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ladybirdswritings · 4 months

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Bound - Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Summary: Miguel O’Hara was never known to be a man wanting. He was beyond content with the power surging through him upon his multiversal throne. That is until he lays his hungry eyes upon you. Now, he will do whatever it takes just for the taste of you… dark!miguel x reader fic. very steamy as always <3

Notes: I couldn’t stop myself from this hades and persephone-esque fic so I hope you enjoy!! SW&P is far lighter if you desire that <3

next chap

one

Morning is a sweet greeting to you, warm and incandescent to shine it’s rays upon soft skin. As it always is. Though you find it to be dreary on days like this, as it is the same as the day prior, and the day prior to that day. As if it is not sparkling gold but shadowing gray.

All the same repetitive waltz for you.

Yet to your unknowing mind, much would change within the quick hour. Change not in the way of little things but rather in the way that would make your toes curl and your eager hands grab your tresses so you might not trip upon them on your dash toward the tallest hills.

You would have run had you known what was to come.

Yet you didn’t; and so? Your morning was quite a bore.

Similar to a zombie are your sunken cheeks and coffee kissed eyes decorated with awful bags. Your toothbrush is made of oak as is your boar-bristled comb. You tend to your prettying before slipping away from the hustle and bustle of a lively home. Four sisters and two brothers you sport, and an overbearing woman you dare to call your mother.

You made routine of this. Sneaking away with the latest print picked up from the small shop next to the apothecary in town. Out the oak wood door and past the burnt toast and meat to cuddle yourself comfortably against your favored weeping willow by the bend.

Your only company is the ducklings these days, though you don’t mind them much. They are mostly quiet beyond the occasional quack.

Serenity became you as you lay there in the remnants of springtime’s shadow, willfully sprouted in peonies and lilac blossoms.

Your print is a work of Austen, an old and worn thing but one you’d found comfort in recently. It would be your fourth time revisiting.

Would… however.

“Oh heavens sakes! You must enjoy making your mother walk upon tousled soil, girl! Have you got half a mind!? I don’t presume so otherwise you’d avoid any possibility of me losing a leg!”

A whine like that of a carnaged cat rings out from behind the bend. In the grassy plains your mother struggles her way toward you. You stand to your feet in swift motion, but your wandering eye finds curiosity in an unfamiliar bloom. Its colors an odd pairing of red and blue unfurled toward the sun.

What an odd thing, you think.

The huffing and puffing snaps your attention center, and you nearly grumble in complaint as you hurry toward your mother.

“Mama I was just—”

“Oh save it. I see you slip out each morning, I know full well your disdain for the company of your own family… but I didn’t come here to admonish you, sweet girl. Quite the opposite in fact. I am here to ask a favor of you. It seems the cold air has made our chickens most unwilling to provide us with eggs. Won’t you go in town and gather some?”

Like the rainfall’s mist caught by breath of wind, your hopes and plans of reading in the bend till dawn have dissipated. Pursing your lips, you nod— not wanting to administer a guaranteed headache at wake of your protest.

In to town you’ll venture.

✧*̥˚ … *̥˚✧

The cobblestone is cracked underneath your boot, as it is dampened by springtime’s departured mist. You like the clicking sound, though it is most lonesome at this ungodly hour.

The house cannot be run well with lack of your aid. Father left long ago and mother is just a dreadful housewife. The doctor blames her dissonance on the ailments within her mind’s confines though— she swears herself always to be whole and well.

Regardless, for the sake of your sisters— you help. Besides this, you owe it to her.

Your basket is made of weaved wicker and adorned with crimson cloth, at the end of the cobble is where life shines proud. A more lively gathering of townsfolk in search of early morning eggs to enjoy with their breakfast.

A single carriage, outdated as the things are, surges forward in an unstable command by a young man. He cannot be past twenty three, and his face is speckled with pale freckles. His hair is a burnt orange rasp.

The stallions are dark as midnight, sweat being huffed like chimney smoke from their nostrils. Dear god, the way he commands them is certain to ensure an accident.

You tuck the thought away in to the back of your mind to be focused upon your task. You’ll need no more than a dozen or perhaps three what with the vacuum cleaner your eldest brother refers to as his mouth.

Babblebrooke, it is where you’ve lived most your orphaned life. Surely some places have technology of picture books and magazines you skim through when you are awarded the rare chance but— you find yourself content with a place so simple.

You cannot imagine a life of loudness, no quiet space to tuck away and read. It’s a frightening thought.

The stand is nearby, only a few more passing steps and you’ll reach it. Your eyes are locked on the fresh berries, but you know full well you won’t have enough for them.

A bark startles you out of your trance, one excited and pointed. You jump at the sound and turn your head to find a cocker spaniel hound circling round and round to chase its own tail. You giggle at the sight, and its chestnut ears raise in alarm at the vibration.

Oh, it’s noticed you.

The little thing hobbles over excitedly, and you cannot help but bend on your knee to brush back its silken locks.

Beyond a canvas collar of pale pink lays a heart, engraved in molten silver the title: “Lyla.”

So she belongs to someone. Such a kind thing, they are to be a lucky companion indeed.

You smooth back the hair from her excited eyes before lifting to your feet again and continuing forward. She begins to follow you, but a movement in the alleyway shadows is a matter she finds far more pressing for her attention.

“Lyla…” you test in a whisper as you make your way behind a man hunched and gray— awaiting his eggs for breakfast.

Time seems agonizing and the line moves awfully slow, you peek behind the elder man to find annoyance laced in the eyes of the townsfolk. Blaire has taken a liking to the farm boy— it seems she’s busying herself with conversing nonsense with his mother rather than picking her fresh fruits for tart pastries.

You sigh, checking the time on your cracked, golden watch with impatience brewing at the soles of your boots. You sway on them, shifting your weight forward and back. No use just staring ahead.

Though it is quite loud, it doesn’t stop you from reaching in to your tote for “Jane Eyre.”

You find your favorite part, their first midnight meeting in the hallway. How romantic it is, you only wish that to be a possibility for you one day. You forbid yourself from joining the season of course but somewhere tucked away inside— you wonder how marvelous it would be for a broody and handsome thing to appear upon your doorstep with a bouquet the size of France.

You grin at the thought. Though it is swiftly interrupted by the quick patter of familiar paws.

“Woah! Easy!”

Your head snaps up at the gasps of those around you, and you are most horrified to see that the horses have reached the steep bend mere steps away. The ginger fool, they halt in warning and he kicks at them— slapping them with a russet pole. They comply, and the carriage loses control.

It creaks, hurling forward and disconnecting from its rusted shell. Tumbling at godspeed down the cobble and straight for little Lyla who lays mindlessly and happily on her back now.

Panic surges, and your eyes find worry in everyone’s features and yet no motive to act alongside it. Such cowardly men, allowing the poor thing to succumb to the bite of freak nature and cruel fate.

You won’t allow it. Though you feel frozen, the sharp and desperate shout of “Lyla!” from a phantom voice is enough to snap you back into the most horrible moment present.

“Christ!” You breathe, tossing Jane Eyre to the sapphire sky before surging forward. The carriage stalls on a pebble for a quick moment and it’s enough time for you to beat it by a mere step. You scoop the silly thing into your arms and as the wheel just grazes your skin— it is you now that is saved from immediate death.

A warm hand tugs at your wrist and you’re certain the brick wall has grown awfully large palms and fingers; for what you slam up against is hard and unpleasant.

You grunt, Lyla yelping in surprise where she is tucked up tightly against your chest.

Whistles and claps overtake the coward crowd and you sway upon your own boots as the wind itself makes you unsteady with its light graze. Firm palms steel you, grasping your shoulders tight to keep you together and well.

Your eyes venture on an upward path to find two crimson pupils imploring your features as if they are etched in stone and stored away in a beloved museum somewhere in Rome.

Brows pinched and quite bushy, eyes cold but curious, his reddened orbs search your face for what feels like a millennium. Fascinated.

Awed.

You blink, and the cry of the sweet creature in your arms breaks the trance you were entangled in. Lyla leaps from your arms and onto the cobble path— and you only huff and reach a weak arm toward her before the exhaustion of a skipped meal and your adrenaline fueled actions bring you to sit on the cobble ground.

He kneels beside you, the stranger. Yet you cannot find yourself mustering enough energy to truly examine his face. Just his eyes, rare things they are.

“She’ll be alright.” He whispers, hands still pleasantly upon your shoulders as if he fears you’ll topple over and shatter once he parts.

When you do lift your gaze however, stricken curious by the sickly silken sound of his voice, he’s gone.

“Thank y-”

The word croaks in your throat, and you can only wonder how it was possible… how quickly the phantom left you upon the cobble. The farm boy rushes over soon, much to the demise of poor Blaire. She stares on at the carriage and ginger man as if she wishes it was her nearly trampled.

He hands you fresh water and berries, and you wave his concern away and the crowd’s curiosity with a weak hand.

Your mind is only glued upon one thing.

The phantom.

🏷️’s: @reirain @needybitez @migueloharastruelove @laysmt @maomaimao @daisy-artfield @poutysprouty @chorizobeets @tabalittlelong @iitangerine @queenb27sblog-blog @dprmooni @neptunieesworld @cyd2301 @amelialysm @justanothers-things @heartfeltlonging @coralreefses @knightowl019 @cybersry

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revasserium · 7 months

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i carry your heart with me - Zoro with an s/o he meets during his travels

i carry your heart (with me)

opla!zoro; 1,776 words; fluff, a bit of angst, and then fluff again, fem!reader, implied smut but none actually written out (i know, maybe next time lol)

summary: whipped!zoro is whipped.

a/n: this is painfully self-indulgent. but if u wanna read about zoro being grossly in love... here you go.

he meets you in a city of gold — golden leaves and golden apples, golden wheat and golden cattle. he meets you with your golden voice, a sound like liquid sun; he meets you with your gold-spun dreams, and somehow, he knows you’re the one.

he’d never known a song could sounds so beautiful till he heard you sing for the very first time. he doesn’t blame the jostling crowds of men at the bar as they try to push just an inch closer to the stage, their eyes hazy with candlelight and greed.

but later that night, after too many drinks and a few good hours of usopp regaling their best adventures, zoro kisses you and thinks himself the greediest of them all.

“come with us,” he says, with the sun setting fire to the evening sky.

“come with us,” he says, murmuring the words against your skin, cloaked beneath the darkness of night.

“what would i even do on a pirate ship?” you’d asked, laughing as he ghosts his lips along the column of your neck, content with the thought of drowning himself in the texture of your bitten off sighs.

“dunno, you can sing… we’ve been looking that.”

you pull away to stare at him, and somewhere behind the glassy glaze of your eyes, he finds oceans that he’d never sailed, oceans the depths of which he thinks he could spend the rest of his life trying to explore. but he saw something there that night he’d seen the very first time he’d caught your eyes — the glimmer of want like lamps behind a submarine’s windows — and in them, he sees a thirst for adventure that mirrors his own.

a thirst that he’s tasted on the open salt breeze, in the wild, uncertain whomph of unfurling sails against the backdrop of a dawning sky.

you hum against the skin of his shoulder and he lets his fingers track an indulgent trail along the length of your spine.

“can i at least sleep on it?” you ask, laughing as he sighs huffily and makes to roll away from you. you pull him back with another kiss and he lets himself be properly lost for the first time in what feels like centuries.

in the morning, you find the bed empty and the sun beyond your small bedroom window is cracking over an eggshell dawn. the wind is warm, but the ground is still chilly — the sky is the shade of a fading bruise and by the time you reach port, the grand pirate ship with the sheep’s head mast is no longer there. you sigh, wrap your shawl more tightly around your shoulders and wonder if he’ll ever think of you again.

he does, though he wouldn’t get the chance to tell you for years and years and years.

“i thought you said you’d convince her?” sanji asks over a freshly rolled cigarette and two tankards of barrel-aged beer.

zoro shrugs, “i tried.”

“shoulda tried harder, then.”

zoro grunts, taking a long swig of his beer and wincing as he glances between sanji and the glass.

“what’dyou put in here?”

sanji’s grin goes lopsided as he waves a hand vaguely through the air, “oh, just somethin’ with a bit more bite. looked like you needed it.”

and for once, zoro doesn’t snipe back. instead, he stares at the tankard for a long second before drowning the entire thing in a few forceful gulps.

just then, luffy rounds the door into the kitchen and grins at the two men at the counter.

“whatcha talkin’ about?”

sanji jerks his head towards zoro, “just about zoro’s lost love.”

“she ain’t lost. we know exactly where she is.”

sanji opens his mouth but pauses as he realizes there are two things zoro could’ve denied and he’d only denied one.

luffy grins, “oh i know. i convinced him to let her go.”

sanji frowns, “wait what? weren’t you the first one that said we should ask her to join?”

luffy nods, still grinning, “sure! yeah, her singing’s the best i’ve heard, but if she’s not ready, we shouldn’t force her. she’ll find us though, someday. and she’ll just join the crew then!”

there’s a kind of childish, miraculous certainty with which luffy says things that always leaves strangers baffled. but his crew knows him better — they know that his blind trust only seems blind because he puts his trust in things that other people might not yet be able to see.

and he doesn’t strike out this time either, even though it’s years before any of them would meet you again.

though meet you, they do, but this time, it’s amidst canon-fire and wood dust and the incoherent shouts of retreating marines.

zoro sees you first, flying through the air on a thick length of rope, a small instrument strapped to your back, landing light on the deck like a ghost or a daydream. you’re different now, your limbs a bit longer, your hair a bit lighter, twisted back with a strand of golden ribbon so bright it might’ve stolen light from the sun itself.

“its — it’s you!” luffy is a bit breathless and there’s a dark soot smudge across his cheeks, but he’s smiling all the same.

“yeah, i heard you guys were looking for a musician?”

zoro wipes down the length of his swords, his eyes never leaving your form as he makes his way to you.

“so, guess you slept on it, huh?”

you turn towards him, and he’s once more held still by the look in your eyes. there’s a fierce, feral fire there that threatens to ignite everything it touches, and when you smile, zoro feels the burning inside him just as strong as before, as if he’s held a piece of you in his chest all these years and the proximity to you has finally set it ablaze.

“yep. i did. and here i am.”

luffy laughs and claps you on the shoulder as sanji lights up a post-fight cigarette, grinning toothily at you as he asks if you’d like anything to eat or drink. and soon, the rest of their growing crew joins you as you’re pulled away from zoro for what nami had termed a proper straw hat initiation.

he thinks he’d never appreciated music until you’re the one playing it — later that evening, he lets himself be carried on the moonlit tendrils of your voice as it dances over a soft melody of strings and the ever present lullaby of the drowsy sea.

and then, even later, when he finally gets you alone enough to press his mouth to yours, he thinks that your skin smells of a thousand untold stories, collected in the curve for your neck and the bend of your hips, arresting his senses like so many exotic perfumes from distant lands. he maps a constellation of wants and unsaid words into the long, sinuous expanses of your thighs and re-teaches himself the meaning of greed as he kisses a line up your stomach, back up to your lips to find you smiling.

“hey,” he says, reaching down to run a finger along the high of your cheeks. freckles. you didn't used to have them before.

“hey yourself, stranger,” you say, adjusting your body slightly so he can lay down next to you.

neither of you remark upon the lingering ghost of a night long past, the shapes of your bodies curled into almost identical shapes, the darkness wrapped around you like a promise that’s made to be broken.

“how’d you even find us?” zoro asks, letting his thumb trace absent circles into the soft of your kiss-bruised shoulder.

“weren’t you listening at dinner? i was ‘rescued’ from another pirate ship by the marines and —”

zoro scoffs, “i’ve hung around usopp long enough to know bullshit when i hear it.”

you quiet, though it’s not an unpleasant silence by any means.

“you wanna know the truth?” you ask, shifting to pillow your cheek against his chest.

he nods, “yeah, that’d be nice.”

you bite your lips, “i went looking for you. the morning after you left. but by the time i got to the docks, you guys were already gone.”

“hm.”

you let out a long sigh, “why’d you leave?”

you shift to look up at him; he glances down to meet your eyes. there’s no accusation in your voice, just a simple curiosity. and somehow, that stings more than zoro would ever admit.

“you… you didn’t seem like you were ready.”

he clears his throat and looks away, luffy’s words echoing back through the years.

“and… we knew that you’d find us eventually.”

when he looks down this time, your eyebrows are cocked and there’s an indulgent smile on your lips.

“well, guess you were right.”

you shift again to curl into his side and he adjusts slightly to slot his body more comfortably against yours. he remembers wondering how two bodies could be made separately and still fit so perfectly together like this. and here and now, he wonders how that might still be true after so many years.

he grounds himself in the rhythmic cycle of your breaths.

