#I just have a thing for tall fire man I guess

[kalpasio]

kinda update?

it's not anything huge don't worry

ok. Angst fic is done, I'm just typing it up and probably will be until I die because oh my gosh why do I write so many words. The only problem is. uh. well you see. I opened the word document! and then I opened a second document and started writing a whole fucking story on the spot and I'm sosorry but now there's a half written thoma piece sitting in my folder right next to the Diluc piece I will never finish

Anywhom. I'm gonna try to finish typing tonight and then edit tomorrow. Potentially there will be a story on Monday? Potentially I will just stay up all night writing about thoma? We'll see. Maybe both.

[shellshocklove]

does anyone know where the love of god goes? | joel miller

pairing/AU: joel miller x female!reader – post breakout & no ellie AU

summary: crossing the country alone as he searches for his brother, joel stumbles on a farm. winter is closing in, and against his better judgement he's convinced to stay. as the frost covers the land like a blanket, a warmth ignites in his heart for the young woman who's home he finds himself in.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so minors dni!!! canon-typical violence, age gap (reader is mid to late twenties), swearing, dead animals, joel being a sad man, masturbation, no use of y/n

a/n: i soft launched this ao3 last month and it flopped lol so i'm gonna keep my expectations low for this series. anyways this has been a story i've been thinking about since probably october. this is the first part of what i'm hoping will be 3 parts. happy reading i guess

main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3 / playlist

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

The leaves rustled against Joel’s boots with every step he took. The sun had turned traitor cold, and he couldn’t feel its kiss against his cheek no more. The trees shivered above him in the wind – the only sound for miles except his heavy steps.

Did he still exist, with no one around? Joel had never minded being alone; after the breakout he’d found that he sometimes preferred it. People could be… well, when you’ve seen the worst of humanity, maybe it’s best to leave it behind.

And wasn’t he the worst of humanity? The things he’d done. The people he’d killed, and killed for. The people he’d lost.

But he had to keep going. For Tess. He promised.

Every night as he stared into the flames his thoughts would drift to her – the memories flickering in the fire. They should’ve never gone through that museum – it was supposed to have been empty – they should’ve never left Boston in the first place. Now Tess is gone because of him, him and his stupid plan to find his brother.

And for what? How is he ever gonna find Tommy?

Joel didn’t even know where he was. Nebraska? South-Dakota? Maybe he’d made it to Wyoming and just didn’t know it? Abe had told him ‘Cody Tower’, but Joel hadn’t seen anything other than mother nature for weeks.

Everything had started to look the same. Trees and more trees, a mountain in the distance, a grey and heavy sky above him. He’d been walking for forever. Slowly he moved west– or at least he thought he was. On the days where the sun hung high in the sky and wasn’t shielded behind a cloudy partition, he liked to watch it as it dipped below the earth. As the days turned shorter and shorter, the display of color had started to get more vivid. Joel would watch the light blue turn red and bloody, fiery tongues of flames licking over the horizon while the sharp edges of the mountains, and the triangular shapes of the trees faded into an intense black– like the shape of the mountain and the trees had been cut out with scissors. There wasn’t much to stay alive for anymore– but Joel lived for those few moments where nature painted with fire. Humanity might’ve gone to shit, but the cyclical regularity of mother nature gave Joel a small sense of peace.

But he missed the kiss of the sun against his cheek now. He’d moved into a large forest a few days ago. Tall trees hovered over him like giants and cast shadows down at him. It was colder here than out in the open country, but at least he’d been somewhat shaded from the rain pouring from the grey cover above his head the last few days.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The sound stopped Joel in his tracks. Muscle memory worked on its own, gripping the shotgun slung over his shoulder. He listened for the sound again, to the steady rhythm echoing through the forest.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

With slow calculated steps Joel walked in the direction of the sound with the shotgun held tightly to his chest, his finger hovered over the trigger. The chopping sound got louder as he closed in on a man. He couldn’t tell his age with the man’s back turned – but he was strong – Joel could tell from how hard the man’s axe hit the tree trunk.

Taking another silent step, Joel got in position, “How ‘bout you slowly turn around and place that axe on the ground.”

Joel’s voice was hoarse after no use, but still cold and calculated as he spoke his order. He could see he’d startled the man, probably thinking he was alone, just like Joel had thought mere minutes ago.

The man obeyed, turning around slowly. He was older than Joel, maybe mid-seventies, maybe older if the wrinkles and creases around his eyes and nose were to be believed. His hair was white as snow matching his unkempt beard. Joel caught his eye. Strong and steady, no trace of fear one would think a man would feel while having a gun pointed at them.

Joel’s grip around the gun tightened. He wasn’t afraid to pull the trigger if that’s where this was headed. The man watched him calmly before he bent his knees, throwing the axe haphazardly on the ground.

“Kick it over here,” Joel commanded again, and the man obeyed, kicking the axe clumsily towards Joel.

Slowly Joel crept closer, gun still pointed at the man. He locked the heel of his shoe against the shaft, dragging the axe behind him and out of the way.

“Hands where I can see ‘em.”

“Are you going to kill me, son?”

The man’s question puzzled Joel. He said it so calmly, like how you’d ask someone to pass the salt.

“That depends on you.” Joel’s answer pulled at the old man’s lips, a small huff of a laugh escaping them.

“Well, you’re the one with the gun. I think it depends on you.”

Joel tightened his grip on the shotgun again – he didn’t know why –to frighten the man? He didn’t seem very frightened.

“Are you alone?” Joel asked.

“Not anymore,” the man answered.

“Don’t be a smartass,” Joel gritted through his teeth, “who you travelin’ with?”

“No one,” the man’s eyes never left Joel, “I live at a farm about a mile away.”

“Take me to it.”

The man walked with a limp Joel noticed. It was barely there, you wouldn’t see it if you didn’t pay attention, but it was there. The man acted tough enough, but his body revealed his weaknesses. It would be easy to kill him, Joel thought, if it came to that.

He followed the man through the trees with his gun pointed at his back. When they reached the end of the forest a clearing revealed itself. They followed a path through a field of, tall but wilted, brown grass until they reached an overgrown gravel road with a fence running along it. Looking out in the distance, Joel could see small spots of white and black wool. The gravel moaned under their feet as they closed in on a small farm. A two-story house sat in the middle of the barnyard where it was surrounded by a barn who’d seen better days, a silo, and a smaller farmhouse – a stable – Joel noticed as they walked closer.

The man trudged up the front stairs of the main farmhouse, a hand on the handrail keeping him steady.

“Put that gun away would you, son? I don’t want you frightening my wife.” The man broke the silence between them, speaking for the first time since they left the woods.

Joel’s grip on his shotgun didn’t loosen. How could he be sure that this man’s ‘wife’ wasn’t some gang of raiders hiding behind the front door? A question he asked the man through gritted teeth when he turned around to look at Joel.

“There’s nothing of the sort around here,” the man said, “we don’t even see any infected.”

