealous streak

Voice/Audio Kink:

Well, well, WELL. Someone's ego is about to be stroked harder than his cock for once

He’ll absolutely be moaning and grunting more often when you guys have sex

Jokingly asks if you want to put some music on before you start fucking though he probably cringes listening to his own music during sex

Definitely ruins the mood for him when he hears someone that collabed with him on one of his songs or if any of his lyrics mention things that he doesn't want to think about when horny

Whenever he asks what you're listening to and hears one of his songs, he can't help but inwardly smile or smirk with pride. "Good choice." He nods, keeping his face unreadable.

If he catches you listening to FACK he just starts dying with laughter and dying on the inside simultaneously

No but seriously, he's super fucking flattered knowing how much his music or just his voice turns you on

Whispers in your ear during sex, either praising, teasing, or telling you what to do

He'll be observing which tone provokes the biggest reaction out of you so he can remember it for future reference

(People working with him in the studio are gonna be wondering why he's so close to the mic while recording recently)

Might record something just for your ears to listen to when you guys are apart ;)

Sex Positions

Missionary:

Ah, the OG.

Ranging from being the most vanilla to literally breaking the bed and making the house shake. Most people’s go-to position and Marshall is no different.

He’s got full access to your face, neck, and breasts while he pounds you into the mattress, absolutely loves it and it’s no surprise.

Is eye contact a kink? He’ll be wanting to look you in the eyes no matter the pace you’re going. Additionally may often include forehead touching and/or nose nuzzling. Incredibly hot and intimate.

If he’s feeling extra curious or dominant, he might even push your legs back and over his shoulders to reach even deeper into you. (In other words, putting you in a mating press.) You ain’t walking for a few days after this. Catch his freaky ass all smug n shit.

Slow and intimate in this position is SO fulfilling. It’s like baring your souls to one another.

Going fast and rough is just straight up a joyride and a half. It feels carnal in the best way possible.

Overall you can’t fuck this up really. It’s missionary for crying out loud.

Doggystyle:

*clears throat* Ahem. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF

If you haven’t seen my fic Heat yet, it’s basically me writing smut for the first time in this position but taken to the next level. Should hint at a lot on what imma bout to say tbh

YES. HELL YES. PLEASE LET HIM RAM INTO YOU FROM BEHIND. HE’LL BE POUNDING INTO YOU SO FUCKING HARD

If you go face down on the bed, ass up? Holy shit

Expect bruises on your hips the next morning… also a very horny man ready to go again or to absolutely worship the fuck outta you for taking it so fucking amazingly

He'll be running a bath for you, being extra doting and attentive, the whole nine yards while also feeing that masculine satisfaction™ at the fact that he's able to get you to that state of bliss.

By far the most feral position. If he’s got a breeding kink I wish you luck on how many times you’re gonna come and he’s gonna come

If you’re also into taking it in the ass I respect you 👀 kinky motherfucker would love to explore some new ways to fuck

Pronebone is also basically the same as mentioned above, but it’s got that intimate feel, you get me? He’s closer to you whilst also able to attack your neck and shoulders, maybe even have a hot make out session with you while he continues to pound your pussy or ass raw.

As long as you love taking it from behind he’ll be on his knees for you. And on top of you.

Cowgirl/Reverse Cowgirl, You On Top:

Ride him. That’s all I gotta say.

He wants you to ride him. Fuck him silly. He’ll lose it.

It’s a perfect demonstration of him still being the dom. You may be on top, but he’s the one in control.

Might tease you by making you work hard for a reaction outta him. He’ll be pretending to be unimpressed or smug while you bounce in his lap but in reality he’s trying so hard not to break

Either that, or he won’t be holding back on how good you make him feel. Mouth open, quietly moaning, grabbing your ass or your hips.

If he can't take it anymore, he pulls you down to him and holds you tight while he starts bucking his hips, pounding up into you like a piston

Even once you both come he starts back up again before you've even calmed down

Oral (Giving and Receiving)/69:

I mean… are we really gonna question it? Yeah you better give this guy some head he is a slut for it

Give him a blowjob and he’ll be the happiest man alive

You watching his expressions as you’re sucking him off

Might take some practice to take all of him into your mouth cause this man is BIG

Even when he’s got loose sweatpants on you can still see his bulge AND IT’S NOT WHEN HE’S HARD AND HORNY. MARSHALL’S PACKING.

I wish you luck in trying to deepthroat this man

When it comes to oral, he definitely prefers receiving rather than giving

But don’t you DARE underestimate this man’s tongue cause holy fucking hell he’s feasting on your pussy

PLEASE let him suck on your clit while he’s eating you out. That man’s mouth is amazing in many ways for a reason

Imagine having to go out after and if anyone asks him if he wants anything to eat he just replies: “Nah I’m good. I had something earlier.” And then GIVING YOU THE SIDE EYE LOOK-

BEARD. BURN.

Let this man bury his face in between your thighs and imagine the friction of his beard brushing against your skin. If that doesn’t make you cum then him lapping you up will guaranteed

69 turns into a competition to see who can get the other to cum first, or a comforting session of tasting each other

Standing:

Y'all know he can do it pinning you against a wall. Thanks 8 Mile

As hot as it is, take care as not to have your head or back bang against it

Great for quickies but probably not for a long time; You gotta give his back a break lmao

Hugging your waist from behind tho :eyes:

Add a mirror on both opposite ends of the wall and you can watch him thrust into you

He's holding you real tight and close, making sure to hold you up so your legs won't buckle

Spooning:

Feelin real cozy

It can be lazy morning sex; Intimate and gentle as he places kisses behind your ear and buries his face into your neck while he does long, deep strokes in and out of your walls

Or it can be rough: Holding your thigh up while his hips violently thrust into you, only stilling when he comes after you

Another way is his cock slipping between your thighs and humping you eagerly, or his cock rutting against your ass

Push your hips back in time with his thrusts for deeper penetration or the sound of your skin slapping against each other

His hands clutching your hips or grabbing your breasts as he moans in your ear, feeling his cock twitching with his release

- - -

ALRIGHT TIME TO STOP HERE I’VE BEEN KEEPING THIS IN MY DRAFTS FOR MONTHS Anyways hope y’all enjoyed this and then some <3 I might come back to this and and more so who knows? If you enjoyed let me know your feedback and if you have any suggestions!

#eminem x reader #marshall mathers x reader #eminem imagines #eminem fanfiction #eminem imagine #eminem headcanons #eminem smut #marshall mathers fanfiction #marshall mathers x you #marshall mathers imagine #marshall mathers headcanons #marshall mathers smut

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johnwickb1tsch · 2 months

Text

Yandere Tex Johnson x Witness!Reader x John Wick (AND x Constantine😜) Imagine WIP Part 9

Here we go my lovelies! @treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake @tammykelly @lilspookymeh @kurai-hono-blog

Wick could have been an asshole about buying a brand new kitchen, sundries included–but instead he merely shrugs off Constantine's hostile question. "Seemed like the least I could do."

Constantine glares, but lets it go, begrudgingly sitting down to a delectable meal cooked by the man he knows, deep down, that you've never been able to forget.

At Tex's midday administering of magical medicine, he takes your hand after you finish, refusing to let go. "Set with me a while, Rattlesnake." He pats the couch, on which there is no room unless you were to sit in his lap–undoubtedly his hope.

With a sigh and a knowing smirk you settle back in your chair. Your eyes are drawn to the burn upon his chest. He will carry that mark for the rest of his life, even if the magic is lifted.

You think on what Papa Midnite said to Constantine. "Take some big feeling..."

It kind of floors you, to think of the energy it took for Constantine to conjure that working out of thin air.

For you.

You told him a little bit about the boys. How they hurt you–and, how they saved your life. How you loved them, and how they destroyed you in their abandonment. No matter how you framed it, Constantine blamed them for the bullet wound forever seared in your side.

However, it wasn’t so simple as that.

"Whacha thinking, baby girl?"

You just shake your head with a tired smile. "Nothing important."

"Hmm. You gonna make me guess? Alright. You're thinkin'...bout that time in Mexico it was just you an me and the stars, out by the pool in our birthday suits."

You snort–quite against your will, it turns into a giggle.

"No..."

"Uh huh. You’re missin' my wicked tongue up between your thighs. I know that look."

"That's enough of that," you say, trying to stand. But he has your hand, and he tugs you so that you fall down to sit on the edge of the couch–and half on him. Your faces hover just centimeters away. You watch with horror a he tries to lean in, capitalizing on the opportunity. By the skin of your teeth, your heart in your throat, you just barely manage to turn your head.

"Didn't you miss me, rattlesnake?" he asks, his deep voice all sultry and low just wrecking you to the bone.

You dare reach up to caress his cheek with the blade of your thumb. "Of course I did. But there’s no going back, Tex. Maybe...that time is behind us." Just saying it hurts like a knife between the ribs, but you go on, “Maybe you and John did the right thing, letting me go.”

He just narrows his dark eyes at hearing that. You hate the way it gives you such a thrill, to the base of your spine, and lower still. “I thought you were mad about that? Hell, I’m still mad about that. I miss you so much I can hardly think straight. There’s just…” He frowns while he says it, but you know it’s just because he’d literally rather take a bullet than talk about his feelings. His grip on your hand tightens; he glares down at your silver rings like they owe him money. “There ain’t no point to anything, when you’re gone. Do you know what I mean?”

You close your eyes; for a moment you feel as though the floor has dropped out from under you, because you know exactly what he means. You lived it for months after they booted you, drifting from country to country, an empty husk of a woman, a gaping black hole where your heart used to be. Only after moving to LA, thinking about going back to school, and meeting Constantine, did your life start to feel like it had some meaning again.

“Yeah. I know what you mean,” you answer quietly. “But how did you think this would go? You’d knock on my door, and I’d just uproot my whole life for you again?”

“Maybe?” The confusion on his handsome face is almost cute. You realize he really did think it would be that easy, and you snort, looking away to a framed Tibetan Thangka painting on the wall. This man. As ever, you’re torn between kissing him and killing him. You have to keep reminding yourself that the former option is not even on the table.

“At least give me some credit. I coulda come in with guns blazin' but instead I brought flowers."

“You want credit?”

“Yeah. I’m practically a changed man. And I wouldn’t mind an apology from Wizard Boy either.”

"You've got to be kidding me." The pair on this man never ceases to amaze you.

"We were just having a little bit of friendly fisticuffs, but he fucked me up pretty good. That’s called unnecessary escalation.”

He would know.

"Spare me the macho bullshit. There’s no such thing as friendly fisticuffs. You were going to hurt my boyfriend, and you absolutely deserved what he gave you. You’re lucky he got Midnite to lift it."

Only a beat later do you realize you called Constantine your boyfriend within earshot of everyone, which you never do, because you both hate labels and the word just seems too high school for what you actually are to each other–but there’s no going back now.

“But–”

At last, at last, you are in a position where you don’t have to swallow his gaslighting. “No buts. You can behave yourself, Tex, or you can go. I mean it.”

Maybe drawn by the sound of your raised voice, Constantine chooses that moment to intervene, appearing at the foot of the couch with a magnificent frown.

“Well well, if it ain’t The Boy Who Lived.”

You know he’s just making yet another Harry Potter reference, but considering Constantine’s history, this nickname makes you flinch. Maybe it’s a mistake on your part, but you bristle. “Don’t call him that.”

Constantine, however, betrays nothing, just crossing his arms with that blandly judgy expression. “It’s alright, y/n. He loves childrens’ books–a man has to stick to his reading level.” You don't feel like arguing about the complexity of the later books, so you let the arrow fly.

You lift an eyebrow, side-eyeing Tex. “You do know an awful lot about Harry Potter for a grown ass man your age.”

For possibly the first time ever Tex actually looks sheepish. “Had to read something while I was in the shit.”

Tex never really told you much about his tour of duty in the Middle East. Bradford had intimated that it didn’t end well–but you weren’t exactly keen to take everything that asshole had said with any sort of seriousness. The thought of him holed up in a mud hut reading about Hogwarts kind of pulls at your heartstrings for some ridiculous reason.

“So what you want, Wizard Boy?” demands Tex, insouciantly refusing to let go of your hand, despite you tugging on it.

“I was going to check your chakras for malevolence, but I'm having second thoughts now.”

“Sounds illegal in five states.”

Constantine snorts. “You want me to double check Midnite's handiwork or not? If there's a trace of darkness left it could spread– and you'll be fucked all over again.”

“Not the way I like, I'm guessin’.”

“Probably not. But then again, you seemed to like Desdemona at the club. You want an introduction?” Constantine has a sly look on his handsome face as he asks this. It must be the succubus you'd run off– the thought of Tex in contact with her again makes you vibrate with jealousy. It is sharp, and fierce, and utterly fucking irrational.

You should encourage Tex to find someone else.

Your heart just doesn't agree.

“I'll…leave you two to it,” you say, reluctantly standing to pull away out of Tex's grip.

Only belatedly, after you've retreated to your room, do you realize that maybe Constantine interrupted your tête a tête with Tex for his sake, rather than yours.

***

John Wick whips you all up a beautiful dinner of sauteed meat and vegetables, complimented with a nice bottle of dry red wine that you're sure did not come from Trader Joe's. You play his sous chef, chopping up veggies, and it almost feels like old times in the kitchen, although he never would have given you access to a big sharp knife before. As though you ever would have had the nerve to stab him.

Tex was another matter.

At first you all sit down to share a semi-awkward meal, peppered with halting silences–until the second bottle of wine comes out, and then things flow more smoothly. It starts with Constantine cracking a joke at Tex's expense, which is surprisingly backed by Wick with a witty aside. Tex responds good naturedly, for once, and you just sit back and watch with a smile, a warm glow in your chest that feels too close to bliss to possibly last.

You help Wick with the dishes, drying as he washes because your dish rack is tiny. “You look tired, sweetheart,” he says after the last plate, bending down to kiss your forehead. You forget. You fucking forget that there are two other people there, one of whom is your current lover, and out of longing and pure habit you tilt your head back for the second staggeringly sweet kiss on your lips that always followed.

Only a long beat later do you realize what you've done, with Wick's shining dark eyes looking down on you, missing nothing. You gasp like a scandalized school girl, taking a small step back. “You're right,” you agree. “I am tired. Good night, everyone.” You're such a coward you can't even lift your head to look at any of them, though you can feel their eyes upon you as you scurry away.

Once in the sanctuary of your room you collapse on the bed, clutching the coverlet in your claws for hands, so embarrassed by your slip that you could die. You know that Constantine loves you, even if he’s never outright said it, and honestly probably never will–and this is how you repay him.

You really are a piece of work.

***

After you retreat, a silence falls over the kitchen, the three formidable men eyeing each other like wolves amidst a power struggle, trying to decide who is the weakest link and who is alpha. It’s Constantine who stands without a word, fetching his green glass bottle of Ardbeg single-malt scotch and setting it down in the middle of the table with a thunk. Then he produces three glasses–none matching–and pours out a finger for each.

“Gentlemen.” He looks between the two assassins seated at his table, a part of him flabbergasted as to how he’d even ended up in this situation. Before he met you, if someone told him someday he would find a woman he loved more than the air he breathed, he would have laughed them out of the room.

Not now.

How the mighty are brought low, and pride goeth before a fall, and all that proverbial biblical bullshit that is old as time and yet somehow still applies. Despite all our advances, humans are still essentially the same animal we were when we first left the cave and started walking upright–or when God created Adam out of dirt, whichever you find more believable.

“I believe we find ourselves at an impasse.”

“How you figure?” asks Tex, knocking back his drink and helping himself to another.

“Does being in love with the same woman ring a bell?”

Wick smirks, watching the exchange between the two, sipping his scotch sparingly. He does not contradict Constantine’s assessment, but in his succinct way he drives home the finer point. “More importantly, that woman is in love with all of us.”

The thought pulls something like a growl from deep in Constantine’s chest, but in the end he acknowledges, “Exactly.”

Tex smirks, leaning on his elbows. “Don’t be sore, Wizard Boy. Be grateful we broke her in for you.”

Constantine seems to count to ten under his breath, restraining himself from unleashing a curse on this fucking cowboy again. “You’re gonna have to give me pointers on how you manage not to murder him daily,” he says to Wick.

“I only listen to about half of what he says,” Wick admits with a smirk, a humorous glitter in his dark eyes.

“Good to know. My point is, if I curse you both into the Seventh Circle, it would hurt her. Likewise, if you two were to dig me a shallow grave out in the desert. You hurt her enough the first time. Do you follow?”

Wick nods, grasping Constantine’s train of thought immediately. Tex, however, has to chew on it a little–maybe because he’d hoped, for once, to finally have this girl to himself.

“You’re saying you don’t mind sharin’,” finally says Tex with a shit-eating grin, leaning back in his chair.

“Oh, I mind,” Constantine is sure to clarify. “But it’s up to her, if she wants you or not. If she decides she wants you to go–I will make you go. If she wants you to stay…” He spreads his big hands, as though to say, we’ll figure it out. Somehow.

Tex narrows his eyes, clearly debating if he should pick a fight over the make you go part, or take it as it sits on the table. “And how do you propose we let her know what we decided about this?”

Constantine snorts at that, draining his glass and standing from the table. “That’s your problem, Howdy Doody. Good night–and may the best man win.” The two assassins watch as John Constantine crosses to your bedroom, and practically shuts the door in their faces.

***

You are drifting on the edge of sleep when Constantine crawls into bed with you. You smile as you feel the familiar pattern of the depression in the mattress, and moan with surprise as he covers your mouth with his. You taste the Ardbeg on his tongue, which explains some of his ardor, but not all. The fury of his kisses on your lips and neck pulls an involuntary moan from deep in your lungs, his big hands digging into the flesh of your thigh, pulling you on top of him.