“zoro?”

your drowsy voice stirs him from the edges of his dreams and for a moment, he doesn’t remember when or where he is — if he’s back in the golden village lying in your tiny, warm bedroom, or if he’s on the going merry, with you tucked perfectly against his side.

“yeah?”

“will you be here in the morning?”

“mm. yeah. i will.”

the blankets rustle, the world around you shifts, like a camera with a mismatched lens, and for a second, just a single second, time bends back on itself, and zoro feels one moment superimposed over another. a fracture, a singularity, a temporary double-exposure.

and then, the film flickers and time unwinds itself, and he can hear the soft shushing of waves against the merry’s hull.

“do you promise?” you ask, curling your fingers against zoro’s chest as he turns towards you to pull you closer into him.

“yeah,” he says, his voice already thick with the syrup of sleep and dreams, even as he leans down to drop a kiss into your hair —

“i promise. ‘m not going anywhere.”

feed me opla!zoro reqs pls i beg

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pitakhh · 6 months

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#Spotify

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val-cansalute · 2 months

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summary: You’ve been in Jackson for three months; you’ve been stuck in a perpetual cycle of guilt and ravenous grief, trying desperately to recover from what went down between you and your brother before you left home and came here. Needless to say, you’re fitting in like a lego block in an 1000 piece puzzle, and you realise you’re better off going back to the old house, where you can succumb to the thoughts that plague you. Maria tries to help here and there, shoving you into patrol with people she prays you’ll get along with, namely Ellie Williams. Rather than that, you expectedly remain strong in your stance, both of you as closed off as each other. You come to appreciate the mutual understanding you’ve reached, giving each other space, only ever making slightly critical remarks, to the point where you think you see cracks start to form in your iron shell. But iron is iron, after all.

ch. 1 -

You’re not getting better, definitely worse. Patrol is the only force beckoning you to leave your den of misery, patrol with Ellie. Not much luck there either, you return with an injured ankle and an Ellie who is slightly less awkward and icy, similar to you. Though, when you’re alone with your thoughts again, you are utterly helpless.

ch. 2 -

Progress is dwindling, regress is massive; you’ve been inside for a fucking long time, with your only motivation for getting outside off the table. The numbness is overwhelming, so the knocking goes unanswered as you merge with your mattress. You told yourself you’d leave Jackson once you can walk again. Then, Ellie breaks the door down, with a very important food delivery. She profusely apologises, but the blizzard raging outside captures your focus. She can’t get home now. Sleepover?

ch. 3 -

This chapter contains smut.

The tension is high after last night’s events. Ellie’s on her way soon after, and the consequences of her busting through your door fully set in when the woman from the infirmary manages to get inside to check if your ankle is healing well. Good news: it is. So, you can set off soon. Ellie returns, to your surprise, and she comes bearing gifts. You learn something new everyday, e.g. weed makes you and Ellie horny.

ch. 4 -

Ellie’s departure was a gentle slaughter of your heart, leaving you dazed and empty. It’s time to go. One last meeting with the people of Jackson at the party Ellie left you to help with, and you’re off, leaving nothing but a note and a confused Ellie to read it behind.

ch. 5 -

She’s searching for you, she’s desperate, and hungry, and exhausted, but she’s been worse. There’s no way she won’t find you.

ch. 6 -

This chapter contains smut.

Recovery is a slow process, but Ellie is someone you’ve historically found comfort in. Each day, she expands the bounds of that comfort, and each day, you’re sure you want to live to see another.

playlist:

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hopepetal · 10 months

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Hi!

So @applestruda and I have been working on a little thing for the boatem knights au. I hope you enjoy this next arc of the story as much as we do.

You can find the masterlist of the previous bkau fic here, and I will be posting this on ao3 as well.

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated :)

Impulse was painfully, bitterly, human. Just a normal guy, with normal hair and normal eyes and friends that were anything but. Even Mumbo, who he'd thought to be his one human companion, turned out to be something different. Something special.

When it had finally been revealed to the knights that Mumbo was, in fact, a shapeshifter, no one was really surprised. With the amount of non-humans in the group, and magically gifted ones besides, it was only a matter of time before Mumbo revealed that he was obviously, not human.

While they were all joking around and laughing over Mumbo's newly revealed ability, Scar had turned to Impulse with that friendly smile of his and asked, “So, when are you gonna reveal your super secret backstory to us, Impulse?”

Impulse had laughed off the pang of bitterness and guilt combined (and how stupid was that, feeling guilty over the fact that he didn't have a special ability or secret backstory to reveal?) and shook his head. “Nah,” he had responded with a shrug, “I'm just a guy. Just Impulse.”

Just a guy. Just Impulse.

Simple words that had become a mantra over the past few days, lingering in the back of Impulse's mind. A whispered chant, just audible enough to catch his attention but hardly loud enough to deserve a shushing. They were an apt description of what he was– of who he was, of course, and Impulse knew that. He had known that all his life, and, up until this point, had convinced himself that he was fine with that.

(He never had been ‘fine’ with it in the first place. It’s why he trained from dawn till dusk for years, honing his strength and skills. He couldn’t fly, couldn’t breathe underwater, couldn’t withstand a fiery blaze, and most certainly couldn’t teleport. But he was smart, and he was strong, and that was enough. Wasn’t it?)

Mumbo was good with redstone, too. He was a genius, even. What with his constant inventions and how he thought outside of the traditional redstone conventions, and the way he brushed off any compliments with a wave and a soft, “It’s quite simple, really.”

Impulse’s mother had told him that everyone was special. That they were all made up of stardust and the love of the universe. It was an old wive’s tale, but it had been comforting.

Now, surrounded by shapeshifters and avians and magical beings, Impulse was wondering if the universe forgot to give him a little stardust.

The sun had just begun to rise, bathing the world in its golden light, as Impulse got dressed and headed out to the makeshift training area to work on his swordplay. It wasn’t long before he was hacking away at one of the many training dummies the knights had made together in an effort to “work on their arts and crafts skills”, going through the familiar motions of a swordfight.

Just a guy. Just Impulse.

He’d always wondered what it was like to fly. To dive deep into the ocean, without fear of drowning. To never feel the terrible pain of burns, or to get to where you wanted to be instantly.

Just a guy. Just Impulse.

It wasn’t like being a human was bad. Not at all! Being human was great! He didn’t have to worry about getting hurt by the rain, or his wings being targeted in battle, or, void forbid, being hunted for sport. He could do so much as a human!

But it wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

Just a guy.

Sweat dripped down the back of his neck as he continued fighting, his breaths coming in short pants. In his mind’s eye, the training dummy was an enemy, and it was his job to defeat it. Slicing and stabbing and slashing, Impulse went back and forth in a dance all his own, in a battle that held no weight on the future.

Just–

“Impulse?”

Pulled from his reverie, Impulse stumbled to a rather clumsy halt, his sword arm falling to his side as he looked over for who called his name. Standing at the edge of the arena was Pearl, leaning against the little wooden fence that surrounded it. She wore a bright smile as always, but something akin to concern shone in her eyes, barely hidden.

“Huh?” Impulse got out, before blinking and shaking his head. “Sorry, Pearl, I uh– I didn’t see you there. Were you calling me?” His muscles were aching, and he was absolutely drenched in sweat. Just how long had he been training for?

Pearl nodded. “Yeah, mate. You were fighting that dummy with the intention to kill, huh?” she joked, gesturing to the very much falling apart training dummy. She continued, “You were training for a while. Lost in your own world, were ya?”

Impulse glanced up at the sky, internally wincing at how high the sun had climbed without him noticing. “Yeahhh…” He laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “Kinda got caught up in my own thoughts, y’know.” He looked over at the training dummy. “Uh… sorry, mister dummy,” he apologized awkwardly, which Pearl found hilarious judging by her soft laughter.

“You should come get some breakfast and wash up,” Pearl advised, “I’m heading to the village in a bit to pick up some stuff– do you wanna come with?”

Impulse shrugged, before walking over to where Pearl was and hopping the fence. “Sounds like fun, and I don’t have anything else planned.”

Pearl grinned, and gave Impulse a fistbump. “Great! I’ll go get the horses ready, if you wanna go eat and change real quick?”

“Will do!” Impulse gave her an over the top salute. “Thanks, Pearl!”

He began to head back to his tent at a slow jog, and decided that maybe it was best if he ignored that soft voice in his head. His friends were incredibly perceptive, and the last thing that he wanted was for them to get all worried about him and start asking questions.

Would they judge you? Call you jealous?

Maybe. And maybe Impulse was jealous, at least a little. Did that make him a bad person? For wishing he could be more than what he was? For hoping that he had some chance at standing on the same level as his friends?

Impulse tried to shake those thoughts out of his head as he quickly scarfed down some breakfast and changed out of his sweat-soaked training clothes. Pearl had just finished with getting the horses ready by the time Impulse returned, and greeted him with a smile. “Ready to go?”

Impulse returned her grin as he mounted his horse. “You know it. Road trip time!”

The trip to the village was a short but pleasant ride through the forest, on a well-worn path the knights had traveled many times. Impulse and Pearl made idle conversation as they rode, Pearl mentioning that she wanted to stop by a couple of shops and the library. They arrived at the village after about thirty minutes and dismounted, tying their horses reins to the hitching post before grabbing their bags and walking into the village.

Impulse had been here before, of course, but visits had been rare recently with… well, everything that had happened. It was nice to get back out and just walk through the village, without any life-threatening or world-ending danger looming over their heads. And as a bonus, he got to hang out with Pearl, which he always enjoyed.

They went through the shops one by one, Pearl picking up supplies and things they had run out of. Eventually, they were finished, and Pearl pulled Impulse rather excitedly toward the library. He didn’t blame her– he was the exact same way around candy shops. Everyone needed a place that they were excited to go to, in his opinion.

The librarian– a woman with messy black hair– looked up from behind the counter and greeted them with a nod, before going back to reading her book. Impulse caught a glimpse of the name tag that was pinned to her shirt, the name ‘Evelyn’ written in neat cursive.

Pearl led Impulse into a room full of bookshelves and, of course, books. “I’m going to go look for some books,” she whispered to him, “you can go off and see if there’s anything that catches your eye.”

Impulse nodded. “Alright. See you in a bit,” he whispered back, and watched Pearl disappear into the maze of bookshelves.

Looking around, Impulse began to wander. The library was well stocked with literature on nearly every subject he could think of, with golden labels on the end of every bookshelf to indicate what the books in that particular section were about. He found himself walking past the shelves that normally would’ve had his attention– books about redstone and industry ignored as he gazed at the shelves.

Finally, a particular bookshelf caught his eye. The label told him that the books here were about all things supernatural, and with a shrug, he began to walk through the aisle. Most books seemed to be rather thick, scholarly texts, which made sense given the topic. A couple books drew his attention– an old book with a faded purple cover and block letters that spelled out Evolution in all capitals, a book on curses, and a book that probably had been misplaced, given its title– The Legend of Theseus. The mythology shelf was right next to the supernatural one, so Impulse took the book and brought it back to where it was hopefully supposed to be.

Once the book was back in the mythology section– next to a very old book with a cracked spine and strange symbols on the cover– Impulse headed back to the supernatural section, glancing over the titles with relative disinterest until a particular book caught his eye. He bent down and carefully took it from the shelf, instinctively brushing off the cover and flipping it open to the cover page. Skimming the summary of the book, Impulse found himself nodding along to the words.

He closed the book and glanced around. Pearl was nowhere to be seen, so he likely still had some time. Tucking the book under his arm, Impulse walked back to the main room of the library, placing the book on the counter. He cleared his throat awkwardly, and Evelyn looked up from her book. “I’d like to check this out, please.”

Evelyn took the book, looking at the spine and writing down something on the sheet in front of her. “An’ what’s your name, sir?” she asked, not looking up from the sheet.

Impulse blinked. “Ah– uh, Impulse.”

Evelyn wrote his name down, before setting her red feather pen down and handing him the book. “Alright, sir. If you’d please return this by the end of next month, and no writin’ or rippin’ any pages out unless you wanna pay for it.”

Impulse took the book and placed it in his bag with a thank you, just as Pearl returned with her collection of books. She gave him a smile, which Impulse returned– albeit a little nervously.

As they were walking out of the library, Pearl asked Impulse if he had seen anything he liked. Impulse answered with a shrug and a shake of his head. “Nah. I’m not much of a reader.”

Something must’ve spooked the horses while they were gone, as Impulse’s horse was clearly nervous when they returned. He calmed the horse down with a bit of petting and a treat Pearl had bought for their horses before mounting up and beginning the journey back home.

It was a little past noon when they returned, and they were greeted by Scar and a barely awake Grian. Mumbo was busy working on something, but he soon ran over to say hi and help with the supplies and horses.

The rest of the day went by as normally as it could– it was a calm day for the most part, the only “mishap” being Grian stealing Mumbo’s rocket launcher as revenge for drawing a mustache on him while he slept. They all ate dinner together as they usually did, and after, Impulse left to go to his tent.

Finally alone and in the quiet, Impulse took the book out from his bag, brushing his fingers over the title.

The Art of Summoning - Demons.

He opened the book.

Obviously, a book given out at a library wasn’t about to teach him how to summon a demon– void knows he didn’t want to do that, anyway– but Impulse had always been fascinated by demons. He had been told a lot of stories as a child, which probably was the reason for his interest, but there was also… something else. He had been drawn– pulled to this book, almost. As if by magic, or something.

…some demons can grant their summoner a wish– whether it be super strength, speed, or even flight, there have been records of people making a contract with a demon for their own benefit. When asked why, many of their answers were similar. They wanted to be unique, or special, and had become desperate.

That… sounded familiar. Impulse pressed his lips together in a thin line as he continued to read. He obviously wasn’t desperate enough to summon a demon– he doubted he would even be able to if he wanted to! Which he didn’t. Because that would be crazy.

As he went to turn the page, a sharp pain shot through the tip of his finger. Impulse sucked in air through his teeth as he yanked his hand away, examining the fresh papercut. “Oh, come on…” He shook out his hand, annoyed, before going to flip the page.

As soon as he touched the book, Impulse found that his fingers were almost glued to the page. He couldn’t pull away, couldn’t pull the book off his hand, though he tried frantically to do so. It was then that he noticed a small bead of blood had welled up from the cut, and smeared on the page when he had gone to flip it again.

That… was probably bad.

Just as he was considering calling for help, a soft voice spoke up in his mind. Not soft enough to be inaudible, but not loud enough to be quieted.

Hello.

Impulse tensed up, looking around the tent. “...I didn’t mean to summon you,” he began, “assuming you’re…?”

A demon? The voice was… quite pleasant, actually. Not like anything Impulse had thought a demon would sound like. Yes, I am one. And you haven’t summoned me. Just drawn my attention. I’ve been trapped in this book for quite some time, you see. It’s been a long while since anyone has opened it.

“Why were you trapped inside the book?” Impulse asked, still on edge. “What did you do?”

Well, that’s rude. The demon sounded as if it were pouting, as if Impulse had offended it. I didn’t do anything. I just… It sighed, and its voice took on a tone of loneliness. I was young when I came to this world. I… wanted to be different, I guess, from the rest of the demons. Everyone had this cool thing going for them… one could curse multiple people at once, one could take human form, and everyone else… had something that made them special. I didn’t. I’m just your regular ol’ demon, residing in your thoughts.

Impulse frowned, settling the book carefully on his lap. “So… why did you get put in the book?”

I’m getting to that. I… got excited. I wanted to show everyone that I was special, too, by cursing someone. I didn’t really think things through. The demon paused. I don’t even want to curse someone, anymore. I just want to go home.

“I’m… sorry…” Impulse began, “that sounds really rough.” He sighed, leaning back slightly. “I get it, though, as crazy as that sounds.” He briefly debated on whether or not he should tell someone– a demon, no less– about what he’d been going through. “I’m… the only human in my friend group,” he started, hesitant, “and it’s just… I’ve always been just a guy. Just Impulse. And no matter what I do, I’ll never be able to change that.”

There was a moment of silence, and Impulse could almost feel the demon thinking. Well… maybe you could. Maybe, we could both help each other out.

Impulse’s brow furrowed. “What are you thinking of?”

I know, you were against summoning demons earlier, but… hear me out, okay? I could tell you how to summon me, and not only would that free me from this book, but I could also maybe grant your wish!