When Joel didn’t say anything, and didn’t lower the gun, the man spoke again, “Who are you?”

“Just someone passin’ through,” Joel answered, making the man chuckle.

“You’re something else, passer-througher,” the old man smiled before he turned around again and stepped inside, leaving Joel on the porch alone.

Abandoned outside he lowered his gun slightly. Inside he could hear muffled voices, a deeper one, definitely the old man, and a brighter one, a woman’s voice. He listened, trying to make out their words with no prevail. The man seemed to have spoken the truth up until now. He most definitely lived on this farm – a seemingly normal farm. This man was just someone making an honest living – even after the apocalypse.

Lowering the gun completely, Joel put the safety on before he slung it over his shoulder. Taking a hollowed step towards the front door, movement in the window to the right of him caught his eye. It was there and then it was gone – just a ruffle of blonde curtains. Then, the door opened revealing an elderly woman.

The man’s wife.

“Welcome, traveler,” she greeted, stepping aside to let Joel in.

He passed through the doorway with a “Thank you, ma’am,” never forgetting his manners even after pointing a gun at her husband.

Inside it looked like a picture taken straight out of a Homes & Gardens magazine. The house was cozy, but it was small. He’d been welcomed into what probably used to be a parlor, but now served its purpose as their living room. It was hard to get a read on the house. Not like those open-floor plan houses he’d built too many of back before the outbreak – this was old, maybe hundreds of years old. The floorboard creaked under his shoes as he walked deeper into the living room, the rest of the house locked away like a secret behind three closed doors. The man was seated in a lounge chair by the fireplace, watching Joel with an expression Joel found it hard to decipher.

“Would you like some tea?” the woman asked, “It’s peppermint from our garden.”

Joel turned his head to the woman. She must be around the same age as the old man, Joel thought. He cleared his throat before he answered with a nod, “Thank you, ma’am.”

She pointed to the sofa, urging him to sit down with a smile before she disappeared through one of the doors to what Joel thought must be the kitchen. He felt the old man watching him as he slid his backpack off his shoulders, placing it on the creaky wooden floor behind the sofa. Joel hesitated for just a second when placing the shotgun up against the back, but decided he wasn’t in any imminent danger.

Joel almost groaned as he sat down. He’d been walking for so long, slept on the hard ground for months, he’d almost forgotten what a comfortable chair was. It almost felt surreal, being invited in for tea, like the outbreak had never happened. Here, it was like the time had stood still.

“So,” the man started, “where are you heading to if you’re just ‘passin’ through’?”

Joel cleared his throat again, “I’m lookin’ for my brother,” he answered truthfully, “last I heard he was somewhere in Wyoming.”

“If you’re going to Wyoming, then what you’re doing all the way up here?” The man queried with a chuckle.

Annoyed, Joel grinded his teeth, “Not many signs in the fuckin’ woods are there?” He huffed.

“I guess not,” the man shrugged, “but you’ve made a heck of a detour… where did you come from? Texas? You sound it.”

“Boston.”

“Boston?” the man didn’t hide his surprise, breathing out chuckles in disbelief, “I’ll give it to you, that’s one long trip.”

Joel only huffed in agreement, turning his head from the man to the window overlooking the barnyard.

“Well,” the man broke the growing silence between the two men, “you’re more than welcome to stay for dinner and for the night– you look like you could need a hot meal and a warm bed.”

Joel’s instinct was to say no, but before he could the front door opened, revealing a young woman. You.

You stopped dead in your tracks as you laid your eyes on Joel, “Oh!”.

The door slammed behind you. Under your arm you were carrying a metal bucket filled with apples. You were beautiful, young, but still beautiful – Joel couldn’t deny it.

“This is…” The man paused.

“Joel.” He cleared his throat, introducing himself, “Joel Miller.”

“Mr. Miller is just passing through– he’s looking for his brother,” the old man explained to you.

You nodded at the information, sat the bucket down before you reached out a hand for Joel to take, introducing yourself. Your hand in his was warm and soft while his own dwarfed yours, rough and calloused. He couldn’t help but think about what his hands had done, the people they’d killed. He shouldn’t be tainting yours, painting them red. Joel quickly drew his hand back, balling it into a fist at his side.

Joel looked over at the old man, “Your daughter?” he asked with a tilt of his head in your direction.

“Oh, no,” the man answered with a playful smile, “You’re not the first person ‘passin’ through’ who’s shown up on our doorstep.”

The door to the kitchen opened to reveal the old woman with a teapot in her hand, and a stacked tower of teacups in the other.

“Let me help you Alma,” you said, taking the teacups from the old woman’s hand before placing them on the table; one in front of Joel, a second in front of the old man, “Here you go Arthur,” and a third next to Joel.

“Did you also want some tea, sweetie?” Alma asked you as she placed the steaming teapot on the table.

“Yes, please, but I can grab a cup myself– sit down,” you smiled and padded the old woman’s shoulder, then you grabbed the bucket of apples and disappeared into the kitchen.

Alma started pouring the tea as a silence fell over the room. A small, “Thank you, ma’am,” left Joel’s lips as she moved on to pouring tea for her husband.

“So,” the man started before taking a sip of his tea, “what do you say Mr. Miller? You staying for the night?”

That night as he laid in a real bed for the first time in months, Joel had trouble falling asleep. He wasn’t used to this. Hadn’t been used to it for a while. His belly full, soft fabric against his skin, feeling warm, and clean. The old couple had offered him one of the two bedrooms on the first floor, the two mystery doors in the living room now revealed. Laying in his new bed he tried not to think about who he was sharing a wall with.

You.

You were something else, helpful and kind. Everything Joel hadn’t seen since the outbreak. At the dinner table you’d asked him questions and listened intently – even when his answers were short and brisk. There was a glimmer in your eye, and it touched something inside him he hadn’t felt in a long time. But you were young, mid to late twenties he reckoned, maybe a little older– anyways, he shouldn’t be harboring anything for you, it wouldn’t be right. Especially now, now that he’d agreed to stay.

After the dinner plates had been cleared, Arthur had folded a big map out on the table. “Here are we now,” he’d pointed a finger at the map. Montana. Southern Montana to be precise. “I’ll give it to you Mr. Miller, if you’ve made it this far on your own you probably won’t have any trouble making your way down south to Wyoming.”

“But?” Joel watched the grimace pulling at the old man’s face.

“But,” Arthur had said, “Winter is just around the corner and… well, going back out there in the wilderness alone during our winters is a dead trap, I’ll tell you that much.”

Joel had let the man go on about the far below freezing temperatures, the heavy snow, and the tough wind, but Joel wasn’t stupid. He knew the winters up here were harsh. It wasn’t even winter yet, but every day he’d felt the temperature drop lower and lower, and the last few of nights he’d even had to get a fire going, against his better judgement.

So– the deal was: Joel would stay over the winter. Just for the winter, he’d been adamant on not staying longer. He’d get a place to stay, a warm bed to sleep in, and food in his belly on one condition – he’d help out on the farm.