“John…?” Utterly star-struck, you blink down at him, disheveled in your pajama t-shirt and your hair a mess. He reaches up to cup your cheek, dwarfing your face in his large hand, studying you like there will be a test later. He opens his mouth like there’s something he wants to say to you, but he can’t quite get it out, the words stuck in his throat.

You think you know what it is, and your heart warms for it, that tingling thrill filling your chest and spreading outwards. You’re not even mad, that he can’t say it, because you get him. This is not the week you’re going to push him out of his comfort zone, more than you already have. Most of LA would laugh to hear it, but John Constantine has been a veritable fucking saint the past couple of days, and you’re so grateful to him.

“It’s ok,” you say softly, tracing the line of his square jaw. “I know.”

He frowns, almost like he wants to argue, but in the end he just shakes his head and pulls you to him.

You want to apologize for almost kissing John Wick right in fucking front of him–but that sticks in your throat too. You guess you’re both just a little raw tonight.

He peels off your t-shirt greedily as he guides you down. Hungry lips and a teasing tongue find the sensitive tips of your breasts, making you squirm with longing above him. You know you’ve already soaked through the laughable barrier of your panties, and are probably leaving an unsightly stain on his nice (200 dollar, he likes to tell you with a smirk) white shirt–but if the Chinese laundry down the street can get out demon blood stains, what’s a little cum?

You let out a cry of longing as he releases your nipple with a pop; the ache between your thighs is already nearly unbearable, and you can't stop yourself from grinding against his lean torso. You shut your mouth as soon as you open it, conscious of the paper thin walls and the two dangerous men on the other side of them.

“You like that, baby?” he taunts, hooking his fingers in your panties to tug them down.

“You know I do,” you pant.

“Then let me hear you,” he invites with a wicked smirk, shifting down so that you are nearly sitting on his face. You don’t know what was said out there, but you are starting to get the idea that John Constantine is up to something. But before you can even begin to think what to do about it, he pulls you forward with an undeniable grip on your thighs, and his tongue is laving up your slit.

“Fuck.”

This exclamation is not quiet, and neither are the ones after it. You practically shake the walls with your cries when you cum on his tongue, your body rendered into a quivering mess of over-stimulated nerves. He does not grant you mercy, even when you beg him, and by the time he is done with you, you are halfway to your second orgasm.

“Do you want me baby?” he demands, panting from his champion cunnilingus league exertions as he undresses himself. There is a desperation in his tone you’ve never quite heard before, and you have a feeling he’s not just talking about sex.

“I need you,” you tell him, and you mean every word. It wins you every inch of his hard cock buried inside you, and you can’t stop yourself from moaning, as though there is no room for breath in your body when filled with his impressive manhood. He grips you hard enough to bruise, his face buried in the bend of your neck.

He drives himself inside of you, hips pumping with the fury of his need, but he’s prepared you for it. It’s all you can do just to hold on, to the bed, to him, letting him use you exactly the way he wants to, because you know the past couple of days have been anything but easy for him.

When his thumb finds your clit you think you might die from the overwhelming sensation of it. “No,” you beg, somehow smiling through your exasperation. “Please. Mercy.”

He just pays you that impish curl of lips that always seriously makes you question which side he's playing for. “You can take it,” he informs you. “For me?” The way he pouts down at you while simultaneously rearranging your insides should be illegal.

“Fuck,” you swear again, and he grins down at you, knowing he’s got you in the bag. With your ankles around his ears he slows down for you, but still fills you to the absolute brim, working you in just the rhythm he knows you need with the tip of his too-clever thumb. There is a heart wrenching beauty in making love like this. The two of you have reached an understanding of each other's bodies, a point of familiarity in which you just know, and yet somehow each time is better than the last.

It isn't long before you cum on his cock with a ragged scream that you know there’s no way in hell the boys didn’t hear, yet you cannot stop it, you cannot care, because the man inside you has rendered you into a vessel for this mind-bending pleasure and in this moment, you belong completely to him. His hips snap against yours, and soon he follows with your greedy little cunt fluttering around him, spilling himself inside you with a loud groan.

He collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms. You revel in the sticky warmth of his seed seeping between your thighs, his heart a furious drumbeat beneath your ear. “Jesus fucking Christ,” is all you can manage to wheeze against the warmth of his chest.

“Right initials,” he pants, pressing lips to your hair. “Wrong guy.”

Thinking you really might have lost your mind, you start to cackle, and you can’t stop until you literally can’t breathe. You do not even have the energy to clean up, falling asleep in the beautiful mess John made of you, and maybe it’s just you, but even in his sleep John Constantine seems to hold you more tightly than he ever has before.

------------

😬

it's on? 😈😈😈

@sweetwolfcupcake @treedaddymcpuffpuff @tammykelly

#wicked johnson fic #constantine x reader #constantine x you #john wick #john wick x reader #keanu reeves #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #yandere john wick #tex johnson #tex johnson x you

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celtic-crossbow · 3 months

Text

Are You Reckless or Not?

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: A party you didn’t care to attend would lead to the best night of your life.

The party was in full swing, cheerful voices raised in celebration of your group’s arrival and acceptance. It was a nice thought and you appreciated the gesture, but after an hour in the company of privileged people who had never experienced the harsh reality of the world outside of their gates, you began to wish that was exactly where you were.

You knew who you were out there, who you had adapted to be. No longer the weak dependent duckling that followed on the heels of protectors. You could take care of yourself.

And the very reason for that sat with his back against a tree near the pond.

You had missed him at the party, not really sure why when you knew he wouldn’t come. As you drew nearer, however, his intention to do just that was clear. He was clean; hair washed and his skin clear of blood and grime. He wore his vest over a fresh shirt and a pair of dark jeans that had noticeably been patched but still donned a considerably less number of holes.

“Hey, Bowstrings. Whatcha doing out here?” Daryl looked up at you as you smoothed your hands down the back of your blue cocktail dress—thanks, Rosita—and sat beside him with your legs outstretched. You’d normally mimic his position: knees drawn up with forearms balanced across them. That night, it would definitely be considered unladylike, given that your attire was barely covering the entirety of your thighs.

You could feel his eyes lingering on you as you soaked up the view. The pond was nothing special during the day. There were houses lining the other side, any flowers surrounding it sparse in number. At night, though. At night, with the moon shining on the surface of the water and the fireflies delicately dancing, it was beautiful.

“Why ain’cha at the party?” He finally rasped. He had returned his gaze to the water.

You shrugged. “Really just isn’t my scene. Why didn’t you come?” You countered, smiling at the sidelong glance he afforded you that clearly said seriously? You bumped his shoulder with yours and chuckled. “You obviously thought about going.”

“Mhm.” The archer plucked a blade of grass, rotating it between his fingers.

“Why?”

He looked at you, the surprised expression morphing into his usual indifference so quickly that you may have missed it had you not known him as well as you did. Clearing his throat and looking away as you narrowed your eyes, he mumbled an I dunno, blending the words into a series of sounds and syllables.

“Oh yes you do.” You bumped his shoulder again and then again when he didn’t answer. “Come on, I tell you everything.”

Daryl scoffed and discarded the grass. “Didn’t ask to be your human diary.” To anyone else, he would have seemed annoyed but it was you. You knew he was simply being Daryl. You leaned to lay your head against his bicep, blinking up at him with pleading eyes.

“Please.”

“You’re a pest.” He bounced his shoulder, effectively shrugging you off. You continued to stare at him, watching smugly as he dropped his casual demeanor and sighed. “There’s a, um…a—a girl, woman. A woman.”

The jealousy that tapped on the door of your heart was pushed aside in favor of supporting the man that had somehow managed to become your best friend at the end of the world. “Oh? The great Daryl Dixon has a crush?”

“Ain’t twelve, Y/N.” He huffed. You chuckled.

“What would you call it then?” His brow furrowed in thought but after a moment, he simply grunted. “That’s what I thought.” You forewent the satisfaction and swallowed hard. “Who is she?”

Daryl went rigid. No longer playful but absolutely invested in his potential happiness, you moved closer and placed your head on his shoulder.

“You know,” you began with a deep breath, “I’d never judge you. You know I wouldn’t. I just want you to be happy, Daryl. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Your fingertips lightly brushed over his wrist, sliding down to lace your fingers through his. “You can tell me or not. It doesn’t matter. I’m here now and I’ll be here when you bag this girl because who could ever resist your southern charm?” He began to relax against you, his shoulders bouncing with a breathy huff of a laugh.

“You’re so dense sometimes.”

You sat up straight, not veering straight toward anger. You were confused. What exactly had you said that would make him refer to you as dense? “What the hell, Daryl?” He was staring at you, that unreadable expression you had always been able to decipher was actually successful. You had no idea what the man was thinking. “Is it someone I know?” You finally queried. His chin dipped slightly in a nod.

You didn’t know anyone from Alexandria. So it was someone from your group. Sasha. Maybe Rosita. He had done a lot of tracking with Michonne. She fit the bill too. Capable and clever, beautiful but deadly. Maybe it was Carol. He’d told you once that Carol was his best friend and it “weren’t like that” with her. It had to be Michonne.

Smiling, you took a trembling breath. Daryl could read you like a book and had to know you were seconds away from tears but you pressed on. Maybe if he admitted it to you, actually speaking it out into the universe, he would gather the courage to admit it to her. “Who is it, Daryl?”

He didn’t move, staring at you with those blue eyes, the unfiltered light of the moon giving their color a hint of silver. His index finger bent to scratch against the side of his thumb, one of his automatic responses to an anxious situation. You waited him out but he never spoke. He just looked at you, his eyes piercing as if searching your very soul.

Clearing your throat, you tilted your head. “Well? Are you gonna tell me or not?” You tried for a laugh but it came out as a weak noise that reeked of desperation. You were quick to pull yourself together and play it off with a smile.

He remained unmoving aside from the finger scratching against his thumb. It was almost instinct to stop him, your fingers wrapping around the shorter digit to place a buffer between it and his finger. After a moment, you uncurled your fingers and pulled back your hand only for his to catch it, pull it back, and hold it against his knee.

“Daryl?”

He smirked and looked back toward the pond, shaking his head. “Dense.”

Confusion wasn’t the word you would use to describe how you felt. Was there another term? One that meant your head had emptied of every viable thought to try and form any sort of hypothesis for his behavior?

“I don’t—” Your mouth snapped shut when he looked at you again, face stoic but eyes alight with emotion. His hand tightened around yours and you gasped.

Daryl chuckled again. “Finally.” Your mouth was moving but no words, no sounds, were emerging. The archer smirked again and released your hand in favor of wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in against his side.

You looked up at him, blinking, so incredibly lost. You weren’t beautiful like Rosita. You weren’t fearless like Sasha. You weren’t cunning like Michonne. You were just you. You tripped over your own feet. You always managed to overcook the squirrels. You were never able to keep quiet when he took you hunting.

With your brain belittling you so loudly, you hardly noticed when he angled his head to gaze down at you. He gave you a gentle shake and muttered quit it.

You sucked in a breath. “Why me?”

“Why not you?” Was it just you or was he getting closer? Within seconds, he had hooked a finger beneath your chin, his breath warm against your lips. “This okay?” You heard him gulp, knew he was stepping out of his comfort zone. He was doing it for you.

“More than.” You whispered, barely uttering the last word before his mouth slotted over yours. The kiss was clumsy, uncoordinated, and absolutely perfect. As his lips caressed your own, your eyes fluttered closed, the moon disappearing behind the clouds to leave only fireflies to be your lantern when you broke apart. Breathless, heart beating a tattoo into your ribs, you smiled and brought a hand to his cheek, your thumb rubbing over the stubble he kept there.

His expression was soft, more open than you’d ever seen it. “S’always been you.” He proclaimed quietly, leaning back in for another kiss, that one more controlled but no less passionate.

As you melted into him, his gentle touches calmed your fears for the time being. With a manifold of fireflies and a soundtrack provided by the stereo from the party across the street, you allowed yourself that perfect moment.

As surprising as it was, in a world of death and cruelty, you had managed to find something new and beautiful.

No.

He had found you.

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deansapplepie · 4 months

Text

Till THE DEAD do us part |Chapter 18

Chapter 17 Chapter 19

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 18: I ain’t sleeping with Hershel

Summary: The group is hopeless until they find the prison, now they try to build a new home. While which one of them have to deal with their own issues.

Warnings: swearing, outbursts, walker killing, blood, gore, nightmares, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of baby being possibly dead, misunderstanding, fights, reader can be a brat, insecurities, jealousy (nit the reason for insecurities), reader and Lori implying Daryl would substitute reader for Rick (that’s a joke). Minors do not interact. (I probably forgot something because this chapter have a lot of things happening)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Grimes!Reader (Rick’s Sister)

Word Count: 4,615

A/N: Not proofread. Not one of my best writing. This was a chapter I was expecting to write since I started, and I’m a little disappointed on how it came out. My summary also sucks.

It had been 8 months, 8 long months of survival on the road, finding shelter here and there but never for too long. You had found a house near a small road, the men and little specimen of man (Carl), went to the house to clean it of walkers. You preferred being in action, killing walkers and shit, but Lori had a enormous belly, soon she was going to give birth, so all care she could have was necessary, so you’d better stay behind and take care of her.

Hershel was trying to teach you how to deliver a baby, well you knew the basics, you had already helped many puppies and kittens born. Ok, it wasn’t the same thing, but… you had also told Hershel you didn’t know if you wanted to do this. She was your sister-in-law, medically speaking you shouldn’t perform any surgery on her. ‘If something happens to me, I need someone that’s going to be able to do so.’ He used to say, and you would always say the same ‘nothing is happening to you, I’m protecting you.’. To which he always replied he was too old, and you couldn’t protect him from that. Being responsible to act on big medical ‘events’ of the group still made you nervous and uncomfortable, you wish you had an actual doctor in the group so you didn’t need to be one of the docs and be put in the same level as Hershel, when you clearly wasn’t. You still doubted your abilities as a vet, which you studied to actually be one… how could you take care of humans? You knew it wasn’t like there was many doctors around, so you’d have to do.

You entered the house carrying all the things you’d need, it was a lot of things for people that didn’t have a place to live. There were days since all of you had a decent meal, everyone looked apathetic, as if life had been drawn from you. You gathered around what looked like a living room, silent… Daryl sat by your side, an owl at his hands, plucking it. You used to love owls, so beautiful and majestic, symbol of wisdom… but at this moment you couldn’t care less and was even proud your man had caught it.

You noticed Carl at the corner near Beth, he had a can of something in his hand and was opening it. Was it dog food? God, how did you end up like this? You’d eat it and wouldn’t complain. You’d be happy to have whatever in your stomach. Looking at that food, you remembered Luna and how you had missed her all those months… before you could go deep into your thoughts you got startled when Rick took the can from Carl’s hand and threw it to the other side of the room, making a resounding noise that echoed around the house.

What was his problem? That was food, regardless of what kind! You were ready to get up and tell him off, but Daryl grabbed your hand and motioned with his head for you to not do that. You deep breathed and started counting… until T. announced there were a large group of walkers coming and you need to flee as fast as you could.

At some point you stopped again to make some fire and cook the owl Daryl had killed. Owls were mostly made of feathers, there was little meat, but beggars can’t be choosers… so each of you got your small share of it.

“Let’s go hunt something.” Daryl told Rick. “The owl wasn’t even a starter.”

“I’m going with you.” I promptly said, but I already knew they would refuse my company, again. They often did it, and it was annoying.

“Stay with Lori, she might need you. Besides that you’re better trained than the others, I need your protection here.” Rick stated and you just rolled your eyes.

“You don’t even believe your own words.” You said, then you turned to the hunter. “Don’t take too long and bring something delicious, ok?”

“Yes ma’am! I’m at yer orders.” He kissed your temple before taking his crossbow and disappearing with Rick.

You stayed behind with the others against your will, you crossed your arms and observed the two men disappearing in the woods. Soon Lori, Carol and Maggie joined you. “Stop pouting, they just went hunting.” Maggie elbowed you playfully.

“Without me.” You stated. You got frustrated every time they left without you, especially Daryl. “They spend more time together than with me! It’s like they’re substituting me.”

“Seriously, Y/N/N? Are you jealous of them?” Carol asked with a smile of amusement.

“Rick can substitute you, but Daryl can’t…” Maggie affirmed. Rick couldn’t, he was substituting you… it was rare when he seek you to talk or advice.

“Rick, it’s true. But Daryl… I don’t know, Rick has a quite beautiful ass.” Lori joked, Rick and she were still not talking, but moments like this would bring her some sense of normalcy, just as if they were friends gossiping in the kitchen and there were no walkers around.

“Hey! I have a beautiful ass too.” You protested.

“Of course, you’re siblings.” Lori shrugged then she put one of her arms around your waist. “You worry too much, they’re men. They need this time away from us. Besides… I need you here, I feel better with my sis and the baby too.”

“Ugh… you always know the right words to convince me. Ok, let them be. I’d rather pass my time with my girls.” You told them and hugged Lori resting your hand on her belly.

“Or boy.” Lori completed, because you didn’t know the baby’s gender.

“Nah, I have a feeling it’s a baby girl. So, I prefer to pass my time with 4 of my favorite girls.” You said a grin on your face.

After a time, that felt like eternity, they came back with news that they found a place, a prison and you could stay there and make it your home. You just had to… take it back from the walkers.

