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laughing-with-god · 6 months

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Unsaid Vow I

(This is the first 1.7k of the 10k chapter that is available right now on my Patreon. Please join for early access plus beta content!)

Synopsis: You always knew when you weren't wanted. And the way things are going in your marriage with Jungkook, a divorce is looking more and more likely. While he's getting closer to a woman at work that you're certain he's having an affair with, you're planning your escape with your four-year-old son. However, five years of marriage did not expose you to a certain side of your husband. A side of Jungkook that only gets triggered when you try to leave and break apart your perfect 'family'.

Warnings: Yandere behavior, graphic language, violence/murder, women bashing on other women, heavily implied infidelity, bad parenting, absent father, broken family vibes, very slow buildup bc Jungkook doesn't really snap until you leave him so just give him a min lol, inexperienced author writing for a five-year-old.

Also looking for new fic art for this if anyone's interested!!

Read first: Prologue

“I’m a grown man.”

These were the words that greeted you and effectively pulled you out of your weary slumber.

You drowsily rubbed your eyes and rolled over, yawning as you took in the sight of your son staring at you bemusedly from beside your bed.

If you weren’t used to this behavior from Hugo already, you perhaps would've screamed at the sudden creepy sight of a child with a solemn expression saying odd things to you before the sun has even risen. Yet, you have grown accustomed to the old man your toddler was.

“Good morning to you too, bud.” You groaned tiredly, already searching your thick bedding for your phone in order to check the time. Your alarm hadn’t even gone off yet, which told you it was earlier than you had originally planned to wake up. But what was the point of having plans when you had a child? They had a talent for ruining them.

“I’m five today.” Hugo ignored your greeting, getting right into the point with furrowed brows as he held up all five fingers, each one representing a year of his life.

“Yup, I know dumpling.” You chuckled, finally pulling out your phone and opening it to see ‘6:03 am” staring back at you. “Believe it or not, the day you were born was quite memorable for me too.”

You cringed as you thought of the 20 hour labor that preceded Hugo’s birth. How could you ever forget that hellish day?

“Mom, it’s my birthday.” Hugo told you, tone serious as a heart attack.

“Yes, happy birthday love.” You smiled at your son, trying not to let him see the exhaustion you secretly felt. “I suppose there’s no way I can talk you into going back to bed for another hour or so?”

“No. You always say ‘the day starts when I first open my eyes in the morning”. Your son parroted the saying back to you with a proud grin.

Hugo once went through a phase where he wouldn’t want to leave the bed after waking up, simply wanting to stay in pj’s all day long and watch cartoons amongst his stuffies.

It took a while to get your little homebody to actually stop this habit and begin getting up to ready himself for the day whenever he woke up. You used to tell him that the day starts whenever he opens his eyes in the morning, however on days like these where he wakes up super early, he now does not see the point in lying in.

“Right, that is a good point.” You softly relented, mentally scolding yourself for yet another parenting tactic backfired. “How does some breakfast sound?”

“Mom, I have a prop-pre-preposaa-”

“Proposal?” You offered, swinging your legs off the side of your bed.

“Yeah, that.” Hugo nodded to himself, most likely taking note of the proper pronunciation of the word so he can use it again in conversation. “I think it’s time we talk about coffee.”

“Coffee?”

“You and daddy are always saying that coffee is for grownups. Today I’m five, which means I’m older, which means I should be able to have coffee.” Hugo reasoned this to you while twiddling his thumbs, a nervous habit he does when he wants you to say yes to something he knows is unrealistic.

“Mmm...” You hummed, pretending to think hard about the offer. “What if I gave you a very light coffee? A beginner version to get you ready for the real thing when you’re older?”

Hugo looked conflicted, but after reading your face and correctly assuming that’s the best he was going to get, he nodded solemnly in reluctant agreement.

With one final huff you shoved yourself off the king sized bed, standing to your full height and throwing your arms up in a stretch. “Why don’t you wait in the living room for me bud? I’ll be right out.”

The freshly turned five year old happily nodded up at you before exiting your bedroom, leaving you alone once again.

You turned your attention back to the bed in which you just rose out of. More particularly, you stared at the other side of the bed, the side in which your husband was supposed to sleep on.

It was a direct opposite of your messy side, crisp and neatly made; the fluffy pillows, pressed sheets and silk duvet being perfectly in place. Yet, this wasn’t an ode to Jungkook’s neatness and attention to detail.

No.

Jungkook hasn’t been sleeping in the same bed as you for a while now.

Your husband always preferred to rise early, given he was a man who liked to follow a strict morning regime which could easily be thrown off if he slept in even a minute later. Up at 5:30. teeth brushed and face shaved by 5:40. Breakfast, coffee and newspaper consumed by 6:00.

Then right before taking his leave, Jungkook would pack himself a bag of work clothes and make a quick protein shake, given he would then head to the gym where he would get his morning workout and shower from. Then from the gym, he would head straight to work.

A few months ago, he suggested sleeping in the guest room.

You had asked why, bewildered at the request.

Sure, you two didn’t really cuddle anymore. Sex was also rare. But you figured that the least you could do as husband and wife was sleep in the same bed amicably. Had you started kicking him in your sleep or something?

“I’d notice you begin to kinda stir when I first get up and go about my routine. I don’t want to wake you up or be a bother.” He had said.

That didn’t really make sense to you.

You have always been a deep sleeper. And even if you did wake up for a second, you’d clearly see your husband getting ready for the day, roll over and go back to sleep.

It was such a lame excuse, you just shrugged and bitterly told him that he hogged the blankets anyway.

It wasn’t true, but Jungkook didn’t comment.

You trudged over to the ensuite bathroom and quickly did your morning routine.

When you came out of your room and into the living space, you saw Hugo glued to the giant flat screen in a trance-like state as he watched his usual morning cartoons. The sight tugged a small smile out of you, although the mother in you didn’t like how close he was.

“Hugo, back up from the screen! Bluey isn’t going anywhere. Your eyes will go bad.” Your son wordlessly obliged and scooted back, not breaking eye contact with his favorite family of puppies. “What would you like for breakfast ‘Mr. grown man’?”

“Blueberry pancakes…and don’t forget my coffee!”

“You got it, birthday boy.”

The kitchen, dining and living room were open concept, so you multi-tasked watching Hugo while whipping up his breakfast. You never were much of a cook and you still aren’t even after motherhood, but you did commit to learning your son’s favorite dishes.

The process was over quickly, you having made this recipe countless times and knowing it like the back of your hand.

You set a plate on the island table, calling Hugo over while you secretly mixed some instant hot chocolate in a mug.

The five year old jumped up and grinned at the meal, saying a quick “thank you” before digging in with all the grace a five year old could possibly have.

“And of course, your coffee.” You tried not to smile as you handed him the cup.

“Thanks mama.”

The mini-Jungkook took a gulp, then stared seriously at the contents of the mug, swishing it around in some faux detective work.

“Something wrong, dumpling?”

“It tastes…fa-fam-”

“Familiar?”

“Yes. Is coffee always this sweet?”

You laughed, now moving to the real coffee maker to make your own cup. “No, this is the kid version. It might taste like chocolate because chocolate has caffeine in it too.”

Your little old man huffed to himself but nodded in agreement, simply not knowing enough to dispute your logic.

Your old coffeemaker grumbled awake, croaking and hissing as you pressed the worn-out buttons for your usual morning brew. Jungkook always made fun of you for the ancient machine, but even after he had bought a much more expensive and up-to-date one, you stubbornly remained loyal to yours.

“So buddy, what do you want to do today? We can go get new books, hit up the toy store, maybe even visit the aquarium?”

“I wanna help set up for my party, mommy.”

Well, “party” wasn’t quite the right word for it.

Hugo had no friends. It was tough for a kid like him to make any. At this age and as a boy, most of his peers would meet and form relationships in little league or rough housing at the local park.

Your son was different. He preferred reading to sports, hated the outdoors and was generally a shy kid who tended to tear up when anyone other than his family tried speaking to him.

So this year, his birthday party was an intimate circle of family and family friends. You hoped that by next year you could host an actual kid birthday party, as Hugo would be in school and have classmates by then.

“That’s very sweet of you, but there’s time to do both.” The boy looked at you skeptically. “We can go to the bookstore across the street after breakfast and I’ll let you pick out some new bedtime stories. Then we can go to the aquarium and have lunch there. And on our way home I’ll stop by the store to get some stuff for the party, and you can get a toy. Sounds good?”

Hugo frowned, then peeled back his pajama sleeve to look at his submarine-themed watch. The act seemed a little pretentious to you, given he didn’t yet know how to read clocks.

“Fine mommy, but we should be quick. Also you need to ask our guests if they have any food aler-alergeez-”

“Allergies? Yes bud, I’ll be sure to send them a text.” You rolled your eyes.

With that, Hugo quietly finished his breakfast as you sipped your coffee.

When you two were done, you both got dressed and ready for the day’s activities.

Before leaving the apartment, you were sure to send a text to your husband.

‘Be home by 6 please. Hugo’s birthday party starts at 6:30 and he needs you there.’

#yandere jungkook #bts #yandere bts #jeon jungguk #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #yandere bts fic #yandere imagines #bangtan boys #bts x reader

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always-andromeda · 30 days

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𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐧

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟡ Joel Miller x F!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⟡ 1182

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⟡ Once upon a time, Joel Miller was the love of your life. Life, however, got in the way.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⟡ I got to write this piece for @beskarandblasters's Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge. This song is one of my favorites off of Folklore and so I was immediately inspired by the prompt!! I highly recommend taking a look at the rest of the challenge masterlist too and sending the other creators on there some love!! Gorgeous divider by @saradika-graphics!!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⟡ smut (minors, do not interact), nipple play, fingering, pet names, reader has no physical description aside from being afab and able-bodied, spans from pre-outbreak to post-outbreak, mentions of guns, bits and pieces of angst, let me know if I need to add anything else!

Your youth was defined by Joel Miller. All of those delicate parts of yourself that you pretended not to see…he stared straight into the eye of the storm and protected the fragility within it. The most important thing about Joel: he was patient. To an almost frustrating degree.

He taught you how to drive with the stick shift in his beat up pickup truck. Afterwards, he showed you how to kiss properly. His hand cupping the back of your neck, he gazed at you through his lashes and asked if it was okay to kiss you. His voice smooth like molasses, you had no choice but to nod before immediately pressing your lips to his.

Even back then, Joel was a working man. His hands were rough with calluses, his mouth was filthy, and he put them both to good use. As he laid you across the bench seat of his truck, somewhere deep in your belly, you believed you could trust him.

You supposed it was exciting for him, showing you how things were done. How a man could really use his hands to tell a woman exactly how he felt. The best Joel’s words could do came in the form of his sweet pet names.

Darlin’. Pretty girl. Baby. Honey.

Each of them wrapped up in his velvety tone and delivered specially for you. Sure, he spoiled you, but you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

On your twenty-first birthday, he was there for your first drink. He slowly nursed his beer, making sure to keep a level head as you danced around the bar. No matter how hard you attempted to throw yourself at him, he kept his hands to himself. And as soon as you started to get sleepy he drove you home and tucked you in before passing out on your living room couch.

The morning after he was teaching you even more. How to handle a hangover. How Joel sounded rasping, “Happy birthday, honey,” against the column of your throat. How to come with just his hands on your tits.

The trick was a nice, slow buildup. He’d pinch and pull at a nipple before leaning down to press kisses to it. You’d gasp as his teeth grazed your skin ever so slightly and a laugh would rumble through his own chest. Your cunt wept so badly it ached. Still, Joel refused to pay it any mind. Not until he had you whimpering and writhing beneath him.

Even as he was breaking your heart, it was slow; it was painful.

When he told you that he’d gotten another girl pregnant, you almost didn’t believe it. Sure he teased you, but this was a step too far. That was the first time you caught him deliberately averting your gaze. The second you detected that shame, you wanted to scream at him.

You’d never known him to be shy around other girls. But you’d also never known him to be so careless. That pristine picture you had of him was gone in an instant.

The second it was said, you retreated. Or you were discarded. You’d never been able to remember who was the last one to call the other only to be met with an answering machine. You suppose it didn’t really matter anymore.

Years passed and soon those memories turned into mementoes of an entirely different world overnight.

There have been many lovers since then; none as kind as he had been once upon a time. Then again, if Joel was still alive, he was most likely just as rough around the edges as any of the men you’d been with. In fact, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of him once since those days. You felt his calluses on every man’s hands, his thick fingers filling you, his stubble prickling your neck. Those men taught you many new things. The first being that patience wasn’t owed to anyone in a world where you could wake up dead. The second? Perhaps you didn’t want patience anymore.

After all, what had patience ever given you? When the world fell apart you got fuck all from simply waiting around for something to happen. You’d rather be torn apart by a clicker than get herded into a QZ where you’d scrounge for rations.

The first chance you got, you claimed a spot in a nomadic group. You did what you had to in order to prove your worth. The first time you shot a gun, as the smell of gunpowder filled your nostrils, you thought of Joel again. Tried to imagine him at your shoulder, chuckling and then muttering under his breath, “Dadgum, girl. Not bad.”

Every single time you managed to take out one of those infected, you heard that smooth voice of his. It was equal parts frustrating and…comforting. Frustrating in that he had managed to linger this long. But also frustrating in the sense that that version of him no longer existed, if it ever did to begin with. It was like you’d never really left behind him, his honeyed words, his skilled hands, or his goddamn pickup. Joel Miller just…had a way of hanging over you.

Jackson was a welcome reprieve from that cloud of grief. You were stubborn to the charms of that commune. You’d trusted more promising things before and been burned.

Those years really flew by. Old wounds finally began to close. With each passing kindness, it became easier to live again. For once home felt like a place you could tangibly hold instead of some far off fantasy.

You were so content that by the time Tommy showed up one spring, you only saw it as a blessing. He was alive, goddamnit. It didn’t matter that his dark eyes were damn near the same shade as his brother’s. And it didn’t matter that the twang of Texas still lingered on his tongue. You simply told yourself what you’d been telling yourself for years.

Joel was just a man. A man who thought that because you were young, he had some sort of claim over your heart. His heart had never belonged to you. More importantly, yours hadn’t belonged to him. He made his mark and you’d paid your dues in heartache. That was all.

Which is why it felt all the more haunting when he showed up on your porch.

A little over three decades later and Joel’s right there in the flesh. Even with the town buzzing about his arrival, you suppressed any notion that he’d pay you a visit. But now he steps forward into the porch light and through the fog of his breath in the cold air, you catch how much he’s changed. He’s almost nothing like you remember. Silver dappled stubble, pursed lips, forehead wrinkling as he furrows his brow.

The expression falls as soon as he sees you. The crinkles by his eyes relax as his gaze softens. Just like it used to so long ago.

Yet you swear he hasn’t changed a lick when he finally speaks.

“Hey there, darlin’.”

#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #the last of us fanfic #the last of us hbo fanfic

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ickadori · 11 days

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okay clearly i need to be detained and kept away from ur inbox 😭

But hsjsjjs i have an interview at the end of this week that I've been preparing for and i can imagine calling up fwb sukuna to get some jitters out bc u know he can fuck ur head empty and clear of anxiety but when u get there for some reason it's different???? Like instead of calling you a nasty bitch slut hes like "arent you such a good girl? Yeah? My good fucking girl" and kinda praising you, albeit mockingly, instead of his usual degrading and it has you cumming soooo hard. And then the next day he shows up and ur like fuck off kuna im busy and he's like duh? Get in. And he drops u to ur interview and ur like ??? Bc u dont even remember telling him but he's already had the address memorized for over a week now. Ahhhh and probably holds ur hand in his lap bc u keep fidgeting on the way and he complains that its distracting him and hes so sexy driving and mindlessly rubbing his thumb on ur hand AHHHHHHH IM IN SO DEEP DORI HELP 😭

choso bbg anon (my true identity)

[cws] fem reader.

[a/n] GOODLUCK AT YOUR INTERVIEW IM SURE YOULL DO GREAT!!!! i really hope you get it 🥹🥹🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

It’s…different.

You had first noticed it when you opened the front door to your apartment and let the man in. Instead of his usual roughness, a push against the wall and the unforgiving pinch of his teeth against your neck, he was…different.

He had smiled -a ghost of one, but one nonetheless-, curled an arm around your lower back to tug you up against him, and had pressed his lips to your temple and murmured a ‘hey’ against your skin.

You had been nearly tempted to pull out a list of questions to make sure a clone hadn’t taken his place.

When Sukuna made a detour to your place, there was always minimal talking in the beginning. You usually made a beeline to the bedroom, or the living room if the urge was especially strong, but he had steered you to the kitchen first and plopped a takeout bag on the counter.

“You brought…food.”

“Oh, she does have a brain. Was starting to think all that was in that head was thoughts about my dick.”

“Go to hell.”

The both of you had eaten dinner together, something that you offhandedly thought about doing with him quite a few times, but you could never get him to stay past the post-sex shower. You had wondered if it would be awkward trying to hold a conversation with him past exchanging breathless compliments about each other’s genitals, but it had been so easy. The topics came easily, naturally, and the lulls in conversation weren’t uncomfortable, but rather you found yourself content in the silence.