The fire crackled loudly, red tongues licking up the chimney as Joel fed it another log. He watched as the fire caught in the new log, devouring it quickly and with no mercy. It was really starting to heat up now. A small flicker of pride sparked in Joel chest. He’d always been good at building a fire. It was one of those things, Joel had come to learn, where you needed to pay attention, to have patience.

When he was younger, he’d take Tommy out camping sometimes, just the two of them. Mostly they’d go during the summer; Tommy wasn’t a fan of sleeping outside in the cold, though cold had meant something different back then in Texas. But Joel remembered one time he’d managed to convince him to go with him. It was right after he’d gotten his driver’s license, and his parents had given him a beat-up truck for his birthday – for sharing – they’d told him, “You need to give your little brother a ride when he needs it!” Joel wasn’t exactly thrilled about his future as Tommy’s private driver, but it didn’t mean he didn’t love his brother.

A few weeks into October he’d managed to convince Tommy to go camping. They’d packed the truck with their tents, sleeping bags, and fishing equipment, before they’d gotten on the road, driving to a lake where they knew there were fish to catch. Finding a place to camp was always difficult with Tommy. They’d parked Joel’s truck at the edge of the forest before they’d followed a hiking trail. Joel was convinced they’d walked at least three quarters of the way around the lake before they found a spot good enough for Tommy.

It had to be flat, but also shielded. There couldn’t be too many rocks, but there also had to be enough rocks to build a hearth. Tommy wanted it to be private, but he also wanted it to be open enough that he could see if someone would stumble upon their camp. Joel knew not to argue with him when he got like that, opting instead for a defeated, “Whatever.”

Setting up camp went relatively easy. They’d worked together building the tents, collecting rocks for their fireplace, and even managed to find a fallen tree to use as a bench. When the night slowly started to cover them in darkness, Tommy decided to get the fire going. Joel watched him work the logs into a pile as he started on filleting the fish they’d just caught.

“You’re doin’ it wrong,” he’d told his brother, “You’re suffocatin’ it.” He’d washed his hands in the lake, ridding himself of the slimy smell of fish, before crouching down next to Tommy.

The fire was one big bowl of smoke, and Joel caught himself wondering what messages Tommy must’ve been sending to the heavens. He removed some of the heavier logs, and the fire could breathe.

“See?” he’d looked at Tommy, “It just needed air.” Joel had shifted the smaller pieces of wood around and not long after the fire was alive.

That Joel, that green boy who liked to take his little brother camping, that Joel didn’t know how much those skills would come in handy in a few years when the world would get turned upside down.

“Do you have any mittens, Joel?”

Your question pulled Joel from his memories. He turned his head slightly, meeting your gaze from where you were huddled up in the corner of the couch. You looked cozy, but he knew you weren’t. The house was cold this morning, outside a thin layer of frost had stuck to the grass during the night. It was early too, the sun not having climbed high enough yet to peek over the mountains. You looked tired where you sat, clad in a wool sweater with a blanket pulled over your knees. Under the blanket Joel remembered you were still wearing your pajama pants, and in your hand you held a steaming cup of tea, peppermint, Joel knew, his own cup abandoned on the coffee table.

“What?” Joel answered, eyebrows furrowed.

“Do you have any mittens, Joel?” you repeated softly, like the way people tended to speak in the mornings, like they were afraid they’d wake up the world.

His calves were starting to burn from the strain of being crouched in front of the fireplace for a moment too long, and he tried his best to hide his groan, biting his teeth together as he stood to his feet, knees cracking loudly.

“Um, no,” he said, confused about your question.

“I’ll knit you a pair then,” you smiled before putting your cup down next to his.

“That’s… that ain’t necessary,” Joel hurried, but you waved him off.

“Sure it is,” you smiled again, much to Joel’s annoyance. He didn’t deserve your kindness, but you gave it away like it cost nothing. “If you’re gonna be helping Arthur out in the woods this winter, you need some mittens.”

Joel watched as you got up from your home on the couch and vanished into your bedroom. A moment later you appeared in the doorway with a basket under your arm.

“Also…” you gave him another smile as you sat back down again, placing the basket in your lap. It was close to overflowing with yarn, balls of black and white in varying sizes peeking over the top, the homespun ends fraying against the rough edges of the basket. “I’ll have something to do during the evenings,” you winked before you rummaged through the basket and fished out a measuring tape.

Joel shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he watched you. Mittens? Joel can’t remember if he’s ever owned a pair of mittens. Gloves, sure, but mittens?

You patted the cushion next to you, urging him to sit down, kind smile hanging off your lips like always. Sitting down, he folded his hands in his lap, suddenly very aware of how close you were sitting. It wasn’t like he hadn’t sat next to you before; he’d been here a few weeks now, and he was starting to know you, but for some reason, this felt different. Maybe it was the early morning, the quiet house, or the fact that Alma and Arthur were still sleeping upstairs, but it felt like it was just the two of you, alone, and Joel didn’t know how to feel about it.

You shifted towards him, the blanket slipping slightly off the couch with your movement, in your hands you held the measuring tape while you looked at him expectantly.

When Joel didn’t move, a smile quirked at the corner of your mouth before you grabbed one of his hands resting in his lap. You uncurled his fingers slowly, one by one, making Joel hold his breath.

“I need to see how big I need to make them,” you whispered, holding his hand very gently.

Joel’s heart hammered in his chest. Your hand was warm and soft, like the last time he’d touched you as you’d introduced yourself to him. Joel didn’t dare look at your face, or he’d say something stupid, so he didn’t. He looked at your joined hands, his brain trying to remember the last time someone had held his hand as gently as you did, your thumb running over the back of it soothingly.

He can’t remember. His hands are always empty.

With your other hand, a finger curled around the measuring tape, you slipped it around his wrist before leaning closer to look at the numbers.

“Is this too tight you think, or do you want them to be looser?” You asked through your lashes, eyes sparkling in the low morning light.

Joel cleared his throat, “No, that’s fine.”

“Okay,” you nodded, slipping the measuring tape from his wrist to write down the measurement. He hadn’t noticed your notebook until now. It was a little rough around the edges from use, the spined cracked and the paper a little yellow. Placing the pen in the seam, you grabbed the measuring tape again.

Loosening your grip on his hand you placed it over the thick of your thigh. Joel drew a quick breath, his heartbeat hammering in his ears, under his hand he could feel the warmth of you through the soft flannel.

You continued taking your measurements. You didn’t say anything, so neither did Joel, but you looked up at him through your lashes sometimes, and Joel thought that maybe the most useful thing one can do with empty hands, is hold on.

The creak of the stair made Joel jump, and like he’d been burned his hand retracted on reflex, as Arthur’s heavy steps got closer.

“Morning,” Arthur greeted as he ducked his head through the door to the living room.

“Mornin’,” Joel mumbled, head lowered as he gathered his hands in his lap.