The demon sounded… genuinely so excited at the prospect of being freed. Being trapped, all alone, for however long it had been, must’ve been really difficult. Impulse didn’t blame the demon for wanting to be free. He would want the same thing, were he in the demon’s position.

…and maybe, just maybe, a small, selfish part of him spoke up and influenced his reasoning. But Impulse closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and sighed. “Alright. I’ll help you. Tell me how to summon you.”

Excellent choice! Alright, first things first, you’re going to…

Impulse was painfully, bitterly human.

He refused to be just Impulse forever.

#my writing #boatem knights au #impulsesv #pearlescentmoon #grian #goodtimeswithscar #mumbo jumbo #hermitcraft fanfic

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joannasteez · 4 months

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fall, for me

pairing: roman reigns x black reader

warnings: its smut written at two am, i was listening to pink floyd and was feeling a yearning vibe, sometimes you just want someone to be obsessed with you and vice versa yknow?

word count: 1k

could it be that you were falling, this fast slipping separation, where the earth moves, your feet staggering, the ground cleaving till the drop takes you. and the air here pulls from the lungs, draws up quick and terrible. the heat of your skin building till the fire from the friction of the air leaves you to burn. no, falling is easier than this, falling is simple, falling is old theory come to life. gravity and mass and so on and so forth. but this thing, this sweet aching in your chest, that which you cannot see, but feel all the same, is something else entirely, and to say that you were falling for him...

that you were crashing with abandon for him...

breathless and hot and desperate...

his tongue tasted like everything, well like you and nothing much else really, but the feel of him, the slip of it through your lips, wet and lingering, controlling. it was everything. like when the sun breaks from off the horizon, a slow, sure, rise, burning into that rolling in of the dawn a warming sort of majesty. and your fingers, slipping through his hair till they took to the roots, pain turned pleasure pulsing in his skin as you pulled and formed to him. roughing into him things already understood, that did not have to be explained with great words and phrasings. he could simply feel the scorching in your skin, and know that you were his. that the clinging to him was not in vain.

but you'll say it anyways. speak softly in your delirium. as his hips make no rush to slip into yours, but steady and exacting all the same. cock hard and heavy as it takes to the softness of you. your mouth parting from his, hesitantly so, growing small beneath him, beneath the weight of the ache in your chest.

"would it be too much to-", your lips chasing the curve of his, each breath wanting and scared and needy. "to much to say that i-..."

but then the air about your words breaks, flattening to nothing as his hips dig in, taking purchase deeper. and you pull to take him, wet and hot and ill-controlled, moaning desperate and mindless.

"say what?"

and your nails nearly split into his back, hissing in time with your own pleasures and your pains, thighs burning as they spread wide, the muscles pulling, tired but working still to please the build of him. and you try, even in your failures to speak, to muster feelings into words, for an expression, even if broken, to say the burdening things he already knows. but everything falters, shatters to bits as you tremble beneath him, whimpering pretty nonsense. pleasepleaseplease, before the inevitable gratitude, thankyouthankyouthankyou, light like a feather, so good and so reverential and so needy. so weak and willing.

"say it", he urges. feens to feel the slight of the words beneath his skin. like a cutting into the veins. a rushing in his blood. as you pulse and shake and curse.

"'m a little...", a gasp and then a beat. gathering slowly the words despite the rocking in his hips. the way his hard body grinds and slips at your soft tender skin, at the swollen throb of your clit. and he can taste you still on his tongue, feel the slow sweet drip of arousal, patient in the way it'd met him, as if he'd been graced with something both beautiful and rare, only meant for the one worthy enough to receive it. and he'd taken it well, pushed his tongue in wet till he couldn't anymore, his face buried as he sought hard to please you. lips suckling till they released, teeth hissing, appetite greedy. sofuckingpretty, he'd moaned, rushed, lavishing your slit, his thumb caressing the wet pearl of your clit again, dazed in his own amazements. and the memory forced him to take you harder, to maybe abandon his methods, his steadiness, his temperament. maybe he'd just break you, knock you loose to form you back together again. maybe he'd- "...'m a little obsessed with you", you laugh amidst a moan. amidst the wet stroke he takes to your pussy. "...i think".

"you think?", like mocking. his lips curving amused. it seemed to be a challenge, a call to action. but he would settle it ruthlessly, so that there was neither doubt nor hesitation. he would make up your mind, if you, amidst the delirium, could not yourself. "just a little bit?"

"...Mhmm...", feeling the twist and the burden of the ache. the slow to subside burning that only leads to some unrestrained bliss. "...fuck...maybe-maybe a lot", your body shivering as he shifts, thick fingers pushing into the bend of your knees to fold you in half, his own knees screwing into the bed as your lower lips spread further, splitting wet and messy to stretch perfect for him. and here, vulnerable to him like this, he takes you to the hilt with less consideration.

"it ain't no maybes for me sweetheart", his hips rutting as he goes about fucking you with the deftness of a brute. his tongue pulling to lick over his lips quick as his eyes bare down on the beauty of you, fingers combing against the fall of his hair, his chest rising and falling with every breath, damp and red with heat, with lust and the purity of other things. and he grunts, rushes to chase the soft pull of you, pussy a soaked mess as it disgraces the sheets, tight and greedy as it works to keep him close. throbbing crazily to feel the fullness of him till it seemed impossible.

and of course sooner or later, you'd have him at his knees, again, whether literal or metaphorical it did not matter, but if need be, he'd be the proof, of old theory's come to life. of mass and of gravity. he'd allow again, over and over like he does now, that fast slipping separation, where the earth moves from beneath his feet. he'd fall for you.

"i can't live without you".

#roman reigns #roman reigns imagine #roman reigns fic #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns smut #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns x female reader #joannasteez

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fxxkoffxo · 3 months

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#apple music #apple music lyrics #the weeknd #the weeknd lyrics #till dawn (here comes the sun)#the weeknd trilogy

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mermaidgirl30 · 3 months

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✨Tear You Apart Part 1: You’re Mine✨

Series Masterlist

My first dark! Joel fic and I think I’m obsessed. I plunged into this head on and got major inspiration from the vampire scene in Saltburn and Little Red Riding Hood. This is filthy and I absolutely love it! There might be a part 2 for this! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated. I would love to hear your thoughts 🖤

“The wolves prey upon the lambs in the darkness of the night, but the blood stains remain upon the stones in the valley until the dawn comes, and the sun reveals the crime to all.” - Kahlil Gibran

- Summary: Joel comes for you late at night. He always does. Always stalks, chases, and prowls after you like a starving wolf. And when he catches you, he devours you, feeds on you like the animal he is. Will you run and hide or will you give into the temptation that calls you in the forest?

- Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY MDNI)

- Word Count: 9,718

- Tags: Dark themes, Little red riding hood references, dark! Joel, Joel is a menace, oral, fingering, choking, unprotected P in V, cream pie, filthy smut, degrading actions, not really violent but lots of dark themes, manipulation, rough sex, dirty talk, Joel calls reader little lamb, possessive Joel, feral! Joel, post outbreak! Joel, controlling Joel, dom! Joel, submissive reader, Joel x fem! reader, Joel is in his late 40’s and reader is in her late 20’s

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Songs: “Change” and “Rosemary” by Deftones

The wind tears through the frigid night of Jackson, banging its haunted whispers against the side of the little wooden house. It screams in warning beware, beware. He’s coming. A glaring caution sign from the ghosts of the forest. They scream your name, shrieking and bellowing from the soil below as they make their way above the cold, vacant dirt, floating their way to your doorstep. Clawing, knocking, warning you that he’s close. Get out, leave. He’s near, he’s near. Run.

You want to run, want to sprint out of bed and run as far as you can, but you can’t. He’ll find you, stalk you till he hunts down your scent and discovers you hiding. You pray that he won’t, but he will. He always finds you. And when he does he takes and takes until you have nothing left, feeding his anger and bitter soul, using your body to escape whatever hell he had been through in the past.

You know he’s lost something special, something close to him. You can see it in the wrinkles that encase his forehead. See it in the dark brown flecks of his tired eyes. See it in the way he carries himself, worn and tattered like the old leather boots on his feet. Can feel it when he crowds your body as he lays over you in the middle of the night. Can feel it on his calloused fingers as he bleeds you dry from the inside, hollowing you out and sucking your lifeless soul and taking it as his own.

You never know what he’s lost, can never figure out what it was that was stolen from him. He doesn’t talk about it, will never let you in even though you beg him to. But you can feel the pain, the absolute agony that holds close to his cold heart. It’s whatever he’s lost that drives his rage, his desire for retribution. And it’s that loss that feeds his desire to take, destroy everything in his winding path. That’s why he comes, always at night, always at the dead blackness of night. He comes crawling to you, needing a way to soothe his scorching temper, needing a way to bury the agony of it all.

He’s broken, just like the shattered black military watch he wears on his left wrist. You try to ask him about it, try to graze your fingers over the broken glass, but he growls at you. Gnashing his sharp teeth as he releases the caged up wolf inside him. You know better, but you push back. Let me in, let me in, you scream. But he never does. That just pushes him further, bringing out the beast from within.

He’s coming closer. Almost here, almost here, the ghosts whisper in warning. You can feel him, as if he was already there at your doorstep, as if he was already clawing his fingers into your fragile skin. Tearing you apart piece by piece just the way he likes it.

Your body starts sweating, you toss and turn against the cold sheets that cling to your damp skin. He’s coming, they call. And it’s then that you can feel him as if he’s standing right outside. You can feel the weight of his steps on the cold, snowy ground. You can hear his shaky, quivering breaths as he trudges through the patches of white snow, can feel the warm breath as he blows it out, can reach your shaky fingers out as his breath kisses the sky. You can feel it, can almost taste it as it whips through the wind, landing up against your fogged up bedroom window.

Run. Hide. He’s here, he’s here, the voices warn. But you don’t listen, can’t listen. Joel’s deep voice washes the voices out, makes them flee from your mind. Mine, mine, he screams in your head as he claims you over and over again with his hands. Those big, rough hands that you so desperately want wrapped around you.

You shouldn’t want it, shouldn’t desire it, but you crave him like you’ve never craved anything in your life. He’s like a disease. Festering and invading your body, making you sick with want, with need. Pulling at your insides so much that you can’t ignore it. Can’t ignore the deep ache in between your thighs as you yearn for his touch, for his entire being. And you’re certain that you’re just as fucked in the head as him now.

He makes you sick. Sick with need, with desire. You shouldn’t crave him, shouldn’t want this. Most days he’s unkind, barely speaking, barely able to tolerate his own self. But he gives as much as he takes, and you crave the way he gives. And now you’re just as bad as him, just as selfish and needing as him. Mine, mine, you call in your mind. He’s yours just as much as you are his.

Your eyes open wide as you look at the small clock that hangs on the wall, the hand ticking and ticking as it reaches 1:00am, the time he usually comes after his late night watch shift. Your body quakes from the anticipation of him. You can hear him now. He’s here.

You feel the weight of his heavy feet against the wooden floorboards as he opens the front door, hearing it shriek as it closes behind him with a soft shutter as it knocks against the glass window. He’s coming, he’s coming.

You hear the narrow stairs creak as he climbs up the steep steps. He’s coming for you, coming to claim you, to devour you. He’s like a wolf in the night as he stalks his prey. His dark eyes search for you, your scent hanging in the air as he comes for it, chases it, wanting to taste it. Wanting to rip you to shreds under the weight of his body as he claws and pounces on you. Claiming you as his one and only as he dominates you. But you fully oblige, always surrendering yourself to him completely.

You’re little red riding hood, and he’s the big bad wolf that wants to eat you alive as you spill yourself for him, letting him mark his paws all over you until you can only see the blacks of his eyes as he claims you. My, what large eyes you have. But he’s talking to you as he’s in between your legs, lapping up your flavor as he looks up at you with those dark pits and smiles with his sharp canines glistening in the night. And God, you’re already wet thinking about it, already trembling in the sheets as you wait for him, waiting for him to completely ravage you and destroy you until you’re no more.

You want to touch yourself, want to put an end to that aching throb in your center as slick pools inside you, fighting hard to hold back the urge. He’ll be mad if you don’t wait for him. If he sees you fingering yourself before he gets to you, he’ll be furious. He’s selfish, always so fucking selfish with you. He wants to be the one that makes you feel good, under his conditions. He’s dominating, controlling, wanting your orgasms to come from him and him alone. He’s greedy, but he always gives, feeding into your sweet desires as he revels in your body, in your arousal, in your taste.

You hear the rusty doorknob twist and turn under his grasp, hear the door start to creak open as his dark form clouds against the darkness of the hallway. Take me, take me, you beg in your mind. And you swear he can hear you as he stalks towards you with his massive form.

He’s tired, you can see it in his weathered stare as his dark eyes search for you under the silky sheets. He throws off his tan, heavy coat and tosses it to the side of the room. As he makes his way to you, he pushes up his plaid, green sleeves slowly, exposing thick veins that spiral down his arms, ending in his massive hands. You gulp at the sight, taking in the way his arms flex against his sleeves. They pull and tug so tight that they’re bound to rip at any moment as his bulging muscles encase your nimble body.

He stops at the end of the bed, pulling back the clean sheets as he takes in the sheer nightgown you’re in. His eyes trail over your body as his deep scowl turns into something primal, dominant. “Get up,” he demands as he yanks you up by the wrist and pulls you to a standing position. There’s never such a thing as a hello or hi, beautiful. Only ever demands and commands as he comes for one thing, your body.

He pulls up the wooden chair that sits in the corner of the dark room and places it in the middle of the floor. He looks up at you with the darks of his eyes and curls his index finger, coaxing you to sit in the chair. Your body is hypnotized as you dance your way over to him under a waning spell that puts you at ease.

“Sit,” he says firmly as he pushes you down gently, your back hitting the hard wood as you sit up straighter, preparing yourself to give yourself to him. Your hands fall flat against your thighs as the sheer nightgown barely reaches the tips of your knees. You can feel the cold wind as it blows hard outside your window, can almost taste the white snowflakes that linger on his leather boots.

Your breathing goes ragged as he circles the chair. Circling and circling as he trails a calloused finger over your bare shoulders as he takes you in with his chocolate eyes, inspecting you as he drinks in your features. Your throat goes dry as you watch him stalk around you. He’s a hungry wolf and he’s starving for you.

“Tell me, have you been a good girl today?” His words drag against his teeth as he snarls the words out. He continues to circle, making you audibly gulp at the words that leave his mouth.

“Yes, sir,” you answer, your nails digging into the flesh of your aching skin.

“Have you touched yourself today?” he asks as he circles you again, peeling his hands over your arm as you shiver from his rough fingers.

“N-no,” you stutter out, falling over your words. Except you had. You did earlier in the shower, thinking of Joel’s hands, pretending his fingers were yours as you made yourself feel good, spilling yourself all over the tiled floor as you called his name. Joel, Joel.

“You filthy little liar. I know you did. I can smell your arousal all over your fingers.” He grabs your hand tight and pulls it up to his nose as he inhales deeply, his eyes closing as he breathes in your scent. When he opens his eyes up, he takes your fingers into his mouth and sucks slowly, watching you with cold, heavy eyes. Your eyes go wide as you watch him slurp your taste up. A wave of slick runs down the seam of your lacy underwear, and you have to squeeze your legs shut at the growing throb that’s now aching to be touched.

He releases your fingers slowly as you watch him pool his saliva all over you, watching it slide over your hand as he drops it back to your knees with a slapping sound that echoes through the walls of the bedroom. He makes a slow, steady circle around you as he halts right next to you. You see him out of the corner of your eye as he bends and places his hands on his knees, slowly curving his spine as he eyes you with a hard line strewn across his lips. You gulp and sit up straight. You’re in trouble, you know it too.

“I, I didn’t mean to…” you squeak out carefully.

“Shut the fuck up and listen to me,” he growls. You automatically go quiet, afraid to interrupt him again. “The next time I find out you pleasured yourself without me, I’m gonna make you fuck yourself on my fingers while I watch, you got that?” he hisses.

Your mouth drops open at the mention of you fucking his fingers yourself, and you have to gulp down a moan at the thought of it. “Mhm,” you hum.

“Repeat it!” he yells, anger seething up in him.

“Yes, I understand,” you say with your eyes low, looking down at your shaking hands.

“Good.”

He skates around and stops in front of you, bending down as he places his rough hands on your knees. “Now, what are we gonna do with you, huh? You gonna be a good girl for me?” he asks as he moves your hands away and places his own on the end of your sheer nightgown.

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice shaky as he inches your nightgown higher, grazing his calloused fingers over your thighs, feeling that low tingling sensation start in the back of your spine.