You had to work together to take the yard. First you had to cut the fence so you could enter and after it you needed to close it again. That wasn’t the most difficult part, there was no walker in the corridors around the fence, but the yard…. It was full of them. Also, one of the gates was open and it needed to be closed otherwise you’d not be able to fight all of them. Rick wanted to close the gate while the rest of you distracted the walkers and covered him. The plan was perfectly executed and you could all clear the yard out of walkers.

It gave hope to all of you. If you could clean part by part, soon you’d have a place you could call home. A safe place to live. A place for Lori to have the baby, a little bit of the domestic life again. Later that day you were all reunited around the fire, eating the little hunt Daryl and Rick got earlier. Some chatted, Beth sang a beautiful song… Rick was near the fence that separated you from the walkers on the patio, it was safe, he could come to the fire, but he wouldn’t. You could go and try talking him into resting and relaxing near the bonfire, but you knew he wouldn’t listen to you. He never did. Not anymore.

Daryl was on top of a toppled bus, watching or something. Carol went there to take some food for him. They had developed a nice and kind friendship since the farm, you were glad he was getting close to everyone in the group. Even though you sometimes felt jealous, you just pushed this feeling to the coffins of your mind and didn’t think about it. You knew him, you trusted him. You knew Carol, she was your friend. Besides that you were also jealous of him and your brother, so this wasn’t something you had to take seriously.

Later that night, you were laying on a blanket close to the fire and in Daryl’s arms, and you couldn’t help but think about the future. “Do you think we’ll be able to make this our place?” You asked him, your hand playing with a thread from his poncho.

“Ya’re the positive one ‘ere. Don’t you think we’ll make this place our home?” He told you. You had changed during the last months, all of you. You and him, you that would always reassure him, not the opposite. You used to always see things on the bright side of it, but you found closure and lost it so many times already, that you didn’t know if you could be like that again.

“I dunno. It’s just… we’re looking for a place for so long that it all just seems unreal. It’s like tomorrow I’m opening the eyes and we’ll still be on the road, or maybe something will happen and we’ll need to leave.” You tried to explain what you were feeling, but that wasn’t even the start of it.

“We’ll be fine. We can do it. I know. We’re making it a home.” He told you, he didn’t even know if he believed in his own words, but he trusted Rick and he said it would work. Also, he’d do anything to take those worries from your mind.

You snuggled into him and the warmth of his body and his unique scent, even when you didn’t have a descent bath in ages, engulfed you in comfort. After some time of comfortable silence between you, you drifted to sleep letting the exhaustion take you.

The next day you needed to take the patio and try to clean one of the cell blocks. Rick, Daryl, T.Dog, Glenn, Maggie and you worked together on taking the patio while the others kept at the fence trying to distract them. You used your crossbow and knife, you also had a gun, but all of you would rather not use it, since you were low in ammo and of course it attracted many of the dead if you used it. Some police walkers gave you a hard time, but soon Maggie discovered how to kill them and it became easier for you. As soon as you finished, you entered Block C and killed the few remaining walkers that were still inside.

After, all of you started to enter the Block and settle in, bringing your belongings and cleaning what you could and the best way you were able to. While that the men started to carry the corpses from the block and from the patio so they could burn them and finish cleaning the place you already had. You chose a cell in the upper floor, you looked at it and could already see you and Daryl living there.

You let your belongings outside of it and started to clean. You shook the bedsheets to take away the dust and then arranged it all again. The bunk was rather narrow, but you two pretty much slept so into each other that it wouldn’t be a problem and you could arrange it in the future. For someone that the day before wasn’t so sure if you could make this place a home, you were very excited.

You heard some cries coming from some cells away from yours, you walked there and found Lori. Carol was squatting in front of her, trying to comfort the pregnant woman. “What if the baby is dead?” She cried. “I feel like there’s something wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong. You’re good, the baby is fine. Your belly is perfectly normal.” Carol reassured her.

“Yeah” you intervened, sitting by your sister-in-law side and caressing her back. “Don’t worry. I’m a doc, ain’t I? I’m saying it and you can trust me.” You weren’t sure of your words, you were not this confident about treating people, but you wanted to soothe Lori in some way. “Do you want me to take Rick?”

“No! Not him. I… bring Hershel, please.” She asked, Rick wouldn’t give her any comfort. He didn’t even hug or kiss her in months… what good could possibly do having him around right now?

“Ok. I’m gonna take Hershel.” Carol got up and left to find the old man.

When the doctor of the group arrived, you left to give them some privacy, even though you already knew her worries.

Later that day everyone that hadn’t claimed a cell yet, was claiming one and preparing to have a well deserved rest after such hard work. You approached Daryl, excited to tell him about the cell you had arranged for both of you, but you weren’t expecting his answer. “D., I cleaned that one for us. We just need to take our things there.” You said pointing to a cell further in the end of the corridor upstairs.

“I ain’t sleeping in a cage like a damn animal.” He was quick to answer, giving you his back and going to a place on the stairs where he’d placed a mattress and his things. He didn’t know his words had come so harsh, he didn’t even reflect about it before saying. His aversion was exclusively, because his brother had already been in jail, also being on jail was something that everybody where he came from expected from him, even though he had never been, not even because of bar fights or shit, and let’s say that the Dixons never ran from a good fight.

He had hit right at your feelings. You were taken aback by his harsh words, you weren’t expecting this. You were tired, the last months had been exhausting and for the first time in months you had a safe and rather decent place to rest. You turned your back and walked in the direction of the cell. When he turned back he saw you getting distant, with your back turned to him, he didn’t see the hurt you were feeling, but he was also with questions on his mind, why wasn’t it obvious to you that he didn’t want to sleep on a cell and neither alone? He had no reaction.

‘Maybe she needs some time alone’, he thought throwing himself at the mattress not even caring about taking off his boots.

‘Maybe he doesn’t want me’, that was what was in your insecure ass mind, everything was so good, so why couldn’t you just get over it.

You took your things from outside the cell and entered it, throwing you shoes anywhere and after jumping on the bed. This was the most comfortable bed you had had in months, but you felt there was no joy in it, if you weren’t sharing it… well at least he had his own mattress all alone somewhere. The exhaustion took your body and soon you drifted to sleep, but that didn’t mean it would be a good restorative night of sleep.

You were at the prison patio, the sky was cloudy and the air was sultry. Near the gates you saw a group of people, they were inside and had their back turned to you… but their silhouettes were so familiar… one of them wore a fisher hat and wasn’t very tall. “Dale? Is that you?” You asked, it just could be him, but how was it possible. Then they turned one by one…

Dale with his guts falling outside his stomach, a walker. Also, Amy, Jim, Jacqui, Sophia, Jimmy, Shane and Patricia. All of them walkers, even Amy, Jacqui, Dale and Shane that you knew there was no chance of being there. And then, contouring them, came a dog, a german Shepherd, your Luna and god… how you missed her! But she wasn’t her anymore, she had also become a walker version of herself. You didn’t even know if the animals could be affected, but you didn’t have time to care, because she ran in your direction and jumped on you.

You woke up sitting in the bed. You were sweating. A scream caught in your throat, unable to get out. That was better, you didn’t want to wake everybody up. One hand on your chest feeling a burning sensation you always woke up with when you had nightmares. The other hand on your mouth muffling your sobs. You were tempted about getting up and looking for Daryl’s arms, but you resisted the urge. He was the one that made you sleep alone. You weren’t thinking straight. It wasn’t that you never had nightmares sleeping with him, you still had them from time to time, but at least you were in his arms and felt protected. It didn’t let you sink in your intrusive thoughts.

After some time, you didn’t know how long after, you laid again in bed and tried to think about anything else else that wasn’t that nightmare. It would be good if you found the infirmary, you would complain if the library was still good and had good books, you’d love if you found some ammo…

You woke up with the sun touching your face, you felt as if you had been hit by a truck. Your body was painful and you were super sleepy. You put your shoes on, the gun in the holster, the knife on your waist and the crossbow across your body. You left the cell while you made your hair into a ponytail and walked to the stairs. Daryl was already up, he stopped everything when he saw you. You looked at him and remembered what you went through having to sleep by yourself. “Good morning.” You said, you were still a polite person after all, even angry at your boyfriend.

“ ‘morning pup.” He caught you when you passed by him, before you could finish descending the stairs. Both of his arms wrapped around you, he pulled your back against his chest and his face on your shoulder.

Ok. You were not understanding him at all. The day before he pushed you away, and now he’s all lovely to you. You inhaled, and delicately you took his hands from you and left his embrace and went down the stairs. He didn’t understand a single thing. You loved morning hugs, you needed them to start your day and he was there giving you that without caring if anyone would see and he would feel embarrassed, so why were you so cold?

You walked to the common area where most of the awake people were gathered, you didn’t have anything to eat, but it wasn’t any news. You saw Rick, wished him a good morning and hugged him. Ok, now Daryl was remembering every step he gave in the last months just so he knew exactly what he did wrong. “Your eyes are swollen, have you been crying?” Your brother asked, first time in a long time he noticed something about you.

“No, why would I? Just If I was too happy we have a decent bed to sleep after a long time.” You said, a tad bit of acid in your tone. Your brother knew better than pushing you, so he let it be. He looked at the archer, which he discovered to be a good friend after many months on the road, and Daryl’s eyes showed he was as clueless as him.

You soon start talking about going further in the prison and cleaning other places, finding new places and supplements. “ I’ll be very glad if we find the library!” You said getting a little bit excited just by thinking about having books to read it.

“Oh it would be fantastic!” Hershel agreed. “I haven’t found a single good book the whole time we were in the road.”

“Alright” Rick said after you finished talking about everything that you could find in the prison. “I think we can go.”

“Don’t go.” You heard Daryl by your side, a gentle hand on your upper arm.

“Why shouldn’t I, Dixon?” God, he was so screwed… now he knew he was the problem, you almost never called him Dixon, not even in a sweet playful manner. So he knew it.

“Ya don’t look good.” He tried again.

“Well, good thing I’m going to kill walkers and not to a fashion show.” You faked a sweet smile.

“Wha’s up with the attitude?” He asked, he himself already getting annoyed.

“Just, I’m tired of being left out. I’m no damsel in distress so you have to tell me all the time to stay behind. Also, I’m not staying to be ‘protected’ by a 12 year-old.” You finally took a breath between your words. “ ‘sides that you’re not my father, nor my husband to tell me what to do. Even if you were…”

“Are you two done?” Rick tried to intervene while everyone watched the discussion without understanding a single thing, just as lost as Daryl was.

“Shut up Rick, I’m not over.” Your brother’s eyes popped and he was ready to tell you off.

“Also, you are taking Hershel with you, an old man, but the idea of me going is so absurd! No offense Hershel, but you guys are taking our best doctor in a risky mission. And I should not go, because I don’t look good?!” You vomited facts all around that weren’t needed to be said, none of those people around you were the reason you were so pissed off. Maybe Rick, because he was always leaving you behind.

“Well, I ain’t sleeping with Hershel!” Daryl blurted out the sentence, losing his temper.

“Neither with me, apparently.” You retorted, and realization hit him.

“That’s why ya’re upset and causing an scene?” He threw at you.

“Upset? I was upset yesterday. Now, I’m angry.” You took a breath and just as if nothing had happened you told the others. “I’m waiting for you on the patio.”

You left and everyone stayed behind sharing looks and glances between them. Daryl grunted in frustration, god damn, he thought you wanted to be alone the day before, but in fact you probably understood he didn’t want to sleep with you.

“When you wanted relationship advices you should have asked Hershel, not me.” Rick patted his shoulder before leaving.

“Yeah, guess so.” Daryl mumbled under his breath.

“Son, you two need to communicate better.” Hershel said to him. “Also, be grateful you don’t sleep with me, I snore quite a bit.” The old man joked.

Daryl breathed one more time and looked around, his eyes landing on one of the bulletproof vests that you were able to find. He took it and his crossbow and left block C, joining you on the patio. He came in your direction holding the vest and you almost rolled your eyes.

“Hands up.” He said.

“I’m not wearing this shit. It’s heavy and I can hold myself well without it.” You said.

“Yes, you are if ya wanna go inside with us.” You laughed.

“And what are you going to do? Are you going to lock me up in a cell.” You teased.

“If ya continue to act like a fucking brat, yeah” he said. “Now put yer arms up. We’ll talk later. We suck at communication sometimes.”

“You two, stop it. We have work to do.” Rick told you, a finger pointed in your direction. “Watch duty for both of you tonight, and you better make up.”

You rolled your eyes and put your arms up, Daryl slid the vest through your arms and then adjusted it on your body. “Stay close, and dun do anything reckless, ‘kay? I ain’t protective ‘cause I think ya’re useless. It’s ‘cause…” ‘I love ya’, he completed in his mind. Why was it so easy to tell you while you were sleeping, but so difficult to say with you wide awake. “… I can’t lose ya.”

You really wanted to be mad at him, but you just couldn't. You almost broke when he back hugged you earlier, and now even if he called you a brat, and was even harsh, you just couldn’t when you saw his blue eyes soften on you. You had really been a brat, but who wouldn’t in your place? Rick retold all of you what you were supposed to do and reaffirmed you shouldn’t leave formation, and like this you entered the building.

It was very calm at first, no walking corpse on sight, but soon they started to appear, small groups of them, you killed one by one. You used the crossbow to stop them from coming closer, but when they did you’d use your knife. That was great until a group of them separated all of you. “fuck…” Where was everyone? You kept walking in the dark trying to avoid the walkers and killing them before they’d kill you.

You walked on your side trying to maintain your eyes everywhere until you knocked into something and almost panicked before discovering the something had arms and wrapped one around you and covered your mouth immediately so you didn’t scream. “Told ya to stay close.” Daryl whispered.

“I can guarantee, I didn’t separate from you on purpose.” You whispered as soon as he took his hand from your mouth.

You continued to walk together, till you reunited with the others and… the worst had happened. Hershel was bitten, god damnit! Couldn’t they just say no to the old man and have left behind? You were all cornered in a corridor when you found the cafeteria, without much thinking you all got inside and ran to Hershel’s aid.

You ripped the leg of his pants and looked at the bite. Fuck. Your doctor was bitten. You had to be the doctor. ‘Think fast! Think!’, you repeated it like a mantra inside your head, and then the idea hit you.

“A BELT! Someone give me a belt!” You commanded and Rick was fast to give you his. “I’m sorry Hershel, we have nothing to lose anymore, so I need to try this.”

You put the belt around his leg and restrained his blood from flowing. “Rick, you do it. I don’t think I’m strong enough to do it in one.” Rick took his hatchet and did what he had to cutting off the bitten part of Hershel’s leg. The doctor got unconscious, Maggie was despaired and blood was everywhere. Suddenly you heard a sound coming from the very end of the cafeteria, most of you aimed your weapons in the direction of the sound just to be met by 5 strange faces and none of them belonging to a dead person.

“Holy shit!” Exclaimed a ginger man.

Wanna be added to my tag list? Let me know. (Please tell me if you want to be tagged on everything or just specific series) Everything Taglist: @lilyevanstan1325

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#daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #twd #twd daryl #daryl x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl x y/n #daryl imagines #twd daryl dixon #imagine daryl #daryl twd #the walking dead daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl x you #daryl x female reader #till the dead do us part #deansapplepie

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scribespirare · 11 months

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Love the way you write flowerfang! Request: Miguel actually meeting Miles' parents! people always avoid it (for valid reasons) but I would love to see that confrontation. Maybe with 18+ year old Miles? So it's more of 'oh no age gap' rather than just 'oh no it's illegal'

Been getting lots of requests for Miguel to meet Miles' parents so I'm filling two at once here!

Also yallre so sweet ily 🥺 the sketchbook idea is one of my absolute favs b/c its just so sweet and fun.

The inevitable happens about a month before Miles turns 19.

“Tu casa es muy bonita,” Miguel says when he shakes the hand of Miles’ mom.

His mom turns that quick, sharp look of hers on Miles, part surprise part exasperation, before turning back to Miguel. “Miles no mencione que hablas español,” she says in that way that’s simultaneously a compliment to Miguel and an accusation to Miles. “Please, come in.”

When Miles was 15 he’d gotten this new sketchbook, right after all the fighting about the multi-verse had died down. He hadn’t bought it with anything in particular in mind, and he hadn’t even known what he wanted to draw the first time he’d cracked it open.

An hour later he’d been staring down at Miguel’s sharp features and was honestly a little confused about it.

The second and third times he’d drawn Miguel had been even more confusing, and he’d shoved the book into the back of a drawer and tried to forget about it, limiting himself to practicing his graffiti letters on the margins of his notes.

The sketchbook saw light again when Miles and Miguel had gotten together right after Miles had turned 16. Miguel isn’t the only thing or person Miles draws in it, but he’s on basically every single page. Maybe it’s a little weird but hey it ain’t hurting anyone and Miguel is pretty okay? Not like, conventionally so. But the way he moves, the way he carries himself, the sharp, long lines of him in his suit…those things deserve to be committed to paper. That’s all Miles is saying.

Anyways, nobody was ever supposed to actually see this sketchbook. Miles still kept it in the back of a drawer most of the time, and had a primary book that he used more often too. But he’d taken it with him to the dorm and it was still in his bag when he’d visited last week and it had fallen out and open and…

Well, Miles is grateful the more explicit art hadn’t been on display, but Miguel is sill here for dinner. Miles wants to melt through the floor, or perhaps set off another collider just to get out of it. He’d talked to Miguel first of course, and they have their story straight about where they met (Miguel is a graduate student at Miles’ college), when (at the start of the year), and how long they’ve been together (five months). They definitely didn’t get together when Miles was underage, no ma’am or sir, and Miguel totally isn’t a superhero from another dimension nope.