“Good morning!” you smiled, always with that kind smile, “Did you sleep well, Arthur?” you got up from your seat before grabbing your teacup to follow Arthur into the kitchen, leaving the yarn and Joel.

Taking a deep breath, Joel pinched the top of his nose. He needed to get it together. You were just being your regular kind self; your soft touch was nothing more than that. Standing to his feet, Joel grabbed his own cup, trudging into the kitchen.

In the kitchen Arthur sat in his usual spot at the dining table, the chair closest to the window. “I need to get on with this barn soon,” Joel heard him say as he sat down opposite him. “It’s gonna fall apart come spring if we get as much snow as we did last year.”

Joel tried his best not to look at you as he heard you hum. You were stood at the kitchen counter slicing the bread Alma had baked yesterday, readying breakfast. Instead, Joel opted to gaze down into his teacup, where the peppermint leaves had all gathered at the bottom.

“Um,” Joel cleared his throat, “what needs fixin’?”

“What doesn’t need fixing in that barn?” Arthur sighed, peeling his eyes from out the window to Joel.

“I can uh,” Joel eyes shifted quickly to you before he cleared his throat again, “I can take a look at it, if ya want?”

Arthur’s eyebrows met in a furrow as he looked at Joel.

“I used to be a contractor,” Joel explained with a shrug, before taking a last cold sip of his tea.

“So, you know a thing or two about buildings I reckon?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah, well I used to,” Joel leaned back in his chair.

“Well, that would be very helpful Joel– I’d appreciated it!” Arthur smiled before leaning back in his chair making room for you as you started setting the table. Joel gave him a short nod in return, trying to fight the urge to look at you as you placed the food on the table.

Arthur had downplayed the state of the barn – it was a mess – it was dangerous, and had Joel told him as much. But it was nothing Joel couldn’t fix, as long as he had the right supplies, fortunately for him the forest would provide them with what they needed.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The axe dug a deep wound into the bark with every swing. Joel’s breath was heavy, and his arms ached, but it was a welcomed form of tiredness. A month into it, he was starting to get used to the work. There was something so satisfying about manual labor, of using his hands, of making something – he’d almost forgotten.

The routine of the work felt good. Waking up at dawn, then breakfast, he could use his body for something useful for the first time in twenty years and end the day with a warm meal for supper. This new temporary life was simple, but it was strangely normal.

Originally, Joel was only helping Arthur out in the woods for firewood through the winter– but now with the barn, they’d changed course. The last few days they’d started to become more selective with the trees; looking for the tallest and straightest ones that would fall safely.

A frozen sky hovered over the men as they worked. This morning when Joel had woken up, the thinnest layer of snow had fallen like powdered sugar during the night, turning the world bright with winter. Earlier in the week the frost had perched on the farm, and Joel had known winter was closing in. He’d lost count of the days and months passing while on his own, but Arthur had told him it was late October.

“It will start snowing properly soon,” Arthur said, breaking the silence between them.

Joel hummed before taking a bite of his packed lunch. They’d worked all morning – Joel felling the trees and Arthur cleaning them up and removing the branches. Now they were sat on a fresh tree stump each, their first break of the day.

“I have an old logging sled in the barn– used to be my father’s,” Arthur explained, “I think we should leave the trees here until the snow gets deep enough for the sled and have the horses pull them back to the farm.”

“Fine by me,” Joel took another bite of his lunch.

“The logs will have to dry out over the winter,” Arthur mused, “Then come spring we can start the repairs on the barn.”

Spring. If everything goes according to plan, Joel won’t be here come spring. He needed to find Tommy– he couldn’t, and he wasn’t gonna stay on the farm for any longer than necessary. He’d already decided– when the snow finally started to melt, Joel was gone.

Joel hummed, a non-committed answer. It was easier that way, to not get Arthur’s hopes up. He liked Arthur, he was a good man, a hard worker even in his old age, and silent when Joel wanted him to be. Joel liked Alma too, but her age shined through more easily than Arthur’s. Joel couldn’t help but notice her repeating herself more often and forgetting where she put things. It made life harder for you, Joel could see it. Your responsibilities were already a lot to handle as you took care of the animals mostly by yourself, but as Joel had discovered Alma starting to struggle with the housework, he’d noticed you starting to help her more often. In Joel’s mind it was unfair to you, but it wasn’t like he could blame Alma for growing older, in this world it was a feat.

Still, he’d try his best to help you when he could, like doing the dishes after dinner as you dried them off and put them away. The first few times you were both quiet, it was strangely intimate, only the sound of splashing water filling the space between you. One night he'd gotten brave, breaking the comfortable silence and asked you ‘What you thinkin’ about, sweetheart?’ You’d looked at him with big eyes, searching his own for something, but before he could figure out what it was, you’d answered him with a shrug. It was unlike you, unlike you to be this silent, but Joel didn’t push. The next night the silence persisted, and he’d thought adding ‘Sweetheart’ had been too much, but then the next night you’d sighed quietly and whispered, “I’m worried about Alma.”

Looking down at the mittens in his lap, the guilt gnawed at him. The look of worry in your eyes, Arthur’s hopeful wishes, and Alma’s aging. Joel couldn’t have anything tying him to this place. He was supposed to find his brother.

Suddenly, a black and orange butterfly landed on Joel’s knee. Joel stopped breathing, body going rigid as he tried not to move. How the hell was this butterfly still alive? It sat quiet on his knee, wings slowly retracting and widening behind it. Memories pushed its way to the forefront of Joel’s mind then.

Sarah. Another year had gone by, and the thought made his chest tighten.

“That’s quite a sight at this time of year,” he heard Arthur say, “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Y-yeah,” Joel stammered out an answer, afraid his voice would scare it away.

The longer Joel watched the butterfly he found his guilt started to slowly melt away. It’s okay, dad. It was like the rustling of the trees carried her voice with them. You’re on the right path.

“I can do that f’you want, sweetheart.”

Joel’s boots creaked under him as he walked across the barnyard. You looked up at the sound of his voice, smile blossoming across your face as you tightened your grip on the shovel.

“It’s alright,” you said with a grunt as you picked up more snow, adding it to the growing pile, “Good for me to get some physical work in.”

Joel nodded as you straightened up, hand going to your hip while the other leaned on the shovel, your heavy breath curled in small plumes out of your mouth. You took him in for a second, eyes flickering over his form before they fell on the rabbits hanging over Joel’s shoulder.

“Where’d you get those?” you asked, and Joel shrugged.

“Shot ‘em,” he said simply, “they walked right by me as I was choppin’– seemed too good to pass up.”

“Not for the rabbits,” you muttered, and Joel had to fight the urge to smile.

“You a vegetarian or somethin’?” he asked with a single raised eyebrow, and you waved him off.

“No,” you said pointedly, but a teasing lilt lingered, “Just stating a fact... we don’t eat a lot of rabbit around here, is all.”