“Good. That’s good,” he groans as he pushes your nightgown up higher and higher, climbing up your thighs until no more material is touching your legs. The only thing left is your white lacy underwear that are ruined from how drenched you are.

“Now, tell me. What were ya thinkin’ about in the shower?” he asks as he slowly pushes your thighs apart, trailing his fingers up nice and slow as he teases you, getting you all worked up for him.

“You, I was thinking about you,” you gasp as he pushes your legs even further, causing more slick to build up from the action of his rugged hands.

“Were ya thinkin’ of these fingers curling up inside you as I make you cum? Or maybe my tongue swirling around that pretty pink clit of yours?” he purrs as he glides his fingers against the edges of your lace, almost touching you where you need him as he ghosts over your center.

“Y-yes, both. Please, Joel,” you beg as he teases you again, ghosting over you without so much as a light touch to your aching center.

“Please what?” he asks with his brown eyes growing darker, the edges of his pupils expanding into dark coal.

“Touch me, please,” you beg, licking your lower lip in anticipation. He sees you slide your tongue over your lip and you see his eyes grow sharper, arousal swirling all around his black pupils.

“Well, since you asked nicely.” He glides his fingers through your clothed folds, and you gasp at the feeling of your budding arousal. “So fuckin’ wet for me,” he groans as his chest rises and falls in waves, pulling his fingers away again as you huff in frustration.

He loves to tease you, loves to torture you as he builds you up and then makes you beg for it. He wants to hear it, wants you down on your knees as you plead and moan for him, calling his name as you beg again and again. Touch me, taste me, fuck me.

“Joelllll,” you beg again, dragging the last syllable out as you call his name, needing his fingers on you, needing his tongue, his cock, his everything.

“Such a needy girl, aren’t you?” he teases, trailing his fingers over your seams again as he slowly unhooks the material from your hips. He slides the wet material down your legs and disposes of them on the ground, leaving you completely bare from the waist down.

He pushes your thighs apart and smooths a thumb over your center as he slides it all the way up, collecting slick as he goes along. You shudder under him as you feel yourself drip on the wooden chair, so turned on that you feel like you could orgasm right at this moment. “Goddamn, you're drenched,” he groans as he takes his thumb in his mouth, sucking all the slick off as he stares into your eyes intensely. And fuck, it’s hot.

“Now, you’re gonna be a good girl and show me exactly what you were doing in the shower. Go on,” he nods at you. “Show me how you touched yourself.” He stands back against the wall and leans on it, crossing his arms and knitting his eyebrows together in concentration, watching as his flexed muscles pull at his plaid shirt. “Any day now,” he says sternly. “Touch yourself. Now,” he growls. You automatically obey and nod up at him.

You gulp saliva down your throat and slowly bring your right hand over your center, gently pressing your fingers to your throbbing clit as you circle yourself, leaning back into the chair as a quiet moan escapes your mouth as you feel the pressure building fast. You’re so close, already so close.

“Eyes on me,” he commands as the low, guttural sound emits around the room.

You pull your head up and lock eyes with him as you focus on your breathy moans, hitting the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again. You hear the pulsing blood rush through your ears, feel your body tense as you close in on your orgasm. Almost there, almost.

“Place a finger inside you,” he commands, his voice vibrating through your bones. You obey and slide your middle finger inside as you feel the drenched, tight walls cave around your finger. “Another,” he demands as his eyes go pitch black watching you play with yourself. You slide a second one in and curl them up, hitting the spongy walls that threaten to make you cum.

You let out a loud, aching moan as you curl your fingers again and again while your thumb circles your clit in meticulous circles. Your mouth shapes into an O position as you feel your walls clench around you. You pull out a deep rising orgasm that starts low in your spine and spreads over your heated cunt as you climb higher and higher into bliss.

“Good girl,” he growls as he watches your orgasm wash over you. White, hot heat spreading through your entire body as you ride out your first orgasm, throwing your head back as your eyes roll back into your skull, feeling the wooden chair become soaked with your slick.

You take a moment to come back down to earth, back to where you can breathe again. Feeling your ragged breaths become even as you open your eyes and focus on Joel as he stands in the corner brooding and revelling in your pleasure. He’s breathing fast as his broad chest moves up and down, can practically hear him as his breaths come out choked and fast. He’s turned on, you can see the bulge in the outline of his dark jeans as he takes you in with his eyes, trailing over your center again.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks with a deep voice rasping in the back of his throat.

“Yes, so good,” you breath out tensely. “Want you to make me feel good though,” you beg as you open up your legs for him, feeling his eyes scrape over your soaked outline.

“Oh? Think you learned your lesson?” he asks curiously with a raised brow.

“Yes, promise,” you confirm, already biting your lip at the anticipation of his fingers on you.

“Mmm, alright. Since you did what I asked, I guess you earned a reward.” He stalks toward you, bending down before you as he gets on his knees and brings your legs up over his shoulders, slowly trailing his fingers up your inner thighs as he works you up again, getting you ready for your second orgasm.

“Look at this pretty pussy, all soppin’ and drippin’ for me. Want me to make you wetter? Want me to make you see stars?” he purrs as he blows on your center, making you buck your hips up at the breezy feeling as it tickles your most sensitive areas.

“Fuck, yes,” you squirm, begging for his touch.

“Mmm patience, little lamb. Gonna take ya nice and slow. You gonna be a good girl and cum all over my fingers?” he groans as a deep growl escapes his chest.

“Yes, fuck. I’ll be the best girl, your best girl,” you whine out.

“Mmm that’s what I like to hear,” he praises. Before you can respond, he licks a long, slow stripe up your center as you moan out his name.

“What’s that, little lamb? Couldn’t hear you over your moans,” he teases.

He pulls you lower in the chair as the wood scrapes along your back, feeling his rough hands wrap around your thighs tight. He inhales deeply and then spits on your cunt in a degrading, ravishing way. He takes his thumb and spreads the warm spit over your folds as you writhe under his touch.

“Hold still,” he warns as he presses his other hand on your thigh. You nod up at him and let him continue stroking his thumb up and down you, spreading your wet folds as he gently presses slow circles around your bundle of nerves. You let out a low, drawn out moan as he slips two fingers inside you and flicks his tongue back and forth in slow, lapping circles, so close to bringing you to the heavens again, so close to orgasm already.

One more thrust inside of you and then he’s pulling his fingers out, leaving your clit as he takes his mouth off you and backs up, dropping your legs from his shoulders as he stays straddling in between your legs. Why did he stop? Why did he fucking stop?

“Joel, I need to…I need to…” you whine out. He hushes you with the swipe of his finger to your lips, and you quietly pout as your eyebrows furrow together. Need to cum, need to cum.

“Think you deserve it?” he asks as he wets his bottom lip with his tongue, building you up even more as you beg to cum.

“Yes,” you cry out, your clit throbbing with need, your body sick with desperation to let go.

He chuckles a low laugh and smirks up at you, his dark eyes honing in as the black pits expand around him. He’s cruel, wicked, a devil in disguise as he torments you. He knows what he’s doing, he knows.

Filthy trickster, vicious teaser. Cruel, cruel, cruel, the voices whisper in your mind, filling you with regret and longing as you dig your nails into the wooden chair, feeling your body screaming at you. Let go, let go. Need to cum, need to cum. Joel sees the torment in your needing eyes, sees the way you’re scraping your nails into the wood as you beg him to release you with your watering eyes.

“You know, the female orgasm is a complex thing. I can feel you screaming inside to let go, can see the way you ache for release.” He grunts as he pushes a wet, hot finger inside your mouth, slowly pushing a second in as he slides his fingers further up, feeling your saliva cake around him.

“Suck,” he commands. You do as he says and suck his fingers, feeling your sweet arousal slide down the back of your throat. “Good girl,” he praises, but he doesn’t let up. He keeps his fingers inside your panting mouth.

“It’s just so hot to watch you suck my fingers with your dripping slick all over them,” he says as he bites his lip, sending his fingers further down your throat as you gag and choke on them, seeing his eyes become full black pits as he watches with pleasure. “Such a good girl, choking on my fingers. Wanna see you choke on something else,” he growls as his sharp incisors beam up at you in a smirk as he slowly releases his fingers from your mouth, pulling saliva with him.

You groan at the sight of his disheveled, tousled curls, at the grey patchy beard that encases his face, at the smoldering stare he’s giving you, at that devilish smirk that’s taunting and teasing you in the most torturous way.

“Your mouth. God, your mouth looks so inviting, and your teeth. They’d feel so good closed around my neck,” you whine as you beg him to finish you off, let you cum in peace.

“Mhmm. The better to eat you with, my dear,” he smirks. The little red riding hood quote takes you for a ride as you feel your cunt clench up around nothing, needing a release.

He smirks up at you once more and winks before he dives back into you, his fingers curling up inside as they jab up into your spongy spot, his mouth pulling and sucking your clit into his mouth. You feel the bubbling sensation, feel the waves crashing around you as they pull you under, drowning you in a wave of bliss and white heat as it explodes around you. You scream his name loud and desperate as you feel yourself let go. You clench around his fingers and then release, spilling your slick all over him. But what takes you by surprise is that’s not all.

You feel another orgasm take over as your body crumbles underneath him as he continues licking up your slick, working his fingers up and down you as he draws out more, spilling all of you, taking all of you for himself. Selfish, so selfish. But he builds you up so good that this is the best release you’ve ever experienced, like you’re walking on cloud nine as you feel a squirting sensation take over. Feeling yourself inject him with your slick as it sprays all over the front of his plaid shirt.

“Goddamn!” he yells as he pumps his fingers inside you, slowing his rhythm as he works it all out of you. You feel your legs shake and shutter around him as he holds your thighs open, not letting you close until he’s gotten every last drop out of you. After a few seconds of total bliss, you feel your body relax as there’s no more. That was the most intense orgasm of your life, and you wanted more. Needed him to continue to do that for however long this would go on.

“See what happens when I make you wait, when I tease you,” he smirks. “Makes you feel that much better,” he smiles, a devilish grin taking form on his face.

“You’re a menace, Joel Miller,” you respond out of breath, your eyes glazed over as you look over his aroused face.

“A menace, huh? Is that what I am?” he laughs.

“Yes,” you say carefully.

“Better watch your mouth,” he warns, slowly sliding his hands over your pale skin as he drags over your thighs, ending at your knees.

“What if I don’t?” you mock, wanting to test the waters, wanting to feed his anger. Keep quiet, keep quiet, the voices whisper. But you don’t listen. You never listen, always pushing them aside.

He stays quiet for a moment, but you see his features turning from day to night. He’s furious, his anger fuming inside him as you challenge him. Back down, back down, run, the ghosts scream. But you don’t. You stand your ground, let him rip into you as he takes control. You want him to, you need him to. He’s ruined you like the dead soil that lies in the snowed over dirt outside. He fucking ruined you.

You watch as his eyes turn frigid, his blood running cold as his eyebrows furrow up, his rage conforming to every bone in his hollow body. He’s on you in the next second, his hand wrapping around your throat as he squeezes just slightly, not enough to hurt you. He’s warning you, declaring his dominance over you. Telling you that he owns you, controls you.

He hovers in front of your face as his hot breath blows over you, smelling a hint of coffee and whiskey as it surrounds you like a cloud. You could get drunk off his scent, drunk off him. “Don’t you dare talk back to me, little lamb. You know what happens when you open that pretty fuckin’ mouth of yours.” He narrows his eyes as they stare into you like sharp daggers.

He squeezes your neck tighter and you try to open your mouth, but nothing comes out. It’s not to the point of pain. He never goes too far, only gets you close. It feels good, so good the way he’s squeezing, the veins in your neck begging him to put more pressure into it. You’re sick, infected with his poison with the way he mind fucks you into doing anything he says. You're a puppet, and he’s pulling all the strings.

Get out, get out, they scream. He comes to take, he comes to destroy, they warn. But you don’t care. Let him destroy. You want him to, need him to destroy your body. You let him take, let him consume you as he throws you to the wolves. Except he is the wolf, and he is the one that tears you apart piece by fucking piece. A lamb to a wolf’s slaughter.

He ghosts his lips against your ear, slowly biting down on your earlobe as he pulls down sharply. You wince and he lets go slowly. His rough tongue glides up your jawline as he squeezes lightly around your throat, building that sweet pool of arousal up again as he twists your emotions. You can barely tell the difference between pain and pleasure anymore. He’s been so rough with you, has done so many demoralizing things as he takes and takes from you, feeding his hatred and anger from the ghosts of his past. But he makes you feel so good, so fucking good. You can never deny him, can never run from him. You want it, you want it. So you’ll have it, you’ll have him.

“I could just eat you right up,” he purrs as he bites at your lower lip, pulling it back and releasing as it slaps back into place. You feel the sting of his teeth mark your throbbing lip, but it feels so good. So good.

“So do it. Take me,” you beg, choking out the words with his strong hand wrapped around you.

His eyes go black as he smirks up at you, his eyes smoldering into yours. “You asked for it, little lamb. Now c’mere.” He growls as he releases his death grip on your neck and yanks you out of the chair, slamming you into the white wall as he pins your arms above you and shoves the sheer nightgown up your body. He rips it over your head and tosses it to the floor in a heap.

You feel the cold air across your bare skin as his body crowds you, his lips sinking deep into your neck as he bites at the thin flesh. He pulls and tugs and sucks in a needy, aggressive way. You release breathy moans as the pain turns to pleasure, as you fall deep into the wolf’s trap as he claws at you. Taking, taking, taking. He’s rough, insensitive, always taking what he wants, what he craves. But you let him, you always let him.

He rolls your nipples with the pads of his rough thumbs, gathering your breasts as he kneads them together, making you pebble underneath him as he bites at them, leaving marks all over you. He claims, he takes with no regard for you. It’s what he needs, but you need it just as bad now. He’s brought you to ruin again and again, and he’ll continue to take advantage. You’ll let him, you’ll let him.

He glides his tongue back up to the crook of your neck and bites hard as you scream in both pleasure and pain. It’s too much, too much. But you take it, allowing him to have his way with you. He needs it, he needs it.

You feel the edge of his bulge against your leg as his hips dig into you, feel the shape as your body shakes around you. You want it, you need his cock. Your hands are still held against your will above you, so you lift your leg up slowly, skimming the base of him as you feel his large length through his denim. He grabs your leg fast and shoves it down as he grabs your chin and brings your eyes to his level.

“Did I say you could fucking touch me?” he snarls as his jagged teeth shine in the moonlight.

“No…” you whisper scarcely.

“No is right,” he snarls with bared teeth. “You do as I say when I say it. Got it?” he asks as he shoves you up against the wall, keeping his hand planted firmly against your jaw.

“Yes, sir,” you respond with a shaky breath.

“Good girl,” he smirks. “Now, let me teach you a little lesson on how to fucking do as you’re told,” he growls. “Stay,” he commands as he leaves you clinging to the thin wall. He saunters over to the wooden chair and takes a seat as he spreads his legs, palming himself slowly as one hand unlatches his leather belt and drops it to the floor with a clank.

“Get on all fours, now,” he commands as he swiftly unzips his jeans, slowly yanking them to the ground as he kicks off his leather boots and pushes the jeans to the floor, leaving him bare from the waist down. You gawk at the size of him, of that massive twitching erection as it plants firmly against his tight stomach, a bead of precum glistening on the swollen tip of him. He’s so fucking pretty sitting there, about to palm himself as he watches you. Something about that brings out the sultry, unruly side of you. You want to taste him, need to feel him inside you.

You’re on all fours, waiting for his commanding call as he allows you to come to him. You need to feel him, need to taste him, need to smell him as his hot arousal encases the air, taking over every logical sense of your brain as he calls to you in your mind. Come out, come out wherever you are, little lamb. Time to come play with the big, bad wolf.

“Crawl,” he growls from the middle of the room, glaring his dark black pits into your soul. You generously oblige as you scrape your nails over the wooden floor, feeling your knees drag behind you as you make your way to him slowly and steadily. You feel your eyes gloss over with pure lust as you stare up at him, watching him pump his hand up and down his large cock, spreading precum all over himself. You gulp at the sight, at the massive length he has on him.

God, he’s so big. So big that when he takes you, he stretches you to your limits. Splitting you in two as he drives into you over and over again. It’s never vanilla, it’s always rough. So very rough. But you like it. Like the way he feels inside you as he claims you, dominates you. You’re mine, all mine, he grits through his teeth as he takes you, digging his nails into your skin as he rips at you, shredding you to pieces.