The buildup to the sex was also different — great, but different. His usual groping and squeezing was traded in for softer touches (as soft as someone like Sukuna could be), his dirty talk which consisted of name calling and guttural groans and growls swapped out for…

Your cheeks burn as his eyes refuse to stray from your face, thumb moving in slow circles over your clit. His finger is rough, calloused from years of use, and the texture of it against your smooth, silken bud has you squirming underneath his touch and gasping for breath.

“Ryo,” you manage, heels of your feet digging into the mattress as shaky hands raise to weakly push at his wrist.

“Sensitive,” he mutters, lips stretching into that grin of his, and you keen when he presses down hard, his free hand moving to press down on your thigh when it moves to close. “Aht aht, be my good girl and keep these legs open.” You clench around nothing, heart stuttering and lashes fluttering as you finally meet his gaze. “You like that?” His voice is a raspy drawl, lips still wet from where they had been kissing at your cunt minutes prior.

“N-no.”

“Tch, ‘s not nice to lie.” His thumb slides lower, through puffy folds and down to your hole before pushing in. A squelch sounds, a mix of his cum and your slick dribbling out. “But your pussy always tells the truth.” You tighten around his finger with a moan. “She’s my good girl.” His head ducks down, and you keen as he places a loud, wet kiss against your clit, eyes never once leaving yours. “Isn’t she?” ‘She’ tightens in response, and your skin burns as he lets out a throaty laugh, thumb pulling out and replaced with his pointer and middle.

“Ryomen!”

You hop around on one foot as you fight to pull your shoe on. Your interview was in an hour minutes and the building was 30 minutes away and you had yet to locate your car keys, button your top, or even finish combing your hair.

“Where the fuck are you?” You dash here and there, flipping this and turning that while simultaneously putting your hair in a presentable style when suddenly there’s a hard knock at the door. “Fuck off.” You ignore it, not caring who’s on the other side, and start the process of turning your apartment inside out as you grow more and more stressed.

Where are those damn ke—

Another knock, harder, and your jaw clenches as you make a beeline for the door, unlock it, and wrench it open. “Who the—Ryomen?” You blink, eyebrows furrowing as you look at him stood on your doorstep. “I didn’t call you.”

“I know.”

“…you’re here.”

“I am.”

“Why?” He jingles his car keys, and you scoff and narrow your eyes. “I’m not fucking you in your car, especially not after you got pissy about me messing up the interior last time. So you might as well take your ass—”

“Get your shit and let’s go. Your interview is in forty.”

“I know, I’m—what? How do you know about my interview?” The last you checked, Sukuna didn’t follow you on any social media, and you can’t recall ever posting about it anyways.

“You told me, dumbass. Let’s go.” He nods his head to the side, and you’re left stumped as you go about collecting the rest of your stuff, Sukuna not so silently judging your torn apart apartment, and you’re seated in his passengers seat in no time as he weaves in and out of traffic.

“Something isn’t right.” You finally speak up after the fifth person has blared their horn at him.

“You left something.”

“No,” your hand lifts up to rub at your cheek. “I’m talking about this,” you gesture around his car and to him. “You. Why are you driving me to my interview? Why do you even know I have an interview?”

“You told me.” His fingers drum against the steering wheel, the other hand gripping the back of your headrest. It’s an undeniably sexy position on him, and you’d usually gladly take in the scenery, perhaps even convince him to pull over somewhere more secluded. “Last week when you were begging me to stay over after I put a finger in your—”

“I did not beg you to stay over. Do not lie, Sukuna.”

“Sukuna?” His eyes cut to you before moving back to the road.

“Yes, Sukuna. That’s your name, isn’t it?” He hums, foot tapping hard against the break, and you huff when you snap forward before your seatbelt locks into place.

“I thought it was Ryo.” He makes a poor mockery of your blissed out voice, and you just barely resist the urge to hit his arm. He makes a right turn, open palm turning the wheel to the side before letting it roll back into place. You breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.

You catch sight of the clock on the dash and let out another breath, this one shakier than the last. Your interview grows nearer and nearer, and while you’re not an especially nervous person, you feel a bit more anxious than usual. You had been preparing all week, brushing up on interview questions and trying to think of things they could potentially ask you. You were as ready as you’d ever be, and yet you still felt as if you weren’t ready at all.

Your hand subconsciously moves to pick at some poor spot on your body, but it’s snagged at the last second and held in a firm grip. You look to Sukuna and then down to where he’s got your hand on his thigh, that thumb of his tracing invisible lines on your skin.

He doesn’t speak and neither do you, and the silence is comfortable.

He gets you there on time with a bit left to spare, and he’s waiting for you when you get out, sitting on the hood of his car with his phone up to his ear. He hangs up when he catches sight of you, eyebrow quirking up as he watches you walk up to him. You stop in front of him, and he snags you by the belt loop and pulls you between his legs.

“Well?” He asks, and you slip your hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“Well?”

“Stop.” He pinches at your waist and you try and fail to bite back a laugh. “Did you get it or not?” A slow grin breaks out onto your face as you nod, and he matches it. “That’s my girl.”

Oh.

You turn your head as your ears burn, suddenly finding the pavement incredibly interesting. “Y-Yeah, they said they don’t usually hire on the spot, but they really liked me, so…” Your eyes flit to his, and you pull your lip into your mouth when you see he’s intently watching you.

“I’m not surprised.”

“That they hired me?”

“That they liked you.”

His gaze drops down to your mouth.

“…can we go back to your place now?”

#sukuna x reader #++ choso bbg anon #bless you and your brain 🥲 it has helped me out a millennium long drought

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happy74827 · 17 days

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A New Moon

[Dexter Morgan x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Despite his gut telling him he shouldn’t, Dexter can’t help but fall deeper into the trap of his own emotions. And the more time he spends with you, the more he starts to realize what exactly those emotions are. {GIF Creds: beautifulguycollector}

WC: 2889

Category: Slight Lime/Spice, Friends to Lovers + Forbidden Love (if you squint) Tropes

Gotta keep this fandom alive somehow 🥲 (also… why are titles so hard to write? That and the synopsis are harder to write than the actual fic)

『••✎••』

You were too good for him. Plain and simple. You were a smart, beautiful, hard-working woman who had goals and dreams. He was a cold-blooded killer. Not to say that he hadn't been there for you, though. The two of you had been friends since… well, a while. A long while.

He couldn't quite pinpoint the moment he started to notice the changes in your relationship. It was a slow, subtle buildup, and the first time you called him your friend, Dexter thought nothing of it. The second time, it made him pause, but not enough for him to consider what the implications of you saying that to him could mean.

But when you said it again and again and again, he realized the meaning behind your words, the affection they held. Dexter couldn't say that he was particularly close to many people. There were a select few he'd consider his friends, but he wasn’t emotionally invested in any of them. And he didn't think he was invested in you, either.

But maybe he was.

Debs was different, and it made him question how much he was supposed to care about someone. But that was his sister, the one person in the world who loved him unconditionally. That reason alone made his relationship with Deb unique. He was sure of that.

The same went with Brian—his brother, as it turned out. And Harrison, his son. Dexter felt things for those people, but they were different. Those were family, the people he was genetically tied to. Of course, he would care about them.

But you weren't family, and yet he still cared about you. It was a different kind of caring. And it was confusing. Harry was right, after all. He didn't feel. Dexter had convinced himself for years that he was a high-functioning sociopath, but lately…

Lately, he was beginning to question if that was true. Simple glances from you could bring an unwelcome smile to his lips. And when he heard the sound of your voice, he could feel his chest warm. It was a nice feeling, something he'd only experienced briefly with Rita. But then, that relationship was different too.

It was hard to put his finger on it, but being with you was just… easy. And it didn't feel like work. There was no pretending. Dexter didn't have to act when he was around you. He didn't need to try to be someone he wasn't. It was the real him.

It was terrifying.

Because now, as he sat on your couch, watching as you moved gracefully around your small apartment, the feeling was back, and he didn't know how to deal with it.

He should have been home with Harrison, but the little boy was staying over at Debra’s tonight, so he didn't have any responsibilities. The passenger within him didn’t see it as a problem either, considering he’d just recently “disposed" his latest target.

It was nice, Dexter decided, to relax every once in a while. Work and family didn't give him a lot of opportunities to do so, and now that the two were temporarily taken care of, he felt he deserved to be lazy for a bit.

You didn’t have a TV in your living room, so the two of you settled for movies. Dexter didn’t really have a preference for them. He could watch a comedy, action, drama, or horror and not feel strongly for or against any of them.

Apparently, you didn't mind what he watched either because he could see the spark of excitement in your eyes when you pulled out the case for one of the worst comedy films Dexter had ever seen.

He'd seen it before. Not with you, one of the movies Vince shoved down his throat when he planned a night out with him, Angel, and Quinn.

It wasn't his favorite, not by a long shot, but the grin on your face and the way you eagerly skipped to the DVD player, set the disk inside, and closed the hatch made him bite his tongue.

Dexter had learned a long time ago that you were a very expressive person. And even though most of the time your feelings weren't displayed on your face, your eyes told another story. Such opposites to his own, Dexter often found himself fascinated by the light they held.

You had a passion for life that was rare, and it drew him in. It was a quality he lacked, and he could see it in everything you did. Whether it was talking about the newest book you read or making coffee, you put all of yourself into your actions.

It was something that Dexter had never understood. How could you have such a strong sense of self? Didn't it get tiring, having to live up to a standard of being so… so good?

But then again, you'd always been better than him. He might’ve been smarter in some regards, but what was smart if it didn't come from a place of morality? You were better, purer than him. He knew it, and everyone else did, too, even if they weren’t aware of how pure he wasn’t

That's why this was so wrong. This thing that had been going on for the past couple of months between the two of you. The subtle touches, the longing stares, the late-night calls. It was all wrong.

You were similar to Rita in some ways. You were kind and compassionate, always looking for the good in others. You had a knack for taking care of people, whether they needed it or not.

Dexter could tell that was your nature, and it was one of the things that initially attracted him to you. All the things he lacked, you had. But that didn't mean that you could replace Rita. He didn’t want you to.

And that was the difference. While he may have found qualities in you that resembled the ones he'd found in Rita, you were not her. Rita was gone, and it was his fault. She didn’t deserve to die, and yet she did. She deserved to grow old, to see Harrison grow up.

She deserved better.

The same went for you. You didn’t deserve a monster like him. The more he thought about it, the more he came to the conclusion that he should stay away. It was for the best of both of you.

And yet he was here. On your couch, watching a shitty movie and drinking the beer you'd offered him. Because, despite his efforts, he couldn't keep his distance from you.

He should've known. When it came to you, Dexter didn't have a choice.

His gaze drifted over to your form as you sat down beside him. You were smiling, your eyes bright and focused on the television. A lock of hair fell across your face, and you pushed it back, the sleeve of your hoodie falling down slightly.

Dexter had never been so tempted to reach out and touch someone in his life.

It was a feeling that had been creeping up on him the last few weeks, and now, sitting with you, watching a bad movie, it was at an all-time high. He'd never craved intimacy. But there was something about you, a pull that he couldn't deny.

It gave him a sick feeling in his stomach. Reminded him of that need with Lila. God, Lila. What a mess that had turned out to be. Another thing to add to his growing list of mistakes.

And yet, the longer he stared, the more he found himself leaning forward. He didn’t register what he was doing until his lips were a hair width away from yours.

You froze but didn't move away. The only indication that you were startled was the widening of your eyes. They bore into his, unflinching. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He was scared. Scared? Yes. That was what he was feeling. Why? He didn't know. Fear was new. It was a feeling reserved for Deb and sometimes his son, but even then, it was different.

But as Dexter gazed at you, so close and so beautiful, the fear melted away. It was replaced by a warmth that he was quickly becoming familiar with. It made his body thrum and his blood rush. It made him feel alive.

You were the first one to make a move. Well, not really a move, just the smallest shift forward, and then you were breathing the same air as him. You weren't kissing. You were just… waiting. Waiting for him to make the final move.

It was like an unspoken rule between the two of you, the power dynamic. He was the dominant one, and you were the submissive. You had never fought against it. You were a people pleaser, and he knew that.

It was one of the reasons he knew this was wrong. Because he couldn't stop, and you would never ask him to. Even now, as he hesitated, you waited patiently. You trusted him.

Why did you have to trust him? Why couldn't you be more selfish, more like him?

But deep down, Dexter knew that it wasn't your nature. You couldn't change, not any more than he could.

So, after another agonizing second, he closed the distance between you.

It was gentle, the way his lips pressed against yours. A stark contrast to the usual forcefulness he applied when taking his victims. No, with you, he was careful. Almost timid.

Your lips were soft and smooth, and the kiss was sweet. Nothing more than a simple caress. Dexter didn’t expect the tingling sensation it would cause, but the slight brush of your mouth sent shivers down his spine.

The kiss was short and chaste, but it was enough to leave him feeling dizzy. The heat spread through him, from the tips of his toes all the way to his cheeks.

Dexter pulled back, and you stared at him. His breath hitched in his throat at the look in your eyes. There was something there, something that mirrored his own emotions.

Was it possible? Was he really capable of such intense emotion?

Maybe he was.

You didn’t move. It was like time had stopped, and the only sound that could be heard was his own uneven breathing. That, and the movie playing in the background, which was forgotten as soon as your lips touched.

The urge to reach out and grab you was there. He could feel the need deep in his bones, in his soul. But instead, Dexter sat, staring. Staring into the eyes of the woman who had somehow managed to break down all the walls he'd spent his life building.

You didn't speak. There was nothing to say. No words could describe the feelings that had surfaced between the two of you. So, instead, you smiled. A simple, beautiful smile that had him feeling weak.

He could have stayed there forever, just looking at you, taking in the beauty that was you. It was a new experience for him, and it was nice.

“Debra is going to be pissed," you finally said, breaking the silence. “I’ll be bullied into telling her every detail."

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then, his lips curled up in amusement. It was true. Eventually, she’ll figure it out. Maybe she already knew but was waiting for confirmation. Debra was good at figuring out things, even if it wasn’t the most obvious answer.

His sister was good at a lot of things, like being a detective. And, apparently, being an interfering matchmaking nuisance.

At least she wouldn’t call you the things she called Lila.

The thought made him chuckle, and you looked at him in confusion, but it would have to stay a mystery to you. For what was life without a few private jokes between siblings, right?

You didn’t press for answers, though. You did what you’ve always done and waited for him—waited for him as if it was his turn in Chess.

And he did the only thing he could think to do. He kissed you again. And again. And again. And again. Until he had you pinned beneath him, your arms around his neck, and your breath coming out in heavy gasps.

The kisses were still innocent, just as you were. But he could feel the passion behind them, the hunger. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt that. It had been a long, long time.

But the longer he kissed you, the more the heat grew, and soon, he was lost in the sensation. Your hands found their way into his hair, and you tugged at the strands. His heart was racing, and the sound of his own ragged breathing filled his ears.

It was exhilarating.

Your lips parted, allowing his tongue to slip inside, and the innocence was gone. Replaced by a desire that left him trembling. The feeling of your tongue against his, the taste of you on his lips, the smell of your shampoo mixed with your unique scent—it was all intoxicating.

The movie continued to play in the background, forgotten as you pulled him closer. The warmth in his chest intensified, and Dexter didn't fight it. Instead, he embraced it. He gave in to his emotions and let himself feel.

He didn’t go too far; he knew you weren't ready for that yet. The craving was there, and it was strong, but the moment wasn’t right. Instead, he satisfied himself by touching your skin, mapping out every inch of it, memorizing the way it felt under his fingertips.

And, when you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, he held onto you, refusing to let go. His eyes searched yours, searching for something. Anything. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but whatever it was, he didn’t find it.

He mostly saw fear, anger, and some regret when he had them pinned down beneath him. Of course, that was usually the case with his victims. Fear, anger, and regret were normal emotions—a reaction to being trapped by their own demise.

Having someone look up at him with emotions on the other side of the spectrum was different. Not a bad different, just... different.

Rita had been the first to look at him like that. Lumen did, too, once upon a time. And Lila, well, her emotions were never consistent.

But you? You looked up at him with an expression that was all too familiar and yet not quite the same. Your eyes were full of affection and desire, yes. But they were also filled with something else. Something he couldn't place.

Something he couldn’t understand.

"Dex,” your voice was so soft, a whisper. He almost didn’t hear it, and yet, he felt it. He felt the way his name rolled off your tongue, and it was like music to his ears.

"Yeah?" he whispered back. He didn’t know why he did that; it wasn't like the two of you were speaking in a library or something. Maybe it was the way the light danced in your eyes, the way the colors reflected off the white walls, casting an ethereal glow.

"I didn’t expect you to be… like this," you murmured. You ran a finger over his cheek, down to his jawline. He swallowed thickly. He could feel his pulse quicken.

"Like what?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Not bad," you replied. Your lips curved up, and his eyes were drawn to them. They were red and swollen from kissing, and it was such a contrast to the pale skin of your face.