“Miles does have a tendency to leave things out,” Miguel agrees amiably as he comes inside. “Thanks for having me.” Out of his suit he’s not quite so a striking a figure, but he fills out his button-down and jeans well and practically towers over Rio. Even more surprising is when Miles’ dad, Jefferson, steps up to shake Miguel’s hand as well, and Miles has the realization that Miguel towers over him too. Miles is the same height as his father now, even if he’ll never have Jefferson’s wider build, but in his mind that’s still his dad. Larger than life and stronger than anything. He doesn’t look fragile next to Miguel exactly but it’s a near thing.

Miles feels an elbow in his side and glances down at his mother, finding it difficult to shift his attention from where Miguel and his dad are exchanging awkward pleasantries. Sizing each other up, Miles thinks. His mother is also watching them but she glances up at Miles from the corner of her eye, smirks, says, “Eres como tu mama.”

She’s already heading for the kitchen by the time Miles catches her implication; that she chose a man three times her size, and now her son is following in her footsteps. He feels himself heat in embarrassment, and when he glances at Miguel he knows the man’s superior hearing picked the comment up too. Jerk.

“Vamos, boys!” Rio calls, successfully breaking Jefferson and Miguel apart. Miles isn’t even sure what they’d been talking about at this point and raises an eyebrow at his boyfriend in silent question. Miguel just shrugs as he falls in just behind Miles’ shoulder, following him into the dining room.

“Te pareces a ella, también,” Miguel murmurs, nearly making Miles trip.

Everyone please stop comparing me to my mother he thinks desperately because there’s no time for him to reprimand Miguel or his mother out loud. At least not without embarrassing himself further.

Rio hands them each a plate as they pass her on their way to the table. And because she will forever be Miles mother through and through, the first thing she says when she sits down is, “So, Miguel, ¿cuántos años tiene?”

Miles nearly does a spit take and his first bite hasn’t even reached his mouth yet.

If Miguel is put off by the question he doesn’t look it. Well, he looks mildly constipated but that’s kind of just his resting bitch face. “I’m thirty-six,” he replies evenly.

“Thirty-six!?” Jefferson repeats, aghast, and looks between Miguel and Miles. “No wonder Miles hasn’t said anything about you. Christ, you’re twice his age.”

Miles cringes, dropping his fork entirely. “Dad, please.”

“You father has a point,” Rio reprimands, but still turns and tells Jefferson, “Relax, baby. I’m sure Miguel is lovely.” Her gaze is sharp and warning when she tacks on, “But we’ll see.”

The table descends into awkward silence. Miles notices that Miguel isn’t eating, just pushing his food around on his plate. He clears his throat after a while and Miles wants to groan. This can’t be good.

“If it helps,” Miguel says haltingly, “I didn’t pursue him. He’s…persistent.”

His parents give slow, reluctant agreement with this statement and Miles rolls his eyes. He wants to remind Miguel that he’s been more than enthusiastic since they got together, but then decides this is probably not an appropriate place nor audience. Instead Miles just awkwardly tries to get a conversation moving. One that doesn’t involve the elephant in the room, but still draws Miguel out of his shell a little so his parents see exactly how amazing he is.

Unfortunately, Miguel’s resting bitch face really doesn’t give up. Miles knows it’s because he’s nervous as hell, but his parents don’t.

By the time the plates are being cleared, the air is a lot less awkward. at least His parents seem reluctantly impressed by the fact that Miguel’s a geneticist and listen when he explains a few of the tamer experiments Miles knows he has going on. He makes it sound like they’re happening in an lab on campus and not in another universe, and also like he’s a PhD student. As far as cover stories go it’s pretty good.

“So how did you two meet?” Rio asks as she’s stacking everyone’s plates and passing them to Jefferson to take to the kitchen.

Immediately Miles perks up, because they practiced this. “He’s part of the mentor program for the undergrads! He got assigned to a friend of mine.”

At the exact same moment Miles says “Genke,” Miguel says, “Gwen.”

They both pause, Miles swiveling to stare wide-eyed at his boyfriend. “Uh,” he says. When he glances back at Rio her eyes are narrowed suspiciously. Thank fuck Jefferson is already in the kitchen and didn’t hear that. Mom senses are even better than cop senses but at least now it’s two on one instead of an even playing field.

“Gwen!” Miles corrects, smiling like nothing at all is wrong. “I meant to say Gwen! Man, it’s so hard having two friends with Gs names. Gotta give em nicknames or something,” he finishes lamely with a small, awkward laugh.

Rio’s suspicious look hasn’t eased. “No me digas,” she says, in that way that clearly means uh-huh, yeah, sure. Usually Miles hears that right before he’s grounded. But seeing as there’s company and also he’s eighteen, she just shakes her head. “I’m going to help your father clean up in the kitchen. There’s dessert though, so no te escapes, claro?”

“Si, mami,” Miles says obediently. “We’re not going anywhere.”

He sits very, very still until she’s finally out of the room. Then he drops his head head to the table with a long, dramatic groan. A moment later he feels Miguel’s big hand on his nape, squeezing gently in that way that makes Miles boneless.

“It’s not so bad,” his boyfriend murmurs. “I like them. They obviously care for you, and I’d be suspicious too if my kid brought home someone like me.”

Miles rocks his head to the side and glares up at Miguel. “You’re fucking amazing, and I want them to love you like I do.” He pauses, considers the words that just left his mouth, then adds, “Well, not exactly like I do, but still.”

The corner of Miguel’s mouth tilts up in a small smile, and it’s the most relaxed he’s looked all night. Miles desperately wants his parents to see this softer, caring side of Miguel. “They’re certainly closer to my age than you are.”

Miles sits up so quickly it dislodges Miguel’s hand from his nape, and he narrows his eyes playfully. “Hey! My parents are off limits, old man.”

Miguel just smirks, the asshole, and then Rio and Jefferson are back so Miles can’t even say anything else without thoroughly embarrassing every single person at the table. He almost considers doing anyways it just to spite Miguel.

#asks #requests #flowerfang #deleting tags so maybe thisll show up

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throwaway-yandere · 2 years

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A Myriad of Fallen Leaves (Yandere!Ayato/Reader)

Unreliable synopsis: Reader chills around in a villa and decided to get some fresh air. A wacky continuation of Blind Obedience

Afab reader

Cw: Yandere themes. Drugging. Violence. Non-consensual touching. Please avoid this fic if you are sensitive to these subjects. Your mental health matters more than a deranged fanfic posted on the internet (This is probably not even as bad as other things posted out there, but better to be safe than sorry right?)

A/n: it's just a shorter sequel for those who asked lol. Shoutout to my friend for beta-reading this fic and thank you guys @venus-loving @lunnaeclipse @livingmyfantasy for requesting (i saw it dw your words mean a lot to me!!!). Sorry it’s late, life and college applications are messing with me lol.

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Young Kamisato Ayato and (L/n) (Y/n) strolled down Ritou in the basking sunlight. It used to be a common occasion for the both of you to relax once in a while to distract the new Yashiro commissioner off his workload and undeniable pressure. You were supposed to master the basics of one of the Futsu School's signature arts but none of you had been able to master even a single slash of the sword work you were supposed to be so engrossed with. Every time you both tried to cross blades, the next slash cuts weaker than the last. There was no room for debate, and you both left to clear your heads.

This was something Ayato was tremendously grateful for, after all, you’re a lot more casual when you’re beat.

At first, you were incredibly wary of him. There were little kind sentiments thrown around and his mysteries were more engaging. He stated that he is more than capable when asked about his expertise. When asked about his campaigns, he admitted to producing more than he was supposed to. There was only one thing you could be assured about, and that was his fondness for dogs. Which you first rejected as meaningless trivia until you promised to become his dog if he chose you over the other sword-master vying for the role.

Since then, he must have thought of you as an amusing individual; otherwise, you wouldn't be going around Ritou's square with your hands brushing against each other as you strolled side-by-side. With a flower Ayato tucked behind your ear, on top of that.

Ayato pursed his lips.

“Do you believe in true love?”

Ayato wasn't quite on the same scale as the rest of humanity in terms of receiving affection. In private, he had always voiced out endearingly naive questions about romantic relationships and thought it was a waste of time, effort, and an unfortunate cause of expenses. But he never once asked if love existed. You thought he was simply a lonely man who's jealous of what those without his status can afford easily. The possibility that he simply didn't know the wonders of love baffled you.

You snorted and covered your mouth with your spare hand. Ayato immediately fell into a small trance. It was the cutest thing he had ever heard, and he knew that the smile you covered was equally enchanting.

“Of course! Only sad folks think it ain’t real.” You added some distance between the two of you and squinted. A mischievous lilt of your voice set him straight. “Where’d this question even come from? Finally caught the love fever, My Lord?”

Ayato closed his eyes irritably. “Nonsense.”

“Hmm, hmm!” You hummed, unconvinced. You figured that Ayato wouldn’t ask such a suspicious question had he not experienced the emotion firsthand. “Why’d you ask, My Lord?”

“I...” Ayato coughed. “Was just curious. Nothing more to it.”

“Suuure.” You tried to sound indifferent as possible but Ayato still sensed your skepticism.

“Going forward...”

“Yes, My Lord?”

“Do... Do you think it’s possible for me to find true love?”

“W-What?!”

Your gaze was drawn to the maple tree that stood behind Ayato to avoid the almost predestined awkward eye contact with your boss. Ayato was the Kamisato Clan's figurehead and a member of the Tri-Commission. It hardly needs to be stated that obtaining that title can be detrimental to some romantic and platonic relationships. Frankly, you thought that a work-focused man like him wouldn’t complain about arranged marriages.

And you were wrong.

“Where...” You gulped.

“Where there is true love... I think nothing should be allowed to stand in its way.”

“Oh?”

You didn't say anything after that, giving Ayato time to digest what you said. It was a non-answer, but it was the most appropriate response for someone in his position.

Ayato caught your implications, and in the most simplest way to articulate his emotions: he felt terrible. He cannot put his emotions into words, and even if he could Ayato wouldn’t say it out loud. He’s aware that he built a reputation for being the untouchable shadow puppeteering the Yashiro commission. He knows that doing so is necessary, but if he knew taking the role would inevitably strain his relationship with you hurts more than he initially estimated. Ayato would've hesitated.

And he has yet to experience a realization as to why he felt so awful about this.

“I’ll keep that in mind... thank you for your insight.”

You nodded sheepishly.

Ayato continued. “What do you do when you’re in love?”

“E-excuse me?”

“Oh, was that too forward? My apologies.”

“N-No, not at all My Lord. I was just surprised.”

Ayato huffed. “I don’t know why you’d react so vehemently. The question was not a major logic leap from the previous one.”

“True, but you don’t normally ask these questions consecutively, you know? It’s kinda like hearing Kuki Shinobu inquire on how to become a shrine maiden.”

“So you think I’m a miserable fool who hates the idea of falling in love?”

Sort of.

You lightly smacked his shoulder. “Gah! My Lord stop asking questions that will get me fired!”

Ayato chuckled. “Sorry, I couldn’t refrain from teasing you.”

You pouted.

“To answer your question, I guess when I’m in love I’ll often help them out as much as I can. I would cook and clean for them— I’d probably protect them and act domestic and loveable. Or something.”

“You perform the same actions at the Kamisato Estate regularly.” Ayato gasped and feigned fear. “Could it be that you view me in a romantic light, (Y/n)?”

Ayato joked, but he desperately wished that was the case.

Needless to say, it only added more salt to the wound when he saw you laugh uncontrollably over the idea.

“When Ushi flies, My Lord.”

You tried your best to compose yourself in fear that you would offend him even more. “When Itto’s bull-cow-exorcist-creature flies, then maybe you have a shot in marrying me.”

Ayato faked a large scowl, but he was genuine for the most part.

“What a bold statement for someone who is meant to become my official retainer by the following week.”

“Hey! Occupations do not matter when it comes to true love!” You mused. “Love is patient, love is blind, and it will not care less about whose paperwork I’m organizing.”

‘Occupations do not matter’, yet you cannot even bring yourself to think the same in Ayato’s shoes. Was that not discriminatory on your part? He silently judged you. Ayato couldn’t accept the reality of how you hold yourself to a different standard simply because he held executive power. It was unfair.

Shouldn't he have the same chance as a homeless wanderer in finding true love?

“Plus, I have my standards, Ayato. You’re not exactly my type, not-that-there’s-anything-wrong-with-you-of-course.” You were a bit too quick to add the last part.

He breathed between his teeth, successfully hiding his bitterness. “And your preference is?”

“The quiet starving artist.” You grinned, unaware of your effect on him. “The type who trusts their craft more than anything. The type who is also in tune with nature, his emotions, and those around him. The type who doesn’t expect anything in return and is just so thoughtful! A man like that could forget our wedding anniversary and I would still be so hopelessly in love.”

His heart was crushed like the maple leaf under his heel. Your ideal man sounded nothing like Ayato.

He shrugged, but make no mistake, he is in an unfathomable denial of the facts. Ayato’s throat was dry as he continued to banter lifelessly. “I also forget anniversaries.”

“And you shouldn’t!” You resisted the urge to smack his head with the hilt of your sword. “You’re the commissioner now, ‘Lord Kamisato’! You could at least spare me the trouble of informing you that old man Kujou’s birthday is tomorrow, right?”

“Of course.” Ayato waved dismissively. “I cannot forget such a date.”

“Looks like there’s some hope for you after all. Long live our beloved Yashiro commissioner.” You said sardonically.

“Whatever.” He shook his head with a candid smile.

“If you believe true love is real, then I’ll take my beloved soon-to-be-retainer’s word for it.”

-----------

It had been a week since Ayato came back from his business trip.

Ayaka silently poured herself and her brother a cup of tea. It is not as if Ayaka doesn't mind Ayato's absence, but it is something she is too used to. However, even when he did return, she sensed that the estate remains hollow. She initially thought it was because Thoma scurried to help Ritou burn ‘a myriad of leaves’ loitered on the streets, but she still felt that some part was devoid of a sprightful presence. It took Ayaka a few moments to realize that what made the place a little less full than usual was another missing figure.

(L/n) (Y/n).

Around this time of day, you would've made yourself busy by "helping" Thoma out with washing the dishes. In all honesty, you help more with your mouth with a slew of emotional support, than your hands. You were a pleasant company to be around, and Ayaka knows that you are a valuable asset to her brother. More than Ayato dared to admit.

So, she simply assumed you still had some work to do outside.

"How was your business trip, Ayato?"

"It was alright. The deal got signed without a hitch. Lord Takayuki gave us a go signal on restoring the bridge." He gently grabbed his cup, but not without looking at its contents. It was not red; it was safe.

Ayato continued. "Say, Ayaka, have you done what I asked of you?"

She nodded.

"Yes, I made several readjustments to the stall order for the fest–"

"No, not that." Ayato chuckled. "I am pertaining to the teas we have in storage."

"Oh, you meant the teabags." Ayaka pondered. "Yes, I had them delivered at Watatsumi Island's post under Ogura Mio's name."

Ayato smiled.

"Good, good."

"What is it for?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"Why did you order so many red ginseng teabags?" She frowned. "Is the tea here not up to your liking? I could ask the head maid for other recipes if you'd like. If I'm being honest, brother, the tea you ordered smells rather off. I'm not sure if it's healthy for you to consume."

"I'm aware that I am lacking expertise in cooking but you needn't be harsh about such criticism."

The two went silent as Ayaka processed his words. She gasped behind her fan, blushing slightly over the awkward situation.

"O-Oh! I wasn't aware that you made those teabags. I'm sorry. I wasn't teasing you–"

"Don't mention it. And besides, you're not wrong. It truly isn't healthy for human consumption."

Ayato is a master at omitting and misrepresenting information. His wording led her to believe that the teabags she sent were to dispose of her brother's brewing disasters. Perhaps General Gorou requested such culinary disasters so they might use them as fertilizers-- Celestia knows how much the island needs more crops. Ayaka had made another erroneous assumption from that alone.

Whatever the case, she dropped the subject.

Ayato grinned as he sipped his tea. He's not wrong, it isn't safe to consume, but it was meant to be that way.

Who's to say that fact will stop him from feeding (Y/n) the very same poison every week?

"How is (Y/n) fairing?"

He set his cup on the table. The sound was louder than usual from his demeanor, and far from elegant. After she voiced the innocent question, Ayaka noticed her brother's brief and peculiar reaction. In that short second, her brother expressed a wide range of emotions. Before he gave her his trademark politician smile, he expressed astonishment, anxiety, and what appeared to be contempt.

Ayaka's eyebrows creased. Something is certainly off.

"She's faring well, as usual."

What a drab response. Whenever (Y/n) was in charge of a mission, he would often wax poetic about her eccentricities. Ayaka's ear would be ripped out over trivial matters such as (Y/n)'s muddied shoes scuffing the pavement or her endearing snorts and cackles. It's not like him to be concise when it comes to (Y/n) as a topic.

"Is she on vacation?"

Ayato cannot lie and affirm that. If he did, Ayaka would try to visit her because she is also on her self-imposed social 'leave.'

"No. She's continuing her work."

"Where?"

Ayato took a deep breath. His eyes were piercing, and she had no idea what it meant. Nobody could ever be assured of what Ayato is thinking. Ayaka wanted to pull back from the conversation immediately. But she refused. She recognized her brother's tactics. Absolute silence is how he unnerves his petty enemies.

"Where is she?"

"Why do you ask?"

He started readjusting his gloves. Ayato's eyes trailed over his cuffs as if this was the least interesting conversation he had in a while. Yet again, Ayaka is wholly aware of what Ayato was doing. When he refuses to reveal the truth, he'll answer her questions with a question until it circles back to a conversation about her. If Ayato felt nice, it would be about her well-being, if not, well...