Take me, take me, you beg through your mind. And you swear he hears you by the way he sits up straighter at full attention and smirks down at you with eyes full of pure lust. And he’s telling you now with his smirk, with his eyes. You’re mine, he growls. And you know it, you know it. His to take.

You grovel over to him, batting your long eyelashes up at him as if that’ll stir the desire in him. You bite your lower lip and flick your tongue across the edge seductively as you smolder for him. Take me, take me, you scream.

The anger builds in him as he snarls down at you and hisses as he continues to pump his large length. The thick veins cascade around his thick cock as shots of precum drip down around him, ending in his coarse, wiry hair. You want to taste him, need to taste him. You’ve never craved anyone like this in your entire life.

He wrapped his twisting vines around your wrists and pulled until he had a forceful hold on you. He dragged you through the pitch black forest and devoured your body, claiming you as his own in the first week he met you. And you were hooked ever since, never being able to say no to him. You could even hear the forest shrieking its warning calls. Run away, leave, get away from the wolf with dark eyes. But you didn’t listen, only hypnotized by the dark, dominant beast of the night.

When you finally reach him and work your way in between his legs, he grabs your jaw with his rough hand and forces you to open as he squeezes you tight. “Tongue out,” he presses and you fully oblige.

You stick your wet tongue out, and he brings the tip of his cock to you as you slowly lap at the end with your tongue. “Fuck,” he groans from deep in his chest as he stares down at you with a snarl. You slowly draw sensual circles with your tongue along his most sensitive spots and lap up precum into your mouth as you generously swallow the salty flavor of him. You smirk up at him as you lap at his tip, giving him your best smoldering eyes that you can.

You watch his eyes turn coal black as he grabs the back of your hair and pulls your eyes up to his. You wince at the pain simmering through your skull as he holds you tight, unable to move an inch from him. “Quit fuckin’ teasin’ me,” he growls as his piercing eyes sear through you like a knife. He pulls your hair tighter and you cry out in pain. “You gonna be a good girl and behave?” he asks with a twinge of anger in his deep voice.

“Mhm,” you nod as he stares his hard eyes into you.

“Better be.” He bares his teeth as he lets his grip drop from you, and you catch yourself on his knees. “Now be a good little lamb and show me how good your mouth fucks,” he growls as he sits back in the wooden chair and scoots his hips up, waiting to be pleasured by you.

You’re quick to appease him. You wrap a hand around his thick cock and slide your hand up and down, spreading precum all around his length, and then you take him in your mouth. You work him nice and slow as you bob up and down, up and down, gathering spit all over his cock. He moans a deep, sated sound out of his throat as he watches you with hollowed out black eyes.

You continue flicking your tongue and sucking his thick, substantial length as you work up and down to please him. You can tell he’s right on the edge of release by the way he’s clenching his jaw and breathing out ragged, concentrated moans. But he won’t end there, not tonight. He’ll push your boundaries, he always does.

As you pull back to his tip, he reaches down and grabs your hair hard and thrusts up into your mouth. He brings your head forward and forces you down as his large length hits the back of your throat, making your eyes start to water from the action. He doesn’t let up, he just keeps thrusting harder and faster as he mouth fucks you forcefully.

You choke and gag on him as he hits the back of your throat over and over again. Your mouth is a swimming pool of saliva as it drips down your chin, caking his cock with slick drool. You feel like you're drowning and can’t breathe underneath him, but he keeps going. He’s almost there, almost there. Need to breathe, need to breathe. Your eyes water as tears spill down your crimson cheeks and fall to the cold floor. He’s pushing you, always pushing you to your limits as he pushes past them. He loves when you choke on him, loves to hear the gargled, gagging sounds as your throat constricts around him. And when you look into his black eyes and see the way he bares his sharp teeth down at you, you know you made him feel good.

“You look so goddamn pretty choking on me, little lamb. Feels so fucking good when you deep throat me, when I fuck your mouth with my cock,” he moans as he pushes you deeper, nearly suffocating you under the weight of his massive cock that’s coated in drool. “Now you’re gonna be a good girl and swallow for me,” he commands as he thrusts inside you.

You can’t take much more. You’re out of breath and you’re digging into his thighs as you continue to take him, barely able to hold on anymore. You see him clench his jaw again, his breath speeding up as he groans curses out of his mouth. He’s there, he’s there. His dark eyes roll back as he holds your head in place and releases his load all through the back of your throat. You feel the white, hot liquid slide down your throat as you swallow the salty taste of him.

“Good girl. That’s a good fucking girl,” he growls as he finishes releasing himself in you. You watch his body go slack against the back of the chair as he breathes hot, whimpered moans from deep within his chest. He drops his hand from the back of your head, and you pull back, finally able to breathe again. You catch your breath and cough as you choke on more saliva and cum. You brace your hands on the cool floor and sink your nails into the wood, getting a grip on reality again as your body comes back to earth. Your voice is so shaky, so raspy as you wipe the drool from your chin and swipe the tears from your eyes.

He takes, he takes, the voices whisper. But you let him take, you let him ravage you as much as he wants. Don’t give in, don’t listen to the beast. But you do, you always do. The beast has claimed you as his, and little lambs always listen to their master.

The shrieking wind blows against your window, warning you of the beast that lies inside. Warning you that there’s danger near, and it’s lurking. That danger sits in your wooden chair, revitalizing himself before he crowds your body over the bed. He’s not done with you just yet. He needs to feed, needs to devour the entirety of you. He needs to destroy every last part of you as he claims you for himself over and over again.

He slowly pushes himself out of the wooden chair and grabs your arm, pulling you up from the cold floor as he grasps you tight. “On the bed,” he commands as he bares his teeth and pulls you over to the queen sized bed. He pushes you down as you fall on your back into the cool, satiny sheets.

He slowly unbuttons his plaid shirt as he stalks toward you with dark eyes that look like they want to devour you whole. When he gets to the last button, he pulls off the shirt and drops it to the floor, leaving him completely bare. He’s so goddamn handsome that it hurts to even stare for too long.

His broad shoulders and thick arms make it hard to breathe. His bulging veins that spider down his arms and cover his massive hands makes you want to whine in need. His tousled curls and brown flecked eyes make you want to come undone just from one look. They’re hypnotizing, spellbinding. And if you look close enough, you swear you can see the flash of yellow in his eyes as he stalks toward you, ready to pounce as he comes in for the kill.

Run, go now before it’s too late, the voices warn. The wolf comes to steal, the wolf comes to kill, they shriek. Let him, you whisper to the voices. You’re his to take. You want him to take. Take me, take me, you beg. And he will, he always does.

You feel the mattress shift underneath you as he drags his body over the edge of the bed, slowly crawling on top of you as his massive form hangs over you. His eyes are black pits as they stare at you, tempting you to come into the darkness as he drags you down again and again. Your eyes go wide and your pulse races in your neck as you stare up at the man made of nightmares.

“What’s the matter, little lamb? Scared of the big bad wolf?” he asks as he smirks down at you, his eyes pooled with darkness.

“No, I’m not scared,” you whisper out as you gulp down your fears.

“Then why can I smell the fear on you?” he smiles, his teeth like white, jagged razors.

“I’m not scared of you. No. I’m scared you’ll run off into the night and never come back.” Your voice comes out meek, breathy. Why the fuck did you just say that? His smile drops from his face and his eyebrows knit together. You can’t tell what he’s feeling, can’t tell what he’ll do. Don’t go, don’t go, you whisper. You need him. You need him.

His jaw flexes and relaxes as you see his waning features in the moonlight. He grazes his calloused fingers over your jaw slowly and comes to cup your chin as he pulls your eyes up to his. “You don’t have to worry about that, little lamb. Even if I run, I always come back. You’re mine and mine alone. Tell me who you belong to,” he growls possessively, making you desperate for his touch. You need him, you need him.

“You. I belong to you. I’m yours,” you gasp out, not able to hold on much longer. Touch me, taste me, devour me.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises.

Before you can comprehend what happens, he crashes his lips down to yours and devours you. Sucking, biting, kissing your throbbing lips as he shoves his tongue in your mouth and glides his rough tongue against yours. He swirls and swirls, filling up your senses with the taste of him. He tastes so fucking good, you could get lost in his whiskey taste, needing to drown in it until it fills up your lungs completely.

When he releases from your mouth, he cages his arms around your shoulders and crowds your body with his. “Little lamb, little lamb. What pretty eyes you have,” he purrs as he slowly pushes your legs apart with his knees, spreading you wide open for him to take. You bite your lip at the gentle praise and feel yourself become wet with arousal at the sight of him spreading you.

He lowers his head to your neck and licks a stripe up the side, right in the sensitive crevice of your neck. “And you taste so fucking good, I just love eating you up,” he groans as he bites down on your most sensitive nerve ending in your neck. You moan at the sharp, hot sensation as a wave of slick runs down your inner thigh.

He trails his hand slowly down your center, starting at your chin, gliding down your sternum, sliding over your abdomen, and ending at your wet, hot center. He spreads your soft folds and draws tight, slow circles around your clit as you hear the sloshing noises from your arousal.

“Joel,” you moan out, whining as it takes you under a sea of hypnotic pleasure. “Take me. Please, take me,” you beg.

“That’s right, little lamb. Good girls get rewarded, and you’ve been such a good girl for me tonight,” he praises through your thick cloud of pleasure. “Gonna fuck you now, little lamb. Gonna show you how good I can make you feel,” he says with bared teeth.

“Please,” you beg as he takes his thumb off your clit and pulls you down further in the bed, angling your hips up as he wraps your legs tight around his back.

“You’re mine, little lamb. Mine,” he growls as he plunges his thick cock in you, spreading you wide and splitting you in two as you moan out in pleasure.

He keeps his strides steady and slow, quickly picking up the pace as he fucks up into you over and over again. Driving your moans out of you as he bottoms out inside you, pounding over and over again against your tight walls. He throws your legs over his shoulders and digs his nails into your hips as he fucks you hard and fast, repeatedly hitting the soft, spongy area inside you over and over again. It’s too much, it’s too fucking much. You whine out as you moan his name over and over again. So good, it feels so good. You can feel the pressure building, feel your orgasm about to take form as your walls flutter against his cock.

“You’re squeezin’ me so tight, little lamb. Feels so fuckin’ good. Let go for me, want you to come for me. Tell me who fuckin’ makes you feel good. Tell me who you fuckin’ belong to,” he growls as he fucks inside you harder, pressing the pad of his calloused thumb against your throbbing bundle of nerves as he circles and circles, drawing that sweet orgasm out of you.

You feel the tingling sensation wash over your head, down your spine, and ending at your aching cunt as your toes curl around him. You keep your eyes trained on him as you’re barely able to keep them open. You feel your mouth drop open wide as you let out a loud moan that’s meant for Joel.

“You. I belong to you, Joel.” You scream out his name as your orgasm washes over you, feeling your walls clench up around him and then release white slick all over his cock as he continues to thrust up inside you, as he continues to circle your pulsing clit. White, hot heat spills through you as you completely lose yourself to him. Your body feels staticky as your mind goes fuzzy and your brain fogs over, only thinking of the man with dark eyes that takes you over completely.

“Good girl, good fucking girl,” he growls as he leans over your body and hovers over you, driving his thick cock in and out, in and out. Bottoming out so many times that you see stars. He’s there, he’s almost there, he’s about to cum. Four more thrusts and his body tenses up, his black pupils expanding as he throws his head back and clenches his jaw. He spills his seed inside of you as you feel the sticky cum coat your walls. He claims you, he claims you, and you love it, can never get enough. Mine, mine, mine, he growls possessively. And you’re his, you’re all his.

He slowly pulls out of you as you feel his seed drip down your inner thighs. “Did so good for me, little lamb. So good,” he praises as he cleans the mess from your thighs, wiping away the evidence that he had been there. He collapses next to you in bed and pulls you to him as he wraps his strong arms around you, crushing you to his chest. It feels good, this feels good.

He always leaves right after he finishes, never stays to comfort or hold you. He’s selfish, mean, but tonight he holds you. He holds you. He stays. You don’t say anything about it, don’t ask him why he stays because he’ll just get up and leave, leaving you empty and alone.

You feel the heavy weight he holds close to him, feel the heartbreak he carries with him day after day, can feel the cold glass of the broken watch grazing against your back. But you don’t ask, don’t chance it. You feel the loss cover him, feel his anger seething somewhere underneath his calm demeanor. It’s there just waiting to pounce, waiting to lash out at whatever stands in front of him.

He’s the wolf that stalks Jackson, the wolf that terrorizes the forest, the wolf that haunts the whispering ghosts that lie buried in the cold, dead ground. He goes around destroying, rampaging, slaughtering in the thick of the night. He’s a menace that looks for anything he can sink his teeth into and bleed dry. He’s a looming threat over every area he enters, threatening to destroy and kill. He takes, he takes. Again and again. But that’s what wolves do. They hunt and they take and they dominate while their prey cower before them, just waiting for the kill.

Joel is a wolf. A reckless, vengeful, powerful wolf. He loves to devour, loves to control, loves to dominate you. But he also gives, never letting you go starving for his touch. He always comes at the dead of night, always pulls you from your deep sleep to tumble around with the wolf in the sheets.

He’s like a melodic, captivating melody that hypnotizes you, calling you into the forest night after night with his deep howl. You always go, never ignoring the call that’s meant for you and you alone. And when you go, the ghosts reach for you from under the dirt and try to pull you away, warning you of what you’re about to face. But you ignore them, stepping over their graves as if they were never there. You go, you always go. Never betraying the lonely wolf with the sad, dark eyes.

It’s now while he holds you tight in his arms that you realize maybe you were meant to find him. He’s broken, a lone wolf that walks the hollow streets of Jackson just trying to find a purpose to keep going, to keep fighting. And when you showed up a few months ago, it's like a little light turned on inside him when it was all around black before you came.

You see him now for what he really is. He’s not all bad, not all teeth and claws. He yearns to break free from his wolf form, begging to run free with the rest of the pack instead of being cast out like he is. You see it in his wrinkled forehead, in his jaw that repeatedly clenches and relaxes, in his dark brown eyes that hollow out when you stare into them.

He’s so close, so close that you smell his mahogany forest scent that clings to him as it pulls you in, intoxicating you into a relaxed state. He stares at you with those dark eyes, his chest breathing in and out in shallow waves. You try something new, feeling brave all of a sudden. You slowly reach out your hand and brush it through his tousled curls, gently moving away a dark piece that falls against the side of his face. He doesn’t move, doesn’t lash out at you like a wild animal. He stays calm, just staring at you with a soft expression. His eyes change to a chocolate brown instead of the deep black pits he usually has. And then he surprises you by reaching his hand up slowly to your face, hesitating at the gentleness of himself. He trails his calloused fingers over your cheek, as light as a feather as he takes in your tranquil features.

He changes, he changes, the voices call. No more teeth, no more slaughter, they chant louder. A quiet victory to the ghosts that haunt the forest.

And just like that, you have tamed the wolf, controlling all his pent up rage, giving him the restitution he needed all along. You can see it in his big brown eyes, how he looks at you as if you saw him for the first time when no one else did. When no one else could give him what he needed. He needed someone that could understand all the hurt and loss he had been through. You’ve lost, you’ve died a thousand times through grief, but you found your way again through him. The hungry wolf that you were searching for all along.

And so the lost, scared lamb found herself in the face of the big, bad wolf. He came to destroy, to take, and to use. But you found a way to tame the claws, to tame the gnashing teeth. Somehow you controlled the beast, showing him that he truly wasn��t alone. Never leave, never leave, you call to him in your mind. And it’s like he can hear your thoughts because he drags his thumb lightly down your jawline and responds.

“I’ll stay, little lamb. I’ll stay,” he whispers. And he does, he does.

Maybe not all wolves are out to steal, kill, and destroy. Maybe there are wolves that are just lonely, broken, needing to know that someone understands them. Needing to know that they’re truly not alone. Joel is that wolf. He just needed to find you. He needed to find the lamb that wouldn’t run and cower in his presence. He needed a lamb that would stay by his side, that would show him the way out of the dark and into the light. He needed restitution. He needed you. He needed you.

And so he stays, he stays. The lonely, bleeding, broken wolf finding resolve and contentment with the quiet, gentle lamb. He stays.

Tags: @janaispunk @amyispxnk @iamasaddie @ashleymsnodgrass @tuquoquebrute @whxtedreams @fanfictilltheend @burntheedges @cinnamongorll @studioghibelli @pedrostories @blueseastorm @trea-bae

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httpshujii · 9 months

Text

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 彡 In which . . . Hanma Shuji falls in love.