"You think I'm not bad?" he said, raising his brows. "I'm flattered."

You shook your head. "You know what I mean," you said. "I just meant that you're different than how you come off. I didn’t think you'd be so... bold.”

He snorted. Bold. If you only knew.

"I guess I'm full of surprises," he said, smirking. You rolled your eyes and punched him lightly in the shoulder, only for him to catch it and press a kiss to the back of your hand. It was something he picked up from a movie once, and it seemed to be a pretty romantic gesture. And by the look on your face, it seemed to be appreciated.

You didn't say anything else. You didn't have to. There was nothing else to say. The two of you simply enjoyed each other's company, content to just be together. The movie might've been a failure, but the night wasn’t.

And when Dexter finally left, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. Not the type of relief he felt after a successful kill, but the type of relief one feels after a burden is lifted off their shoulders. The type of relief one gets when they are finally honest with themselves.

Rita was gone. Lumen was gone. And although his guilt and shame were still there, his self-loathing and fear were slowly starting to fade away. It wasn't gone, it was never going to be, but it was a start.

A fresh start.

A new beginning.

A new moon.

Yes, tonight was the night that changed everything. Tonight, Dexter Morgan learned that maybe he was more than the monster he thought he was.

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42spideys · 10 months

Note

i love love love your chubby!male reader fic. would u mind writing a fic where chubby!reader is recovering from an ed and tries to eat a full meal one day and feels nauseous and calls 42!miles and is like can u come sit w me bc they feel like they are regressing?

just rlly soft and tender.

it’s okay if not !!! love u !! x

REGRESSION — e-42! miles morales x chubby!reader

warnings: gn!reader, eating disorders, self hatred, fluff, comfort, google translated spanish (i’m srry), miles being the best boyfriend ever :((

note: i love u to!! this was such a cute request thank u anon 😭

this was so stupid, you were stupid, and the food was stupid. you were trying your absolute best to sit there and eat, you had gotten more than half way done before you felt that familiar burning, disgusting, buildup in your chest. you let out a pained grunt before shoving a spoonful of mashed potatoes in your mouth, you felt yourself slipping. you were almost done, why were you chickening out? your hands shook as you picked up your phone to text miles, he was the only one in your mind that could help you right now.

geek 👾

‘miles are you busy rn?’

‘nah wsp’

‘this is so stupid but i need you over here rn, i’m dead abt to throw up this food i’m not joking’

read 12:19

‘miles???’

read 12:20

you groaned in annoyance before laying your head in your arms, your food was pushed over to the left of you, it almost looked sad. after two minutes of you telling yourself how stupid you were for thinking you could ever do something so simple as eat food, you heard your door open. you glanced behind you to see miles panting, he was still in his pajamas, you felt like shit for making him run here. you looked away from him pathetically, small sniffles coming from you made miles tense in frustration. never at you of course, at your stupid brain and body for making you feel like this, for making you struggle with basic things like eating.

miles slowly walked over to the table where you were seated and picked up your plate, he dipped his pinky in the food and cringed when he felt nothing but cold. he made his way to your microwave, placing the food gently inside and starting it, the low hum of the microwave would’ve been calming if you weren’t on the verge of throwing up your organs. after two minutes he took the plate out the microwave and placed it in front of you, he kneeled next to you, placing a careful hand on your back.

“you’re gonna be okay, aight? sólo un poco más.” he whispered in your ear, you picked your head up with a pout, he gave a soft smile while watching you eat. anytime you tried to retreat from the table he kept you there, giving you words of praise, giving you hugs, giving you kisses, holding your hand through everything.

you felt like you were there for hours, it was agonizingly slow for you, but your thought were interrupted when a very smiley miles started clapping. “look, you finished all your food, i knew you could do it.” he ruffled your hair, earning a small giggle from you. he picked your plate up and went to the sink to wash it, you were trailing behind him like a small puppy, clinging onto the bottom of his shirt with your pinkie.

after he was done he scooped you up, much to your dismay. “quit doing that! what if you pull something?” he snorted while walking to your room, “i’m not going to die jus because i picked you up, you’re so dramatic.” he gently kicked your door open and threw you on the bed. “that’s still a possibility, miles.” you whined only to be met with a pair of lip on yours, he pulled away before you could register the kiss in your mind. “you can lecture me all you want in the morning, mi amor, but i’m tired and i know for sure yo ass tired to.”

you weren’t even going to try to argue with miles, you just wrapped yourself around his slender frame, he was always warm and smelled good.

“thank you, i really don’t think i would’ve been able to do that without you.” you say softly, already feeling yourself slipping into slumber. “you help me all the time, this was the most i could do.” he said with a small sigh while playing with your hair, “love you miles.” you mumbled sleepily making miles chuckle.

“love you too, siempre y para siempre.”

#42spideys #earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles x you #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales fanfiction #earth 42 miles morales fluff #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales x you #earth 42 miles fluff #earth 42 miles morales x chubby reader #earth 42 miles x chubby reader #earth 42 miles morales x gender neutral reader #earth 42 miles x gender neutral reader

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xiaoslxt · 8 months

Text

⩥ xiaoslxt -> Sleeping trouble

Characters: Kazuha x Reader

Genre: fluff, smut

Warnings: afab! Reader with gn pronouns, pet names (my love, baby, babe), unprotected sex, creampie

Format: one-shot ig?

A/N: idk man im kinda not really satisfied with this, it feels a little too short😭 hope yall still enjoy this somehow tho :,)

You were laying in bed together with your long-term boyfriend, Kazuha, watching some series while cuddling. He had his chest against your back, arm around your stomach and legs somewhat intertwined with yours.

"It's getting late. Maybe we should head to bed?" He suggests from behind you, followed by a long yawn.

"Mhm, sounds good. Let's get changed and brush our teeth then." You agree and move to sit up, stretching yourself.

Kazuha lazily hands you your sleeping shirt and pants before grabbing his own. Honestly, no matter how many times he's seen you change or naked in general, he always instinctively reaches out to touch your boobs with that dorky grin on his face.

"You sure love them, huh?" You chuckle and shake your head with an amused smile before pulling your shirt over your head. "Hurry up or I'll go without you."

He hurriedly changes too and follows you into the bathroom. You two move on to brush your teeth, him half-hugging you to his chest at the same time. You softly pat his hand, which rests on your stomach and shoot him a smile via the mirror.

After all that, you two plop back into the bed. "...I'm not so tired anymore now." He says and looks at you with a small pout.

"Then let's just... do something else." You say and move closer to him, swinging your leg over his hips and hand touching his cheek.

"Ohh, I like that idea." He smirks a bit and pulls you closer before kissing you.

The minty smell and taste of your toothpaste is surprisingly pleasant when your soft kisses morph into hungry, passionate, open-mouthed ones. You shudder and twitch slightly when his tongue enters your mouth to fool around with your own, before you pull back and chuckle.

"Someone's eager." You say smugly and roll your hips into his erection, prompting him to roll them right back and making you gasp in return.

"But so are you, my love." Kazuha grins before placing a peck on your lips. "C'mon babe, clothes off." He tells you and pats your ass softly.

So that's what you two do, taking off the clothes you had put on not even ten minutes prior to this.

The second you're both naked, he pulls you close again, but now it's to place hungry kisses against your neck. You bury your hand in his soft hair and tug it back ever so slightly. "C'monnnn, I want you so bad~" you whine and move to sit on his lap, dick resting against your pussy.

"Aww, okay, okay." Kazuha chuckles once again and rolls you over onto your back to align his dick with your entrance. He teases you by pushing the head in just slightly before pulling back; again and again, until you groan and wrap your legs around his waist to pull him into you.

"Stop teasing me, you little shit." You say, before exhaling in relief when you feel his (always again, surprisingly) big dick enter.

"Okay no teasing, just sex." He chuckles and starts softly thrusting into you, red eyes lovingly gazing into yours.

"I love you." You softly mumble into his ear while pulling him flush against your chest.

"Aw, I love you too baby." Kazuha replies and presses a passionate kiss to your mouth.

He continues thrusting into you at a comfortable pace; soft moans resounding from the two of you. Your arms are around his neck, gently holding on while he moves his hips so expertly it leaves you seeing stars.

The buildup is a little slow, but so, so good and your eyes just have a mind of their own. "Ohh, someone's enjoying this, hm?" He teases after seeing your eyes roll back when he hits it especially deep. "Just like this?"

The following thrust pulled a loud moan from you, and your grasp around his neck tightened automatically, making his face land in the space between your neck and the pillow. Kazuha laughs a little at your reaction but won't stop assaulting your good spot.

Wet slapping noises echo through the room combined with breathy moans from him, and high-pitched whines from you. "You're so adorable my love." He says breathlessly while speeding up his thrusts. "Just love your cute noises so much."

You squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment, legs locking around his waist at the increase in speed. "Sh- shut up.."

"No chance babe." He grins. "Now, it's time for the grand finale."

The tingling in your lower tummy intensifies more and more due to Kazuha's ruthless thrusts into your cunt. "Mhh... 'm gonna cum!" He moans under his breath and picks up the pace even more, causing you to bury your nails into his shoulders and meet his thrusts. "M- Me too!"

You both manage to cum at almost the same time; the feeling of his dick twitching and shooting his seed into you sent you over the edge as well, cunt so wet it's starting to run down your thighs and staining his pelvic area at the same time.

Kazuha gently lays down on top of you, and you embrace each other. "That was very nice~" He says happily and squishes his cheek against yours. You agree with a hum.

"Okay, we should go get cleaned up through..." He comments after grabbing some tissues before pulling his softening cock out of you.

He helps wipe you down a little before tending to himself. "Now we're definitely spent..."

You chuckle and nod. "At least now we can sleep in peace."

#xiaoslxt.works #genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #kazuha x reader #kazuha smut

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fruitylo0pz · 1 year

Text

A New Start pt. 1 (NSFW)

Larissa Weems x fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut (with some aftercare), NSFW, 18+, sub!Larissa, spanking, fingering, cunnilingus, degradation kink

Word count: ~3.7k

A/N: Okay, so this one turned out a lot longer than intended and has a bit of a slow buildup before the smutty part so it might not be for everyone. But I do hope whoever reads it will enjoy it! I actually liked writing it, and I found myself intrigued with Larissa being uptight and upper class and a bit of a prude. I think I just fell in love with the idea of Larissa being very "traditional" in the sense of being married to a man and then BOOM just having some sort of sapphic epiphany. I have proofread it, but as usual I post right before I'm off to bed so apologies for any mistakes.

____

Tall, blonde, beautiful and sophisticated. This must have been the fourth or the fifth time you had seen her at the store, and you had caught her staring each and every time. Whenever you looked back, she blushed and looked away as if she hadn’t just been eyeing you up. You smirked to yourself and this time you decided to pursue it, curious about the outcome. You hadn’t really ever done anything like this, but you had to shoot your shot with her.

“Hi, I’m Y/N. I usually don’t do this, but I’ve noticed you staring every time I’ve been in this store and I had to try. Here’s my address. It’s up to you, but you’re gorgeous and I’d love to have you over for a glass of wine.” You winked and gave her a note with your address and number. This was so out of character for you and it immediately sent a nervous wave down your body.

She hesitantly took it and put it in her pocket, and it almost appeared like she was afraid someone would notice. “I’m involved with someone. Whatever you thought you saw was not the case, but thank you. Flattering.” She blushed and seemed embarrassed by the interaction, and you decided to leave her be. You didn’t want to get her in trouble. You were relatively new in town, and realised that people probably knew who she was pretty well.

You went home and put on a random movie you found on Netflix, trying to forget about her dismissing you at the store. Why did she even take the note if she wasn’t interested? You really had hoped she was different, but why would she be? She seemed classy, and she probably was just as classy as she looked. You decided to pour yourself a glass of wine to wind down when the doorbell rang. It was getting pretty late, and you didn’t really even know anyone in town but you decided to open the door regardless. You had a few colleagues you were getting closer to at work so you figured it could be one of them.

“Oh, I was not expecting to see you. Come in, please.” You were trying to wipe away your shocked expression when she walked inside, and she did not look happy.

“What you did was assuming and inappropriate. I am in fact married, and walking around stores giving out your address to strangers is a bold thing to do. Are you always that confident?” She looked at you with a stern look, but there was something else hiding in the back of her eyes that you couldn't quite read.

“So you went all the way over here to tell me that? You’re married, yet I found you staring and eyeing me up at the store numerous times. Forgive me for assuming anything at all, but if I was married, I wouldn’t do that. It’s a shame, because I could show you a very, very good time.” You winked and moved closer to her so she ended up backed up to the wall.

“W-well… Yes. You shouldn’t have done it. I wasn’t staring, I was just looking. Pretty cocky, aren’t you? You don’t know what you could give me.” She was clearly nervous and looked at you with furrowed brows, but whatever her eyes were trying to hide was still there.

“You were looking several times. I’m not cocky, but it’s pretty easy to tell when someone gives you a brief glance or they look at you several times. You fit into that last category. But don’t worry. Glad we sorted this out, and I won’t keep you. Go home to your husband. ” You gave her a sarcastic smile while eyeing her up before you opened the door. She hesitated but left.

You scoffed and shook your head. Why did she even bother showing up if she found herself so deeply offended by it? She could have thrown away the note and forgotten about the whole thing. Suddenly, the doorbell rings again and it’s her.

“Now, you listen to me. Do you know who I am? I am the headmistress at Nevermore Academy, and I am used to a certain amount of respect around here.” She pointed a finger at you and you moved closer.

“And I think you came here for a reason. I bet I could make you squirm within minutes. That uptight attitude does something to me.” Your eyes wandered down her perfect curves. She was wearing a cream white dress with matching heels. She looked stunning, but she probably always did.

“You really have no idea who you’re dealing with. How dare you speak to me this way? I don’t know where you work, but I could have you fired within an hour.” She tried sounding intimidating and threatening, but she was blushing. Your words got to her, but she did not want to admit it. You were however not too happy about the way she spoke to you, like you were inferior. You pulled her inside and pushed her against the wall.

“Okay, headmistress who also seems to be running this town. I told you to forget about it. But you were the one who couldn’t keep your eyes to yourself. Quick advice for the future; control your staring so you don’t give people the wrong impression. Eyeing people up when you’re happily married? That’s pretty unusual too. I’ll leave you alone from now on, and I’ll make sure to leave the store if I see you. Okay? Now, if you’re done berating me, you’re free to leave.” Once again, you open the door but she doesn’t move. Whatever she was hiding in her eyes was becoming more apparent. It swam to the surface in her deep blue eyes. It was lust. You were right all along.

Her entire demeanour changed. It was as if she let go of something that was holding her back, but she was still nervous. “I came here for a reason. And as for happily married? A man that doesn’t see me or love me? Frankly, I don’t love him either but in my position and him being an important businessman in this town breaking it off will just look bad. I have never been with a woman, and I have never found another female attractive, but there is something about you. Your confidence. The way you carry yourself.” She looked away, and she looked unhappy after talking about her unhappy marriage. Like she was ashamed of being trapped with someone who didn’t even care for her.

You put a finger under her chin so she was forced to look at you. “I don’t understand how he can ignore someone like you, and not even look at you. You’re a goddess. You’re absolutely stunning. Do you think I go around handing out my address and phone number to strangers? I have never once done that before, but I found myself infatuated with you. I had to take a chance eventually. You should be worshipped.” You wiped a tear that fell from her eye. She wasn’t used to hearing words like that, you could tell that much.

“My name is Larissa. I realised I never told you that. And thank you for your kind words.” She smiled gently and blushed, and she clearly liked your compliments.

“Hi, Larissa. Very nice to meet you, and learn your name! I was just having a glass of wine. I realise I’m pretty much a stranger to you still, but would you care to join me?” You looked at her with a questioning look, hoping she would stay.

“Thank you, Y/N. That sounds lovely. It’s not like he would notice that I’m gone anyway.” She gave you a light chuckle and you helped her with her coat before guiding her to the sofa. You went to the kitchen to fetch a glass and the wine bottle before pouring her a glass.

“So, Larissa. Headmistress, huh? That’s pretty impressive. A colleague of mine told me about Nevermore. Sounds pretty cool! I think it’s great that you have a school for outcasts where they can be themselves. Society is too quick to judge people that deviate from what they think should be the norm.” You shook your head and took a sip of your wine.

She looked shocked at what you just said, like she had never heard anyone talk about outcasts without judgement or resentment. “I… Thank you. I should probably mention that I am a shapeshifter. And I am not used to anyone saying things that aren’t filled with disgust or hatred for us. Especially not a normie.” She gave you a soft look that almost screamed “thank you” and you could tell that she already felt more comfortable.

“A shapeshifter?! That is so cool! So you can shapeshift into anything you want?” You were genuinely excited about her confession, and you truthfully had always found outcasts interesting and fascinating, and you would always defend them if they were brought up in discussions.

She laughed, and her laugh was so delightfully genuine and the most wonderful laugh you had ever heard “Yes, I can shapeshift into anything I want. It’s not a power I use very often, but it can come in handy at times. But enough about me. What about you? What brought you to Jericho?” She put her elbow up on the back of the sofa and leaned her head on her hand. She looked curious and like she really wanted to know more about you, and not like she had asked as a form of courtesy.