Let's just say this game of interrogation had always left Ayaka feeling drained.

"Is it so strange for me to be curious about her well-being? Brother I would like to remind you that it is no secret that I think (Y/n) is a very talented individual. It is to no one's surprise that I'm very interested in her."

"Ayaka do you find the lack of assistants troublesome? Should I order Thoma to look for suitable applicants? There are some notable talents suitable for the work in the Shuumatsu--"

"Big brother, please stop trying to digress. You and I both know how your mind works-- more so than others. Please tell me where she is."

"I'm afraid I cannot indulge you at the moment, but please have faith that she is in good hands," Ayato said. "Bear in mind, she is under MY supervision."

He emphasized his power– his possession once more. It was the same way he claimed possession of (Y/n) in Kaedehara Kazuha's temporary residence days before.

"And you seem obsessed about ensuring that it stays that way."

The room turned silent.

She addressed the real elephant in the room. Even Ayaka didn't realize what she had done until she saw the look of genuinely pure shock and anger on her brother's face. That alone is concerning. Especially when the last time she had the misfortune of seeing it was when someone attempted to ultimately dishonor their parents' names.

"Ayaka."

"Yes, Ayato?"

"There are some things you cannot obtain from me. And there are things I will never let go."

By now, Ayaka caught on that there is something foreign and questionable lurking around the back of her brother's mind. The gears turned ever so slightly. When she threw away the unfit gears and looked past her initial presumptions, everything had fallen into place.

Ayaka smiled. It wasn't the smile their mother trained her to have.

It was a disappointed smile.

"Ayato."

"Yes?"

"Where did you take her?"

"Stop pressing. I already told you, it's confidential–"

Her smile dropped. "Our villa's address in Watatsumi is also confidential."

Ayato chewed his bottom lip.

Bullseye.

The same blood courses through their veins. If there is a man that can withstand his attacks, it will be her reflection that waves back. This is the woman that helped build the Kamisato Clan of today; the delicate and elegant woman Ayato severely underestimated. The truth is out in the open, clear but far from loud.

This is the wit of the Shirasagi Himegimi. And all of Inazuma will soon discover that it will be her words that can turn the tides of their oppressive decree.

"Ayaka..." Ayato started, his voice is controlled but not his mind. "I love her."

"I know." She answered weakly.

There is no way out of this. If he spoke more, he feared that his dwindling control of the situation will slip away. It was because of you that Kamisato Ayato believed in true love. It was you who told him that nothing— and he firmly believes that absolutely NOTHING should get in the way of true love.

Can you blame him for practicing what you preached?

His heart ached at how hollow his sister sounded. And he trembled just as violently when her eyes met his.

It was like looking through their mother's eyes.

"... What now?"

‘This was unusual’. Those were the three words that came to Ayaka's mind. It's unusual for the illustrious Kamisato Ayato, the young man who brought his clan back to life through endless diplomatic conversations, to remain speechless. Her brother is certainly intelligent, particularly as a schemer. Ayaka should be there to help him. She was supposed to be his rock when things got too difficult. She was supposed to be his sole sister to support him.

Ayaka, on the other hand, was the one who dragged him here.

"I do not approve of your fixation," Ayaka started. “I’ll say it now: I always found the way your eyes lingered on places it should not be a bit dishonorable to our clan.”

Ayato had expected those phrases to be more foul, disgusting, and succinct. He had dreams in which he heard his sister lash out at him for his selfish actions, and they always made him wake up in cold sweat.

Reality is way worse, Ayato decided. He would rather feel Ayaka punch his shoulders and scream into his ear to hammer home how immorally wrong he is. This silence is painful.

“...How long have you known?”

“I had my suspicions,” she said. Ayaka stammered slightly and hoped that Ayato didn’t notice. “But it was you who confirmed everything moments ago.”

“What...”

Ayato closed his eyes and cupped his face with both hands.

“What do you want me to do?”

There is a long pause between them once more.

She cleared her throat. In her eyes, there is only one thing he could only do for her.

“Do what you do best.”

The only choice Ayato has left is to coerce her into giving her blessings.

He looked up.

Ayaka turned her gaze to the open windows. She closed her eyes and recalled Kaedehara Kazuha’s musings regarding nature. The outside world truly was tranquil. Both siblings envied the carefree nature of the outdoors.

So Ayaka offered him a door to exit through.

“Lie to me that you will have everything under control.”

-----

For once, you wished that you took the time to visit your family. Maybe if you did, they would've been worried about your whereabouts. You can only hope that they would at least think about you once a month.

Your Lord, on the other hand, was more than happy about your fading relationship with your family. Ironic, considering how most of his actions are born out of familial love.

Most, but not all. If he gave his all to his family, to Ayaka, then maybe you wouldn’t be in the dilemma you are in now.

“I owe you a life worth living in these walls, and it appears that I had not provided enough services to fulfill those needs. Allow me to extend my utmost humble apologies, dearest wife, for I had been a lacking husband.” Ayato whispered to you a morning after you relocated. He forcefully tucked you in a stiff embrace. There was no doubt that he enjoyed how your skin touched his, especially when his eyes exhibited nothing but an unadulterated desire to take you wholly. Your shallow breaths tickled his arm in response. And he was content with just that.

Despite uttering a “sincere” speech, you spared no visible reaction. You didn’t speak a word as he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his head on your shoulders. Your skill in speaking evades you.

It was as if a snake had sunken its pointy teeth into your flesh. There was no hope for your escape. Each touch was more foreign and uncomfortable than the last.

It’s funny, but all you thought of at that moment was how your Lord was pathetic and touch starved.

“(Y/n)...” His voice bordered on a whine. “If only you understand at least half of the way you make me feel.”

How would that be possible when you cannot comprehend a sliver of what goes through Ayato’s mind? You no longer had the common sense to grasp why Kamisato Ayato would touch the flesh below your waist. You didn’t even realize that the touch prodding under your garments were his fingers until his nails were carved unto your skin. His whines entered your ear. There was no pain or pleasure, but you knew he was only interested in taking.

Kamisato Ayato is a depraved man.

And this, to him, was true love.

“I suddenly gained the urge to confess my love for you all over again. If I repeat myself once more, my mouth will get tired.” He kissed your neck. “And I would rather squander that energy somewhere else...

... Won’t you follow me upstairs, my beloved?”

Your memories cut you off after that.

Minutes felt like hours. Everything felt like a huge effort. Partner those two statements together and what you'll get is hell on Earth for a woman who can't sit still like yourself. At least, that was what you were supposed to feel. You felt like a lapdog.

When you first got to the isolated villa, you woke up with a killer headache. But what made it worse is your Lord's enthusiasm to play as the loving and tender "spouse". Ayato’s villa came from old money. Using funds to spoil a retainer is incredibly hypocritical for a man who admonished fellow commissioners who had more money than sense. You would've teased Ayato for acting so out of character months prior, but the circumstances differ dramatically.

Now you know that he drugged you. Twice. And he's willing to do it again if you crossed the line. Whatever the hell that "line" is supposed to be.

This fever was endearing two months ago when you didn’t know any better. When it was just Ayato inviting himself into your room because he’s ‘worried’. When he insisted on taking care of you because he felt ‘responsible’ for making you work overtime. When you started to question your stamina because of it. When you thought being taken care of by someone other than your best friend Thoma felt nice.

Nowadays you can’t recall whatever happens to you after the sun sets. You didn’t reply to Ayato’s comments about dinner because you no longer have the ability to remember the things he shoves down your throat.

Except for the bittersweet red tea.

This total apathy works better for you, in a sense. It prevented you from having your thoughts row back into the dark crevices of your psyche. It’s established that you often lost sleep deliberating your competence in being Kamisato Ayato’s retainer, but not without a good reason.

No one noticed, but you were deprived of sleep almost every night thinking about your fallen friends in the Shuumatsuban. Every night you wondered if their sacrifices were worth the exchange if it only resulted in one lone survivor weeping. This was something you and Kaedehara Kazuha bonded with when Ayaka was away. Grief.

You cannot even force yourself to mourn after he took you away. You are now a survivor relentlessly spoiled by Lord Kamisato himself.

Someone was talking from afar, and even when the sound approached you a lot quicker than you assumed, you didn't make any sudden movements to imply surprise.

Ayato, you assume it's him, doesn't seem to think there's anything wrong with your lack of stimuli. Something mussed your hair, which was probably his fingers.

"I'm going out for a bit, do wait for me, understood?"

His voice was warm and a bit husky, but commanding at the same time. Was he talking to you? Something pecked your cheek, and then you heard the door close.

He exited the room. You're not sure if anyone was left besides yourself. The handpicked servants Ayato assigned to the villa often wore felted footwear and did their chores like they were not there at all. They may have been members of the Shuumatsuban, but a cunning bunny burrows twice, and it's not beyond the realm of possibility for Ayato to especially train an orphanage to master serving special domestic tasks alone. Thinking too much about it made your head hurt.

Everything was a blur.

Time moves slowly. But you didn't feel nervous when parts of you are slowly disappearing.

You heard a tune. It was short-lived, but it's near. You continued peeking outside the window but cared not about the noise.

"Pssst! Miss (L/n). He isn't here anymore."

You looked down.

There's a white-haired man gently waving his hand. He's holding a red leaf over his mouth.

You simply stared back.

"I-It's me. Can I climb up?" He yell-whispered.

You blinked.

He didn't bother waiting for you to reply-- he waited long enough. He leaped to your location. His sleeve fluttered slightly but no sound was made. His clothes, unlike Kamisato Ayato's elegant silk, were similar in color to that of rancid milk. The discoloration was enough to sign that whoever wore those clothes travel often, if you ignored the mud on the windowsill was his shoe size.

So, this must be Kaedehara Kazuha.

A part of you expected happiness from this reveal, but not a single spark ignited.

"Are you hurt? How have you been– I caught wind that you had been missing in action for quite some time."

Kazuha's hands were scarred and singed, and touching his palms was similar to picking apart the skin of a roasted fowl. His wide-eyed glare directed towards your neck doused you with a sliver of self-awareness as he clutched your naked shoulders. His crimson pupils shrank. Was there a problem?

"We have to get you out of here," Kazuha said strongly.

But why? There's no danger to be sensed. You failed to connect with his urgency.

Next thing you knew, he had carried you in his arms and left the room. You watched your body be carried bridal style, almost in third person, and observed how your hair touched Kazuha's arm. His grip on your form was tight, and his back was slouched as if preparing to shield you from an attack.

You couldn't tell, but he's beginning to fret over you barely reacting at all. What he had cradled didn't appear human, but more of a machine on autopilot. The scenery is vibrant in sloshed shades of pink and other pastels, yet your eyes reflected no light despite the iridescent surroundings.

You don't think you're real, that you’re no longer in control of your own body anymore, and Kazuha started to think the same.

When he placed you down a tree trunk, Kazuha's gaze lingered at your stray hair, reluctant to fix it for you. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn't, but he'll act like he won’t for a little while.

He poked your neck.

You winced.

"Did he do this...?"

The bruises on your neck and thighs offered enough answers.

"(L/n)?"

He looked sad.

"You haven't talked for the last hour. Are you okay?"

You've been with him for an hour? Kazuha didn't need anyone to point out that your time and spatial awareness were slowly deteriorating. His heart weighed a fraction of the sorrows you should've expressed.

Kazuha cupped your face.

"You're burning up..." He said. Your faces are only an inch apart. "Did you drink anything suspicious?"

You said you drank something red.

"(L/n), did you really not drink anything? Anything bitter? He didn’t make you eat something strange, did he?"

You emphasized that you regularly drank a bittersweet beverage.

"(L/n)... Why aren't you talking?"

But you did talk... Can he not hear you?

"N-nevermind. Our priority is to move you to somewhere safe. Captain Beidou is eager to help you sail outside Inazuma, but only if you'll allow it."

You tilted your head. How exactly? Before you got here, the Almighty Shogun closed off all borders.

His hand extended invitingly.

“Won’t you come with me, (L/n)?”

You reached for his hand—

“That’s far enough.”

In one swift motion, a slash too fast for even a sword-master like you to comprehend under a second, you watched Kazuha’s knees hit the ground. His bandaged hand slowly soaked in the blood from his abdomen. He inhaled sharply while the invoker evaporated his makeshift water vessels. It was impossible to look away.

His crimson eyes never left you. You watched in mild horror as the soul inside slowly slipped away.

It was a pathetic way to die.

“Be still.” A foreign hand grabbed your shoulder harshly as Kazuha’s body landed on a loud thud. “You’re trembling too much, my beloved.”

Were you?

Normally, people will cry and bawl. Others would remain assured that the deceased had finally taken their well-deserved rest. Before, you were the same. You grieved over your Shuumatsuban comrades when they were given orders to prioritize your life over theirs. To maintain a level of albeit strained sanity, you tried to live with death as if it wasn't real and close at hand. As if it couldn't impact you. To the point where you couldn't discern if it was your work experiences that made you apathetic or the drugs the murderer before you forced you to take in this situation.

Did time move slow, or too fast?

This was tragic in the sense that you couldn’t even react to the corpse. A corpse who asked you out on a date. A corpse whose cheeks once blushed pink as it fantasized about the things you'd both share. A corpse who made you feel emotions you rarely had the opportunity to indulge in.

You felt almost nothing.

The man kindly wiped the tears you didn’t notice for you. You tilted your head up to seek refuge in his lilac eyes.

A bright red leaf rested on the ground, only to be washed away by the crashing stream unnoticed.

--------------

Ayato's lips curled up into his signature smirk.

“Hmph, lie to you, you say? But what is there to lie about?”

His attention was drawn back to the present. The direction of his gaze was the same as his sister's, towards the window. Instead of being occupied by the silhouette of chirping birds, his eyes were trained on the sky behind them.

"Ayaka, do you remember the last time we volunteered to help clean up the fallen maple leaves and flowers from the last festival?"

Ayaka's brows furrowed. She was taken aback by how quickly her brother regained his usual self-assurance after hearing him sound so defeated. "Yes, I do. Why do you ask?"

"The searing heat infuses them with one final spark of vitality, and for a brief moment, they radiate a more glorious glow than the flames themselves..."

Ayaka returned her gaze to the window and saw what Ayato was staring at. He did not indulge himself with the splotched sky, rather, it was the smoke from the Ritou furnace that Ayato eyed.

It was strange.

It was utilized yesterday after the residents swept the streets clean of trash and humps of leaves, so it would not be needed again. She also recalled that Thoma had been oddly assigned to Ritou's cleanup job today. He carried a large pile of trash too, which didn’t make sense since there were no falling leaves to be cleaned up.

There were no fallen maple leaves in the area...

Ayaka's heart dropped.

"It was a short life they lived, but I can't help but wonder if it was a wasted one."

#yandere ayato #yandere fanfiction #yandere genshin x reader #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere kamisato ayato #kamisato ayato x reader #ayato x reader #yandere genshin #yandere #my mind was playing Running Away is Easy It's The Living That's Hard on repeat while writing this lol #sorry guys its my fault his rerun got delayed my bad homie #tag: blind obedience - ayato #ansy-writes

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sashimiyas · 2 years

Text

Courtesy Call

Summary: Osamu befriends an old man obsessed with taiyaki

Word count: 2.1k

Genre: tbh, idk? maybe a little wistful? fluff adjacent?

Osamu had never expected this to be a part of his job. Food service, he assumed, entailed just that. He realized early on why the industry is unappreciated. What they serve is a necessity. It’s not the dishes that he painstakingly shapes with his hands; that’s passion. What they provide is humanity, snapshots of hope in an other poignant experience in life.

He sells moments, an experience. It’s the common interactions, the shallow conversations and finer details, that people thrive on. There’s nothing deep to the connections that Osamu makes, just observed minutiae that he puts to good use and sometimes that’s just as appealing as his good food.

“Boss, Grandpa’s on the line.”

The chef’s laugh is facetious. He doesn’t look up from his clipboard, merely holds out an open palm for the phone to drop in.

“Miya Osa–”

“I want my taiyaki!”

“Oh, Jiji,” Osamu glances up at the clock and notes it’s not even noon. He’s rather early for his usual outbursts, “how many times do I have to tell ya? Onigiri. I sell onigiri. I ain’t got taiyaki in here.”

He smiles at the disgruntled noise the old man makes, obscenities muttered all together as if in a single file line. “Beats me how you’re still even open without taiyaki on the menu.”

Osamu sidesteps out of the way of one of his runners with an apologetic nod. They’re just as contrite as he. Jiji’s reputation precedes him and though it’s only Osamu who he gives a hard time, the store phone, one of his first buys from a secondhand shop, is no match for the old man’s tirades.

“Beats me how ya even have this much energy in the morning, Jiji.” He shuts the door to his office behind him and sprawls out onto his desk chair. The back bends and he leans his head against the plush of the seat, mussing his hair to fluff it back up again. “Aren’t ya a hundred years old or something?”

“A hundred years old and probably livelier than you. You sound like a beat up truck on its last legs.”

Osamu shamelessly laughs. It’s true. “I got a bit more mileage on me, Jiji. Ya don’t gotta worry.”

“I’m not.”

“But ya calling a bit early, ain’t ya? Ya crush didn’t show up at the rec center yet?”

The old man literally harumps. Osamu’s never met Jiji, at least not in person, but he can picture his face clearly. Surly, wrinkled, probably with his arms crossed, and that smart, old mouth on him. One of the new kids he’d hired ran to the back, eyebrows drawn and pleading as he explained that there’s an irrational old man on the phone disappointed with his delivery of taiyaki. Quick wit whipped back and forth like watching a tennis match and he’s called ever since.