Listen to this while reading

〔CW〕 — Usage of pet names, mentions of smoking, cursing, first kisses, suggestive themes. long fic (4k words), reader gets called 'Paradise'

〔AN〕 — This is basically me projecting, except I'm not academically smart :D

Hanma Shuji doesn’t believe in love. And he surely doesn’t expect to be loved. And he’s fine with that.

Hanma Shuji went in the wrong at a young age. Falling under the influence of manipulative bliss. Tip of cigarette between sharp teeth, flicker of lighter, and inhaling smoke through mouth, exhaling through nose. Living on the life line of the strong taste of tobacco, the smell of blood, and the sweet intoxication of walking through the streets of Tokyo.

Hanma Shuji walked nights till the crack of dawn. Causing trouble here and there, minding his own business there and here.

Hanma Shuji being a usual delinquent in the lit up streets of Tokyo.

Typical Monday, Shuji sat at the back of the empty classroom. School shirt unbuttoned over a white tank top. Unlit cigarette hanging through his teeth as the early sun caressed his face.

Sighing, he closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He doesn't usually go to school. Thinks it's too wasteful, he'd much rather pick on younger students in the streets, but no one's available at 6 in the morning.

Shuji didn't sleep last night. Or any night.

"Bored.." He murmured to himself. And just as he was about to leave the class and head back home, a pretty little thing caught his attention.

Bag in your hand and a sweater draped over your other arm.

Your eyes land on him and his cigarette.

"Oh..sorry, didn't think anyone would be here." Shy giggles and hesitant steps take you to your seat that's two rows ahead of his.

You waste no time in placing your bag on your chair and you walk out with your sweater.

The boy's gaze never left your figure. Cat-like eyes stuck on you the whole time. Observing, studying, memorizing. And he's glad you don't notice.

He knows who you are. Everyone knows who you are.

And everyone loved you...Shuji hated that.

How can anyone say they love a girl who was known for her intelligence and her charisma when most of the time nobody knows you as a person?

And that was your thought as you walked around the school. Your beige sweater now on, earphones in ears, and you allow the music to take over you...

Ecstasy carrying layers of notes of different pitches, blissfully pleasing your hearing as the sun rose and started its day.

An hour later and you're back in class, writing down the notes you need to write. This endless cycle continues for the rest of the day, even through lunch you spend your time tutoring other students because you're asked to do so by the teachers.

You're the star student and every teacher's helpful tutor. You can't say you didn't like it because you find enjoyment while helping others.

But it was a bore sometimes...

And so, the day goes by…

Write notes, read, highlight, repeat.

The final period of the day arrives and it somehow goes faster than usual. Just as the bell finally rings…

“Hanma, y/n, could you two come here for a moment?” Your teacher asks as her fingers skim through papers.

Walking towards the desk, you feel a looming presence stand next to you. Your eyes dare dart upwards to see who this Hanma is.

You hear the name everyday when the teacher checks the attendance. Usually there’s no response, and you never paid any mind to his presence.

Your eyes scan over his features quickly. Hair styled up, dangling earring, pointy nose, and hypnotizing golden eyes.

“Y/n I’d like for you to sit with Hanma for the upcoming lesson, and I’d appreciate it if you went over the previous lessons with him as well.”

Groaning internally, you nod politely.

While awkwardly exchanging numbers with Hanma, you couldn’t help but notice the tattoos that decorated his hands. Sin and Punishment. His veins bulge as he typed his digits into your phone. Heat pools at your stomach and you’re forced to look away.

“So, tomorrow at the library after school, sound good?”

“Yeah whatever..” His voice exhales smoky rings of husks. Rumbling down to your heart, making it sprint in place.

Gulping down the sudden lump, grabbing your phone from his hand.

“I-I’ll text you the schedule.”

“Sure.”

“See you.” Waving back at him, you look to see if he’d do the same.

He flicks two fingers at you as a wave and gives you a tired excuse of a smile.

The next day comes faster than expected. Your loafers clap against the tiled floor of the halls. Making your way to the library, you’re surprised to find Hanma already there sitting on one of the many tables.

But…

He’s asleep.

The worst possible scenario.

Is having to wake him up when he looks so peaceful.

What to do? What to do?

Okay.

The options that you have include the following:

A. Wake him up.

B. Leave without an explanation.

C. Leave and text him an apology saying that something came up.

D. None of the above.

You choose D. I can’t just leave him…

But this isn’t like you. The boy barely has any interest in you and you’re aware of that. So why?

Why do you want to wait for him to wake up?

Is it because…

You want to listen to his steady breaths?

Or watch the rise and fall of his chest…

Maybe it’s to stare at him as his eyes flutter.

No, that’s just creepy.

You know what…

Your steps walk towards the table and you start working. Trying so hard to carefully flip the pages of your notebook. Taking your time writing down notes. Stealing glances at him every now and then.

Just enjoying his sleeping presence.

An hour passes, you don’t realize it.

But when you’re about to steal another glance at him, he’s already staring at you.

And oh…

How pretty he looks.

Hair disheveled, eyes hooded, and an unknown emotion swimming in his eyes. Heat pools in your stomach at the sight of him. A good moment passes until he decides to speak…

“Staring is rude y’know.”

“Well you’re staring too.”

“You’re staring as if I look like some monster or somethin’.”

“I’m not!”

“You’re being loud.” “Because you’re making me irritated.” Huffing, you cross your arms.

“Cute…” He hums as he nuzzles into the crook of his elbow, his eyes close momentarily before opening again.

Cute.

Such a complicated word. Hard to know what he’s referring to at this moment.

“Can we start?” You ask, lifting a page in your notebook, indicating you’re fed up and he just gives you a nod.

An hour passes. Shuji hasn’t taken out any notebook or book or pen. But you didn’t question it, at least he’s listening.

“Do you get it?”

“Mhm..”

. . .

“Do you?”

“No.”

A sigh and a pinch to the bridge of your nose.

“Like okay, I get everything yeah? But this part is kinda confusing.” He points to a graph in your book and starts listing what he finds hard.

But you’re barely paying attention.

Well, you are. But on him.

The way he’s leaning over the table, one of his elbows propping his head, as his fist sinks into his cheek. The way his finger taps against your book, your wandering eyes trailing over to his hand. Punishment. Your mind thinks of what his tattoo could possibly mean.

“So for example if this question comes in an exam, how do i answer it?” He asks peering up at you now.

You stare at each other for a few seconds.

“Pretty..” He whispers, he lifts his hand to brush it over the plush of your cheek. But pulling away a moment later, as though you’re too delicate to be touched by his sinful hands.

You didn’t sleep early that night. The phantom of his touch still lingers on you. He left right after you gave him the answer to his question. And you received a text from him once you got home.

“I think I know why everyone calls you Paradise.”

It’s an alias used by students when addressing you.

“Hey Paradise! Can you explain this to us?”

“Paradise, why don’t you come sing karaoke with us tonight?”

Paradise this, paradise that.

You don’t even know why they call you that.

Paradise is…it’s the sprinkle of golden specks across the night sky, it’s the warmth of fire, the coolness of snowflakes. Paradise is long strokes of a paintbrush going down a canvas, the soft washes of waves over the sand, the peaceful layer between the wake and the sleep. Paradise is the intoxicating scent of mysterious glances and peach flavored kisses.

Paradise is anything but you. You have the looks, the brains, everything. But you aren’t the person that you want to be. Being the perfect image for people that don’t bother enough to get to know you is draining. You don’t have friends that last long, you can’t talk to anyone about your day because no one asks, sure you have your parents, but you thrive to hold onto something that would belong to you and you only.

“Why?” You texted him that an hour ago. And as the night continued, sleep taking over, and the rings of the alarm blaring your ears off, you woke up to nothing. Not a text back, not even seen.

“How’s the progress with Shuji going?”

“Good, he’s good at memorizing and catches on quickly.”

“That’s good. You may leave now.”

A long sigh escapes you the moment you close the door of the classroom. Today is colder than usual, and today is worse than usual.

“Someone seems pissed.” The familiar smoky rings of husks. The same playful lilt. And the intimidating sight of Hanma Shuji fills your stomach with butterflies.

It’s been a month since you met him and he texted you every day. Asking if you’re gonna continue studying after school in the library. But he never once answered your question. However, he started sitting with you daily. He changed his seat to sit right next to you, he would sit with you during lunch time and he’d even go as far to buy you a drink from the vending machines.

You don’t know what it is that lures you to his presence. Overall, in your eyes, he’s calm and collected. But it’s only been a month since you’ve met him. There’s still a lot you need and want to learn.

“‘M not pissed.” You grumble clearly pissed as you start walking towards the library.

“Poor little girl’s all mad.”

“I said I’m not mad.”

“Ehe ♡”

“What?”

“We had the same conversation a month ago.”

“Why am I surprised you remember?”

“Why are you surprised that I remember?”

At that, heat tickles your stomach and you just continue walking.

“You’re interesting.” Is what he started with as you took a seat at the table.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

A small tilt of his head and a ghost of a smirk hangs on his lips, “What question?”

“Why.”

Silence hangs in the air. He knows what you’re talking about. He stares at you in a strange intensity, not serious, or playful. You can’t tell what it is you’re feeling. A sharp gulp down your throat and he’s talking again, “You ever been on a motorcycle before?”

“No. Why?”

“Do you wanna go?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“You ask why too much.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

Why. Such a stupid word that you tend to repeat. Being sheltered from having friends, you’re not used to discussions outside of the study topic. He makes you feel as if you’re an alien on this planet. He makes you feel curious and…dangerous. You feel dangerous around him.

“Ah fuck it. Lets go.”

“Where?”

“Just come with me will ya?”

Another sharp gulp and your feet are suddenly walking alongside him. You walk outside the school and down the sidewalk, all the way till you reach a small garage. You feel sick. A good sick. The type of sick you feel when you go down a really high rollercoaster.

He walks in and you follow, he grabs your school bag and places it onto a brown leather couch that's tucked into the corner of the place. An old coffee table in front of it and a mini fridge sitting nearby as well. But the main attraction, a motorcycle sits on a platform. A vintage Kawasaki Ninja, styled with a leopard print, and polished so that the finish can twinkle under the light.

You don’t notice yourself when you allow a subconscious ‘woah’ to escape your lips.

“Lovely one, isn’t she?”

You watch as Sin runs along the seat of the vehicle. His eyes stay on you though…

With a nod, he beckons you over. This time your steps are more confident. The minute you stand next to him, his hands move to your hips, lifting you up as if you’re nothing.

“W-what’re you…?”

“Wanna ride with me?”

It’s stupid to ask this question after seating you down. But the way he’s propping himself on the bike, the way his eyes search yours for any hesitation, the way he’s so effortlessly attractive by just tilting his head in amusement.

You tug on the hem of your skirt. Do I want this?

“C’mon pretty you know you want to~”

Your stomach did somersaults, butterflies abused your insides, and the blush on your cheeks was not taken for granted by him. With a soft pinch to your cheeks, “Cute.”

He moves away from the bike and walks towards a locker. He pulls out a leather jacket and hands it to you. It’s heavy, warm, and smells of cigarettes and dark cologne. It smells of him and it intoxicates you so beautifully.

He opens the garage door before finally sitting in front of you. The engine growls to life. A leopard hiding behind a bush, revving itself to pounce at a common prey. His calloused hands find refuge on yours, pulling them to hug his waist. You feel him tense up slightly, he stays there, his hands on top of yours, fingers caressing yours.

You feel a strange warmth, like the sun has nuzzled itself in your throat and it's sliding down to rest in your stomach.

This lasts for a couple of seconds before he revs the bike a couple of times, he goes down the ramp of the platform and the wind is quick to play with your hair. The highway he drove on was surprisingly empty despite it being four in the afternoon.

He drove with surprising ease, you’re scared but you trust him. It’s odd, trusting someone that you don’t know much about. Driving before stopping at a red light. He pats your hand before turning his head to the side slightly.

“You okay?”

“Yeah..”

“You sound hesitant baby, what’s wrong?”

“Kinda scared.”

“Don’t be, just lean with me on the turns alright?”

“Okay.”

“Atta girl ♡”

He drove you to the beach. And as he carried you off the bike, your eyes never left the crashing waves. Wonder filling your eyes as if you’re a little girl again.

“Never been to the beach before?”

“No.”

“Missing out big time.”

He holds your hand before walking towards the wooden dock. You both take a seat on the edge. You peek down at the blue waters, the sun setting creates divine hues of gold to mix with the palette of waves. So beautiful.

“I think I know why they call you Paradise.”

“Why?”

“Because you are paradise.”

“I don’t get it.”

A chuckle from him and he’s laying back on the wood. He sighs dreamily and closes his eyes.

“I don’t get it Hanma.” You repeat and this time he opens his eyes to look at you. He’s so enamored, so amazed by your presence.

“Ah shit.” Punishment clutches his chest. Sin covers his face.

“I don’t get it…” You mumble once again. Shuffling in place to face him now.

“I don’t get it either,” His words are muffled, he slides his hand down his face, “Fuck!” He yells to no one in particular, but you flinch at the volume.

“What did I do?!” You immediately take yourself as the blame but there’s a smile on your face, he smiles at you and he shakes his head ever so slightly.

Sin moves to brush the stray strands of your hair away from your face, it slides down your face to cup your cheek. He props himself up with his other elbow and looks at you appreciatively.

As if admiring a painting, his eyes trace over every feature of your face. Every mole, every freckle, every line and crease. He wants to kiss them. He wants to kiss your cheeks till they’re burning, he wants to kiss your tears away, he wants to kiss you so badly it hurts. You’re right here, in front of him and in his presence…

So why is it so hard to reach out to you and just kiss the life out of you?

Because he’s afraid. Hanma Shuji is fearless, he lives as a careless fugitive that finds pleasure in knocking teeth down people’s throats, he spends his days and nights laughing with the yells of his victims. Hanma Shuji doesn’t believe in love. And he surely doesn’t expect to be loved. And he’s not fine with that.

It’s been a month for God’s sake and he’s already fallen for you. How?

Is it the way you explain lessons? Is it the way you walk? Is it the way your eyes light up when he gets something right? Is it your face? Your body? Your smile? Your laugh? Maybe it’s the little tilt of your head when you feel confused? Or is it the hesitancy every time you’re with him? Maybe it’s everything and more.

Hanma Shuji fell under the painfully beautiful spell of love in a month. And he doesn’t expect to be loved by you.

You’re too pure, too angelic, too beautiful. Your whole existence doesn’t deserve to be meddled with by a boy that could break your heart.

Everything about him breaks your heart…because you want to have him.

“Hanma-”

“Don’t say my name like that.” Lie. Say my name, say my fucking name like it’s a fucking prayer. He wishes to tell you.

“...Shuji.”

“Fuck.” With a single blink, he’s standing on his knees in front of you. His hands cup your cheeks and he looks down at you.

He’s so lovesick it’s pathetic. How? How can he fall in love this quick? Is this normal? Probably not. Does he care? Yes…and no. His eyes narrow and they trace your lips, so kissable.

His thumb presses on your bottom lip. He’s hesitant now. The way you’re looking up at him so prettily. So innocently. Asking him to do whatever he wants, as if you’re completely clueless on what you want. He knows he shouldn’t give in. He really, really shouldn’t. You’re breaking his heart by trusting him with your purity. He hasn’t even kissed you yet and he already feels like he committed a crime.

A long grumble leaves his lips and his forehead is resting on your shoulder. He’s breathing heavily, as if he ran a whole marathon- well, his heart is.

This hurts hurts hurts. He feels like a child at a museum, wanting to touch an ancient vase but if he does he’d get a good slap on his hand for touching something so valuable.

He’s touching someone so valuable. It feels like a crime. Such a big crime.

Just do it Shuji damn it. It’s just a girl.

But it’s not just a girl, his subconscious speaks.

It is.

Is not.

Sigh, is not.

It’s you.

With another sigh, he lifts his head up again.

“Please let me kiss you.”

He wouldn’t be caught dead saying those words in front of anyone but you. He’s so soft it’s revolting. He sounds so desperate, as if he’s starved and thirsty. Thirsty to feel your lips against his. Hungry to taste you and hold you close and never let you go.

He notices the way your eyes widen, and he admires the way as the sun’s final rays swim in your eyes. So pretty so pretty so pretty.

“You’re a crime Paradise..” He mumbles into your ear. Laying a teasing kiss under your ear lobe, “I’ll be so good to you, I promise.” A kiss to your jaw, “Please…” Lips hover over lips, desperately inhaling and exhaling your essence as if you’re water.