“My girlfriend cheated on me with my best friend, and I don’t really have any family I talk to. I needed a new start, and I was looking to get as far away as possible and ended up here. I work as a web developer, and I found a job with a company here. And that’s how I ended up in Jericho! I really like it so far.” Thinking about your ex annoyed you, and talking about her made you even more annoyed.

She looked at you with an almost horrified look on her face. “Y/N, that is terrible. But on the other hand, they both showed you who they really are, and I’m glad you got away from them. But I am sorry to hear that you don’t have any close ones. Aren’t you lonely? Being in a new town all alone?” She moved slightly closer, still with a horrified and almost sad look on her face.

“I am an introvert so I enjoy my own company. I haven’t been in touch with my family for years and they don’t accept me for who I am. When I came out, they gave me an hour to pack up my things and I never looked back. I’d rather be alone in a new town than with people who can’t accept me for who I am.” You gave her a reassuring look, and noticed that she had moved even closer again. She was looking intently at you, almost as if she wanted to give you all the caring and love she felt like you had been missing.

“You went through more than you deserved. I might not know you that well, but I can tell that you’re a wonderful human being. You should always be able to be yourself, and no one should judge you for that.” She took your hand in hers and you twitched at the touch. Her skin was soft and warm, and it felt like electric shocks pulsated through your body.

“It’s fine now, I feel nothing when I think about them. I am better off without them. But thank you, truly. You’re a beautiful human being yourself.” You felt liberated in her presence, and it was so easy to talk to her. She was so different than she had first seemed, and you thought it might be the wine but mostly it felt like she just let go of the outer shell she so often had to carry.

She moved even closer and her eyes met yours in an intense stare before she gently grabbed your hand again. “Did you really mean those things you said to me? Those… Those nice things?” She blushed and looked down, still holding your hand.

“I did, Larissa. I think you’re absolutely breathtaking, and I also do believe that you should be worshipped like the goddess you are.” You moved slightly closer and rubbed the back of her hand with your thumb to show her that you meant it. She seemed insecure, even though you had no idea how that was even possible.

“Would you… Uh… Show me?” She looked at you with the most genuinely innocent look you had ever seen and it made your core tense up into a string of heat immediately.

You leaned forward to kiss her, and she eagerly responded and let out a whimper into your mouth before your tongues started dancing in a slow, intense dance. It felt so right, so warm and so filled to the brim with sparks and emotions.

“I’ll show you. Just be a good girl and follow my lead, and I’ll make you feel things you have never felt before.” Your lips swept gently down her jaw towards her neck before you left tender kisses and she let out a deep groan. Your hand moved to her back and you were about to pull down the zipper to her dress when she pulled away.

“I… I don’t think I can do this. What do you want with an older lady like me? You should find someone your own age.” She fiddled with her hands and looked down.

“Larissa, I want you. If I wanted someone else, I wouldn’t have left my address with you. Now, please… Let me take care of you. Let me see you. Let me feel you. Let me taste you.” Your hand gently cupped her chin and she looked you in the eyes.

She blushed and gave you a smirk you didn’t know you had been waiting for, but it was all you needed in that moment “I don’t have any clue what to do, but… Your words make me feel things I have never felt before. If you want to see me… Let me show you. Take me to bed?” She got up and you followed her before grabbing her hand and taking her upstairs to your bedroom.

“I do want to see you, so please… Show me, if you want to. If you don’t, there is no pressure.” You let your hand gently stroke her cheek so she knew that she really didn’t have to do anything she wasn’t comfortable with.

She pushed you down on the bed and the lust in her eyes filled them entirely. “Tell me what to do. I want you to use me.” She bit her lip and her hand wandered from her neck and down her body.

“If you’re absolutely sure, I will gladly tell you what to do. Use the word “torch” if you want me to stop or you’re feeling uncomfortable in any way, okay?” You took her hands as a way of showing her that her feeling safe was important to you.

“I will use the word “torch” if I’m uncomfortable. And I am absolutely sure. Now please… Use me like the dirty whore I am for you.” Her words made your eyelids flutter, and hearing her say something so filthy with her heavenly voice and that accent was almost too overwhelming.

“Strip for me. All of it.” Your voice was firm, and you leaned back on your elbows, following her every move.

She reached to her back and pulled down the zipper. The way she looked at you with a sweet mixture of innocence and desire drove you absolutely insane. She had been an uptight upper class lady an hour ago, and now she was referring to herself as your dirty whore. She let her dress fall to the floor, and you found yourself in awe, mouth agape with hunger for her. She unclasped her bra and pulled down her panties while gently rolling her hips.

She moved closer and discreetly spread her legs a bit as an invitation. Your reassurance and compliments had wiped away her insecurity and it thrilled you. She should feel like the goddess she is, and she should feel appreciated. “Please touch me.” The tone of her voice was filled with a lustful desperation, and you couldn’t control yourself any longer.

“On the bed. Spread your legs.” You watched as she crawled onto the bed and laid down before spreading her legs. Her inner thighs were dripping with her arousal and you got on your knees between her legs before leaning down to kiss her chest. Your mouth drew a trail towards her breast before you bit her nipple and she whimpered. Your hand travelled down her stomach before it found her mound and you groaned when you felt how wet she was. Your fingers started drawing lazy circles on her clit and her breathing got heavier.

You continued kissing down her stomach, and she was already twitching underneath you. Her skin was soft and warm, and you could feel her legs spreading more and more before your lips found her clit and you gently sucked it. “Mhh, Larissa. You taste so fucking good.” She gasped, and you let your tongue trail up her slit before you started circling her clit in slow circles while you shifted position and let your fingers trace her entrance.

Your tongue picked up the pace a bit and you felt her fingers in your hair. You let two fingers slide slowly inside her and her walls immediately clenched around you as she once again gasped and let out a filthy moan. “Oh, Y/N… I need more, p-please.” You added another finger and she screamed out, meeting you in the thrusts. Your tongue kept working on her clit while your fingers pumped hard and deep. The way she was clenching let you know that she was close and you shifted position a bit so you got closer and your tongue started circling harder on her clit. Her moans became louder and louder until she began squirming and shivering as she exploded in a loud orgasm and released a warm wave of her sweet arousal over your fingers while screaming your name. You let her ride it out and slowly pulled out your fingers when she had calmed down enough.

Suddenly, she turned over and got up on her knees. “Please. More.” She looked at you and begged you with her eyes.

“Aren’t you a desperate little whore for me, hm? Can’t get enough, can you?” You spanked her and she whimpered.

“No, I can’t get enough. Please fuck me. Make me yours. Use me, use me like I’m your toy.” She spread her legs, and you shoved your fingers inside her soaked cunt. You started thrusting hard and deep right away and it was an exhilarating feeling having her in your complete and utter power and on her knees before you. It didn’t take long before you could sense that she was close again, and you spanked her before fucking her harder. She tipped over the edge and came in a loud orgasm, and you continued fucking her to her delight.

Her eyelids fluttered and she was panting while her arousal poured down your hand with every thrust, and her orgasms kept coming as her legs spread more and more. She clearly loved being used by you as she cried out in whimpers and moans while coming over and over again, each and every orgasm just as loud and intense. Eventually, you could tell that she was overstimulated and exhausted and you let her ride out her last orgasm before you gently pulled out your fingers and leaned forward to kiss her back.

You went to the bathroom to get a warm washcloth before gently cleaning her up. She had moved to the side of the bed when you came back and she smiled when you looked at her. “Y/N… That was incredible. I don’t know what else to say. No one has ever… Well… With their tongue…” She blushed and gave you a quick kiss on the cheek.

“How on earth is that possible? Well, I am honoured to have been the first, because you taste like heaven.” You winked and kissed her before stroking her cheek. She blushed at your words and chuckled lightly.

“Thank you, Y/N. For making me feel the way you made me feel. No one has ever made me feel this desired before. This is the craziest thing I have ever done, but nothing has ever felt so right.” She looked like she was in complete awe, and she stroked your cheek. Her touch was so soft and caring, it almost made you melt.

“I am so glad I handed you that note, no matter how inappropriate it might have been. Oh, and… Would you like to stay the night? Or do you have to go?” You looked at her with a look that you hoped told her that you were dying for her to stay.

She looked at the time and sighed. “I’m afraid I have to leave. But if you’re free tomorrow, perhaps you would like to come and keep me company when you finish work? I have a long workday tomorrow, and I have a private flat at the academy for when I have busy days. I know it’s unfair, but I’m afraid this is how things will have to be, at least for now.” She stroked your cheek again, as though she was trying to apologise.

“I would love to, Larissa. The thought of fucking you in your office is a very thrilling thought.” You gave her a sly wink and she chuckled.

She got dressed and you followed her downstairs. You took a peek out the window and made sure no one would see her leaving. She leaned down to kiss you again and looked into your eyes before moving towards your ear. “It’s as if I can still feel your fingers inside me, Y/N. I’ll dress up nicely for you tomorrow.” She bit your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You had awakened something in her, and you were the only one who could feed it.

#larissa weems x reader #larissa weems x you #larissa weems smut #larissa weems x y/n #principal larissa weems x reader #wlw #f!reader #larissa weems fanfic #gwendoline christie

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plumpybread · 2 months

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I have three kinks for you to rate! (Was gonna be two, then thought a bit more…whoops!)

1. POV Gaining: Whether someone enjoys getting a glimpse at what their future might hold, or getting into perspective at just what a particular character deals with daily and how they see themselves, I think POV gaining’s pretty fun! Seeing how their belly slowly (or rapidly!) takes up their view, seeing their struggles and contrast, at huuuge sizes seeing the chins, cheeks even, the sweat, sandbag chest, jackets of arm-lard, and little else…and that’s not even mentioning what it’d look like while they dress, eat, or travel…imagine them in tiny car, being fed or at lunch, seeing them put on a shirt that seems to fit, but they can’t see how they spill out from behind, or the extra inch revealed as at the bottom…

2. Generational/Family Gaining: Pretty common trope with you ;) Seeing large families, similar in build or attitude, but a difference in height, definitely in weight, the contrast there, along with the ‘normalcy’ of becoming another bed bound family member in a very thick, very wide family tree…of course, this had to start somewhere, some lovely couple that loved a little too much, and brought that love into families for generations, and those traditions spread out to every single member, no one untouched by the genes, and only recursive, since no one’ll change them, hell, probably add another one!

3. Rapid Gaining: For you in particular, I mean it in the sense of rapid over time, in the way that someone might gain 50 pounds in a month, then 100 over half a month, 200 over a year, then skipping numbers and breaking three milestones of a broken couch, outgrown cars, and needing more than one seats traveling, all in the span of a week or weekend…

Alright, lemme see!

I love playing with perspectives cause there's so much to write about on a topic like weight gain, and the way you describe it is SOOO good. I don't often find myself imagining POV scenarios cause Im more of a feeder than a feedee, but it's always fun to sometimes try to get into the eyes of a certain character and see how they live with such obesity through their view. I would actually love to implement that but it's hard to make POV art in such a way, but It always lives in a hidden corner of my mind

LOOOVE dis one, you already know how it's pretty much the whole premise of my OC Anthony with the tradition of his family to get super fat. Biggest thing I love about weight gain is when it almost seems unavoidable and the environment they're in just pushes them to continue growing more obese, looooooove

I know fast weight gain is a common kink, but unfortunately it's not my thing, whether it be instant weight gain or over the span of just some days, I don't really feel anything with it. The slow, realistic buildup and eventual spiraling weight over the span of months is much more my thing cause there's time to develop the consequences and changes in the life of the character because of it and I find that much more attractive than simply the physical growth of the character

#ask

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starsarefire824 · 5 months

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Fic Recs

In honor of things being shitty in the tag right now and everyone in their depression era, I'm offering a few fic recs in these trying times. Hope you discover something new, friends. 🖤

the comforts that make us feel numb by passerine_in_jade.

“No, but really. If I were a girl,” Mike presses on, looking up at Will with red-rimmed eyes through dark lashes. Leaning in. Somehow, fully unaware that this line of questioning has Will's heart climbing up to his throat. “Would you want to kiss me?”

or, Will and Mike get high in the desert.

Well written, almost dreamy quality to it. Author to watch for me! Can't believe I only just discovered their writing.

A Wish For Something More by @waroftheposes

Seven year old Will didn't have a problem with kissing his best friend on a dare. Seventeen year old Will, however, would not do it if someone held his hand over a fire.

Or: Truth or dare at seven and truth or dare at seventeen.

They're silly and sweet and oh so confused. The writing is lovely as well. Great if you're in the mood for fluff.

On the Same Frequency by @oldfashionedmorphine

Ever since his best friend Will Byers was murdered back in 1985, Mike Wheeler wanted nothing more than to leave his hometown of Hawkins, Indiana and never look back—only each and every year he’s forced to make an exception when it comes to the holidays. And when Mike visits for Christmas in 1995, his mom asks him to help clear out some junk in his room and down in the basement before he returns home to Indianapolis. But when he comes across an old trunk containing his Supercom walkie-talkie and ham radio, he discovers something strange that has the potential to change everything…

(or an AU inspired by the movie “Frequency” from 2000)

I'm only just starting this, but Frequency au?? Hell yes.

Fleeting by olliecoddle. @souverian-are-we

Mike liked Will’s art shows, albeit slightly less the higher class they had gotten. Little paintings in the corner of a cafe morphed into white walls and rich spectators poised with champagne and well-mannered criticism. Still, he had been looking forward to it. He wanted to go. But now, walking up to the glass doors, he had to admit he felt jittery.

or, Will's new paintings are a little too personal

This is one of my absolute favorites ever. The writing of course, it's ollie. But the descriptions, the entire buildup of Mike's reaction in the art gallery, the content of the painting? The entire concept is beautiful. And be sure to look up the painting Will's was inspired by. It will tell you everything.

any semblance of touch by anonymous.

“Nothing,” Will says, right into Mike’s ear. “Still feeling good?”

So good. Mike makes sure to not say it aloud this time. “I think,” Mike says slowly, heart pounding, “I need” — Will pulls back just a little, just enough for their noses to bump against each other, clumsy, and Mike bites the bullet — “one more.”

Will is still in Mike’s lap, which is maybe not very platonic of him, and the joint has smoldered its way down to the end, nearly over, all eaten up by the fire. Will swallows thickly, then leans closer, a perfect imitation of their positions from earlier. Mike isn’t sure how long it’s been, but fire has been eating away at him too, this whole time, leaving him on the brink of going up in smoke, slow and burning and so good.“Yeah?” Will murmurs, realization dawning on him, eyes wide. “One more?”

or: Mike’s still new to this whole smoking thing. Will has a few ideas.

Utterly depressing this is anonymous because the writing is phenomenal. So alive and vivid. Not sure where this fic was hiding, but I'm glad I found it. Highlights: Mike’s inner dialogue, the playfulness between them, the lowered inhibitions finally letting them relax into the moment.

nosebleeds from epiphanies (i took full in the face) by wheelersboy @karenchildress.

Hawkins, Montana, June 1988. When Lonnie Byers catches his youngest son in the arms of another boy, he calls in that favor owed to him by rancher Jim Hopper in Lenora: Will must work as an unpaid ranch hand and learn to "man up." Mike Wheeler follows him to the creepy ranch with electrical problems, like any best friend would.

jo's writing is always fantastic. she has such a unique voice and mike's struggle in this just does things for me.

When The Sun Runs Out by olliecoddle @souverian-are-we

On a dreary day in March, 1989 the population of Hawkins, Indiana dropped to four. Will Byers watched as the final family left, the bed of their truck packed to the brim and tied down with a tarp. Furniture stuck out at odd angles, and the corner flap flailed in the breeze as they turned onto the highway. Will followed the vehicle with his eyes until it disappeared as a dot on the long stretch of pavement. Then, he got in his car and went home.

Or, Will is burning out, and Mike is mesmerized by the flame.

This was sexy as hell and all I'm gonna say is tattoos. I really enjoyed this little rougher around the edges, let down by life, closed off Will after being left in Hawkins alone with El, Hopper, and Joyce to wait for the end of the world that never seems to come.

dirty rain by henrycreel

mike wheeler is an average alpha teenage boy working on keeping tight control of his raging hormones in the wake of being seventeen years old, unmated, and a virgin who's never spent his rut with anyone before. when one of his teachers makes an innocent request of him, he finds himself spiraling almost right away. the omega sitting next to him in class is going to be his omega one way or another even if it means employing some traditional and unconventional means to show him who he belongs to.

will byers is an omega with a tendency toward anxiety and outright fear, marked by years of abuse at the hands of his father. high school should be a chance to open a new chapter for himself, but he only truly finds comfort sitting next to mike, an alpha whose presence seems to keep the usual mocking and bullying at bay. but when mike starts to cross the line from friendly classmate into so much more, will has no time to decide if he's ready to move on to a relationship of his own, to finding a mate to settle down with like his big brother already has.

mike is making the decision for both of them.