He welcomes the exchange. Osamu has a certain fondness for foul mouthed creatures, an acquired taste thanks to that twin of his and he likes to think that he’s doing an everyday decency. There’s no harm in entertaining an old guy who probably has no one to talk to. He loses nothing and gains more entertainment than primetime television.

“I told ya,” Osamu teases. “Ya should have been more upfront about it.”

“Hey, watch your mouth, kid. I’m the old man with the experience, here.”

Osamu bounces his foot on the ground so that he may sway back and forth in his seat, “Ah, what’s the advice for today, Jiji?”

He surprised him, the younger one realizes when there’s a lengthy silence on the line. He chooses his answer carefully, wit set on the backburner. It makes Osamu sit up, as if the realization that he is in the presence of a respected elder finally dawns on him, and waits expectantly for the answer.

“What you think about before bed,” he starts slowly as though every word he speaks is fragile, “will be your greatest regrets if they aren’t already.”

Talking to an old man about regrets of all things makes his heart grow heavy. So he turns the conversation around before it can weigh him down. “This about ya crush, Jiji? Come on, don’t lose hope. We can fix this mess.”

Osamu doesn’t think about the old man until later that day when he’s in bed. Alone again, he seriously wonders if the old man is too.

Osamu’s outside of the rec center on his next day off with a satchel across his chest and faded Atsumu merch on his back from his twin’s rookie years. He might have done some innocent sleuthing knowing the old man would never give up his location. Osamu called the rec center and asked for an old man with a clever mouth and obsession with taiyaki. It was easy enough, the reputation of his infamous as the front desk ladies eagerly offered his everyday schedule, probably in hopes that he could take him off their hands just for a moment.

Finding him is even more effortless. Osamu is led to the game room and before the employee points him out, his eyes immediately lock onto an old, crotchety man seated in a chair along the sidelines. He’s burrowed into himself, dour and hunched over a cane as he stares off at everyone else in the room playing their board games with a bitter indifference.

“Jiji!” Osamu calls from the entrance of the room. His head picks up, speculative, a defensive scowl marring his face when it lands on Osamu. The younger man takes it in stride, a beaming grin on his face as he waves at him. “Hey, Jiji, it’s me. Osa–”

“Onigiri man.” He states blandly. Now that he’s closer, though the frown pulls at his worn lips, Osamu witnesses a lively glimmer in his eyes.

He welcomes himself to the seat across from him, “came to visit ya, Old man.”

“You look as dumb as I thought you would,” he observes.

“Now, now, that ain’t something ya should say to someone who finally brought what ya been asking for.” Osamu pulls a paper bag from his satchel and plops it right on the table between them.

He’s hesitant, eyeing it, but there’s a bristling excitement that brews underneath Osamu’s skin and he knows his older counterpart feels the same.

Jiji’s hands play with the handle of his cane, gripping and releasing it. He finally glances up at him, tentative, “taiyaki?”

Osamu slides his butt to the edge of the seat so he can lean back and stretch his legs. This must be what his childhood heroes must feel like. A tightness pulls at his chest, one that reminds him of the power in little things.

He thinks of how Atsumu would blow on his cuts after every fight, careful even though he’s the cause of them. He thinks of his Ma who lights up at a simple phone call. He thinks of this old man in bed, staring at the ceiling with that glimmer in his eyes.

“Ya haven’t stopped going on and on about them. Decided to give ya a reason to finally shut up about it.”

Hands dotted with sun spots reach for the bag and carefully unravel it. He pulls one of the fish shaped snacks out but once out of the bag, his expression immediately sours. Osamu watches, captivated, as Jiji brings it closer to his eyes, as if sight has failed him. He runs his hands along it, takes two sniffs, and finally, he has the courage to take one small nibble.

The old man immediately spits it out and Osamu is bellyover, cackling.

“You precocious brat!” Grandpa lifts his cane up as if to smack him. Osamu holds his hands out in defense, still shaking in amusement.

“Can’t believe ya fell for that, Jiji!” Osamu’s wiping tears from his eyes as the old man growls in his spot, looking at the crisp rice in his hands with enough disdain it could burn even further. “Told ya I sell onigiri.”

“This isn’t onigiri.”

The innovative chef shrugs, “taiyakigiri. Asked the shop next door if I could borrow their maker just so I could prank ya.”

“Boy,” he points a shaky finger but Osamu sees past his bluff. He sees frown lines and reads an inverted smile instead, “you’re even dumber than I thought.”

“Grandpa!”

“Ahh, drats.” He’s back to slumping into himself and Osamu turns around, finding someone his age who is equally weary as they are horrified.

You’re scolding what Osamu believes to be your grandfather the moment he is within earshot. “What are you doing calling strangers dumb?”

“That’s no stranger,” though he’s defiant, he can’t look his grandkid in the eye.

Your gaze turns to him, sizing him up.

“Miya Osa–”

“Onigiri Man.”

You light up immediately at the sound of his pseudonym, “Onigiri Man! Oh wow, I thought my grandpa was going senile when he’d mention you. Did you know you’re this guy’s best friend?”

He heats, the idea of being Jiji’s best friend embarrassing and endearing.

Jiji forcefully pokes your calf with his cane, beckoning you to take the seat beside him. “He’s nothing of the sort. This man tried to feed me rice disguised as taiyaki. I ought to call consumer affairs for this.”

His complaints go unheard when you dive into the bag, admiring Osamu’s handiwork. “Grandpa, you fell for this? That’s hilarious.” Then eyeing Osamu, “good job. Sometimes this guy needs to be knocked down a peg. Speaking of–” You turn back to your elder relative, “what happened to being patient? I told you I’d take you anywhere you want after I finished my work. You’re harder to round up than a herd of cattle.”

“Take a guess who you inherited that from, Kid,” he mutters discreetly but softens the moment you sigh.

“You make me worry, Grandpa. Anything could happen, and you’re all I’ve got left.” Osamu feels like he’s witnessing a private conversation, but his stomach grows heavy at the implication. Osamu, even when born, has never been alone. Loneliness might be plaguing him, but the idea that he has no one to fall back on, well, the idea sounds unbearable.

He drops another bag onto the table and disrupts the tension. “Check inside, Jiji.”

“I don’t trust you.”

You nudge the man, “be nice.”

The old man finally eats taiyaki that day. He breaks rice and bread and shares it with his best friend and grandkid. You spill all of Jiji’s embarrassing secrets like how he’s been requesting onigiri for lunch lately. Osamu talks about his friends and his job and so do you. The two of you are not from here, you having moved because of a job and Jiji following. The old man challenges Osamu to a game of chess and you spectate, witnessing his spectacular loss.

Jiji ends up falling asleep right in his chair with your jacket draped over him. Conversation flows and eventually, Osamu’s realized that he’s spent his only day off at a rec center three wards from his with a crabby old man and his overworked grandkid that likes to laugh at all his jokes.

You walk him out, Jiji left behind, and hand him a piece of paper at the entrance.

He unravels the wrinkled thing and looks up at you in surprise.

“My phone number,” you explain, “just in case. For my Grandpa.”

He nods slowly. Right. For Jiji.

“I think he calls you more than he talks to me.” It’s not an attack, possibly just a jealous observation.

Osamu ruminates for a moment, thinking of the old man and all that he’s inadvertently passed onto him with what Osamu once thought were pointless phone calls.

“That old man’s bored,” Osamu says, eyeing your expression carefully. “He’s looking to run his mouth, not get it run on him. I’m sure at the end of the day when he’s in bed, you’re the one he’s thinking about. Not Onigiri Man.”

Your smile brightens and when Osamu walks home, he thinks of you and the grouchy taiyaki fiend. He thinks of the two of you again when he slides into bed - first your smile and then Jiji’s inverse. He gets up and goes to his hamper. Searching through the pocket of the jeans he wore that day, Osamu finally decides to listen to Jiji in earnest.

He dials your number.

#reina.writeshaikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #miya osamu #miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader

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prose-for-hire · 1 year

Note

Spike & The Scoobies: “You can’t invoke the Dark Arts to keep Passions from being cancelled!”

A/n: Platonic reader. It took me forever to think of a gender neutral term for someone that practices magic. I went with sorcerer xo

You were known in Sunnydale for possessing powerful magics. You were a sorcerer known to the good, the bad and the ugly of Sunnydale. You made a point of doing good for people with your magic but you never turned away anyone just for the way they looked or what their past was.

That was how you had met Spike. He was friendly with you and so you helped him from time to time so long as it didn’t harm anyone or get rid of his chip.

That was how you found yourself and Spike draped in black hooded cloaks sat inside a pentagram drawn on the floor. The store was closed and it was dark out, only light was the ceremonial candles.

Just as you were finishing your chant, the door was unlocked and the bell rang and interrupted you. You squinted at the door, frowning at the distraction before you sensed the anger from the group. Giles and the rest of the Scoobies had entered to have a meeting at the Magic Box.

You sensed they hadn’t quite been told what you were doing here. Spike decided to stay casual, ignoring the irritated shout of Giles asking just what the hell you thought you were doing in his shop.

“Oh, right. This is Y/n” Spike gestured with his head as you pulled the cloak down that had been obscuring your face.

“Hey guys” you waved and smiled at your friends

“We know who they are, we meant what’s with the evil chanting?” One of the group stated.

“You said you had a key” you scowled at Spike.

“No, love, I said I didn’t need an invitation, public property ain’t it?”

“Whatever, anyway, we should probably finish this spell. Do you mind, Giles, I just assumed he was your nephew or something?”

“Ah, so long as it isn’t nefarious in nature”

“Not really my style, you know that!” You insisted, you had thought Giles thought better of you. You met him every Thursday afternoon for tea.

“Not yours maybe”

“Just asking the Hellmouth for a little favour. They scratch our back, we scratch theirs…”

“You’re calling on the dark arts?”

“Grey… a dark watercolour at best” you insisted, you hadn’t realised that your two friends didn’t like each other. They were always talking about the other it seemed.

“Passions is worth it” Spike muttered

“You can’t invoke the Dark Arts to keep Passions from being cancelled!”

“Actually… Mom might forget to make me babysit Dawn if she’s distracted by Passions”

Buffy admitted, sitting next to you and crossing her legs inside the Pentagram much to the rest of the groups disbelief (and Dawn’s shout of annoyance).

And that was how Passions stayed on the air for the rest of Spike’s un-life.

#anyone want to do some grey arts #and get buffy back on air with me #maybe not everyone should come back….#buffy the vampire slayer #btvs #btvs imagine #btvs x reader #gender neutral #buffy summers #gender neutral reader #spike btvs

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averagewriter-inthedark · 1 year

Text

Family of Heroes 🪪 | Everett Ross Heacanon

Link to my Marvel masterlist

Requested 📨 yes/no (rules for requests)

Having a family with Everett Ross would look like:

So if you’re an avenger/shield agent and fall in love with the silver fox that is Agent Everett Ross then there is no hiding the world of heroes from your children. After getting married/being partners for a long time you both eventually have/adopt a couple of kids and raise them in the New York/Quantico area.

Considering they grew up with parents who were federal agents, they were likely drawn to the field of criminology, intelligence, security, etc. Or possibly were talented when it came to mechanics, math, physics. Either which way you’re kids were top of their classes and managed to attend some of the most prestigious schools in the county. MIT, NYU, Cornell would be knocking on y’all’s door with scholarships and grants just to have your kids attend.

If you’re living in New York then they’d attend Midtown with Peter, MJ, and Ned. Of course with Peter being Spider-Man and knowing you, there’s a chance your kids knew his secret before the others. Hell, wouldn’t be surprised if Peter may have fanboyed when he learned that you were the parent of his friends. “That’s so cool your parents are agents—and one is an avenger!” “Only thing that sucks about it is I can never hide anything. Bad grades, relationships, sneaking out at night. They’ll always know.”

I can see you having a daughter who was like Everett with passions for intelligence. She’d come to his office just to watch him work and get a feel of what it was like to be an agent. When it came to intuition she was a natural at catching when something was suspicious. She was also great at analyzing—whether it be data, a crime scene, or body language.

Your son would have interests similar to you—wanting to be in the field or creating inventions that gave him abilities. He was very hands on, loved working on cars or building things from scratch. Don’t be surprised if he noted Bruce Banner or Tony Stark as his idols.

If your kids were into sports you’d go to every game. If they loved the arts you went to every performance, gallery, recital. Sometimes you’d be running late because of work, but you always made it up to them by taking them out to dinner or ice cream to get that quality time in. It was hard being a superhero and raising children, but with Ev by your side you both were able to put a healthy balance on things.

Early on your children were taught self-defense. Boxing, marital arts, how to disarm someone, and everything in between that would help them kick someone’s ass if they were attacked. Being that you and Everett’s jobs come with enemies there is always that risk they would target your kids. “You must be quick and sharp—anything less will give them the advantage.” “You know,” *catches breath* “This is really some parent-child bonding you got going on.” “Quality time, training, and life lessons all wrapped into one. Ain’t that something.”

When the topic of your kids joining the Young Avengers arose, you both were very hesitant. They were in college or about to graduate and your daughter had even applied for the CIA with your son building a prototype suit. It got the attention of a lot of people and you were already dealing with the stress of the Thunderbolts forming. “They are kids, Everett! They cannot handle the things we see—at least not yet!” “Believe me, honey, I agree with you. But they are technically adults and it’s not like they’ll be alone. They want us, Sam, Strange, Carol and Okoye to supervise them.” It did little to ease your worry, but at least you’d have some say in the matters.

No longer were you and Ev just their parents, but also their bosses. You both had control along with the other Avengers over whether or not the Young Avengers would get involved in conflicts. First thing that took place of course was months of training and teaching the kids (even if they were adults you still looked at them as kids) what and what not to do in a situation. Last thing y’all wanted was another Accords scenario.

“C’mon send us out! We can help you guys!” “You know the deal—once you pass your field exams then you can do missions. Until then you’re grounded here.”

“If Hydra’s been behind it the whole time then does that mean you guys didn’t check to see that you got them all in 2015?” “Honey, please, do not remind me because I’ll only get angry—not at you but at the situation. I need to have a word with Fury on what the hell went wrong.”

While you may be strict with the Young Avengers, best believe if someone insulted, attacked, or patronizing toward them you’d go ape shit. Oh and if Secretary Ross were to try something….Let’s just say Everett once had to pull you back from doing something that would’ve had you arrested. “He doesn’t have the right to get involved in what they do—or threaten them with prison after they saved the world!” “And don’t give him the satisfaction of locking you up, Y/n. You know he’s waiting for us to step out of line.”

If there is one thing the government realized quick when you and Everett decided to expand the Ross’ legacy, is to never underestimate a family full of heroes.

#everett ross headcanon #everett ross x yn #everett ross x reader #everett ross fanfiction #everett ross imagine #everett ross #everett ross x you #everett k. ross #martin freeman #marvel fanfiction #avengers #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel headcanon #avengers headcanon #avengers fanfiction

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outer-edges · 10 months

Text

i have a small offering for fans of the spiderman!ellie au. here is 1.6k words of completely unedited fic wherein which joel finally discovers ellie's secret identity.

feat. contrived grocery store displays and an overzealous employee and kiddo rep and really beating the dead 'joel is reluctant to care about ellie' horse in the beginning there.

(fic under the cut. if i ever get around to reading thru + editing this it'll go up on ao3. until then, it will live here)

Joel thought he was done buying snacks he’d never eat just because he had a kid to feed. He thought he was done with the pudding cups and the gushers and the uncrustables.

He looks down at his cart and sighs. It’s stuffed full of all the snacks Spiderwoman wants, alongside multiple tubes of arnica, bandages, frozen peas, neosporin, and everything else he needs to keep the first aid kit stocked.

Apparently, it’s never over.

This is something he’s come to accept about his life. He cares about Spiderwoman. Too much for a kid who’s not his, especially considering he’s never even seen her face. But after two months of this shit, he’s accepted it. He knows he probably doesn’t mean nearly as much to her as she means to him—he’s got to assume she’s got other people in her life, a kid with that much love and warmth to her, it would kill him to think she didn’t—but he’s accepted that too.

It’s okay that he’s now being forced to check out the old fashioned way—cart too full for the express checkout he typically utilizes—but the woman in front of him had to buy up half the store, it seems. It feels like he’s been in this line forever. That’s okay too.

“Oh, come on, I didn’t break shit!” a girl argues, and his gaze is drawn to the front of the store.

There’s a haughty looking asshole kid there—probably no older than fourteen or fifteen—and she looks downright intimidating despite her small stature. There’s a bit of a feral edge to her as she argues with the store employee who’s probably a good foot taller than she is. It could just be his imagination, but there’s something familiar about the girl.

“I saw you, kid,” the employee argues back. “You took down the whole display! Store policy is clear: you break it, you buy it!”

“It’s not my fault your stupid employees don’t know how to stack things,” she fires back. Then, she holds up her plastic bag with a receipt in hand. “This is what I wanted. This is what I paid for. Alright, dude, so just let me go.”

And then it clicks. For some reason, hearing the girl say ‘dude’ with such an empathetic tone made it click. This ain’t just any asshole kid. It's his asshole kid.

Joel quickly gets out of line and butts in on the conversation. “Excuse me, sir. I couldn’t help but overhear—“

The kid—Spiderwoman, Jesus fucking Christ, she’s even younger than he thought she was—looks up at him. Her deep brown eyes are blown wide with surprise and confusion. She tries to smother it quickly, but her face is so goddamn expressive.

“What seems to be the problem here?” Joel finishes, playing a bit dumb as he looks between Spiderwoman and the store clerk.

“It’s okay, sir, this is not your problem,” the employee puts on his best customer service voice and tries to wave Joel away.