He’s a man in the desert, you’re the refreshing oasis in the distance. He wants to drink you up. Feel you down his throat and in his chest.

With little effort, you manage to push yourself high enough so your lips come crashing against his. Arms wrapping around his neck.

What the hell are you doing? You’ve never kissed anyone, so why are you just as desperate to kiss him? For the hell of it? To experience it? No…

You like Shuji. You like his effortlessness, you enjoy talking with him, even if it’s just a stupid lesson, you enjoy his calmness, you enjoy looking at him, you enjoy standing with him behind the school during lunch breaks to make sure he wouldn’t get caught smoking, you love the small moments when he’d struggle to solve a simple equation, you adore his teasing comments and nicknames, you love every moment with him because you feel relaxed, you feel like yourself around him.

He fills that hole in your chest.

The feeling of having someone that belongs to you is fulfilling and rewarding. You’re overflowing with aching waterfalls of affection and need.

His lips mold against yours, he senses your hesitancy and wastes no time in taking initiative. Slowly moving against your lips to provide you with reality, he genuinely wants this. Hanma Shuji has never taken anything seriously, but the moment he met you, everything changed.

As cheesy as it sounds to him, he’s convinced you’re the only person for him. He hums as he deepens the kiss, detaching slightly, looking into your eyes, searching for any negative emotion.

Discomfort, doubtfulness, hate, anything. And you’re over here, looking at him, wanting more but you’re too shy to ask.

He’s basking at the sight of you, lips puckered and wet, cheeks burning, brows furrowed with frustration at the loss of contact.

“You’re just a little girl aren’t you?” His whisper tickles your lips, “‘m not little…”

“Mmm..that so? You’re pouting as if I took your favorite candy away.”

“I want my candy back.”

“Hehe ♡”

That same night, when Shuji dropped you home, he texted you at midnight.

“Meet me outside.”

“Now?”

“Pls?”

You don’t know why you agreed, there’s no school tomorrow so it’s fine. But sneaking out just to meet him? Your parents would be disappointed.

“Hanma?”

“That’s Shuji for you~ Missed you, pretty.”

You shiver when he wraps his arms around your waist, he lays a quick trail of kisses down your neck.

“You saw me a few hours ago!”

“Still missed you though.” He spins you around to face him. And oh…

Hair down, eyes wider than usual, smile stretched from ear to ear.

He’s like a puppy.

“Why are you he-MPH!”

“Mmm ♡”

He’s so cheesy, but you kiss back none the less. This time, the kiss holds more passionate and lustful intent. He isn’t holding back.

Your back arches as he leans against you, as if trying to get as close to you as possible. Sin cups your neck, punishment holds your waist tightly.

He kisses you deeply, longingly, hungrily. You’re conflicted on what he’s trying to say.

Hanma Shuji doesn’t talk much, and doesn’t enjoy conveying things through words. He believes that actions speak louder.

Can’t get enough of you, he says, making me crazy over you, a pretty angel.

Small whimpers escape your throat and he swallows them gratefully. Relishing in the small vibrations shared between the both of you.

He parts after a good minute.

Inhaling and exhaling as if he took his first breath of pure oxygen.

“You’re so lovely.” His hands brush through your hair and he giggles at the sight of you.

“You’re so lovesick.”

“Only for you pretty ♡”

Tags (open !): @kitorin @beanxiv @kryscent @strawberrypockybox @bejeweled-night-33 @b0nten @natdu @okkalo @maevelevy

#[𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧]#✶≼[TOKYO REVENGERS]#ஜ˳༄꠶ SHUJI #ఌ︎. [SHUJI]#love this sm #hanma shuji #hanma x reader #hanma x femreader #hanma shuji x reader #hanma shuji fluff #hanma shuji x you #hanma x you #hanma tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers fluff #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x you #tokyo rev x reader

438 notes · View notes

jesterwriting · 6 months

Note

Throwing confetti and rice in celebration for your wonderful milestone!!!

I’d truly love a gn reader x Mihawk with “like the dawn” as some fluff. C; fuel the brain rot!!

pairings: mihawk x gn!reader

word count: 1.1k words

contents: fluff and pining, reader has a bounty high enough for marines to bother them, set sometime in the two year time skip

note: YEESSSS THANK YOU LUMI I'M SO EXCITED and of course i can provide mihawk fluff i love to fuel brainrot always hehe. im still getting used to writing for him, but i hope you enjoy this all the same <333

playlist: like the dawn - the oh hellos

“You were the brightest shade of sun when I saw you. And surely, you will be the death of me, but how could I have known?”

done for 200 followers event!!

Sunny days were more than rare on Kuraigana Island. They were practically nonexistent. That was why, on the off chance a ray of sun made its way through the gloom, you could be found laying in it.

You were dozing, basking in the warmth of your lone sunbeam. Dry grass prickled the back of your neck, and you slid your arms behind your head to protect the sensitive skin. Your mind slipped in and out of your dreams, barely aware of the world as it moved around you. Distantly, you could hear Perona’s laugh, or the stomp of Zoro’s boots as he strode through the empty halls. There were no birds to chirp, no insects to tickle your cheeks. The only signs of life around you was the sparse garden you had started to add a splash of color to the gray.

You loved your garden, and you were starting to believe that your host did too. Unlike the land he tilled, it was mostly flowers. Mihawk was a hard man to read, but after a year of living with him, you were starting to get the hang of it. His golden eyes would linger on the colorful petals, and every so often, you could see his nostrils flare as he breathed in the sweet air. You could feel your lips twitch at the thought. He liked to group you in with those freeloading kids — freeloading kids you couldn’t help but be fond of — but you knew your worth.

Besides, it was easier to mooch off Mihawk’s warlord status rather than fight off swathes of marines yourself. Didn’t they ever get tired? You sure did.

Footsteps approached you from afar, and through your sleepy haze, you almost thought it was Zoro coming to steal your sunshine. If you were more awake, you would have recognized Mihawk’s near silent footfalls. They were distinct, far quieter than the other two— though you knew they were capable of it, you wished they chose to utilize said skill more often.

You ignored him, still under the impression he was Zoro, and continued to doze. Minutes passed, the intruder’s gaze soaking into your skin, past your flesh, and into your bones. Without meaning to, you fell into a deeper slumber, the slow rise and fall of your chest evening out ever so slightly. The feeling of fingers brushing through your hair caused you to stir. There was a pause in movement, before something tickled against your ear, and the hand pulled away.

It was a fleeting interaction, one you were sure you dreamed until you awoke an hour later, chilled to your marrow. The sun dipped behind the clouds yet again, leaving you cold and wanting for more. A weight against your ear caught your attention. Lips parted in surprise, you plucked a marigold from behind your ear and stared down at it.

“Where did you come from,” You muttered, twirling the stem between your thumb and forefinger. It was a beautiful shade of gold. It reminded you of Mihawk's eyes, and you couldn’t stop your heart from fluttering.

There was no denying there were feelings for the warlord brewing under the surface. He was a handsome man. His confidence was what drew you, but what made you stay was the softness he kept hidden. Mihawk could have kicked you out months ago, yet here you were, sleeping in the garden with a flower behind your ear.

“Enjoy your nap?” It wasn’t a question, not really. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and stared over at the lounging warlord, a glass of wine by his side as he read his book.

You pointed at him with the flower. “Was this you?”

Mihawk gave you a once over, his expression cool disinterest. “What does that little flower have to do with me?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

He was quiet for a moment, taking a lazy sip of his wine. “I do not ‘play dumb,’ Y/N.” His sharp eyes traveled from your face to the flower, and his lips pulled into the barest smirk. “Though I can’t say that color doesn’t suit you.”

“See! It was you, I was right.” Triumph flooded your face, your smile big and all encompassing. Mihawk studied your expression, eyes soft for a moment before they were back to the hardness you knew so well.

Mihawk stood, closing the gap between you in a few strides. To have a warlord towering over you while you sat in the grass should have been terrifying. All you could do was grin. He kneeled before you, plucking the flower from your hand. Your fingers felt empty without it. Holding your gaze, Mihawk stared deep into your eyes as he tucked it back behind your ear, fingertips grazing your jaw before he pulled away.

“You proved nothing but my point. Gold suits you.”

You snorted. “Like your eyes?”

He unfolded his legs and stood at his full height before offering you his hand. His palm was callused from years of swordplay, though his grip on your forearm was gentle

“Like the dawn,” Mihawk said.

His words were matter of fact, as if they weren’t enough to drown you. You stumbled, halfway off the ground. The only thing holding you aloft was Mihawk, whose stare never left your face, even while you gaped up at him. With a final tug, he hauled you to your feet. You stayed stock still, gaze firmly locked on his own, though he didn’t appear at all affected by the sincerity of his compliment. Not like you, at least. Mihawk frowned slightly and pulled a leaf from your hair. It fluttered to your feet.

“Close your mouth, dear, you’ll catch flies.” The pet name rolled off his tongue smoothly.

Your jaw snapped shut and a hint of amusement flitted across Mihawk’s face.

What if you were born to be dear to him? Although you wondered that for a while now, the words seemed to be caught in your throat. Of all the millions upon millions of people who inhabited this world, you sure you were made to slot inside his bones and meld your flesh with his. That, the first day you saw him, the only thing you could think was: at last.

That was too vulnerable, though. Instead of making a fool of yourself with sentiments and feelings that were better left unsaid, you picked up the leaf and set it on his shoulders.

“You’ll be the death of me, Dracule Mihawk.”

He sighed and flicked the leaf from his shoulders. “And you, me”

#one piece x reader #mihawk x reader #mihawk x you #mihawk x yn #dracule mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x you #.jesterwrites

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thesecretwriter · 9 months

Text

more than just friends (part 3) - steve rogers

pairing: Steve Rogers x female reader

warnings: Angst – this part has the least amount of angst from all previous parts, fluff – flasback of how reader and steve use to be, a touching moment between steve and reader, reader being in the med bay at the compound – nothing graphic described.

summary: Things with Steve are still tense, but with the sudden occurrence of you being injured, the tension has lessened. However, Steve is left with life decisions that determine how things pan out for him. You play a vital role for him and having you there is important, even if it doesn’t seem so.

word count: 1.8k

a/n: here’s part 3 – i thought this might be a good ending, but I wanna continue it to at least a part 5. reasons being so that you guys could have a chance in seeing steve redeem himself.

minors/ageless blogs dni.

Masterlists

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

Your eyes watched as he aimlessly walked around the venue. His eyes roamed around, looking from one couple to another. A tinge of sadness was hidden behind his piercing blue eyes. They eventually made their way to you. The edged of your lips automatically perking up. He immediately started making his way to you.

“I was looking for you,” he said leaning against the bars counter, where you had been seated.

“And now you’ve found me,” you reply happily, running on liquid courage.

Steve watched as you took another sip from your wine glass.

“How many of those have you had?” he asked with an amused smile.

“Not enough,” your chuckle and down the rest of it.

It had been a long day filled with the endless chaos of Tony and Pepper’s wedding. The day started at the crack of dawn and wouldn’t end until the light of the next day.

“It was a beautiful day, hmm?” he gazed at you and then back at the drink in his hand.

“Beautiful indeed,” you look to Tony and Pepper who were lovingly dancing together. You were happy to see Tony finally get the life he deserved, it’s something you wanted for all your friends.

It was no secret that you were a hopeless romantic. You wanted a happy ending one day. With a loving partner, potentially a family and a few pets to keep the happiness growing.

“You ever think about having a happily ever after?” you curiously ask.

The question surprised Steve, but he took time to process the question. He did want the cliché American happily ever after. His friends from the 40’s got their happy endings and now his modern-day friends were getting theirs.

“I guess I wouldn’t mind it. Coming home to a loving wife, maybe a kid or two if we wanted…” he trailed off and met your eyes as you nodded in understanding and continued to gaze at the dance floor.

“How about you? Is that something you want?” he wanted to know what your ideal life would be.

“Honestly… I just want to be loved. I want a life filled with all the predictable cliché stuff; you know? But I think I’d also like a nice quiet life, away from the harsh reality we fight against,”

Your eyes had yet to meet Steve’s – who was looking at you with an unknown emotion. However, a sense of longing was clearly present in them. For once, Steve found himself wanting to share a similar future to yours.

(flashback over)

It felt like an out of body experience as you recalled the memory. That was the beginning of whatever 'relationship' you and Steve shared, till the faithful night of his harsh words.

Your eyes were heavy, and you were struggling to open them. The prominent sounds of beeping could be heard. When you finally did manage to open your eyes, the striking glow of the sun blinding your gaze for a split second.

Someone had been holding your left hand, gripping it tightly, when you looked to see who it was – you were met with an increasing heartbeat that could be heard through the heart monitor. Steve sat hunched over as he slept while holding your hand. As you look around the room, you recognize it as the med bay at the compound. You try to recall the moments leading up to you being here and Steve’s voice echoes through your mind.

“Y/n, sweetheart. I need you to keep your eyes open for me, okay? I want your eyes on me,”

You tried to take your hand out of Steve’s hold to sit up properly and possibly reach over for a glass of water, but your sudden movement caused Steve to stir. His eyes fluttered open as he blinked away his sleep.

The first thing he noticed was the absence of your hand in his.

He looked to you and saw you staring back at him with wide eyes.

“Y/n? you’re awake!... I need to call Dr. Cho,” he went to press the button which would request assistance.

“N-no… not yet,” your words halted his movements. He was now closer to you and looked to you in worry.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“No, I just need a moment… what happened?” you reached over for the glass of water, but Steve had already gone ahead to give it to you. He placed it back on the side table once you were done and his hand automatically grasped yours again.

“The mission that you and Peter went on was compromised and you got shot. Dr. Cho said it wasn’t critical, but you were unconscious for more than 24 hours,” he explained and fiddled with your fingers, a habit he did to distract himself.

You nodded at his words and watched him carefully. His tone held fear, something you weren’t used to seeing Steve experience.

“Is Peter okay?” you asked recalling the look of sheer panic he had when you were shot.

“A bit shaken up, but he’s okay… he’s a good kid,” Steve commented with a small smile.

“Kid? You know him and I are the same age, right?” you chuckle.

“But he’s not you,”

A day had passed, and you were discharged to go back to your room but were told to use the next few weeks to recover. Peter had taken it upon himself to help you around the compound.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said as he sat on your bed where you were laying, staring at the ceiling.

“I wouldn’t be okay if it weren’t for you,” you moved your head in his direction and smiled appreciatively.

“Steve was the reason we were able to get back to the compound that quickly. Don’t tell him I said this, but the look in his eyes that day made him look like a mad man. He was frantic and wouldn’t leave your side,”

You looked back to the ceiling and began to wonder.

Steve obviously cared for you. He went out of his way to make sure you were okay, even before you got shot. During the ‘professional treatment’ phase, he had resumed back to how he was before your argument. That didn’t hinder your thoughts though, he would have to do more to earn your forgiveness.

Bored.

The perfect word to describe how you felt. It seemed like everyone was busy doing something.

You walked through the halls of the compound, aimlessly wondering and looking for something to do. Your recovery hindered your ability to kill time in the training facility, so you found yourself walking towards the same spot where you set up the picnic.

As you walked closer to the spot, you saw Steve sitting a few feet away on a bench. Feeling the familiar flutter of butterflies in your tummy, you made your way toward him.

“Hey,” you greeted, bringing him out of his daze. He looked in your direction and an automatic smile made its way to his lips.

“Hi,” he smiled and patted the seat next to him.

“What’re you doing out here?” you asked curiously.

“Just taking in some fresh air and thinking. How’s your wound? How’re you feeling?” he asked looking at the spot where you were shot.

“It’s okay, a slow recovery, but its okay,” you smile and assure him.

An awkward silence had surrounded the two of you. The scene before you was a sad contrast of how things once was.

“I uhm…”

“So-”

You both spoke at the same time and then chuckled.

“You go first,” he nodded.

“No, you. I miss hearing our voice,” the words slip passed your lips before you can stop them, but the smile on Steve’s lips quickly erases the feeling of regret.

“Okay… well uhm, I’ve decided to start... therapy,” he said looking at his hands. “I’ve been thinking about it and after speaking to Bucky about how it’s made things better for him… I realized how much of trauma I’ve retained from the war and the adjustment to living in a new age of time,”

You listened intently as he spoke, the vulnerability in Steve’s voice was heart aching.

“I think it’s a good idea,” your tone held encouragement and displayed the concern you felt for him.

“Yeah?... I think so too,” a small smile graced his lips.

You allowed yourself to get lost in thought for a moment. This was a big step for Steve – you knew it took a lot for him to admit that he needed therapy. In fact, it hadn’t crossed your mind before. Your line of work basically requires you to endure events and situations that could only be helped with therapy.