A solid Omegaverse fic! <3

#byler #fic recs #byler fic #stranger things #will byers #mike wheeler #if you are not @ here would like to be just dm me!

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xappetites · 11 months

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sleep together in the stars

Rodolfo Parra x Reader | just fluffy riding this man on the couch and a bunch of praise because it's sundress season | word count: 1,696

“What?”

It’s a sweet question, asked in the sweetest tone, with Rodolfo’s darling eyes on you.

It half takes you by surprise, mostly because you’ve been standing there in the middle of the kitchen, stuck in your head. Staring at him as he dries his hands and finally sinks into the loveseat. The last plate snug in its cupboard and table cleared.

And you don’t really know how to answer, being honest. Not sure how to put into words the feeling that’s been eating at you for most of the dinner, turned sobremesa, turned merienda. From the moment Alejandro turned to your boyfriend, big smile and shining eyes, clapping his shoulder so hard, Rodolfo almost spilled his coffee.

“So, you got yourself a spitfire.”

It’s a compliment, you can tell even if this is your first time meeting Colonel Alejandro Vargas, shining star of the Mexican Special Forces and the most important person in your boyfriend’s life, after his mom. It should feel like an honor, how readily and completely you’re ‘approved’ of, but something in your stomach fucking flips in the most unpleasant way.

It's the story of your life. A long line of: spitfire, bossy, strong willed, bitch. Sure, you’re friendly; people like to be around you, just not for a romantic relationship. Not when you’re as vocal about what you like and don’t like as you are. No man wants to feel like they’re in the middle of a test and bombing it , you’d been told once. You can’t even take a joke.

But it was easy to dismiss, coming from men who had let you down in one way or another; who made it clear that they weren’t looking for a partner, not really. You could have a good cry about it, work through the frustration and move on.

With Rudy, it’s a terrifying thing. You like Rudy, like him for real; feel your chest swell almost painfully when he so much as looks at you, especially like this, when he makes it seem like you’re the only person in the world for him.

You don’t want him to tell you you’re impossible, don’t want him to even ever think it. Honestly, if you could, you'd love nothing more than to curl up in his arms and do whatever he wants, because you trust him with the outcome. You could leave your heart in his hands and bet money on him being careful with it. You just don’t want it to end up being a burden.

So you keep this ache to yourself; choosing instead to kick your shoes off and find your way to him, to stand between his legs, bracketed in and fucking safe.

Even this feels too much, though, the rushed way you bend in half to kiss him. And you try to soften your desperation, sweeten the way you gasp into his mouth, that turns to humming when his hand grabs a firm hold of your thigh. His solid, calloused fingers indenting the flesh over the summer dress you usually wear to impress him.

“Amor—”

“Please,” you interrupt, clinging to his neck like you’re begging, because you are. And he must see it clear on your face, since he drops it in favor of tugging you down to straddle his lap.

“Come here.”

He guides you, waits patiently as you settle. Steadies you with nothing more than a light touch over your waist and his eyes tracking the path of your skirt. Riding high, inch by inch, just enough to show him how your skin slowly meets the rough fabric of his jeans. And the roll of his hips that follows might start as an instinctive reaction, but he makes it this slow, dragging thing against you.

You’ve come to know this as something Rodolfo does from time to time, a teasing so loving and full of promise that it makes your teeth ache. He’s not riling you up just to pull away, he’s simply taking his time. A constant buildup of careful kisses, like he’s trying to coax the thought you won’t share with him out of your mouth.

He shifts again, close as he can get; forcing your stance wider, lower, until you feel his half hard cock bumping insistently against your clit. And his hand lands, encouraging, over the curve of your ass. So, you start rocking your hips, short of breath at the way he lets you taste his moan straight from the source.

“Así, amor. Steady.”

He means don’t rush, you know this too, let me feel you. It’s in his eyes, pleading, until you give him the rhythm he’s looking for. You’re rewarded with open, unashamed praise falling honeyed on your tongue.

It has you panting, straight up sobbing, mumbling his name into the silence of the living room with every word he speaks into you. To the point that the forced, controlled pace makes your thighs shake and then Rodolfo’s hands are guiding you to your feet again.

“No, Rodolfo—“

Your voice sounds almost panicked even as he moves with you, hooking both thumbs in the waistband of your underwear and nuzzling the space between your breasts as he peels the lace off you.

“I’m here,” he says, almost mouthing it against your body. Sighing a warm breath that raises goosebumps wherever it reaches.

You can feel him smiling at how easy it is to fit a finger inside you, to add another one in the second stroke.

“God, you’re so wet for me.”

“Yeah, for you. Just you, Rudy,” it’s a babble, your answer. Caught in your throat with the effort of twisting your body to kiss him, because you know it’s the only way to distract him enough to work his cock out of his pants.

He moans, loud. And your mind goes lopsided with need until you’re sinking down around him, like a fucking puzzle piece, like it was always meant to be.

You tighten inside, a spasm of muscles, and he’s sure you don’t know what you do to him; how hard it gets him to see the tension fall off the line of your shoulders at just the weight of him inside you. How your sigh has him clawing his way back from the edge. It’s a contented sound, a ‘finally back home’ sigh, and it has his heart on his throat, his pulse beating in double time at the base of his cock.

It’s why he suggested this dinner, most Vaqueros have a similar system with one another, someone who understands the implicit request in a meeting like this. The ‘in case something happens to me…’

A measure Rudy never thought he’d resort to, until you were the first thing on his mind while he crouched behind a half dilapidated car, shots ringing all around him, and he realized there’s no coming back from you. He could spend every night watching you melt against him, feeling your pretty little cunt holding him tight, and still beg for more. He’ll live his life hiding from his mom that your birria is ten times better than hers, he’ll take the crabby, pre-coffee, good morning grunt and he’ll kiss it off your lips to make you smile to start every day.

He doesn’t know if you know, but he wants you to, so he tells you. Mouths an ‘I love you’ into your collarbone in time with the rolling of your hips. Rough and sweet and useless to resist, like the tide coming into shore.

Pleasure rises from his gut, tensing his spine and driving his hands up, up, until he’s cupping your cheeks, keeping you in place so he can watch your eyebrows pinch with effort.

“I love you so fucking much,” the confession comes out out of you stumbling, mostly involuntary, pulled out of you by the fingertips that skim over the back of your neck. And you don’t notice the tears ‘till Rodolfo swipes them away with his thumbs.

“Why are you crying then, amor?”

It’s overwhelming, both the affection he graces you with and the way he thrusts up, gentle but insistent. He feels so deep, such an intrinsic part of you, that you will never be the same after this. Nothing past the panic in your gut and the humming in your clit, shoving you towards an orgasm that feels like it might undo you.

“I don’t wanna lose you, I don’t want you to get sick of me,” in the aftermath, hours later, you’ll be surprised that he made sense of the whimpers that have your shoulders heaving, but he does.

He rocks you in his arms, one hand sliding to grab your hair, not painfully, just pressure that grounds you. An unwavering hold so you can let go, coming so hard that you’d be screaming if you could.

“I’ll never get sick of you, I can’t get enough of you.”

You barely hear his words, attuned instead to the groan that warps them, putting emphasis in weird places as he fills you. But you believe him, with his heart pounding against yours. You surrender to the warmth of him all over you, taking over your world.

“You know he meant it in a good way, right?”

Rodolfo’s voice is soft, probably much softer than he needs to be once your breathing’s evened out and you’re simply slumped there against his chest.

“What?”

“When Alejandro called you a spitfire —you flinched.”

You do it again right then, a quick full-body-contraction that earns you a kiss on the crown of your head.

“It’s just, no one’s ever meant it ‘in a good way’ before.”

“He does. I do. I won’t ever say it again if you don’t like it, but I promise I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

“Ok,” nodding is uncomfortable in the position you’re in, hoping he understands how much you trust him.

Rodolfo promises a lot more, he thinks. Though, he knows it’s too much right now, so he keeps it quiet in his heart: he’ll show you he’s telling the truth, he’ll keep coming back to you from the worst of it. And he’ll never let you go.

#m: cod #r: smut #r: fluff #rodolfo rudy parra x reader #rodolfo parra x reader #i posted this on ao3 a couple weeks ago but was kinda shy about posting it here #im v rusty posting fic on tumblr ig 😅#anyway i love rudy and i wanna whisper sweet nothings in spanish to him #personal

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butmakeitgayblog · 2 months

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Shall we go for a slow buildup then? Let’s start with the first time they hold each other (re: starlet non au)

The first time they hold each other is catharsis. Solace.

It's shortly after Lexa'd reached out that night after winning over Clarke. They were still at a loss as to how exactly to handle all this. This thing between them that neither are willing to talk about or even acknowledge, but both know is there. Both feel it growing deeper, more real. They've gone from nearly a full year of silence to texting every single day. A random call once every few weeks, even if they don't have much to say. They're in each other's lives at that point and neither really have any desire to stop it.

It happens the first time they actually speak to each other in person since that night when they'd both let too many secrets slip out over too many bottles of wine. It's a dinner party "thing" Clarke hosts at her apartment, inviting Lexa but more importantly 10 other people along for a night of classy but kinda trashy finger foods and board games. Because it's absolutely not an excuse just to have Lexa in her space again, and the other guests are certainly not a buffer in case everything is as terrible as she's imagined.

What I'm saying is that it's casual, and it means nothing, which is exactly why Clarke spends 5 hours bouncing between cooking and deciding what to do with her hair, all while rearranging the furniture in her apartment until it looks perfect.

Lexa spends those same 5 hours just trying her best to not throw up.

But it does turn out to be a nice evening. So much so, neither really know what they had to be worried about. It wasn't hard being in each other's space again. If anything, it felt like breathing for the first time in over a year. As though looking over mid-laugh just to catch the other's eyes was the most natural thing in the world. Which makes it feel all too safe to choose to stay behind when the rest of the gang announces they want to go out. It only being 9:30 by the time all the food is gone and every game is left on Clarke's dining table in disarray makes the inclination valid. Because Lexa's got an early call the next morning that she absolutely cannot be hungover for, and Clarke just isn't in the mood to turn down 30 offers from strangers to do coke in the VIP section while having her ass grabbed on the dancefloor.

So they stay behind and talk. Never straying too far from safe subjects. Work, the weather, what they'd be doing if they weren't in the industry, a few innocent tales from childhood. It naturally leads from Clarke sharing about how she'd lost her father at the tender age of 17, to recounting some of her best memories with him. That's how they find themselves huddled together in front of an old record player, thumbing through all the classics, Clarke playing song after song and sharing her memories of each one as Lexa sips her wine and listens to every single one.

It's only when the first notes of a particular song whine to life that Lexa can't really seem to help herself. Because there's just something in the way Clarke's eyes come alive when she tells her how they used to dance to that one every morning before breakfast. It's the image of a tiny Clarke, still in her footie style pjs and sporting a wicked case of baby blonde bed-head, hugging her father's legs as she danced along on the tops of his feet.

She just can't resist.

And god help her, it felt good having Clarke be that close, accepting her hand when Lexa had restarted the song and asked her if she'd like to dance. It felt good, and more terrifying, it felt right. It felt right the way Clarke tucked into her body, one hand on her shoulder, the other cupped gently in her palm. It felt right to match the sway of her hips, to match her breathing and the race of her heartbeat, to laugh as they tripped over themselves and just righted themselves again.

It felt right to pull Clarke closer when those blue eyes suddenly turned glossy, her perfectly wonderful face scrunching up in an embarrassed huff of laughter through her sniffles of, "Sorry. I just miss him sometimes. Ignore me."

So there's really nothing for it. Nothing to do but nod that she understands that kind of pain. That sense of loss, and how it can hit you at the most random of times. So Lexa hugs her right there in her livingroom, records forgotten on the floor at their feet. She tucks Clarke's head into her shoulder and wraps her arms tight around her waist, accepts every last one of her tears and carries her grief as her own, hugging her and holding her as the final chorus fades out

Because Love grows where my Rosemary goes

And nobody knows like me...

Clarke asks her to stay and Lexa does, because there's no way she can leave her like this. So sad and vulnerable and visibly raw at the edges. She sets aside all of her rules and all of her fear and takes Clarke to the couch, guiding her to lay on top of her, just to rest. To let the calm of her breathing and the steady thump of her heart lull Clarke into a tear-soddened sleep. She holds her through the night, neither saying more than a few muffled words, Lexa humming the notes of the song until they're etched into the rhythm of her heartbeat. Until she knows not a day will pass when this song doesn't bring her right back to this moment, and this woman, and this feeling of holding everything she wants but cannot let herself have right there in her arms. But it's enough just to be close, to let herself slip into this once more, and Lexa knows there's really no coming back from this.

Still, when Clarke eventually wakes up, Lexa's long gone in the morning.

#anon #starlet au

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shig-a-shig-ah · 2 years

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ONE, TWO, WRECKED.

You talk Shigaraki into giving you a show with a double of himself, and he winds up testing his limits in tantalizing new ways.

» pairing: Shigaraki Tomura² x afab!reader » word count: 4.5k » notes: This fic is my entry for @dabisqueen‘s Holy Trinity collab. Hope y’all enjoy--I put my whole pussy into this. » contains: gn!pronouns, switch!Shigaraki, threesome, selfcest, fingering, cunnilingus, blowjobs, pegging, double penetration (Shigaraki receiving), simultaneous orgasms. 18+, minors DNI. » ao3 mirror

"Wait."

"What?"

"Is this really how you start?"

"How am I—how are we supposed to start?"

"I don't know. I guess I expected some buildup or something before you jumped right into it."

You probably shouldn't have expected that—shouldn't be at all surprised that Tomura had gone straight to stripping. You know he's done this before—more frequently and thoroughly than he's let on, you suspect—but he still seems eager to get it over with, is clearly embarrassed by the position you've talked him into, kneeling on your bed with another version of himself only two feet away. They're both shirtless, hands paused halfway through the motions of undoing their pants. The only difference between them is that Tomura—the real one—huffs at your comment.

"It's jerking off, not making love or some shit. It doesn't need foreplay."

"Is that why we used to catch you limping around?"

"Shut up," he grumbles, but the way his cheeks heat up make you think there's more truth to your statement than he wants to admit. He glares resignedly between you and his double. "What were you thinking?"

You'd been intent on just watching them to start—that's half the point, after all, is what you'd spent weeks and weeks talking Tomura into after learning just how he used to abuse Twice's Quirk before you came along. In this case, though, it seems easier to show than tell. So, you scoot forward from where you've been sitting. Lean in to kiss him, soft and slow, teasing at his lower lip with your tongue before you pull away and turn to his clone, repeating that motion as Tomura watches on.

Then you sit back on your heels, gesturing between the two of them. Tomura's eyes widen when he gets what you're suggesting, and you pout at him before he can argue.

"C'mon, you promised me a good show."

"Fine," he mutters, shifting a little closer to his other self. It's wearing the same unenthusiastic expression, has the same pink flush to its cheek, but the half-formed bulges in their pants make it clear they're not quite as averse to this as they're acting.

Still, neither of them see to know where to start. They pause with a few inches of space between them, hands hovering uncertainly as twin pairs of red eyes scan their respective shirtless forms, Adam's apples bobbing as they both swallow hard.

Then Tomura is letting out an impatient breath and leaning in, stiffly pressing his mouth to his double's.

They're hesitant movements at first, Tomura's eyes falling closed—largely, you suspect because he simply doesn't want to stare at himself as cracked lips explore cracked lips in entirely perfunctory fashion. You don't complain about that lack of enthusiasm, though; there's something tantalizing about the sight despite the reluctance, or maybe even because of it. Your skin is already starting to grow warm as you watch on.

That heat only worsens when Tomura's lids finally blink open so he can peer at you from the corner of his eye. Crimson irises scan over you, his brow knitting just the slightest, obviously not missing the way you've already grown flustered by the act before you.

For all his reservations, that must be enough encouragement for him. A second later his lips are curving into a devious smirk and he's reaching one hand up to yank at his double's hair, kissing it harder. His teeth nip at its lip as its eyes widen momentarily, and then it's returning that treatment, mirroring Tomura's self-satisfied expression as it tips its head to watch your reaction.

Your breath catches when their tongues lap out, escalating to sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, grunts and groans periodically punctuating the sounds of panting as their hands start to wander, yanking at tufts of white hair one moment and reaching to grope at their now-prominent arousals the next. When the double's hand finally slips beneath the waistband of Tomura's pants, Tomura's hand fists at its hair, guiding its lips roughly to his neck and turning his head to look at you, letting out a hiss when the clone sinks its teeth into his sensitive throat.

"This what you wanted?" he asks you, tone entirely self-satisfied despite his heavy breathing. He keeps his eyes locked on yours when he shoves his pants down a little, revealing the erection gripped tight in his double's hand. Then he's working the double's pants down too. Its own arousal hangs heavy, flushed at the tip and twitching slightly every time Tomura's fingers tighten in its hair.

You nod in response to his question. There's an ache growing between your legs now, your thighs clenching and wetness pooling, your hand lifting to tease at your breast through the fabric of Tomura's shirt, the only thing covering you besides the thin cotton of your underwear. You whimper quietly as you pinch and tug at one nipple.