Joel nodded slightly; it made sense. He knew there was a gun in the house, but it was a revolver– too small to do any real hunting, and Joel didn’t even know if there were bullets for it. So, Joel didn't ask further. Lucky for him, you did.

“So, you just shot those?” you asked, a frown pulling at your eyebrows, “Aren’t they fast?”

Joel made a nonchalant sort of face. “Ain’t that hard when you can aim straight.”

“Well, how do you aim straight?”

“You learn to shoot.”

You let out a small laugh, one that pulled at Joel’s lips. “And how did you go about learning that?”

Joel felt his smile drop, the leather strap of his shotgun weighing heavy on his shoulder, “Practice.”

You didn’t seem to notice the change in his demeanor as you dug the shovel into the snow, so it stood by itself like a watchman. “Can you teach me?” you asked, the snow creaking under your shoes as you took a few steps closer.

His lips pulled at the corner, “No.”

Your eyes widened with disappointment, eyebrows pulling together in a frown as you asked, “Why?”

“Nothin’ good ever comes from it,” Joel shrugged.

“Okay,” you huffed a laugh, “that’s sinister.” Then you narrowed your eyes at him, gearing up for an argument no doubt with the way you rested your hand on your hip. “What if I also wanted to go hunting?” you posed, and Joel shook his head.

“That ain’t happenin’, sweetheart.”

“Okay, but now you’ve brought us rabbits– and what if I end up really liking rabbit?” you bit down on your bottom lip, unconsciously showing off you own rabbit teeth.

Cute.

“Then I’ll shoot as many rabbits as you want,” Joel countered with a teasing smile before tightening his hold on the rope slung over his other shoulder (the one he’d tied the rabbits to), and walked towards the kitchen door at the back of the farmhouse.

He heard you huff in defeat behind him, your creaky steps following him up the stairs and inside. Walking into the kitchen Joel placed the rabbits on the table before he pulled at his mittens, stripped off his jacket, and hung it neatly over the back of one of the dining chairs. Grabbing one of the rabbits he brought it to the kitchen counter to start dressing it, fighting the urge to turn his head as he heard you enter the room.

“Come on, Joel,” you whined, “Why won’t you teach me?”

“Told you already,” Joel replied, “Nothin’ good comes from learnin’ to shoot things.”

Shifting the rabbit around on the counter he reached for the butcher knife in the knife block.

“You know, that’s a really stupid way of saying you don’t want to spend the time,” you told him, your voice closer now as you leaned against the kitchen counter.  

“When exactly did ya hear me sayin’ I don't wanna spend time with you?” Joel asked, his eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

“You won’t teach me to shoot,” you teased, and Joel could hear the smile in your voice.

Joel huffed out a laugh, “Damn right I won’t.”  

He heard you let out a whiney huff, before you turned on your heel, muttering out a curse under your breath when you accidently bumped your hip into the counter and Joel couldn’t help the smile teasing at his lips. You sat down with an overdramatic sigh, and Joel still didn’t look at you – he knew he’d cave eventually if he did, say yes against his better judgement – so he kept his eyes on the knife in his hand.

“How’s Arthur?” Joel asked as he worked.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, “The same I think– Alma was up there looking after him last time I checked.”

This time Joel allowed himself to look at you. You sat sideways on the wooden chair, legs crossed and tucked under your chair with your head hanging, eyes glued to your lap. Gone were the teasing, and gone were the smiles.

“He’ll be fine,” Joel said, his eyes back on the rabbit, “it’s just a cold.”

“Yeah… but he’s been getting sick a lot more often,” your voice was low, like you didn’t want them to hear you upstairs, “you can’t help but think the worst you know?”

Joel put the knife down and moved over to the sink. He quickly washed his hands before grabbing a towel to dry off, twisting it in his hands as he approached you. Placing the towel on the counter, he hesitated for a moment as he watched you, watched the way you twisted your hands in your lap with no sense of purpose or intent. It was like the worry dripped down your body. Pushing off the counter Joel knelt in front of you, a grunt escaped him as his knees clicked loudly, his balance slightly off on his haunches.

“Shit,” Joel huffed out a laugh, and you followed. Your palms landed on his knees to keep him steady, warmth spreading like jolting electricity.

“Sweetheart, I’ll tell you what–” he stopped himself when you looked at him through your lashes, trying to ignore the way your eyes focused on his mouth as he spoke. “’s just a cold, he’ll be up ‘n walkin’ tomorrow– man’s got gumption.”

“Yeah?” your eyes flickered upwards, meeting his.

Suddenly, under your gaze Joel felt brave. His hand moved on its own accord, cupping your cheek in his hand. He let his thumb ghost over your skin, still cold under his fingertips from being outside, but warming under his touch.

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, you only watched him with glimmering eyes, like you were under a spell. Maybe he was too.

“Still,” you sighed, “Would be better if I could pick up more of the slack around here... Arthur does a lot, and I wish I could do more to support them.”

“Like what? You take care of the animals all by yourself– that’s more than enough.”

“Well, I could learn to shoot rabbits,” you told him, before the corners of your mouth pulled into a pleased smirk as he rolled his eyes at you.

Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away, making a move to stand when you grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“I’m kidding, Joel,” you smiled, before a more serious look washed over your features. “I mean it’s… It’s gonna be empty here without you,” you said, “I’m starting to really like having you here, Joel.”

Joel turned his hand to rest the back of it on your thigh, your hand fitting in his.

“I uh,” his eyes fixated on your joined hands, then he cleared his throat, “I’ll stay as long as you need me to. I’m not leavin’ you alone, sweetheart.”

Your eyes lit up at his words, smile growing large across your face. Joel’s heart drummed in his chest as your eyes flickered down to his mouth again.

“Thank you,” you said in a low voice, and then you did something Joel thought was gonna make his heart stop beating. You leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. It bloomed against his skin, and made wings flutter against the walls of his stomach.

“You’re a good man, Joel Miller,” you whispered before you pulled away, looking at him with kindness in your eyes.

If only you knew, Joel thought, if only you knew the blood on his hands.

He couldn’t look at you when you looked at him like that. Like you believed your own words. So, he cleared his throat awkwardly and stood to his feet, his knees clicking as your hand slipped from his movement. He walked back to the counter, fingers grabbing the towel with no other purpose than to calm himself down.

After placing the towel back where it usually hung, he grabbed the knife again, turning his attention back to the rabbit, allowing himself to steal a few glances at you where you sat looking out the kitchen window.

“Hey, uh,” Joel broke the growing silence after a few minutes, “how ‘bout rabbit stew for lunch?”

Your head snapped to look at him as he spoke, a smile ghosting over your lips as you said, “I’ll go get some vegetables from the cellar.”