“I reckon it might be,” he says. “I know the kid. She’s—uh—she’s my intern. Ain’t that right?”

Spiderwoman blinks up at him for a moment before vigorously nodding. “Yep, that’s right. He’s a very important contractor. And I’m his intern. His unpaid intern.”

“Right,” Joel nods, hoping he doesn’t make too much of a face at her comment. “So, I ask again, what seems to be the problem?”

The employee looks between him and Spiderwoman, clearly not really convinced of their relationship, but he clearly doesn’t care. He’s also just some kid, probably no older than twenty five, and Joel reckons this whole thing is just some corporate policy he’s gotta enforce.

After a beat, the employee just sighs and shakes his head a bit. “Your intern ruined an entire batch of fresh baked donuts.”

Joel snorts and rolls his eyes a bit, though he tone comes across more affectionately empathetic than he intends. “Of course she did. What did you do this time, kiddo?”

The nickname slips past his lips on accident. Words he hasn’t uttered in two decades. Certainly words he’s never used for Spiderwoman before. But in his care to not use any of the spider based nicknames for her, the pet name slipped through.

Spiderwoman clearly notices, eyebrows quirking up just a fraction. Still, she takes it in stride. “They put the blueberry donuts on the bottom, so I went to go grab them, and my—uh—the boxes stuck together, and you know how that goes. Just….vwoop. They all tumbled like Jenga.”

Ah. Joel nods in understanding. He’s seen her accidentally stick to enough things to know what really happened. Can’t really explain that one to a store clerk.

“That Jenga tower was the fresh baked batch that just came out of the oven this morning,” the employee says.

“Alright, look,” Joel starts, “How much did that display cost?”

“One twenty.”

Joel’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “Goddamn, one twenty? For donuts?”

“It was over a dozen boxes your intern destroyed.”

Jesus fucking Christ. She’s goddamn lucky he just landed a big contract with a builder out in the suburbs. Forking over one hundred twenty dollars for some fucking donuts. That’s on top of the added groceries and other assorted goods he’s been buying for her.

“Just add it to my bill,” Joel sighs. “And let her take whatever donuts you can salvage. Alright?”

Spiderwoman’s eyes go wide. “Okay, Joel, seriously. You don’t have to do that—” “You ain’t got the money, and clearly someone’s gotta pay the man,” he shoots back.

That’s not what he wants to say. What he wants to say is of course I’m gonna help you outta this bind, kiddo. What the fuck else am I here for?

But that might be a little too real for the both of them. They’ve been dancing around this odd little friendship they’ve struck up, smuggling anything resembling feelings behind innocuous little phrases and actions.

She seems to get what he means regardless, and she just nods. “Okay.”

——

After Joel works out the details with the store clerk, Spiderwoman wordlessly waits by his side as he buys his groceries—and hers too—with a donut box in her arms. They were able to save just under a dozen donuts from the ruined display. They were the ones that spilled all over the table and not the floor. It’s probably ain’t completely sanitary to eat them, but Joel isn’t going to pay over a hundred bucks for donuts and not see a single one of them.

He’s surprised Spiderwoman waits around for him, if he’s being honest. It’s not that he expected her to ditch, necessarily, but it’s two o’clock on a Monday afternoon. She should be in school, or something.

“So,” Spiderwoman starts once they walk out of the grocery store.

(And, god, it’s weird to keep thinking of her as Spiderwoman when he’s looking at that cherubic little face of hers. She’s got these full cheeks and expressive eyes and inklings of acne. She looks every bit of the teenager she is.)

Joel looks at her. “What?”

“How’d you know it was me?” she asks.

“Who says I know you?” he says quickly. “Am I supposed to know who you are? You some kind of celebrity’s daughter or some shit?”

“Joel, c’mon, I’m being serious,” Spiderwoman has to jog a little bit to keep up with his brisk pace, and because she’s almost a foot shorter than him. “What tipped it off?”

He looks down at her as they pull up to his truck, and he sighs. “You wanna know what it was? It was that voice of yours. I got it in my ear all night, seven days a week. ‘Course I’m gonna recognize it”

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense.”

Joel nods a bit. Something akin to an awkward silence falls over them as Spiderwoman helps him load the groceries back into his truck. There really shouldn’t be any awkward silence. They have spent far too much time together, most of it in some kind of silence or another, to feel uncomfortable around each other. Shit, they spend most nights on the phone for hours at a time.

It’s just…

They’ve never done anything like this. In the daylight. Without the mask separating them. He supposes she’s been seeing his face his whole time, but he hasn’t ever seen her. Shit, he doesn’t even know her name.

Joel watches her in the rearview mirror as she returns the cart, and she jogs back to his truck without looking both ways as she crosses the parking lot. For a second, a once dormant instinct crackles back to life, and he wants to tell her to look before just darting across the parking lot like that. Then, he remembers that psychic sense of hers, and he figures she’s probably fine.

He still wants to tell her anyway.

“I think it’s going to rain later,” Spiderwoman comments as she climbs back into the car. As if this is normal.

In a way, it kind of is.

“What is your name?” Joel asks.

He can’t keep thinking of her as Spiderwoman. He can’t. And it’s stupid to keep acting like she isn’t already completely ingratiate into his life. This whole dancing around her identity thing was an ill conceived attempt to keep up a wall he already smashed down.

“What happened to keeping our histories to ourselves?”

Joel gives her a deadpan. “Kiddo, I think we’re way past that point.”

“Oh, I know,” she nods. “I just wasn’t sure if you were ever going to admit it. My name’s Ellie.”

“Ellie,” he repeats, mulling it over. Good name. “It’s nice to meet you. My name’s Joel.”

“I know, man.”

#mattie posts fic #spiderman!ellie #ellie williams #joel miller #tlou #tlou fic

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beautiful-boy-bracket · 1 year

Note

Ok I’ve send alucard’s propaganda now it’s VASH TIME 😎. Again. I am so normal about him.

Don’t come at me I genuinely think he’s prettier than sesshomaru like I’d want to look like vash more even if I’m a SLUT for long hair. Sesshomaru is also very pretty I respect everyone who votes for him. HOWEVER. I am not you <33

Undercut supremacy>>>

I’m toning down the ‘alien ethereal uncanny eldritch angelic body horror beauty’ angle seeing as y’all are probably sick of that after my other propaganda posts. Don’t want these to get too boring, after all! No point in just repeating the same stuff over and over again haha.

I will still be bringing up his insane proportions though. 70% legs. This gif is pretty dark so I don’t know if you can make them out but MAN, if he weren’t an outlaw he could be a model. Cinched waist too.

Also~ I love his outfit so so much I love the way his coat’s strips move when he walks or when the wind blows. I love the slits up to his hips. I love all the useless belts. And that’s not to mention the undersuit! Leather gloves up to his biceps, thigh-high boots, the skintight crop top- I aspire to dress as slutty as vash some day. He’s serving.

More evidence as to how long his legs are/how slutty his undersuit is. Is that a chastity belt. King. He is so aesthetically appealing to me, just, peak design 👌👌

What no I’m not trying to thirstbait you into reading trigun what are you waking about. Anyways, a new tristamp episode came out and this one had a shirtless scene!

Thank you tristamp animators 🙏🙏

Also, vash has dimples! I don’t particularly care about dimples, I think they’re pretty nice, but I hear some people like find them very attractive. Well hellooo? Come get your food? Also he’s got little fangs <33

I really like his musculature too, it’s drawn very pleasingly. Very gender. I need to bite him you don’t understand. Anyways uhh. Tiddy.

Yeah that’s right you’re just getting the blatant thirst bait now. Is is making you want to read trigun be honest. Vote vash for his FAT TITS and tiny waist, what more do you want in a man. What? Kindness? Personality? Well this ain’t about that! (Though vash is certainly very kind as well, aaa >///<)

Also his ✨scars✨ I find them very appealing <33 Everything about him is so gorgeous.

If we’re talking about aspects of vash I find beautiful, we can’t leave out his beauty mark! It is so important to me. It’s in the name!

Also, look at his lips! So pouty! Isn’t he gorgeous? Very pretty boy.

He looks very attractive when he gets serious as well, albeit in a different way. He has the range! I like how his eyes sharpen and his voice deepens, and the air of confidence that comes with it.

He is so good-looking. Beautiful man. I love him so much.

Also here’s vash getting choked against a wall because I mentioned it last time. Studio orange knows full well what they are doing and I’m never forgiving them for this (I am forgiving them so hard, in fact I am supporting their every endeavour).

I’m not lying. This shit happens all the time like vash is the fanservice character in this show. Also wolfwood? And mayb- ok so it’s just the guys. Mainly vash though like you don’t see any of the others tumbling ass-over-tit pussy to the sky. He’s so silly and delightful.

I’ve never felt attraction in my life btw I just appreciate him <33 he’s very pretty and I want other people to think he’s pretty too. I want him to do well in a poll for once please. Please I’m begging you. Vote for vash it would be so sexy please.

its propaganda time

#suggestive

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johnwickb1tsch · 1 month

Text

THE DEVILS' TRIANGLE

A Yandere Tex Johnson x Witness!Reader x John Wick (& now John Constantine) Imagine Part 8 by:

@treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake @johnwickb1tsch and @tammykelly (with honorary dream weavers / shit stirrers @lilspookymeh & @kurai-hono-blog 😘)

Warnings: So many dead doves! Do not eat! Unless you like dead doves, that is. You're in good company here. 😘 Violence, sexual content, blood, murder, kidnapping, possessive behavior, dubcon, yandere sh!t...it's all here! Please take care! 😘

ALL CHAPTERS

PART 9

Johnwickb1tsch:

Wick could have been an asshole about buying a brand new kitchen, sundries included–but instead he merely shrugs off Constantine's hostile question. "Seemed like the least I could do."

Constantine glares, but lets it go, begrudgingly sitting down to a delectable meal cooked by the man he knows, deep down, that you've never been able to forget.

With a sigh and a knowing smirk you settle back in your chair. Your eyes are drawn to the burn upon his chest. He will carry that mark for the rest of his life, even if the magic is lifted.

You think on what Papa Midnite said to Constantine. "Take some big feeling..."

It kind of floors you, to think of the energy it took for Constantine to conjure that working out of thin air.

For you.

However, it wasn’t so simple as that.

"Whacha thinking, baby girl?"

You just shake your head with a tired smile. "Nothing important."

"Hmm. You gonna make me guess? Alright. You're thinkin'...bout that time in Mexico it was just you an me and the stars, out by the pool in our birthday suits."

You snort–quite against your will, it turns into a giggle.

"No..."

"Uh huh. You’re missin' my wicked tongue up between your thighs. I know that look."

"Didn't you miss me, rattlesnake?" he asks, his deep voice all sultry and low just wrecking you to the bone.

“Yeah. I know what you mean,” you answer quietly. “But how did you think this would go? You’d knock on my door, and I’d just uproot my whole life for you again?”

“At least give me some credit. I coulda come in with guns blazin' but instead I brought flowers."

“You want credit?”

“Yeah. I’m practically a changed man. And I wouldn’t mind an apology from Wizard Boy either.”

"You've got to be kidding me." The pair on this man never ceases to amaze you.

"We were just having a little bit of friendly fisticuffs, but he fucked me up pretty good. That’s called unnecessary escalation.”

He would know.

“But–”

At last, at last, you are in a position where you don’t have to swallow his gaslighting. “No buts. You can behave yourself, Tex, or you can go. I mean it.”

Maybe drawn by the sound of your raised voice, Constantine chooses that moment to intervene, appearing at the foot of the couch with a magnificent frown.

“Well well, if it ain’t The Boy Who Lived.”

You lift an eyebrow, side-eyeing Tex. “You do know an awful lot about Harry Potter for a grown ass man your age.”

For possibly the first time ever Tex actually looks sheepish. “Had to read something while I was in the shit.”

“So what you want, Wizard Boy?” demands Tex, insouciantly refusing to let go of your hand, despite you tugging on it.

“I was going to check your chakras for malevolence, but I'm having second thoughts now.”

“Sounds illegal in five states.”

Constantine snorts. “You want me to double check Midnite's handiwork or not? If there's a trace of darkness left it could spread– and you'll be fucked all over again.”

“Not the way I like, I'm guessin’.”

You should encourage Tex to find someone else.

Your heart just doesn't agree.

“I'll…leave you two to it,” you say, reluctantly standing to pull away out of Tex's grip.

Only belatedly, after you've retreated to your room, do you realize that maybe Constantine interrupted your tête a tête with Tex for his sake, rather than yours.

***

Tex was another matter.

You really are a piece of work.

***

Not now.

“I believe we find ourselves at an impasse.”

“How you figure?” asks Tex, knocking back his drink and helping himself to another.

“Does being in love with the same woman ring a bell?”

The thought pulls something like a growl from deep in Constantine’s chest, but in the end he acknowledges, “Exactly.”

Tex smirks, leaning on his elbows. “Don’t be sore, Wizard Boy. Be grateful we broke her in for you.”

“I only listen to about half of what he says,” Wick admits with a smirk, a humorous glitter in his dark eyes.

Wick nods, grasping Constantine’s train of thought immediately. Tex, however, has to chew on it a little–maybe because he’d hoped, for once, to finally have this girl to himself.

“You’re saying you don’t mind sharin’,” finally says Tex with a shit-eating grin, leaning back in his chair.

***

“It’s ok,” you say softly, tracing the line of his square jaw. “I know.”

He frowns, almost like he wants to argue, but in the end he just shakes his head and pulls you to him.

You want to apologize for almost kissing John Wick right in fucking front of him–but that sticks in your throat too. You guess you’re both just a little raw tonight.

“You like that, baby?” he taunts, hooking his fingers in your panties to tug them down.

“You know I do,” you pant.

“Fuck.”

When his thumb finds your clit you think you might die from the overwhelming sensation of it. “No,” you beg, somehow smiling through your exasperation. “Please. Mercy.”

“Right initials,” he pants, pressing lips to your hair. “Wrong guy.”

Sweetwolfcupcake:

The first signs of dawn begin to show on the dark sky, timid but consistent in pushing back the darkness previously reigning over the sky when you open your eyes-- blinking lazily as you register your dry lips and slightly open mouth. You feel parched, but the arms wrapped around you feel like a slice of heaven by your side and you are too lazy, too sleepy. You try to ignore it but your throat feels like it would scream for water any minute.

Sighing, you gently remove Constantine's arms from your body, not an easy task though-- his arms are firm vines around you, holding you close with a distinct gentleness that you've seen so often in his eyes when they gaze at you.

After you are finally off the bed without waking up Constantine (you're surprised), you tip-toe out of the room and into the kitchen for a much needed glass of water.

It's quiet, you notice as you gulp down a glass of water. With the overpowering sleepy haze gone, you grow more conscious of the environment.

Such an hour is supposed to be quiet. But there is a severe lack of tranquillity in the quietness--- it's more of a deafening silence. And you do not have a good feeling about this. Emptying the glass, you put it silently aside and turn around to rush return to the safety of---

Your eyes widen as you blink away the reminder of sleepy haze from them at the sight of John Wick's looming form in the kitchen doorway.

lo spettro

Indeed, he is like a ghost who appears right when you least expect it to. Though at the moment, he looks more like a formidable predator-- or maybe it is you who feels threatened like a prey.

Whatever it is, it does not settle easily in your stomach. There's chaos, flipping and swirling in there. All are born out of jarringly conflicted emotions and thoughts you feel simultaneously.

You stand still, eyeing him warily. He isn't dressed in his classic three-piece. In fact, he is in simple trousers a white t-shirt, that bulges at all the right places. No, he isn't dressed to hunt, but he seems very much ready to with the way his eyes are set upon you. You know the stare all too well. The thought brings back memories that are now the source of your heartache and you stiffen again.

"Had a busy night with your plaything?"

Ah, of course...

"He's not a plaything." You snap without a second thought.

John smiles faintly, but there is no softness to it. Instead, it looks sharp and somehow feels bitter as he diminishes the distance between you both in two strides.

"Was he good enough? Better?" He invades your personal space as smoothly as he invades your dreams.

This time though, you are determined not to back down and bend to his will. You stand-- stiff and with your heart hammering-- but you are determined to not let it show.

"Our bedroom is none of your business."

Oh, you know the way his chocolate orbs darken. Your words have ruffled him. He presses closer and you know, you just know that he can feel your heartbeat, but there is nowhere else to go, and you are sandwiched between the counter and him.

"Yeah? That's a pity, thought I could show this boy how it's done."

You glare up at him.

The audacity.

If this is a game of riling you up, he was unfortunately winning. But being away from them and being with Constantine has evolved you in ways you are thankful for. You are not going to bend easily under his games anymore.

Your glare charges into a sardonic smile--

"Oh, don't bother. It is blissful when you don't feel like a disposable toy."

To a degree, even you are surprised at the venom in your voice. But the surprise is overshadowed by the sight of John Wick faltering. You admit, the sadness do not make you happy, but having gained power in the conversation does satisfy you.

"I am exhausted after a long so..."

With that, you slip away from him and walk back to the safety of your bedroom, there is a rush in your steps, and the moment you lock the door from inside, relief floods withing you.

A part of this whole encounter reminds you of your childhood ritual of switching off the lights before running upstairs to the safety of your room-- but as a child, it was just your active imagination, right now, your heart thunders the same way it would as a five-year-old, running from the 'ghosts'.

Constantine calls your name lazily from the bed, eyes half-open and hair dishevelled. There is a certain domesticity in the air and your heart unexpectedly flutters-- not an anxious, thrilled flutter, but one that confirms what you are afraid to admit.