Tomura's smug expression only worsens at that sight, and more still when his free hand works between his respective bodies. He shifts a little closer to the other version of himself, maneuvering until he manages to trade his double's grip for his own, taking them both in hand. The sound of dual groans fills the room when he starts to stroke them together. It's followed by his double's head lolling back, hips bucking into that grip, a hiss of breath slipping past its lips every time Tomura swipes his thumb over their glistening tips.

Your tongue traces over your bottom lip as your hand slips between your thighs, teasing yourself through the fabric of your underwear. For a moment, that's all there is—the heady sight before you and the faint sounds of the Tomuras grunting and whining as they continue their ministrations, teeth nipping at identical patches of pale skin as they rut into a single large fist, both sets of crimson eyes constantly surveying your response.

It's not long before Tomura grows impatient with the performance, though, until he obviously wants something more than this display that's largely for your benefit. Then he's releasing his grip and fisting at his double's hair instead, unceremoniously shoving its head down towards his flushed erection.

His double doesn't complain. Only shoots you another one of those cocky looks before obediently extending its pink tongue to drag along the underside of Tomura's length, hand tugging at its own cock. It swallows Tomura down, and he swears under his breath.

Tomura tangles both hands in his double's hair. Hunches his shoulders as he starts to piston his hips, spit-slicked cock working in and out from between scarred lips as the clone sputters and gags but never stops accepting that length without complaint. When a tiny whimper slips from you as you watch, Tomura's eyes gleam, mouth splitting into a grin as he eyes your hand still toying with your clit through your underwear.

"Tired of just watching yet?" he taunts breathily.

You nod. Scramble onto your knees and forward to kiss him again, more heatedly than you had before. His tongue laps at your own, his groans filling your mouth as his double continues its efforts, and then Tomura is swearing.

"Fuck," he hisses, a thin strand of saliva connecting your lips when he pulls away. One of his arms wraps around your waist, his other hand still holding tight to his double's hair as he falls back against the mattress, repositioning you all so quickly it's hard to follow. One moment he's kneeling, his chest pressed to yours, and the next he's on his back, tugging you to straddle his face.

You're sure it's no accident how he's positioned you, either, facing his feet, where you can see the other version of him settling again between his thighs, its mouth still working over his cock with practiced expertise. Your clothes are gone before you know it, too, flushed skin and damp cunt fully exposed as dust falls against the sheets.

Tomura wastes no time availing himself of your heated sex. His tongue parts your slick folds and works its way greedily inside you, probing at your walls until you're gasping and grinding against his face, desperate for more. When he finally pulls back, tongue lapping forward to lap at your clit, you moan at the gentle pulse of that wet muscle against your most sensitive spot.

The double's eyes settle on you at that sound, one of its hands reaching up to grope at your bare chest, rough fingers kneading at that soft flesh before circling your nipple, pinching at that tender bud. The sharp pang of pleasure that brings only worsens the growing ache in your core.

"Tomura," you mewl, and you feel his throaty laugh between your thighs. See the double grin before it pulls its lips from Tomura's cock, dragging its tongue over that length.

"Fuck, like it when you say our name," it pants. It lifts one hand to your mouth, two fingers extended, and you waste no time parting your lips to suck at those digits, tongue laving over its knuckles and fingertips as its other hand strokes at Tomura's swollen length, drawing the occasional grunt from where the real version of him is still face-deep in your cunt. Each stroke of his tongue has that pressure building deep inside, your thighs starting to tremble.

The double pulls its hand away once its fingers are good and slicked with spit. Nudges Tomura's legs a little farther apart and drops its fingers to probe between those spread thighs. You feel it more than see it when one of those long fingers breaches Tomura's tight hole—feel the way he tenses beneath you and gasps hotly against your sex. His double's lips wrap around his cock once more, licking and sucking as he pumps his finger in and out, adding a second one after only a moment.

Tomura whimpers when those fingers press just right inside him, the movements of his mouth against your cunt growing more feverish, and then he's shoving two of his own fingers into your cunt, matching the rhythm of his double's movements as he laps at your clit. Each drag of his tongue and curl of his fingers sends you closer to the edge, your whole body going taut as you strain to reach that peak. You're not the only one, either—Tomura is whining and groaning now, his hips bucking up into his double's dual touches.

You get there first. The sight and feel of it all—the clone in front of you, lips slick with spit as it swallows Tomura down again and again, and Tomura's mouth and fingers working headily in tandem against your own cunt—has heat blooming under your skin and that pressure building deep within. You rock your hips, grinding harder against Tomura's face, and that pressure spills over, throbs of pleasure sending you keening as you come hard.

Tomura groans in bliss, lapping at your juices, his own hips rocking faster as he clearly teeters on the edge of his own release. You rake your nails over his chest in encouragement, earning a choked sound, his body tensing beneath you, and then—

And then he's letting out a frustrated grunt as his double pulls away, letting Tomura's cock slap wetly against his tense stomach. The double's fingers withdraw, too, earning another pained noise from the man beneath you.

The double ignores him. Only looks to you and says, with a wicked grin and a sharp gleam in its crimson eyes, "I have an idea.”

"Fuck."

Shigaraki can't help the swear that slips out as he moves to straddle you, though his face burns at the indignity of it. It's not just the position he's in that has him so uncharacteristically self-conscious; it's his own eagerness, too, and how badly he's hiding it. Because he's fantasized about this more than once, or parts of it anyway—you beneath him with that glossy silicone strap-on jutting out from the apex of your thighs.

Of course, his fantasies weren't quite like this—never featured this particular desire being outed by another version of himself, or said alternate looming behind Tomura as he readied himself to ride you.

Still, he's not complaining. Wouldn't even think to, not when his thighs are shaking in anticipation and his cock is achingly hard, desperate for the relief that was abruptly denied when his double decided there were better ideas than Shigaraki coming down its throat.

And, Shigaraki has to admit, he really is curious to see how much he can take.

He pauses when his knees settle beside your hips. Shifts to rut his turgid cock against your fake length once, twice, and then shifts again to let the tip of it tease at his asshole, swearing under his breath as it brushes cooly against all those sensitive nerves.

From behind him, there's an impatient click of a tongue. "Get on with it already," the other him grumbles.

"Shut up," Shigaraki hisses, but he gets on with it anyway, propping himself up on one careful fist as he starts the work of lowering himself down onto your waiting strap. You'd expressed concern, at first—about whether he could really take its thickness with so little preparation. The truth though is that this is far more control than he usually has; it's a stark departure from being bent over, some glorified onahole for a clone of himself who'd be treated the same way when it was through.

It takes little effort for the tip of your strap to breach his entrance, and Shigaraki can't help the throaty gasp that slips from his throat when he does; even when he's getting fucked by himself, that first stretch is pleasantly painful in a way nothing else quite compares to, and it's all the better now, when it's you working your way inside him, fake dick or not.

He's clearly not the only one enjoying it, either; you're watching him with bright eyes, lower lip caught between your teeth. That lustful look only worsens the heat spreading through Shigaraki's abdomen, and whatever patience he'd had left expires then. Not taking his eyes off yours, he drives himself down, accepting the full length of your strap in one fluid movement, letting out a sharp hiss at the way it thrills and aches in equal measure.

"Fuck, you weren't kidding," you murmur, hands settling at his waist. Your thumbs stroke soothingly over the points of his hips bones, holding him lightly in place, encouraging him to adjust despite your faint praise. Shigaraki only manages to tolerate that stillness for a moment before grinding impatiently against you, and then you finally start to rock your hips with soft, shallow movements. "Should've done this sooner," you breathe, still staring raptly up at him. "Feel good?"

Good is an understatement. Even your small movements are enough to have him whimpering, his straining cock twitching with every small stroke against his insides. It's not enough—is barely brushing against that sensitive spot within, and Shigaraki works himself a little faster against you, finally nodding in response to your question. "Yeah, fuck. More."

As if on cue, a hand fists roughly in Shigaraki's hair, jerking at the roots of his crown so roughly that his head snaps back, bolts of white heat stinging across his scalp. He feels his clone shifting from where it's been waiting behind him, one of its arms wrapping around to grope between his legs. A rough hand cups at his balls, and from the corner of his eye, Shigaraki sees his double smirking at you. Then it's using its grip to lift Shigaraki abruptly off your strap.

"You don't have to be so gentle with me," it tells you as it aligns itself with Shigaraki's achingly empty hole. "I can take it." It punctuates that statement with the snap of its hips, burying itself deep in one rough thrust.

It's forceful enough to draw a choked noise from Shigaraki, the girth of his own cock more substantial than the strap you'd had nestled deep only a moment ago; it knocks the breath from his lungs as he's split open in a way he'd never thought would appeal before this uncanny debauchery with the double had all started.

Some faint embarrassment rises at that thought, and at the unblinking stare you've fixed him with as you watch his double take him. He's being louder now—can't help it, not when his other self is so relentless. It doesn't ease into anything, only starts pounding away roughly the moment it's sheathed inside him, movements so harsh that all Shigaraki can do is fist tightly at the sheets and listen to the sounds of his own ragged gasps echoing in stereo, the pitch of those noises rising every time his double angles to hit just the right spot inside.

Shigaraki finds himself empty again a moment later, his walls clenching around nothing with humiliating need, but it doesn't go unfulfilled for long. His double guides him immediately back to your waiting strap, and you waste no time lifting your hips to fill that void. Your strokes keep to that gentle, steady rhythm, teasing him with what must be an intentional contrast to his double's rough treatment.

Again it's not enough, and Shigaraki lifts a hand to wrap around his cock, only to find himself denied; calloused fingers wrap tight around his wrist and twist, pinning his arm roughly behind his back.

Shigaraki sees your eyes widen when his double restrains him, and feels the heat in his face worsening under your enraptured stare. It's undignified, he knows—the way he's squirming atop you with obvious need, his cock flushed and leaking as he strives for a release that's nowhere near close enough. You don't give him what he needs, either, offering nothing but another few slow strokes against his insides before the double tightens its grip, torquing Shigarkai's arm harder as it once again maneuvers him off your strap, the feel of smooth silicone replaced by warm skin and harsh movements.

You prop yourself up, just enough for your lips to find the flushed skin of SHigaraki's chest, your tongue dragging over the sheen of sweat starting to form before you sink your teeth into his pec. That spark of hurt only worsens the near-unbearable ache in his neglected cock.

"Quit teasing and—ngh—and make me come already," he grits through clenched teeth.

"Be patient," you murmur, a teasing edge to your voice before your teeth find the hollow of his throat.

His double, though, comes closer to indulging that request. It once again withdraws, guiding Shigaraki to settle back on your strap, and then it releases its grip on Shigaraki's arm. A second later there's the faint click of a cap and the squelch of lube, and its fingers drop to probe at Shigaraki's stretched out hole even as you start to fuck up into him.

Shigaraki can't help the guttural sound he makes when the first finger slips its way inside, working in and out in tandem with your strap, searching until it brushes against his prostate. It's quickly joined by a second digit, then a third, the combined stretch more than Shigaraki has experienced before. Even warmed up as he is it borders on painful, has his body tensing at the invasion even as the throbbing in his cock worsens.

One of your hands reaches up to stroke at his hair, fingers combing soothingly through it. "Good?"

"I can take it," Shigaraki pants, echoing his clone's words from earlier. To prove it, he starts to push his hips back to meet your combined movements, leaning into that heady mixture of hurt and delicious fullness. His cock bounces with each thrust, pre dripping from his tip onto the exposed expanse of your stomach, sticky threads of it delicately connecting your flushed bodies.

That leaking arousal only worsens when the double plants one hand firmly between Shigaraki's shoulder blades and shoves, forcing him down until his chest is flush against yours and lifting his hips until only the tip of your strap is still nestled inside him.

Every muscle in Shigaraki's body goes taut in anticipation, no doubt in his mind about what's coming next, and an undignified whine slips past his lips as his other self settles into position, the firm head of its cock nudging at Shigaraki's asshole still stretched around your silicone length.

Shigaraki can feel his rim giving way with each press, stretching wider until all he can do is squirm in response, his teeth finding the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder. Four fingers dig roughly into your waist and his other hand fists tightly at the sheets above your head as he braces himself.

And then his clone is surging forward, finally breaching Shigaraki's hole with one last insistent thrust, and Shigaraki's teeth are biting more firmly into the skin of your neck, a choked groan clawing up from his throat as he's stretched impossibly wide. He can feel his cock twitching between your bodies, hard as it's ever been, that substantial invasion enough to have his balls tightening, hovering on the edge of release even before you or the clone really start to move.

A moment later you do start to move, both of you, and whatever faint composure Shigaraki had maintained evaporates entirely, lost to the motion of you and the double rocking your hips in sync, working deep to hit that sensitive spot inside with unprecedented thoroughness. Each thrust sends Shigaraki's cock rutting sharply against the soft skin of your stomach, already slick with sweat and precum, and that added friction along with the agonizing fullness is all that it takes; the knot that's been clinched in Shigaraki's gut for ages finally snaps and then he's coming, finally coming as a string of half-incoherent swears spills past his lips.

"A-ah—fuck, fuck—ngh—FUCK." His skin goes hot, his whole body shuddering as he's wracked with that release.

The two of you aren't even halfway inside him, but neither of you relent as he quivers and comes—you only seem encouraged by his poorly stifled moans the way he's arching into the impossible thickness of your assailment. The two of you only push forward, another long groan rising from Shigaraki's throat when the two of you finally bottom out, staying buried there just long enough for Shigaraki's double to reach one hand down to toy with your cunt beneath the base of the strap.

Your hips buck in response to that touch, Shigaraki shuddering again, hyperaware of each tiny movement of your strap snug inside him. When another choked grunt slips out, the double laughs a little, rolling its hips.

"You're both greedy," it taunts, fingers working roughly in and out of you, its hips matching those movements. "I haven't even come once."

Shigaraki feels you writhing under him, your thrusts sloppy as you clearly try to focus on him and your own pleasure at the same time, even as your eyes flick to the double behind him. "Whose—hng—whose fault is that?"

The double gives an amused snort in response, and picks up its pace. You match that rhythm, both working harder and faster than before as you pound away in tandem. Your hand slips beneath Shigaraki, slipping between your bodies to wrap around his cum-slick cock, pumping at that length as you lick and suck at his neck, those sloppy, whimper-punctuated attentions only adding to his mounting overstimulation.

Shigaraki grunts. Tips his head to permit you better access to the sensitive skin of his throat, and almost regrets it when he catches sight of your reflections in the dark glassy screen of the television nearby, granting him what must be some approximation of your own view from beneath him: he can see his reddened face and wrecked expression, his eyes heavy-lidded and his jaw gone slack, the only response he can manage to being so thoroughly fucked. Behind him is the other version of himself, similarly flushed but wearing an entirely different look—strands of pale hair hanging in its face, crimson eyes bright and intent, scarred upper lip curling in satisfaction every time it buries itself to the hilt.

His double is close to coming, too; Shigaraki can tell from the sounds it's making, stuttering grunts and growls accompanied by ragged exhales whenever it drives itself especially deep. It's paired with your own throaty moans, and the occasional faltering of your hips, that slight discordance between dual movements only making him all the more of aware of the stretch of his walls around your lengths, and of the tight grip of your hand around his own cock, sensitive and swollen and already dangerously close to spilling over again.

Shigaraki rocks himself back against those motions. Manages to lift one hand to grope at your chest again, pinching and twisting at one stiff nipple in his own small effort to help you along—all he can manage when he can barely move, can barely think. He's hardly aware of anything except the heat of your body pressed against him and the constant, near-painful stretch of his abused hole, all of it too much and not nearly enough.

"Fuck, Tomura," you whine, your hand tangling more tightly in his hair. Your mouth finds his in a heated, messy kiss, your teeth tugging at his tongue and your grip tightening around his cock. He ruts erratically into your fist only to be countered by his clone jerking roughly at his hips, pulling Shigaraki back against its thrusts.

"Hold—hng—hold still," it rasps. Its voice has gone pitched and breathy, a clear indication of what Shigaraki already knows, though the double says it anyway, "Gonna—fuck—gonna come."

Its fingers fuck harder into your cunt, clearly trying to get you there too, and its efforts are rewarded. Your body goes tense beneath Shigaraki, your cries growing louder against his lips, and then you're mimicking those urgent movements, each stroke of your wrist and thrust of your hips growing more feverish.

Those coordinated efforts work, somehow. You press yourself more tightly against Shigaraki, body shuddering as you come, and at the same time Shigaraki feels his double forcing its way as deep as it can, that final stroke and the grip of your hand around his length enough to have him seeing white as his cock jerks and pulses, each twitch matched by warm spurts of cum spilling from the cock still buried inside him.

Shigaraki slumps against you, wincing slightly as his clone does the same, pulling out and sending leaking wetness running down his thighs as it collapses beside you. Shigaraki watches it reach one hand up to tip your chin, just enough to kiss you for a long moment. Then its eyes are flicking from you to Shigaraki and back again.

"So," it asks dryly, mouth curving up into a haughty smirk, "think you got a good enough show?"