Joel wouldn’t necessarily call himself a good cook – he wouldn’t even call himself a cook in the first place. Back before the outbreak he’d been forced to learn the basics as a fresh single dad, but he’d never been able to provide Sarah with gourmet meals very often, and when Sarah had gotten older, he’d been embarrassed to say that her food was always better than his – eggshells and all. One summer he’d bought himself a nice grill– one of those way too expensive gas grills with too many fancy accessories for Joel to regularly use. He’d had a job that ended up paying well, some rich guy’s mansion that needed renovating, and decided to treat himself for once. That summer all their meals had come from that grill, well mostly, and afterwards Joel looked at himself as a pretty good griller, if nothing else.

You on the other hand, you knew what you were doing, it was clear in the effortlessly way you moved beside him as you got the vegetables ready for the stew. Joel seared the meat to the best of his abilities, making sure it was properly browned on both sides before setting it aside. After that, it was clear that you were in charge, and Joel let you boss him around and tell him what to do. It made his heart warm around the edges, watching how you put so much love and care into everything you did.

An hour later you finally sat down to eat; two hearty bowls of stew each as light snowflakes covered the world outside. You’d let the pot simmer on low over the heat as you’d wanted to bring up a bowl for Arthur and Alma later.

“So…” you started, watching as Joel dug into his bowl, “How’s the stew?”

“’s good!” Joel nodded through a mouthful, and he wasn’t lying. It was good, really good in fact.

“Yeah?” you bubbled through a smile, before you dug into your own bowl to see if he’d spoken the truth. He watched as you face brightened as you chewed, nodding your head to confirm his verdict.

“I think I really like rabbit, Joel,” you said through a teasing smile, and Joel couldn’t fight the chuckle from spilling.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, teasing smile not going anywhere, “So… when are you teaching me to shoot?”

“Shut up.”

The living room was quiet, safe for the cracking of the fire. It had almost died out when Joel had stepped out of his room. He’d been twisting and turning again, counting sheep, but nothing had been able to pull him under the blanket of sleep. He was plumb tired too, that was the worst part. The embers hummed with a low light, and with a small stick Joel had spread them out before placing a small piece of wood on top. No less than a minute later the fire fed on the log.

Taking a seat and leaning back in the lounge chair, Joel looked out the window with tired eyes. The moon looked down on him, big and bright, it shone its white light over the barnyard like a spotlight. His thoughts were clouded over as he gazed up. A billion little lights turning into bright spheres in the sky.

On nights like this, Joel felt like he was barely breathing at all.

His thoughts didn’t stray for long before they found you again. Lately, you were always on his mind. He thought about how you’d looked mere hours ago, when he’d sat in this same exact chair, only this time it was facing towards the sofa and not the window.

You’d been sat curled up in the corner, blanket thrown over your lap with a book in hand. You’d told him you’d read all the books in the house already, but it didn’t stop you from coming back to your favorites. Joel had been reading his own book, an old western he’d found in the bookshelf in the upstairs hallway a few days ago. It was entertaining, but not enough to hold his attention. He found his eyes had a mind of their own, slipping over the top to steal a peek at you as you read, feeling a smile tug at his lips at the barely there furrow of concentration between your eyebrows.

“Joel.”

Joel perked up at the whisper of his name, the memories fading like ripples in still water. He looked around the room –nothing. He sat quietly in his chair for a moment, listening, as his heartbeat quickened in his chest. It had been your voice, hadn’t it? Or was he starting to lose it? His eyes fell to the door of your bedroom. He hadn’t noticed it until now, but he could see it was slightly ajar.

“Joel.”

The voice was louder this time, almost strained, but it was yours. A thousand scenarios flashed before his eyes then at your tone. Was there someone in your room? Were you in danger? Seconds later Joel crossed the room, a mix of fear and protectiveness overcoming him.

Leaning up against your door he listened for the intruder as he readied himself. The soft crinkling of your sheets combined with your strained whimpers was all it took for him to push the door open, fearing the worst.

And…

It was empty, your room, you were alone. Joel immediately felt stupid– the only intruder here was him.

He was about to step out, embarrassed at his actions, when he heard it again, his name falling from your lips. It was all Joel needed to finally take in your body, squirming under your sheets, still asleep. The realization of what he’d just walked in on made Joel’s eyes widen.

Laying on your back, the duvet had slipped down your torso from your movements to reveal the thin t-shirt you wore to bed. Like this he could see your perked nipples through the fabric, as your chest quickly rose and fell, making Joel’s imagination start to run wild.

“Joel.”

In his pajama pants, Joel could feel his cock come alive from the soft whimper that left your lips along with his name. He couldn’t move, like some farm elf had glued his feet to the floor while he wasn’t looking. He watched as you scrunched your face together in pleasure, another whimper falling from your lips, and all the blood in Joel’s body rushed down south.

As if the soundwaves from your voice had broken against him, he took a step backwards, and then another, and another until he crossed the threshold of your door. He tried his best to be quiet, to not wake you and have you catch him in your room in the middle of the night.

The image of you squirming under your sheets, dreaming of him, didn’t leave him as he closed the door to his own room. With a sigh his head fell against the door, a strong hand gliding down his front to hover over his aching cock.

Joel Miller was no saint, but what he was doing– what he was about to do, was bad.

“Shit,” he quietly hissed, running his hand up his clothed cock. He hadn’t touched himself properly in a long time, not since he left Boston.

His cock reacted to his touch, growing harder and harder until he couldn’t take it anymore. He hooked his finger around the hem of his pajama pants, pulling them down to the thick of his thigh, freeing himself. He hissed at the cold air hitting his length, as it bopped with the movement of being freed. Bringing his hand to his mouth, Joel spat, before he wrapped his spit-soaked hand around himself.

His mind found you again as he started stroking himself, slowly at first, pumping himself with a practiced hand, squeezing himself at the base before bringing his hand up to thumb at the tip. Joel couldn’t get the way you sounded out of his mind. Couldn’t forget how you were squirming in your bed, dreaming of him. Couldn’t shake the thought of pulling those moans and whimpers from you with his hands, and his mouth, and with his cock.

“Fuck.”

Joel tried to be quiet, but he couldn’t fight the moan from slipping from his lips. Fuck, he wanted you. He wanted his hands all over you. Closing his eyes his mouth dropped open as he imagined what he was dying to do to you.

How much he’d wanted to help you out of your t-shirt, run his hands over your breasts and tease your nipples. Take his time to pull those moans and whimpers from your soft lips as he teased you with kisses down your body, down the valley of your breasts, your tummy, down to you to your–

Another low moan fell from Joel’s lips. He squeezed himself tighter as he jerked himself off, precum pearling at the tip, and slipping down his length, mixing with his spit.

The sound of the slick rhythm of his hand filled his bedroom as he increased the pace of his strokes. He had to bite down on his lip to strangle a groan when thoughts of getting between your legs, spreading them open and getting his mouth on you filled his head. He fantasized about how you’d taste falling apart on his tongue–Fuck, how you’d sound falling apart around his cock.

His eyes fell shut as he fisted himself faster. Joel could feel his orgasm quickly building, coiling tight in his tummy. With his free hand he cupped his balls, and then he couldn’t help but imagine it was you, a picture of you on your knees before him flashed behind his eyelids, your tongue lapping at his balls while your hand pumped his cock.