You fear losing this. This sight of Constantine laying so unguarded, so vulnerable and open on the bed. You are afraid to not feel his arms wrapped around you again. You are afraid not to feel his lips on you another morning.

You are afraid to lose him.

You are afraid to be abandoned again.

In your fear, you find courage. The courage to finally acknowledge this fear of losing him, losing what you both share.

Silently, you make your way back to bed, slipping under the covers and back in his waiting arms.

You know Constantine can probably sense the shift in your energy, but he chooses silence. He puts your comfort before his curiosity, his doubts. That makes you snuggle closer to him, to his warmth.

Tammykelly:

Songs to get in ya feels:

Karma by Summer Walker

Stand still by Sabrina Claudio

You lay awake under the silk covers, with Constantine quietly breathing beside you in a deep peaceful slumber. You shift your focus to his pace of breath so you can match your own in hopes to fall into the calmness of the space bubble around you. The limbs of your body are heavy, and yet your mind is ever so awake, having drifted towards conscious awareness of bitterly sweetened memories, rather than much needed sleep. Your eyelids flutter shut, as a yet another frustrated sigh escapes your mouth. The silence of the late hours is mockingly embracing the racing thoughts in your mind and pumping heartbeat, uncomfortable heat continues to fill every particle under your skin, amplified by the feel of rushing bloodstream, as if no concept of rest exists in this moment. A small furry body curls itself closer, next to your side, and your hand slowly reaches to brush its fingers through Baby Killy’s soft fur, more purring gently filling your ears, as you give into what your subconscious can’t seem to stop replaying, guided by the whisper of the shadows.

- a flashback -

You feel a warm breeze rush past you, carrying the salty scent of the Mediterranean coast, disrupting the shattered shadows. A tiny glimpse of sunlight pervades through the thin crack between your eyelashes, your narrowed eyes taking in the sunny serenity of French Riviera that envelops you again in its natural flow and beauty, before you hear a stream of rapid gunshots that only alert a flock of birds, rising from your garden.

You watch a tall man’s broad back stiffen, as he reloads the gun. You lazily get up, not taking your eyes off his powerful muscles moving under the skin, as he takes the position again. You feel your chest contract, breath caught in your throat, as his whole body seems to have become one with the weapon at the highest alert, before all the motion subsides, and he fires more shots at the moving targets.

You’re not sure whether it’s the thumping of your heart, ringing in your ears, bringing rising heatwave to your body, or it’s the sun that collects the multitude of nervous specks across your subconscious, melting them through all the layers onto the surface, forming a deeper shade of blush on your cheeks. He looks majestic, engulfed by sunlight, a gun in his hand, akin to an innate extension of his hunter-like, perhaps, hereditary nature. Your gaze traces the sweat dripping down his skin, as a gentle sigh leaves your lips, making it hard for you to look back up.

You don’t try to make your presence known, the sound of your steps remaining almost entirely silent, for even your slightest movement echoes through his awareness. He turns around before you reach him, his long hair sticking out from under the bandana.

“Princessa”, - his deep voice greets you.

“John”, - you playfully reply, watching his eyes wash over your silhouette, while you take one more step.

“Skuchala po mne [missed me]?”, - his calloused palm makes contact with the exposed skin below your silk bralette, hiding under unbuttoned oversized linen dress shirt. His fingers snake around your waist, urging you to move closer, slightly dipping under the waistband of your linen shorts. A shiver across your skin doesn’t escape his attentive gaze, a smirk quirking the corners of his mouth up. You look into his eyes, as you feel his hand brush against your back gently, the same fingers that were just holding a weapon, now playing a dirty game against you.

“Vsegda [always]”, - you tease back, your irises catching the way John smiles when you stand on your tippy toes to kiss him, as he melts into your lips, meeting you half way. The scales of gentle and sweet is something you’re unable to control anymore, for the tender anxiety in your heart flutters away with the wings of passionate fire that is the reflection of him.

One of your hands finds its place at the back of his neck, pulling him into you, which he eagerly complies to, as if pouring all the adrenaline of the practice shooting onto your tongue. You gently trail your fingers down his spine, as you break away from his devilish lips, a sly smirk that is a mirror of his, appearing on your features when he lifts you up, walking to the tent, and puts you at the edge of a poolside bed that actually looks like it belongs in a bedroom.

You calmly stare into the abyss of his dark eyes, your chest filled with the scent of excitement and your own game that quickly escalates to something entirely else the longer you hold eye contact. A different kind of heat knocks on your heart, opening doors to a more subliminal feeling. The type of warmth produced not by the midday sunlight, but by the golden hour sun, its muted colors appearing the brightest only for a slight sight, before its remnants reveal their beauty along the way of one’s attention.

His eyebrows twitch, while his eyes search yours.

“Opasnaya igra, malyshka [it’s a dangerous game, babygirl]”, - John says in a raspy voice, seeing the way you let him read you, akin to an open book with no secrets.

“Rasve ya dolzhna boyatsa [why, should I be afraid?” - your hand grazes his cheek, as a feeling that is bigger than your heart settles down in your chest, upon relishing the way he’s sitting in front of you on his knees, looking up at you, as if you’re God’s greatest creation. The fear and sense of uncertainty long forsaken in the tangled forest of what’s left behind.

“No”, - he tells you, his hands on your thighs, “if that’s what you wish for”. A moment passes in between the eternity that stretches across your souls.

“I don’t think I’ve ever hugged you, have I?”, you tell him, suddenly, his fingers freeze in their place. John’s eyes go blank for a split second, before another emotion replaces it, something deep and so raw, your heart almost explodes. An emotion that is swept away by the ever flowing current when his irises go back to that same deep shade of darkness that is the palette of his whirlpool.

“Come here”, you tell him, your hand gently tugging at him. A shallow breath of his doesn’t dissolve away unnoticed, as you get up and switch positions, him - sitting on the bed, you - standing in between his legs, holding his face and stroking his sharp cheekbones. There’s no sense of reality anymore, just his black chocolate eyes, looking up with the devotion of a man found. Time stood still, its heartbeat paving the way just for you two.

You feel him slowly moving closer, as if testing the limits of his own game of chess, before he nuzzles into you. You wrap your arms around him, patting him with all the gentle love you can master, as if not to break a wounded child. Gradually, you sense his calmness unravel itself when his body melts into yours, drinking every bit of peace that you generously get to offer.

A tear rolls down your cheek, the space around you collapsing on itself and blossoming into an eternal tangible softness that revolves around you and John.

John sighs, pulling you closer, letting every piece of your ethereal gentleness and love that is the reflection of you seep into him, beyond the subliminal, into the deepest infinity of his oblivion that is the code of his own sense of self.

Treedaddymcpuffpuff:

You wake up with a startled gasp, giving Killy the same little fright. She runs away, bells dangling at her neck, the sound fading underneath the bed where she hides from you.

“Killy,” you groan, “I’m sorry, come back.” You wish you could actually tell her in some way you didn’t mean to scare the shit out of her, but it’s too late. And Constantine is gone, too. There’s a little note on the stand. Something about having to run out for a while on a job.

It’s around noon. Your black out curtains can’t contain all of the leaking sunshine, so you decide to follow that biological clock that runs deep and get up. John isn’t here, either, and Tex is snoring on the couch.

“Tex,” you whisper, nudging him a little bit.

His groggy voice sends a pang of reminiscent longing through you. “Hey, honeypie.” He fades out a little bit, and you have to tug on his arm. “You’re snoring,” you tell him, trying to get another pillow under his head to elevate him. “You don’t snore. Sit up a little bit.” You’re worried that he’s not getting proper oxygen while he’s sleeping because of his recent brush with death, so you use most of your weight and a little bit of his to sit him up and lessen the deep rattle of his throat.

“C’mon,” he lays a big arm around your shoulders, tugging your upper torso down against him. “Lay with daddy, huh?”

You push against him. “Tex, you freaking weirdo, lemme go.” The temptation is definitely there, to crawl on top of him and snuggle in, but you’ve already committed to waking up and doing something on this lazy weekend day, so you squirm out of his heavy grip.

He goes back to sleep with a big, satisfied smile on his face. You resist, with all your might, leaning down to kiss his cheek. Adorable fucking idiot.

You make scrambled eggs, plate some for Tex, and leave them in the fridge for when he wakes up. Then, you get a piece of paper, write SCRAMBLED EGGS on it in big letters, and set it on his now peacefully rising chest.

It’s beautiful out here today, sunny with a tropic, warm breeze that reminds you of beachy days with John and Tex. Although the beach is about 30 minutes away by bus, you hop on with a little bag in tow, sporting cute cotton capris and a flowy tank top over your swim suit.

You spend a few hours at the beach, walking up and down the sand, looking at shells, playing in waves and watching the surfers board out past the break. There’s a little food and drink stand nearby, and you packed plenty of sunscreen, so you can stay out as long as you like.

You enjoy this as long as you can, because you have classes coming up and know you won’t get the free time again until next weekend.

You feel free-untethered. Able to go anywhere and do anything without anyone holding you down. There was such a long time, where you didn’t have that freedom. Over half your life, probably, between childhood and witness protection, where you were trapped. And, now that you have a taste of independence, you’ll never stop injecting it. Of course, with this freedom comes a little emptiness, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. You’ve been lonely before, you’ll be lonely again.

Maybe that’s an absurd thought, when three men are waiting for you at home, and for a minute you feel terribly, achingly guilty about wanting freedom and love, protection, shelter-all at the same time. Sometimes women don’t get any of that let alone one. But then, that’s bullshit, isn’t it? The notion that you have to settle and compromise just because you’re a girl. Maybe you want all three of them-no, not maybe. You do want all three, and your independence. And maybe if testosterone wasn’t such a heavy drug, you could mention that to them. But you can already just see John strangling Constantine with his bare hands and Constantine burning John alive if you even dare to mention them sharing you.

Plus, would you even be able to handle all three of them? John and Constantine themselves are insatiable; Constantine, fueled by ancient magic. John, fueled with physical endurance. Tex would be simpler to please, but he’s a wild card of his own.

A group of surfers ride a wave in to shore, and you watch curiously-maybe even a little bit enviously-as they laugh and joke and splash each other in the pink sinking dawn of the day. One of them-tall, broad shouldered, bronze, the god Poseidon himself rising from the frothy ocean bank-makes eye contact with you and you look away quickly, a hot flush that’s not from the late sun flooding your skin.

“Y/n?” You look to the sound, and see a familiar face among the group of ocean dwellers.

Katrina gives you a little wave while she climbs out of one. You tip your chin at her. “Hey, Trine.” She’s one of your classmates, a good friend and study partner. You had no idea that she surfed.

She introduces you to her little group of friends, and one in particular’s name you know you haven’t forgotten. His grin is stark white against beautiful, salt crusted skin when he takes your hand in his bigger one, warm despite the cool water he just rose from, and shakes it. “We meet again.”

“Hey, we were just gonna go to Bodhi’s house for a party. Wanna come?” Trina pulls you from Johnny, giving you a strange, knowing look. You were absolutely entranced by him, staring way too much, still holding onto his hand, so you understand why she’s a little suspicious.

“You alright?” Johnny asks, bringing you back to him.

“Don’t think so,” you say, feeling like you’re absolutely dying.

Now everyone absolutely notices this strange tension between the two of you, and they seem delighted by it. Bodhi, you think his name is, grabs Johnny’s shoulder and shakes him a little. “Utah, you dog. Close your jaw.”

“Seriously, Johnny, stare a little longer,” Trine grumbles.

“Sorry,” he tells you sheepishly.

“Same,” you reply.

“So, you wanna come?” He asks, motioning to the group. “To the party?”

“I would, but I have to take care of something.”

You propel yourself through the darkening LA streets, the bus system, the crowds of people, the bustle of the city. Keep your eyes ahead, focused, goal driven. The big Bouncer in front of Midnite’s is the only thing that stands in your way to the inner club.

He holds up a card, prompting you. Fuck. You have never come here without John. Probably because he forbid it, but that’s beside the point. You have no idea what to say, so you just do what you’re best at and guess. “Rabbit?”

His facial expression reads “are you fucking kidding me?” All he says is “no.”

“Please. I need to see Midnite. It’s about John Constantine.”

He eyes you for a long while, and then motions for you to sit on the bench in the lobby.

•

“How’s my favorite girl?” Midnite takes a seat beside you. “What kinda shit did Constantine get into this time?”

“it’s actually my shit.”

He laughs. “Tell me about it.”

“No, I mean, really, I think there’s something strange happening, Papa. Everywhere I go, doesn’t matter how far, I see this… guy.”

“You have a spirit following you?” He asks, scanning your body with an open palm, tilting your chin this and that way.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what it is-what he is, but there’s many of them. They all look the same.”

“The same? I’m confused, y/n.”

“They all look like… John Constantine.”

•

“Tex, wake up.” John kicks the couch lightly, alerting the snoring Tex.

“What the fuck.” Tex groans.

“Where’s y/n?”

Constantine has tried to call you ten times, texted you at least twice as much, and still no answer. He’s pacing through the kitchen, hand in his hair, debating on whether or not he should tear down LA to find you. You’re never gone this long, you always keep him updated. This isn’t like you.

He walks into the living room, where Tex and John are looking at the note you left alerting Tex to breakfast.

“You just let her go?” Wick demands of Tex, snatching the slice of paper and tearing it in the process. “When did she leave?”

“Fuck, I didn’t think we were dictating her life anymore,” Tex replies, “she came out here once… I think. It was daylight. I was sleepin. Fuck.”

“She always comes home,” Constantine says, more to himself than the two other men. “It’s almost one AM. We have to find her.”

“Tex, are you able to drive?” Wick asks.

“Yeah.. yeah. I’m good,” Tex nods.

“Take the car, go to her school, her bank, her favorite restaurant. Constantine?” Wick turns to address the still pacing man. “Are you able to try and locate her with some kind of magic?”

“The fuck you think I’m trying to do?” Constantine mumbles, eyes on the floor, hand in his hair, damp sweat gathering on his tshirt.

“Keep doing it. I’m going to look on foot.”

•

Maybe it was a bad idea, to drink with Midnite. Not because of him. The morally grey, powerful voodoo master has never been anything but good to you despite his wavering tolerance for Constantine, and he stays by your side diligently while you both sip on steaming, sweetened cocktails.

No, it’s a bad idea because of the shady characters lurking around you and making you feel a little like you just stepped into Mickey’s House of Villians. The lady with purple, slithery tentacles attached to her just seals the deal on that.

Midnite flips over your other divination card, the gold foils of it catching a rogue neon light and flashing bright in your eyes, before you see what it holds; 10 of spiders. “Something is tightly attached to you, something that draws dark energy. I could see it when we first met, you know. Just like the curse on Texs’ chest made him vulnerable to the wicked dark, you have naturally.”

“I’m so confused. Why?” Your words come out a little slurred, and you realize you’ve been hitting the tap too hard. This is your fifth… fourth cocktail? You’re not sure anymore. “Am I in danger?”

He looks at you with a bit of pity in his fathomless dark eyes, like he doesn’t know what to do for you. Like you’re fucked. “Always.”

Before he can elaborate, give you a warning or message, something, a heavy commotion picks up at the front entrance. Glass smashing, screaming, pounding on something metal and floppy. Midnite sighs and puts his hand on your shoulder. “Stay here. I have to deal with this.”

You ask the bartender for a glass of water to help nurse and coat the alcohol sloshing inside of you and making you pleasantly numb and prickly, and try to ignore the other patrons of the club. Kind of hard when one of them, one you very well recognize, takes the stool beside you.

“Where’s your tall friend?” The succubus asks, those bleach pink eyes doing strange, unearthly things in their sockets; changing shape, reflecting colors that usually don’t exist, sliding from side to side rapidly.

“He’s taken,” you tell her, not bothering to hide the scowl on your face.

“Really?” She asks, voice unnaturally low and seductive, titling her head. “Because I could feel the desperation on him from a league away. Most taken men with that kind of need aren’t satisfied at all.”

“I’m not entertaining this conversation,” you tell her. You remember all the anger you felt toward her after she tried to pull Tex away, and wonder where it is now that you need it. Instead, there is a dull, needy, perplexing throb beginning in your lower belly. It’s a strange way to feel arousal, but unmistakable nonetheless. Usually, all libidinous feelings begin in your brain and trickle downward, but this feeling is severed from your mind, spreading through only your lower body and making you twitch and writhe in the seat.

She grins with sharp little bone white teeth. “Interesting.”

You try and open your mouth, tell her to fuck off, but she reaches over and touches your cheek, and any words you could have said die in your throat.

Replacing speech and sense and sight, is a burly heat that rips through you. A desire like you’ve never felt. A claw-your-skin-off, teeth clenching need to be fucked. Debauched. Ruined.

An inner beast guides your way, now, and she’s hungry for cock. Luckily, there’s some place you can get it. Unluckily, it’s a few bus rides away. And you can’t fucking last that long, that’s for sure.

gif from pinterest

You stand up, make for the door, and run into something solid and familiar and warm. Just seeing his angled face make your clit tighten painfully, your cunt flutter around nothing. You jump him. He can fucking take it, and he does, handling you like a champ while you claw up his body and latch onto his mouth with your own.

John Wick doesn’t stop you. Maybe it’s the vicious arousal leaking off you that infects him, too. Or maybe it’s because he missed you, needed you that bad. Either way, he’s kissing you back, picking you up, walking you toward the nearest private place to fuck in, hopefully….

#wicked johnson fic #john wick x reader #tex johnson x reader #constantine x reader #with hon mention #johnny utah x reader #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #keanu reeves x reader #john wick #constantine 2005 #tex johnson #johnny utah #john constantine #john constantine x you

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