Taglist: @kiwiimochi @simultaneously-sick-and-calm @nonobadcat @httptamaki @toughbook @xxjesshuxx @lawfulrhi @doomsthotstash @arozaur @sukiirei @evilmortytrapremix @sunasb3tch @tomurastrashpanda @decaydaddy @handvillain @nao-cchi @pestlaege

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x you #x reader #shigaraki smut #shigaraki fanfic #bnha smut #bnha reader insert #tw: pegging #tw: selfcest

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whatavery · 2 months

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Ordained Defiance Ch. 1

Finally, after weeks of buildup, finally I can start posting this very special story. Of all the characters in Lackadaisy, I really wanted to create some Abelard content, because I love him.

So what better way to do so than to write a little fanfiction featuring him, his family and my OC? A slow-burn story set in the small town of Defiance, Missouri...

For the first chapter, I present you with an image of my new OC alongside Abelard!

This lovely piece here was drawn by the amazing @mergestucs1!

-----

With the sweeping, green hills, the freshly sprouting leaves on the trees and the mostly clear, blue sky, Defiance was beautiful in spring. The air was getting warmer, but the breeze still had a sharpness to it whenever it graced Abelard’s face. It was a Thursday morning like any other as he made his way into town on foot, the apricot-furred cat enjoying the spring weather. Abelard's shoes dug into the dirt road that led the way through the small town that was Defiance. Granted, it really wasn't much of a town (it was closer to a village, if anything) given how small it was, and how much distance there was between the homes here.

The lean reverend took long, fast strides, walking with purpose. His morning strolls generally took him all over Defiance. He started at home and took the scenic route out to Defiance General, going through the small community and finally ending by the church.

He'd left the store just minutes prior, having stopped by the outskirts of town to see the shop owner. It was usually his first stop these days. Most days Mr. Weaver was up and working early, despite his age. Abelard always did make sure to purchase something when he visited, often in the form of cigarettes or other small items, usually something edible. Sometimes he brought home bigger items such as potatoes and the like.

And Abelard would, of course, gladly take on Mr. Weaver in a round of chess when time allowed it. Reverend Arbogast usually wasn't one to turn down an opportunity to spend time with the locals. It was part of his daily routine, making sure to visit with members of their little community. Though he didn’t personally visit each and every inhabitant of the small town, he made sure to at least greet them whenever possible, whether by the church or around town.

The man running Defiance General was one of the few that Abelard regularly visited personally. As reverend, Abelard saw it as part of his job to maintain a good relationship with said community; it was what the reverend before him had done. And it was what he’d taught Abelard; it was any reverend’s job to spread the word of the Lord and maintain good relations to those who believed, and even those who didn’t. After all, it was how a man of faith might help others see the light.

And as village minister Abelard didn’t just do services in the church on Sundays. Of course, that was part of the job; he took care to preach to his fellow man, woman and child. Though it had been a while since the last time, he had also done confessions and he’d heard quite a number of things. But as was his sworn duty, he’d never disclosed this to anyone; it was for him, the Lord and the sinner to know.

He’d been doing this job for decades at this point, and everyone in Defiance, and the nearby townships, that was part of his congregation, knew him. He'd established a good trust and good relations with the community, but it had taken time.

The township of Defiance primarily consisted of a small collection of farm buildings and barns around a main road that stretched through the small town. Defiance General was the primary place to do shopping for those who didn’t wish to travel further away by car, where they had more options. St. Louis was about forty miles away and Abelard himself hadn't made the trip there in quite some time. He was content in this small town where he'd grown up.

The town itself had a few things of note, despite its small size. For one, there was a local mechanic, though it wasn’t really a proper business, just a farmer who knew how to handle cars and other machinery. It wasn't so unusual to see him taking a look at someone’s vehicle, just as he was today. The farm house he lived in with his family was one of the larger ones on the side of the road that Abelard walked on. The barn door was open and the tuxedo cat could be seen fiddling with the engine of one of his neighbors’ cars.

As Abelard passed, he was spotted by the mechanic, who wore messy overalls over his clothes. He waved to Abelard as he passed. “Good morning, Father Arbogast. How do you do?”

“I’m quite well, thank you,” the lean cat called back in a proper tone. Abelard waved back as well, and offered him the slightest of smiles. Abelard was clad in all black from top to toe; black shoes, black pants, black jacket, black hat. The only article of clothing Abelard wore that wasn't black was his white button-up shirt under his jacket. “I hope you are as well.”

Though not a man who smiled much, nor a man to whom smiling came naturally, Abelard still did his best to be personable with the locals. At least for the most part. That wasn't to say he was all-smiles around them all the time, far from it. Father Arbogast, as he was most often called, had quite a reputation for being a man not to cross. It wasn't often, but he’d had to tell local children off more than a few times, using the colorful language he had become rather infamous for. And for the most part, it worked. He’d even had to tell off their parents on occasion.

Children as well as their parents knew to respect him and that was how Abelard liked things to work. Abelard was never one to shy away from doing such things if someone were to do or say something morally apprehensive.

Abelard didn’t linger around too much as he continued down the road.

The houses around the main road were generally large, quaint farm houses, many of them quite old with a fair bit of distance between each one. Defiance had never had a large population. Abelard knew they currently didn’t even amount to a hundred. The entire community could fit inside the church during services, even despite how small the church was. In the open area of Defiance, they had a few small businesses, such as a post office, an inn and a carpenter who also did metalwork on occasion. There was also a single bookshop and of course, further away there was a train station with its depot.

The businesses were mainly being run out of people’s homes, further adding to the feeling of a small, tight-knit community amongst the locals.

The area all around was wide and open with small groves and forested area nearby fencing in the majority of Defiance. The rolling hills and fields all around offered space for farmland, like the cornfields near Abelard's home.

The cornfields had gone from being harvested for food to also being harvested for more unsavory reasons in recent years. He'd been there for it all, as the changing political landscape of America had ushered in changes to his life. Not just his life either; Abelard also knew the unspoken truth that farmers both in Defiance, as well as all over the country, were doing the very same thing.

Abelard had spent most of his life in Defiance, as had many of its inhabitants. He'd traveled to visit nearby towns and cities, but home was always here. For better and for worse. But the small town of Defiance needed him. The Lord’s work was never finished until the day of reckoning and Abelard intended on continuing to spread the word of the Lord till his last breath.

He knew that there was no such thing as a one-man army when it came to his job. Abelard wasn't entirely alone; he spread the Lord’s word, he preached to warn of sins and temptations in the hopes that his congregation would help spread the same message. It was the point of preaching at all to begin with, to spread the word of the Lord, to help enlighten and to save as many souls as he could.

Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil… That part of the Lord’s Prayer had taken on a new significance to Abelard just a few short years ago. The nation-wide prohibition on alcohol had changed so much for so many people, again for better and for worse.

For Abelard? To him the very idea of stripping away a source of temptation in such a way was an affront. It had never been something that sat right with him; Abelard knew so many who saw it as removing the very option of giving in to sin from their lives, but Abelard privately saw it as a disruption to the natural order of things.

If anything, it seemed to have inadvertently added a whole new caliber of trappings into the lives of many. Abelard knew as much, being an initially reluctant participant in the illicit alcohol business.

But alas, here he was; illegal liquor had paid for much of the maintenance around the church and the town. Abelard knew that the cursed liquid would go on to add temptation back into the realm of the living – of the souls who would eventually need saving. Abelard knew that the very allure of the illicit only made sin all the sweeter to the ones who chose to give in to it.

But in the end, he knew that the truly good people would make the right choices, even with temptation in their lives. God would forgive sins, and although Abelard too would do his part to make sure people would not be led into the many pitfalls in life, he knew these complexities to be a necessary evil to separate the righteous from the wicked.

But Abelard kept these views to himself and a very select few close to him.

Passing more homes on his way, Abelard spotted more people who were getting their days started; a woman looking after the small garden around their front-porch where her small children were playing; a young couple leaving their driveway together in a car. Once more Abelard offered waves on his way, even if the children seemed rather frightened of him. He didn’t mind, of course. There was a fine line between fear and respect, and Abelard hoped they would learn to walk that line well.

If nothing else, Abelard hoped the younger generations would be given the chance to grow up with all of life’s complexities; the good, the bad and the tempting, all ever-present. Their parents (and he to some extent) would need to arm them to face the many trappings of life, and never stray from the righteous path. Whether they'd succeed or not was ultimately in their own hands.

All he could do was hope for the best… And hope that they may never get involved in unsavory business like his family.

Being in the liquor business had proven to have more downsides than upsides to Abelard. He resisted the urge to spit on the ground, to curse the names of those he'd had to deal with, as he continued on his way. Lackadaisy, Marigold, they were both the same to him; bands of immoral, cutthroat criminal that needed him and his kin for liquor and nothing else.

Though Abelard had no qualms with partaking in the making and smuggling of the liquor, dealing with others in the business had been less than pleasant. All the trouble that had come with it… It had cost him an organ player as well. Little Defiance had been the scene of some gruesome acts of violence, which Abelard still found unsettling to think about.

And that was despite all he'd seen and heard in his fifty-two years on this Earth.

Leaving the main residential area, Abelard passed the single inn that the town had. It was a small, family-owned place, a decently popular location that Abelard had visited many times. It was a two-story farm house where the family lived on the upper floor and the inn itself was located down below. It was one of the popular places for members of Abelard's congregation to end up after service on Sundays.

After passing the road that would take him towards the Arbogast Funeral Home, Abelard made his way past a tree line and out to another open area. The wide, open space was fenced in by trees from all sides, and the nearest farm houses could look right up to the white church with its single tower and tall spire that pointed straight to the Heavens. It was a relatively new church,; Abelard recalled in his youth that his parents had remembered the time when it was still newly constructed. Since it had been finished, it had been the church his family would visit for services every Sunday morning, and eventually the one that he himself would be the reverend of.

It wasn’t large and grand, but it was beautiful. All-white exterior, the church had two small steps leading up to the two tall doors out front with one short, wide transom above it. Further above the window as part of the tower was a clock, a relatively new installation. On either side of the large doors was a window, each larger than the one above the door, with a grid-like frame holding many small panes of glass. Each side of the church had four similar windows lining the walls, always making sure plenty of light could shine inside. The dark roof was angled upwards, the front merging into the small tower. The tower itself wasn’t that much taller than the roof, a small platform housing a thin, eight-sided spire reached higher than the roof, ending up in a sharp point.

There was always something to be done around the church, always something new to worry about, surprisingly so for such a small town. The illicit, ill-gained money helped keep the church in pristine order, and while they were currently out of a steady organ player, Abelard had other things to worry about. The groundskeeper was looking to retire. He was old and he had been looking after the grounds since before Abelard became the village minister. Just looking for a new groundskeeper would be a a mild challenge in the small community. Just something new for Abelard to figure out in the near future. Hopefully, the current groundskeeper would stick around long enough to find a replacement, so they wouldn’t leave the grounds unattended.

As a brisk morning breeze ruffled his facial fur, Abelard arrived by the entrance to the church grounds. The church was right by a crossroad; corn fields to one side, open stretch of grassland with graves on the other. The cemetery had expanded since the church’s founding, of course. Being framed in by the farmland, there was only so much space that could be used for graves; further away more grave sites had since been established.

No one was around at this time of day and as Abelard made it up the small steps to the large doors, he removed his hat and stepped into the Lord’s House.

It wasn't a very spacious interior, being a small church, but the space available had been optimally used. Stepping onto the wooden floor, Abelard walked up the aisle by himself. On each side of him were pews that could house the entirety of Defiance’s population during services, and there was even room for more people from neighboring townships. And in part owing to the small size of the church, Abelard had mastered utilizing the building’s acoustics to let his voice carry from the altar to the very back of the church, for all to hear.

Behind the last pew on the right side of the church, a small spiral staircase led up to a small landing above the entrance. This was where the organ was located, overlooking the small church’s interior. Abelard admittedly didn’t spend much time up there, nor did anyone else these days. The landing was close to the ceiling, which was painted blue like the sky outside, but even a man as tall as Abelard could comfortably stand up there without bumping his head on the ceiling.

Abelard made a mental note to attempt to send for a potential organ player in the nearby townships. He might even have to send for someone living further away, such as over in St. Louis…

The wooden pews that stood in rows on either side of the aisle were painted white, like the walls surrounding them. There were two windows up ahead flanking the altar, right across from each of the windows on either side of the door. Perfectly symmetrical. Along with the four windows on each of the church’s longer sides, plenty of light always poured in through these in the daytime hours. The same went for the circular stained glass window up above the altar close to the rounded ceiling. And of course, once it was dark, the multiple bronze candelabras on the walls and the large ornate chandelier hanging from the ceiling in front of the altar would help keep the building illuminated.

Abelard stopped before the altar, right below the chandelier and closed his eyes for a moment, just enjoying the peace and quiet that the church offered him at times like this. The tall, lean cat had a white podium off to his left, where he would stand to preach and speak during services, facing the congregation.

Leaving the altar, Abelard slowly made his way back outside again, casting a glance out at the woods in the distance that served as the natural fence for this part of Defiance. Leaves were sprouting from the branches and the grass all around was starting to look as green as could be, it was a beautiful sight indeed.

The dirt road leading to the left from Abelard's vantage point led up towards where a small part of the cemetery was located. Further away along the road that ran along the side of the church was the Arbogast Funeral Home. It hadn't always been a funeral home, as it was these days; it had also been Abelard's childhood home where he’d grown up. He’d inherited the place from his parents and now it was also where he conducted his other ventures, including more unholy business.

Glancing up the path towards the cemetery, Abelard put his hat back on. The nearby funeral home would prepare the dead for burial, the church would hold a funeral service and the dead would be buried in the nearby cemetery. It truly was an efficient, albeit morbid, little system.

Abelard’s own parents laid buried there as well, as did other past inhabitants of Defiance and the nearby area. Growing up so close to not only the church, but also the cemetery had made Abelard’s skin crawl as a young boy, but these days the thought didn’t bother him at all.

The area outside and around the church was beautifully maintained, the grass kept short, the nearby trees kept healthy and the paths kept clear and clean. The morning sun’s rays casting a brilliant light over the trees’ fresh leaves, and the blades of grass, only added to the place’s natural beauty.

It was going to be a tall order to find someone new who cared about looking after the grounds this much. But Abelard had no doubt in his mind that he’d find the right person for the job, as was his responsibility. Odds were someone in town would be willing to do it – it would be easier and more efficient to not have to call in someone from out of town. Abelard knew he shouldn’t keep putting it off.

After enjoying a bit of time to himself, Abelard let out a content sigh. But he knew he ought to go about his business once more.

Turning back towards the church, however, Abelard spotted a single figure lingering by the white brick wall to the left of the church doors. He squinted slightly. He didn’t recognize the stranger at a glance, in part due to them facing away from him, apparently glancing out over the cornfields nearby.

The stranger turned their head as Abelard got closer, and already Abelard didn’t get the best first impression of them, noticing the way they were leaning on the church wall. They were practically lounging, like the church was their personal property.

“Ah, hello… Reverend Arbogast is it?” The stranger sounded uncertain as he spoke in a surprisingly soft voice. The Turkish Angora stood just a couple inches shorter than Abelard, his fur a grayish off-white color all over. His ears were particularly fluffy, though his fur overall was short, yet fuzzy. He had bangs reaching down to his eyebrows and the tips of his ears had white tufts on them. Very unusual.

Behind him he had a particularly fluffy tail that drooped ever so slightly. He wore a dark gray sweater with a thick, folded collar and a pair of blue denim pants. The right knee of his pants was torn open, his white fur showing through.

“Yes, how can I help you?” Abelard asked, his blue eyes taking in the stranger before him. Abelard's tone was polite, but slightly stiff. He didn’t recognize him, and yet there was something familiar about him at the same time. Abelard guessed he was likely from out of town – he made it a point to know everyone in Defiance, after all.

The stranger left the wall and approached Abelard, his fluffy tail fur swaying in the wind. Eyes met, sky blue and minty green, and Abelard noticed the younger cat had a face with soft, rounded, almost slightly… feminine features. The stranger held out his white-furred hand. “Well… I was just looking around a bit. I haven't seen this place in a long time…”

“You’ve been here before?” Abelard asked in surprise as they shook hands briefly. He squinted slightly at the white cat. Again, he got the sense that they’d met before…

“Oh, I lived here a decade ago, before I- Well, I moved out a long time ago.” The stranger’s stumbling didn’t go unnoticed by Abelard, but he was more so intrigued, though perhaps a touch suspicious as well…

Abelard still fixed the stranger with some amount of dislike, which based on the look on the younger man’s face didn’t go unnoticed. “Hmmm, I don’t recognize you… I know everyone in Defiance. What’s your name, young man?”

“My name’s Cainan – Cainan… Wirth.” Once more Abelard couldn’t help but feel as though something was wrong. The stranger seemed hesitant to give his name, which only made Abelard all the more suspicious of him. However, his name did stir something in Abelard – that sense of familiarity.

“Wirth? With an ‘i’?” Cainan nodded at this, though he didn’t meet Abelard's eyes when he did. “I see… Well, I might have known your parents in that case. Harold and Gabriela Wirth, correct?”