“I think it would be an even better idea if we spoke to Fury about establishing a psychologist or therapist to stay at the compound. For whoever may need it. We deal with a lot from being avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D agents,” you explain to him.

“I’ll set up a meeting with him about it,” Steve nodded and took your hands in his, moving closer to you.

“There’s something else I want to say to you…” he trailed off, his eyes were set on the ground before meeting yours.

“The words I said that night- Y/n. I didn’t mean any of them. My mind was clouded with anger, which shouldn’t have been directed towards you. And I’m not going to blame my issues or trauma on it, because it was uncalled for. I just want you to know that I didn’t mean it. You’re not a second option. You’ve been so good to me since we’ve met and I don’t want to throw that away because of my stupidity,”

Your hands remain in his as each word leaves his lips. You had already established that you knew his words weren’t true, and his apology was genuine. Which is why your next few words were chosen so carefully.

“For me to know you’re true about your words – we’re going to have to go very slow to become normal again. I’m still here for you, I always will be, but right now, you need yourself more than you need me,” you lean your forehead against his and close your eyes.

The intimate moment shared between you two solidified to Steve that there was no one else like you. No one who would say or do the things the way you do.

“I love you,” is all he whispers.

tagging those who reblogged/commented:

@paarthurnax59 @terry2227 @sweater-bee @niffala @superforgottensoul @haruvalentine4321 @steve-language-rogers @slxttyro @themrsrogers

#steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #angst #fluff

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ursa-tan · 9 months

Note

Part 2 of the reader "captures" the wally, where wally's friends break into the reader's house to save wally from the reader's "evil" clutches and find wally sleeping and cuddling the reader.

(I thought this situation would be funny like a comedy)

He's yours?...

Wally Darling x Fem!Villain!Reader

Word count: 2,910 Reading time: ~10 mins

Part 1, Part 2

A/N: I know that I’ve closed requests… But this was such a cute idea and I couldn’t help but write it… damn you anon, coming in here with such cute ideas! I've put this in my Playfellowxxx masterlist on account of the first part being nsfw and how this second part doesn't really make sense without the first - if you think it needs changing, please let me know!

Anyway! Hope you all enjoy!

It’s dawning on the next afternoon before anyone realises Wally is missing. The sun is already high in the sky and Barnaby is heading into the bugdega to get the same thing he gets every day for lunch – the “chilli dog” that can’t really be classified as anything but a crime against food.

“Morning Howdy,” He drawls, the same low rumble he speaks with every time he talks.

“Afternoon, actually,” The caterpillar chuckles, pointing to the town clock with one of his many arms. Barnaby can just about see it through one of the many windows of the bugdega.

“Huh, well then, afternoon Howdy.” It’s just gone twelve, but Howdy had adopted the habit of correcting the dog on his timing after Barnaby had jokingly done it once. It was a little inside joke, both of them rather enjoyed it thought.

“Indeed,” Howdy stops cleaning the counter and finally looks up at the big blue puppy, “ I take you’ve gone here for lunch?”

“You know me all too well,” Barnaby chuckles, walking up and resting his elbows on the freshly wiped counter, leaning his head into his hands.

“I know you’re routine – and I know that you’re going to ask me for that abomination of a hot dog for lunch.”

“Don’t knock it till ya’ try it.”

“I think I’ll stick to salad, thanks.”

“Same response every time.”

Howdy can’t help but let out a light laugh as he turns his back on Barnaby, starting to make the same thing he did every day around noon. They always had the same kind of conversation, the same routine. Day in day out, Howdy could rely on Barnaby to come in and keep him company for a few minutes. He also knew he could, begrudgingly, rely on Wally to ruin the apple display while he tried to look for the “best apple”.

“Go tell your little menace of a best friend to get out of my apples,” Howdy speaks, still with his back to Barnaby. He’s in the process of gathering the sauces he needs when Barnaby speaks up.

“Uh… He’s not in the apple display?” The other puppet sounds rather concerned, like he hadn’t noticed before this that Wally wasn’t present.

“What do you mean he isn’t in the apple display?” Howdy practically whips around, abandoning the half made hot dog in order of scanning the store for the much smaller puppet. Barnaby was right, Wally isn’t in the apple display. Nor has he climbed his way onto the counter to wait for Barnaby to get his hot dog. As far as Howdy is aware, Wally isn’t even in the bugdega.

“Where is he then?” The caterpillar asks, turning back around to finish the hot dog as fast as possible before handing it to Barnaby.

“I assumed he was following me…” Barnaby trails off, brows knitting together as he tries to think back on the day so far.

“You didn’t check?” Howdy sounds exasperated. In truth, he’s panicking, he’s incredibly worried about Wally, but his voice isn’t conveying that.

“I don’t usually have to! He’s never not followed me in here when I come in to get lunch!” Barnaby is starting to look panicked as well, discarding his lunch on the counter in favour of starting to look around the bugdega. If Howdy wasn’t also so worried about the little puppet, he would’ve told Barnaby off for dirtying his counter.

“I’ll keep looking around here, you go check to see if he’s spending time with Julie and Frank.” Howdy’s rushing out from behind the counter, hurrying Barnaby out the door as he speaks. Barnaby doesn’t resist in the slightest, running out to see if he can find Wally elsewhere.

It’s not long before the whole neighbourhood is searching for Wally. Julie and Frank have teamed up to see if Wally has wondered into the woods. Howdy, Barnaby, and Poppy are checking in higher up places, seeing if he somehow managed to get himself stuck. Eddie and Sally are going through everyone’s gardens. Even home is worried, squeaking and banging – while no one can understand what they’re trying to say, everyone can tell that they’re distressed.

After a rather frantic search, the whole neighbourhood – bar Wally, of course – gather in front of home.

“Did anyone find him?” Eddie speaks, coming to stand next to Frank. He hold their hand, stroking his thumb over their knuckles as a way to comfort himself.

“No, couldn’t see him anywhere,” Julie says next, worrying at a strand of her hair, tugging at it lightly.

“Does anyone have any ideas where he could be? Did anyone check Home?” Barnaby seems to be doing the worst, his tail swishing nervously as he continues to look around like he’ll somehow spot Wally.

“I asked, but I don’t think he’s inside,” Sally mumbles, looking towards Home. Home, in response, opens and closes its doors. Even if no one but Wally can understand them, they all pretty clearly understand that not even Home knows where Wally is.

“Has anyone seen (Y/n) today?” Frank speaks up, taking a moment from comforting Eddie to look around themself.

Their question seems to still the very air as it comes from their mouth. Collectively, everyone seems to stop worrying as they turn their heads towards Franks. No one had seen (Y/n) that day, or the previous one for that matter.

It was particularly strange not to see (Y/n) for more than one day. Much like Barnaby going to the bugdega every day or Eddie always delivering mail at the same time every morning, (Y/n) was always up to something or other. So, for the neighbours not to see her was unusual in itself. For them to not see (Y/n) or Wally was even more unusual. So much so that Barnaby immediately turned on his heel and stormed off, heading straight for her house.

“Barnaby! Hold up! Don’t do anything rash!” Eddie calls after what is now an 8 feet tall ball of rage coated in spotty blue fluff. The mailman is hot on Barnaby’s heels, followed close by Frank and then Julie.

“maybe we should think about this?” Julie calls out from the back of the line, still twirling and tugging at the strands of her hair that frame her face.

“If she’s got Wally we have to get him back. We all know nothing good is happening behind those doors,” Barnaby growls out, his voice deeper and rougher than anyone had heard from him before. The tone causes Eddie to stutter in his steps, nearly tripping as Frank bumps into his back.

“(Y/N)!” Barnaby barks, finally coming to her door and pounding a balled-up fist against the wood. The force behind his knock – it’s really more like a punch – seems to cause the whole house to shudder.

“Barnaby, I really don’t think-“ It’s Frank’s turn to try and reason with the angry hound only to get interrupted.

“OPEN THIS DOOR! THIS IS TOO FAR!” Barnaby continues to thump his fist against the door, yet he doesn’t get an answer. Sure, (Y/n) had caused problems before – snuck into the bugdega to switch out the sauces he normally had on his hotdog, stolen Frank’s butterfly collection, messed with Sally’s plays. But this was too far, entirely too far.

After a few minutes of practically howling through the door accompanied by insistent banging, Barnaby decides that he’s had enough of waiting and takes matters into his own hands; using his size and weight to his advantage, he begins to throw himself against the door with the intention of breaking it down.

“Barnaby! Stop!” Julie calls out, running over to him, trying to grab his arm and pull him away, “We can settle this like adults! I’m sure (Y/n) would be open to talking it out!”

Barnaby pauses, more in fear of hurting his friend if he were to continue his attempts over anything else. He looks down at the much shorter puppet, a flash of remorse in his eyes before he scoops her up and walks over to a tree not too far away and places her in one of the branches. She’ll be able to get down, but she’ll need Eddie or Frank’s help to do so.

“Barnaby!” She calls out, trying to figure out how to get out of the tree as he walks away and back towards (Y/n)’s house.

“Sorry Julie,” He mumbles, walking back to the door and throwing himself against it one more time. Apparently, that last push was all it needed as Barnaby collapses forwards and into the house, landing on top of the now ruined door with a loud huff.

The inside of the house is dimly lit despite it being early afternoon, all the curtains drawn and any like that was too bright turned off. The smell of cinnamon and cooked pastry fills the air, accompanied by soft swing music and what sounds like a soft feminine voice mumbling. If it weren’t for the situation at hand, Barnaby would find it rather relaxing.

The dog climbs back to his feet, taking a moment to brush himself off before storming deeper into the house, following the sound of her soft mumble. He knows he’s going to find (Y/n), he can only hope he finds Wally too. What he does find at the end of his short rampage is completely unexpected.

Wally is laying on (Y/n), head on her chest and arms wrapped as far around her as they can go. There’s a blanket pulled up over the both of them – it’s a fluffy yellow one, a teddy bear blanket. Wally is wearing a light pink shirt that appears to be 4 sizes too big, it also looks like one that Barnaby remembers seeing (Y/n) in. (Y/n) is laying on a sofa, head on the arm rest and holding a book in the air, half reading the words aloud. A record player crackles away softly in the background, playing “I will always love you”. There’s a fresh apple pie on the table, along with a few fresh apples.

“’You should learn not to make personal remarks,’ Alice said with some severity; ‘it’s very rude.’,” (Y/n) mumbles before craning their neck ever so slightly to kiss the top of Wally’s head – an easy feat, as his hair is not in his signature pompadour.

“What the fuck.” Barnaby finds himself unable to move, completely rooted to the floor as he looks at the scene in front of him. It’s so perfectly domestic that, if it weren’t for his friend being kidnapped, he would find it sickeningly sweet.

“Do you mind?” (Y/n) asks, turning her head to stare at Barnaby with a look somewhere between distain and malice, “We we’re perfectly comfortable before you came barging in here.” This time, its her turn to growl as she speaks.

Barnaby looks around, looking for any kind of indication that Wally is being held captive, that he can’t just get up and leave. Yet, no matter how hard he looks, he can’t find any. Wally is just relaxing on (Y/n)’s chest while she stares down Barnaby.

“Barnaby!” Eddie’s voice comes loud from somewhere behind the dog before he bursts into the room. Much like Barnaby, he freezes upon seeing the scene.

“Oh great, you brought the mailman,” Yon grumbles, closing her book and leaning over as much as she can to place it on the coffee table, “is there anyone else? Did you bring the whole neighbourhood?” her voice is snarky as she speaks, obviously annoyed with the interruption.

“(Y/n)? Why have you stopped?” Wally finally speaks up, opening his eyes and shifting to sit up slightly. He seems completely oblivious to the presence of both Barnaby and Eddie while he looks up at (Y/n) with droopy, relaxed eyes.

“Wally?” It’s Eddie’s turn to speak now, as Barnaby is still trying to collect his jaw from its place on the floor.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Eddie sounds equal parts confused and outraged, staring at Wally.

“oh… Hello.” Wally sounds like he has just woken up from a nap when he speaks, despite the fact that he doesn’t sleep.

“Can you two leave?” (Y/n) growls, putting her arms around Wally and holding his much smaller body against hers. “He’s obviously not in any danger and I’ll return him soon enough. Get out of my house and please put my door back on it’s hinges as you go.”

“I’m not going anywhere without Wally,” Barnaby finally manages to find his voice, deciding to walk towards (Y/n).

“He’s a grown man, he can go home when he wants to. Like I said, he’s not in danger, I’m not holding him here against his will, he’s free to leave when he wants. He just doesn’t want to leave.” (Y/n) hugs Wally tighter to her body as Barnaby approaches, refusing to let him take Wally from her.

“I… Maybe we should go,” Eddie mumbles, seemingly nervous now. Any anger he had from before has melted away after seeing Wally in this state, obviously not wanting to leave.

“See? The mailman gets it. Now get out,” (Y/n) continues to growl at them, still holding the sleepy looking Wally against her body.

“I’m not-“ Barnaby tries to step forward, tries to reach out and pull Wally from her grip. Yet he doesn’t succeed; Eddie is holding the arm he was reaching forwards with.

“Barnaby…” Eddie mumbles, looking up at the much smaller puppet with a pleading look, “Wally is his own person… He can come home if he wants to… I think we should go.”

“But- He-“

“Let’s go.” Eddie tugs at Barnaby’s arm, beginning to tug him towards the living room door.

Barnaby doesn’t attempt to fight it, just letting Eddie tug him out of the house. His foot steps are staggering as he’s finally lead out, squinting a little as the sun shines into his eyes. He takes a moment when Eddie lets go of his arm to put the door back in place – it’s not perfect, but it’ll to till (Y/n) gets it fixed.

“What happened?!” Julie shouts, still in the tree that Barnaby had left her in. He can see that Frank is still trying to get her down.

“Wally wants to stay,” Eddie is the one who responds, as Barnaby is still unable to find his words.

“He wants to stay?” Frank stops their attempts to pull Julie from the tree to turn to their husband, a confused look on their face.

“Yep, wanted to stay.” Eddie walks over, reaching up and managing to catch Julie as she shimmies her way out of the branches. He puts her down before turning back to Barnaby.

“Why would he want to stay?”

“I don’t know, he seemed comfortable.”

Barnaby can hear the others ease into soft chatter about the situation as he begins to walk away. He doesn’t really know where he’s going, he’s just heading vaguely towards Home and the rest of the neighbours. He doesn’t know if Eddie, Julie and Frank are following him. He just knows that he saw his best friend curled up on the chest of the town’s biggest nuisance. Although, he doesn’t get far before a familiar pair of hands are on his arm again.

“Hey Barn, are you ok?” It’s Eddie. Ever the sweetheart, he’s desperate to comfort Barnaby to the best of his ability.

Barnaby looks around, waiting for Frank and Julie to approach, waiting to be overwhelmed with the voices that are just trying to comfort him, yet no one appears. It remains as just him and Eddie on the small path leading back to Home.

“Frankie and Julie have already headed on ahead. It’s just me and you. Are you ok?” The same question is so much heavier now. Especially as Eddie seemingly stares into his soul – almost the same way Wally always manages to do.

“Why would he do that?” Barnaby’s voice is broken, cracking, and barely above a whisper. Something about it is hollow and desolate.

“I don’t know,” Eddie mutters, now relaxing his grip on Barnaby’s arm.

“He… He’s supposed to be my best friend,” There’s so much distress in Barnaby’s voice. It sounds like he should’ve been shouting, he really should’ve been shouting. “Why would he leave? Why wouldn’t he say anything? Why would he stay with her?”

“I don’t know, only Wally can answer your questions.” Eddie continues to do his best to comfort Barnaby. Although the dog seems to be starting to whimper now despite trying to supress it.

“Maybe we should head back… The others are probably starting to worry about us now,” Barnaby mumbles over a barely supressed whimper.

“Yeah… Let’s head back.” Eddie places a hand on Barnaby’s back, agreeing. He knows the topic change is a desperate attempt not to start crying, so he won’t mention anything.

Wally turns up the next day like nothing ever happened. Granted, his ascot is tied in a different way then he usually does it and his pompadour isn’t coiled as tightly either, but he acts as if nothing is out of the ordinary. When Julie asks where he was, all he says is he was ‘visiting a friend’. When Howdy asks what he did, all he’ll give is vague answers. Worst of all, when Barnaby looks at him with a look of betrayal, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

#fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #playfellowxxx #hes such a little guy #little sweetheart #antagonist x protagonist

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