“Shit.”

With a strained groan, thick ropes of cum spilled over his knuckles and down his length, coating him in his release. His breath came out ragged, as he continued his strokes, milking himself of the rest of his release.

Fuck.

His cock softened in his hand as he calmed down from his high. With a quiet groan he pushed himself off the door, looking around his room for something to clean himself up with.

The guilt of what he’d done washed over him quickly, settling in his chest like a heavy weight. You were so young, and beautiful, and Joel just an old man. He shouldn’t want you like this, shouldn’t want you this much.

Climbing under the covers, Joel couldn’t shake his thoughts of you, of you dreaming about him in your bed, about your smiles, and your touch. A supercut of you rolling like a tape in his minds eye. A supercut of you bundled up under a blanket on the sofa, knitting him his mittens. Of you, your own knitted hat pulled tightly down over your ears as you stepped out into the snow to check on the animals. Of the way you’d looked at him for the first time, with the bucket of apples under your arm, and the sweet taste of them as you’d offered him one later, after dinner.

Finally, Joel could breathe.

next part -> here! i hope someone liked this? if you did a comment, reply or an ask is always welcome and they make me super happy <3 other than that thank you for reading!!

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[midnightwriter21]

can we have the first meet soulmate thing for sorcerer! reader please?? w gojo only

jjk hcs: satoru meeting sorcerer!soulmate!reader

characters: satoru gojo x reader, megumi (mentioned), yuji (mentioned), nobara (mentioned)

warnings: u kill a cursed spirit, possible injury but not rly, mature language (reader cusses gojo out lmfao), the kids & reader lowkey bullying gojo lol, gojo is kinda suggestive at the end

AN: soulmate au where the first words your soulmate says to you are tattooed somewhere on your body!! read the non-sorcerer version HERE

SATORU GOJO

being called in as back up for a mission involving a 2nd grade cursed spirit was not on ur to-do list today

but guess where you are!!

an empty mall!!

an empty mall where you’re currently watching 3 teenagers run around like headless chickens

the curse is ugly… as most of them are but..

this one is NASTY looking

several different colored eyeballs sticking out of various places on its body

it’s oozing some sort of greenish brown liquid

and the smell

dear lord it’s bad

the poor pink haired kid is simultaneously holding his nose and trying to fight the curse with one hand

and it’s main attack seems to be the ability to spit that greenish brown liquid at whoever it’s attacking, rendering them immobile

almost like a glue trap for mice

the curse backs the three kids into a corner and prepares to spit that sticky liquid at them

and that’s when you decide to make your entrance

jumping from the second floor of the mall, in front of the kids, and drawing your weapon

you block the attack and jump towards the curse

severing it’s head and therefore exorcising it in one quick movement

you sheathe your weapon and turn to the kids, “why the hell are you three taking on a 2nd grade mission?”

the pink haired boy from earlier explains, “our sensei was supposed to be with us but when we split up he went to the food court… and uhhh… we haven’t seen him since.”

you give the kids a sour look, “your sensei must be a complete moron”

all at once the kids agree

“he is” -the girl with the hammer

“yeah, pretty much” -the boy with the black spikey hair

“i mean.. kinda, sometimes” -the pink haired boy

you sit the kids down on a bench so that you can check over them and access any possible wounds

mama bear mode activated.

you ask the boy, who you now know as megumi, to get in touch with his sensei

when his sensei answers the phone, megumi explains that the curse has been exorcised

but before he can explain about your presence, you snatch the phone from him and let out a string of expletives directed towards the man on the other end

“you must be a fucking idiot huh? your kids could’ve died taking on a 2nd grade alone and you’re off being an irresponsible jackass somewhere-“

before you can continue you hear the dial tone

he hung up on you

without even saying a word

nearly growling in anger you shove the phone back to megumi and move over to yuji

you take his hands in yours and begin to wrap his hands in bandages saying, “you know, if you keep punching through walls you’re going to end up really hurting your knuckles”

as you wrap his hands you’re not really paying attention to your surroundings, so the smug voice coming from behind spooks you a little…

“it’s good that a pretty little thing like you came to the rescue or else my kids could’ve died since i was off being an irresponsible jackass”

he’s throwing your own words back in your face

whipping your head around fast enough to give yourself whiplash, you prepare to launch into another ass chewing

but your words get stuck in your throat when you’re met with a tall, blindfolded, white haired man

a man known to everyone in the jujutsu world

Satoru Gojo

in response to your stunned silence he lets out a chuckle, “what? cat got your tongue, pretty?”

his mocking snaps you back into reality as you fire back, “no, i’m just surprised on how someone like you can be such a complete and utter dumbass!”

“awww cmon is that the way you’re supposed to talk to your soulmate?” he smirks down at you

you give him a confused look before it hits you

his first words to you from earlier…

“it’s good that a pretty little thing like you came to the rescue or else my kids could’ve died since i was off being an irresponsible jackass”

those exact words are printed on your back underneath your shoulder blade in neat handwriting

looking up at him with wide eyes, you watch as he turns his back to you, pulling off his uniform jackets and lifting up his shirt

ignoring the faint gagging sounds from his students

and there it is, printed in the exact same spot as yours, in your handwriting

“you must be a fucking idiot huh? your kids could’ve died taking on a 2nd grade alone and you’re off being an irresponsible jackass somewhere-“

“no. fucking. way.” you say in disbelief as he turns back to face you

“you have a dirty mouth, sweetheart,” he leans in and whispers softly in your ear, “can’t wait to see just how dirty it can get,” he leans back and says in his normal voice, “but we’ll save that for later!”

[maxlarens]

pairing(s): engineer!george russell x driver!reader

brought on entirely by this ask thank you anon i owe you a great debt😭 also light angst beware.

You’re more angry than anything.

What a stupid mistake, taking the turn like that. Too hard too fast too reckless. Never careful enough, like George always presses you to be. You feel shame churning in the hollow of your chest in the back of the safety car.

You’re on the way to medical. You would be even if you didn’t have an ache in your neck. Something sharp in your chest. You’ve fractured a rib, you think. Broken it even. You know this feeling, the whiplash of a crash. Waiting to have your injuries confirmed.

You think of the car, the smell of smoke registering as you took a second to reorient yourself. To remember all of your limbs. Ringing in your ears, then George. George, prompting your reply over and over. Tone clipped, hurried, near-frantic, still-professional. The car is on fire. You need to get out of the car, now. And your limbs snapping back into awareness, into motion—

You’re fine now. Angry mostly.

You let the doctor check you over, refer you for an ultrasound for the rib. It hurts when they press on it. You’re left with a manila folder to give to your team and an order to take it easy for the rest of the day.

Outside the medical building you can hear the cars on track. It puts something sick in the pit of your stomach. At least it’s only FP2. You’ve not utterly ruined a race, and the team still have time to fix your mess. Still. Still.