Abelard could see Cainan's face tightening at this, but the younger cat nodded. “Yup, them’s the ones. I was planning on visiting them after I’m done here, actually.”

At this Abelard raised an eyebrow as their eyes finally met again. He wasn't sure what Cainan's situation was, but this was… curious. For a number of reasons. The least of which being: “Well, they moved away a few years ago, if I’m not mistaken. They have not called Defiance home for a while.”

Cainan blinked up at Abelard with those pale green eyes. “… Oh.”

Was that disappointment Abelard heard in his voice? Or was it relief? Abelard genuinely couldn’t tell. The older reverend frowned down at the white cat. “You didn’t know…?”

The younger cat didn’t answer right away. Abelard could tell he was thinking hard about what to say. What was he up to exactly? He hadn't immediately struck Abelard as a troublemaker, though the way he hung around outside a church did seem suspicious. Abelard cast a glance over Cainan's shoulder towards the area beside the white building, which seemed to be quite untouched. When he glanced back at Cainan, the younger cat seemed ready to speak.

“Well, to tell you the truth, Reverend, no, I didn’t realize they'd moved. You know where to?” he asked. Again, Abelard found it curious how he spoke with the tone of someone just asking for the time; not with the tone of someone urgently needing to know the whereabouts of their parents.

“Hmmm, well, I don’t recall, I’m afraid,” Abelard told him calmly, though he watched Cainan closely, his gaze fixated upon the younger cat to wait for a reaction. Abelard had his suspicions, but he wanted to see just how Cainan might react to this information. To his surprise, the younger cat barely seemed to react at all – he just nodded slowly.

“Ah that’s alright. Guess I’ll try and ask around town,” was the response Abelard got, a surprisingly casual response. Now he was certain something wasn't right here.

“Were you hoping to run into them here?” The longer he spent in Cainan's company, the more Abelard could start to see some family resemblance. While he couldn’t say he'd been close with the Wirths, he still partially remembered what they looked like. He could see aspects of both Cainan's parents as he remembered them, when he gazed upon the younger cat before him.

“I suppose, yeah,” Cainan replied, his tone carrying that same casual carelessness as he spoke. Cainan seemed to hesitate for a moment, clearly thinking about… Honestly Abelard wasn't sure what was going through the young stranger’s mind. “I suppose I really just did come looking for you.”

“I guessed as much,” Abelard admitted, nodding slightly as he crossed his arms. The way Cainan had greeted him had indeed made it seem like he’d been waiting for him. Whatever this young cat could possibly want from him, Abelard didn’t know, but he was willing to hear him out. “So once more I ask you, how can I help you, child?”

Cainan’s left ear gave a small flick, possibly out of annoyance, though his facial expression didn’t show any signs of it. Abelard didn’t think calling him a child was unfair; he was young, clearly, though Abelard didn’t know quite how young. Perhaps he was older than his youthful face made him seem. “Well, I decided to return to town and, well, I’d like to do some work while I’m here. I’d like to… stick around for a li’l while.”

This was certainly a surprise to be sure. It wasn't at all what Abelard had expected of the young stranger, the reverend frowning slightly. He sighed. “Hmmm… And why didn’t you simply head into town and ask around? And why weren't you just honest from the beginning, young man?”

“I’m sorry, well, I figured this way was easier – I heard you were the village minister, so I figured… Actually, maybe this was a dumb idea.” Cainan suddenly seemed to change his mind mid-sentence. The younger cat shook his head and made to leave. “Sorry to waste your time, I should just drive-”

“Now hold it just a minute…!” Abelard put a hand on Cainan's shoulder to stop him in his tracks, gripping him firmly with his slender fingers. Cainan turned to look at up him, apparently surprised, his white eyebrows raised. “Slow down and explain yourself. I can’t figure out where to put you, if I don’t know where you came from.”

“So, you will help me…?” the Turkish Angora asked hopefully, his ears perking up immediately. Abelard let go of Cainan's shoulder and stared at him in disbelief. Had he been hoping for this kind of reaction…?

“I asked you to explain yourself. We shall see if we can find a solution to your predicament once I know everything… And I do mean everything.” Abelard had a feeling Cainan just might be a troublemaker, but of a different sort than the kind he had encountered before. He gestured towards the church with some apprehension. “We can step inside and talk, if you'd please.”

Cainan turned towards the church with an equal amount of apprehension of his own. He bit his lower lip and seemed to consider this for quite a little while. He awkwardly hovered around where he stood, though he didn’t step towards the church. “Uh… maybe we could talk out here? Or we could go for a walk? It was a long drive here, I’d like to just stretch my legs a little bit.”

Abelard thought it curious that he'd mentioned a long car ride, seeing as there wasn't a car around to be seen nearby. He looked at the younger cat, eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“Oh, I drove into town, but I walked here,” the white cat hastily added, apparently not ignorant to the doubt written all over Abelard's face. The white cat offered a would-be innocent smile, but given the hasty way Cainan had offered up a rather flimsy explanation, it didn’t make Abelard trust him any more. “And besides… I haven't really been in Defiance for years. You could show me around… Please…?”

Abelard scowled at the shorter cat, crossing his arms again. Cainan continued looking at him with that would-be innocent smile of his, but Abelard saw right through it. Whatever he was playing at, Abelard wasn't going to let him win. He knew for sure he didn’t want to participate in his little games. But if he wanted to stick around and work in the town he grew up in… Abelard supposed it wasn’t the worst thing to want, even if he was being deceptive about it. Still, something wasn't right about Cainan…

“Very well, we can walk together,” Abelard finally agreed, though he still scowled at the younger cat. Cainan on the other hand seemed perfectly pleased with this outcome. It indeed seemed like this was the outcome the younger man had desired.

As the two of them left the church grounds and walked up to where the two roads outside the church crossed, Abelard couldn’t help but feel like this was all an elaborate rouse. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Cainan was trying to manipulate him in some way. His intentions sounded innocent enough on paper, but the way he went about everything didn’t sit right with Abelard. “Now, young Mr. Wirth-”

“Ugh, no… Just call Cainan… uhm… please. Reverend.”

“Well, Cainan… If you wish for me to… potentially assist you with your plight, I must ask you a few things. And I ask that you return the favor by answering my questions honestly.” Abelard turned his blue-eyed gaze upon the other and fixated him with a scrutinizing look. “Do I have your word?”

“Of course, I’ll be… honest.” The hesitation made Abelard scoff and offer Cainan a side-eye as the two walked down the dirt road together. “No, sorry, I mean it. I’ll be honest – I swear.”

Abelard still scowled, but he ultimately nodded, breaking eye contact to look ahead. The two walked along the road that ran parallel to the church’s front door. They moved in silence for a few seconds as Abelard gathered his thoughts. He still wasn't at all sure what to make of Cainan. He didn’t appear very trustworthy; the way he spoke, his closed off body language from the way he slouched and the way he shrugged so often. Abelard very much felt that the answers he got from the white cat would prove whether he was to be trusted or not.

“So, tell me: when did you move away? And how come your parents didn’t contact you to let you know that they'd moved themselves?” Abelard decided to go for two big questions back to back. When he looked over to Cainan on his left, the younger cat did indeed seem taken aback by the questions. Abelard simply hoped he'd honor his promise and tell him the truth.

“Ah… Well, those are very good questions…” Cainan replied hesitantly, looking away at the cornfield they walked past. Abelard could tell he was stalling to answer, and he was starting to feel rather annoyed with Cainan already. Though the scowl on his face didn’t go away, Abelard calmed himself the best he could, and just waited. “Well, to answer the first one, I left town when I was… I think fourteen. Thirteen? Around that time at least.”

“Really now? And how come you decided to leave Defiance then?” Abelard wondered aloud, and he couldn’t help but privately wonder if Cainan had run away. It seemed unusual to travel away alone at such a young age. But all the same it seemed so unlikely; from what Abelard remembered of the Wirth family, they were a respectable sort, a good family with good values. They were people of faith and everyone in town seemed to like and admire them.

At least if Abelard's memory served him correctly…

“Oh, I needed a change of scenery.” Once more, Cainan appeared so casual. He stuck his hands into his pants pockets, looking completely unbothered. He still slouched a bit, whereas Abelard took proper strides, back as straight as a board. “Small towns like this are nice, but I wanted to see more of what the world had to offer.”

Abelard had to admit, the younger cat’s answer had surprised him. Assuming it was the truth, he couldn’t help but find it almost admirable to want to experience things like that at such a young age. Perhaps that was how his parents had raised him?

Of course, being out in the world meant temptation. How old was Cainan now? Abelard wasn't sure, but if he left about ten years ago, perhaps… Ten years was a long time… Who knew, maybe Cainan was older than he seemed at a glance. “And where did the road take you then?”

“Oh, here… there… all over the place.” Cainan offered up another casual shrug, Abelard feeling a twinge of annoyance shooting through him at the sight. “I started going from town to town. I traveled down south for a bit, then over east to St. Louis for a while. Never really out of state, though.”

“And now you’ve returned home.” Cainan glanced on over at Abelard in a manner that told Abelard all he needed to know. The look told him far more than the young cat likely meant for it to; he didn’t like the idea of referring to Defiance as ‘home’. Although he said nothing, it was written all over the younger cat’s face. “And what did you do while you were away exactly? I take it you must have done some kind of work to get by, have you not?”

Cainan nodded as they approached the treeline that bordered the fields near the church. Past the treeline there would be yet more farmland with more houses and more of what Defiance had to offer. “I did a couple different things. Factory work, courier work, personal driver, everything in-between, really.”

It was of course a very vague list, but Abelard supposed if he truly was that versatile and had gotten a lot of experiences in his time away from Defiance, he might just fit in after all. It shouldn’t be too hard to find something for him to do at least; Abelard was sure he (or at least the locals) might be able to find a niche for the Turkish Angora to occupy. But of course, that was all up to the community and how well he got himself reintegrated with them.

Defiance was a small, small town, but there should be room enough for one more – it might even help that he grew up there. Abelard wasn't sure if anyone would remember the white cat, but perhaps if they did, that might ease the transition.

As the two of them reached and passed the treeline, they also reached a more densely populated area. This was of course relatively speaking as the buildings scattered here still had a considerable amount of distance between them. Cainan glanced around with considerably more interest than he’d shown up until that point, his green eyes taking everything in. “Ah yeah, I do remember this place… a little. It hasn't changed that much from what I remember…”

“Suppose there’s not too much of a point in showing you around then. Hmmm, let’s see… If you left some ten years ago, I suppose you may not have seen that we have a bookstore now, have you?” Abelard asked as they approached the nearest building. He didn’t remember exactly when the bookstore had been opened, but he was fairly sure it must have been after Cainan left home.

“Oh, I don’t think so, no. I might have to stop by later,” the younger cat said. Abelard thought it might be the first time Cainan said something genuine. At the very least it seemed more genuine than anything else he had said up until that point.

Out here, there was more open grassland, less of it dedicated to farmland, more of it just simple grassy, green hills that rolled along the beautiful landscape. While there was distance between the homes here, they were closer in proximity than some the farms around the church. Cainan looked around curiously as the two of them continued along the dirt road. “Ah, I recognize some of the buildings.”

“So, where are you staying exactly? I take it you’re not staying in your parents’ old home. Are you renting a room at the inn?” Abelard inquired as they neared the very same inn on their stroll. Although it was one of the larger buildings in town, they only had two rooms they rented out, seeing as Defiance didn’t see many visitors, usually. It had a seating area inside for guests to sit and dine as well.

“Oh, no, I’m not. I’ve already got a bed with my name on it,” Cainan replied vaguely. As the two of them passed the inn and approached other houses, a few people took notice of the strange duo.

Abelard would nod in greeting to them, but he could tell people were curious. “And where might that be? If you’re planning on working here, I think we ought to make sure you don’t have to commute back and forth…”

“Ah. Well, I’m staying on over in Cottleville, it’s not too far.” Abelard watched Cainan closely, trying to see if he was being honest. He had a difficult time with this young, white cat; he was easy to read at times, yet other times, such as now, Abelard hadn't the faintest idea what he was thinking. His face was neutral, blank like a fresh new canvas, not showing a single discerning emotion.

“I see. I suppose that isn't too bad as far as distance is concerned,” Abelard reluctantly agreed as they continued on their way. He fell silent for a moment, the older cat needing a moment to think things through. They passed by the post office on their way.

It was another business that had had its start in someone’s home, albeit a house considerably smaller than most of the others. A single-story house where the very front had been converted into the post office where letters were sent and received daily.

Abelard privately thought that if anyone had kept in touch with the Wirths, Cainan may be able to get their new address and send for them… if that was even something he wanted at all. Abelard had gotten the distinct feeling that perhaps there was some unpleasant history between Cainan and his parents.

“So, say if you were to stay here, what work would you be willing to do?” Abelard finally asked after a brief of silence. He fixated the white cat with a scrutinizing stare once more. He supposed this too might reveal a bit about Cainan's current situation, as well as his character.

“Oh, anything and everything,” the young cat said almost lazily. “I did do food service for a while, but I don’t know if the inn would need to hire any help. I don’t know what else there would be around here. But I suppose I’ll just have to find out.”

Anything and everything was a very wide spectrum, and Abelard wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. It could mean one of two things to Abelard; either Cainan truly was incredibly versatile and not at all picky; or he was desperate. Abelard supposed that regardless, it shouldn’t be too hard to find something for him to do.

“I really ain’t too fuzzy about it. Maybe I’ll just stick around for a few days and see what happens.” Cainan cast an inquisitive glance back over his shoulder towards the post office. It was one of the first buildings one would encounter when entering Defiance from the direction they were going. “Hmmm…”

“What is it?” Abelard looked towards the building as well, then looked back at Cainan. He raised an eyebrow curiously.

“Oh, nothing, nothing. Just considering my options,” the younger cat replied with a shrug. Cainan pulled his hands out of his pockets and cracked his knuckles rather loudly, before resuming his slouching posture. “So, hmmm… anything else you want to know about me?”

Abelard could tell Cainan was hesitant, and odds were he was only asking to be polite; it was clear to Abelard that Cainan was being secretive on purpose. Whatever it was, the younger cat did indeed seem to hide something, though perhaps he just simply didn’t enjoy sharing. Abelard supposed he couldn’t blame him there.

“So, if you’re staying somewhere over in Cottleville, are you a permanent resident there? Or what is your living situation? I’m trying my best to understand here…” Abelard had a feeling he knew the answer, but he needed to be sure. That was assuming Cainan chose to answer truthfully, of course.

“I’m… more or less homeless at the moment,” Cainan admitted, looking up at Abelard. Their eyes locked again and Cainan just gave a small smile when he saw the look on Abelard's face. “It’s alright, I’m managing just fine for now.”

Abelard watched the younger cat for a moment as they continued on their way. He wasn't so sure; being a young man without a job and a home didn’t seem like he was managing. He supposed if he had money saved up that was one thing, but he also didn’t know for sure. Abelard's eyes drifted down to the torn knee of Cainan's denim pants. That seemed like something he could and would have fixed if he’d had the funds for it.

Although Abelard didn’t want to give Cainan too much just yet (in case he was the type to take an arm, when offered a hand) he couldn’t help but feel as though he ought to do something for him. As untrustworthy as he’d been acting up until this point, Abelard thought that perhaps he was making light of his own situation to make it seem less severe. Perhaps a coping mechanism of some kind.

Nevertheless, the two of them continued along the road. They didn’t speak too much outside of Abelard explaining which buildings were from after Cainan had left town, which seemed to be a good number of them. Even with Defiance’s small population, there ought to be quite a few new faces among them now, at least for Cainan who had been gone for so long.

The two had made it all the way to the road sign that would first greet those arriving in Defiance, at which point they turned back. They’d ended up further from the residential area and closer to Defiance General.

The post office was the first building of significance they reached on their way back. A decently sized building with just one floor, a quite scenic one given the open field behind it. Abelard knew a local artist had once painted a beautiful piece featuring the post office and its backdrop. It was, in fact, iconic to the residents.

Glancing through the main window as they passed, Abelard offered a wave to the local postman, Mr. Lang, who was working inside. The gray tabby offered a wave back, though he cast a curious glance at Cainan, who seemed to be glancing the complete opposite way. He almost seemed to willfully try to ignore the post office’s existence.

“Would you like to go inside? Perhaps we can ask if there’s work to be done in the post office.” Cainan turned towards Abelard again and looked apprehensive at best.

“Oh, uh… Yeah, we can head inside,” the younger cat replied, speaking with a similarly apprehensive tone, his eyes not meeting Abelard's. Abelard raised an eyebrow curiously. For someone who said they’d take on anything and everything, this was a curious reaction, when the very prospect of a potential job was brought up.

What are we going to do with you? Abelard privately wondered as he stepped up to the post office’s door, looking sideways at the younger cat. Abelard knew next to nothing about him at this point, maybe Cainan truly was doing better than he appeared to be.

He was an enigma, this one…

#lackadaisy #lackadaisy fanfiction #lackadaisy oc #oc x canon #Abelard Arbogast

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