You turn a corner to make your way back to Mercedes hospitality, you find George instead.

He looks like someone’s taken a livewire to him. His head of usually soft curls is messy, hair standing half on end. He’s got those serious, shell-shocked eyes that always appear when his smile vanishes. You frown as his head snaps to you, alerted by the sound of gravel underfoot.

“Shit,” you blink and he’s already halfway to you, “Are you alright? What did they say?”

His hands are on your shoulders, pulling you toward him and you’re not thinking anything in particular about that. Just grappling with his sudden closeness. His apparent worry. So apparent that someone’s sent him here to medical, to you instead of having his valuable input on the pit wall.

“I’m fine,” you push his hands off you, “I’ll just need an ultrasound. It’s nothing.”

“Did they check you for smoke inhalation?” he presses on, despite your attempt at deflecting, “Your car was on fire.”

You shrug, shake your head, “I dunno, George. They checked my breathing I guess.”

You hear a sharp intake of breath and feel him start to move toward the building. You grab his wrist, haul him back, knowing he’ll march you in there and demand they check if you don’t reassure him.

“I’m fine,” you insist, “No smoke inhalation. Not even a cough.”

He’s looking down at you, jaw set, the line of his mouth severe. So serious as he checks you over like he has x-ray vision— as if he can see things the doctors can’t because he’s more worried than they are. You’re keenly aware of your fingers looped around his wrist, the feeling of his pulse, his skin, the tender way his hand reaches to grab your wrist in kind.

Your relationship feels different here. In this moment.

The closeness of a driver and her engineer has never escaped you. From the moment you met him for the first time in Brackley— tall, cheerful, a bit awkward, a little overbearing— you’d known that you’d be close. That’s the nature of it. You didn’t have to be charmed by his sincerity to predict that.

But you’d grown closer than you would have ever thought. You know his quirks, his idiosyncrasies. How he has his tea, the clothing brand he buys all his clothes from, the way speaks to waiters like they’re old friends, the overly friendly nature that masks a man who’s just nervous people won’t like him. He knows yours.

Your proclivity for being reckless on track, because winning is everything and what are you if you’re not a winner? How you have three shots of espresso in your coffee every morning. The way you cry your eyes out at father-daughter moments in movies. Your ache to be loved and your accompanying fear of commitment.

George is like no-one else. No ex, no best friend, no situationship knows you like George does.

Inside and out.

Anyway. Your hand on his wrist, your aching rib, him standing outside medical when he should be on the pit wall. It makes your head spin.

He closes the distance between the two of you. Hauls you into his flat chest and weaves his fingers into your hair, cradling the back of your head like he might lose you. Something wells in the top of your throat. The back of your neck feels gooey, soft, as he holds you. As if all the tension is easing out of you.

You take a deep breath, wrap your hands around his waist. Fireproofs against the bare skin where his Mercedes polo has hiked up. He says something into your hair that you can’t hear. The tone of it gets you anyway, the fondness.

You hiccup, hating yourself for it.

Then you’re crying. Shock of the crash wearing off, unable to ignore the comfort of being held up physically and emotionally by George. Tears, wet, hot are streaming down your face. Soaking George’s shirt.

“You’re okay,” he says into your ear, rocking the two of you back and forth in the gravel, “You’re okay, I promise.”

You know you are. Logically. But hearing George say it makes it easier to believe. You think, even, that he might be saying it for himself too.

[casuallyanidiot]

Omg your yandere coworker *chef's kiss*

I imagine he's just frustrated and angry because he can't believe he's fallen for a loser like reader. Like they are such a mess all the time. So soft and easy to tire. They look so out of place in this workplace environment.

But over time it starts to click that all he was to do is take them away and keep them at home. Reader shouldn't even be at work! Reader should be sitting pretty at home like the good little spouse he knows they are all that they are good for!

Man he'll have to come up with a plan to make that happen wouldn't he?

Thanks! He's awful! :)

I think the worst part about Yan coworker is that he believes he's actually a good person. Maybe if he just acknowledged how scummy he was, he wouldn't be half as bad.

He he's had enough of you stumbling all over yourself like an idiot. Yandere Coworker pulls you aside one day into a storage closet. He's trying so hard not to snap and fuck you stupid against some half empty shelves, so instead he settles for gripping your arms. Isn't he a gentleman? Anyways, he lays it out for you.

"You need to quit," He says simply. His voice is gruff and firm, and you blink in surprise. "What?" You stammer out. He's tall, intimidatingly so, and you tremble as he holds you. "No, no I'm not- I can't quit! This is my job! I know you don't really like me, but that's out of line," You hiss out and squirm away from him.

Yandere coworker realizes you really are very, very dumb. There's nothing in that stupid little head of yours, is there? You can't even tell how much he's looking out for you. You're crumbling under the weight of this job, and he can't stand seeing you so unhappy.

But he makes enough money for the two of you. He can handle this while you can't. In fact, the more he thinks about it, he can't figure out just what in the world you would be good at. He tries to picture you as successful at anything and comes up blank. Huh... You really are good for nothing. Except,,, you would probably do well if you didn't have to do anything at all.

Yandere coworker starts to think about how much prettier you would be if you got proper sleep. He likes the way you look in corporate attire (That is on the rare occasions where you don't look like a hot mess), but he bets you'd like to be in expensive and revealing loungewear even more. The only thing you would have to do is keep your house tidy, and keep yourself nice and presentable for whoever provided for you. Yeah, you'd be perfect for that. And guess what? He could give you that.

Yandere coworker knows that you're far too stubborn for your own good. He begins to actively sabotage your work. He inserts spelling errors into your reports, changes the numbers of any potential client before you have the chance to make a sale. He allows himself to be more officially promoted, and with the new power he has, he assigns you increasingly difficult tasks.

You try and report him for essentially bullying you, but the complaint is thrown out with little care. He's one of the best employees the company had ever seen, and you were just some bumbling broad who couldn't even spell their own name right on official documents.

Before long, you're fired. Yandere Coworker uses his position in the company and many connections he has to essentially black list you.

You can't get a decent job in your field anymore. Plus you begin to get behind on rent and bills. Your life is going to shit, yet you still refuse to take him up on his many offers. It's infuriating, and he just wants to put you in a place that he knows you'll be safe and happy in.

Yandere Coworker just thinks your too dumb to realize how kind he's being. He hopes that you're smart enough to recognize how nice the trunk of a luxury car is. After all, you're going to be there for a while until he can get you to his home where you'll never have to use that useless brain of yours again.

[malereadermaniac]

Serial Cheater ~ Mako x Male Reader

This takes place somewhere along season 2 - Mako having just broken up with Korra and chatting to Asami again You are a core member of team Avatar! word count: 750 - Short fic! Sorry lol m!reader (no genitalia mentioned) / FDNI

Even though Mako is the kind of guy fan girls swoon over, most people would say that he's pretty down to earth

Your friends wouldn't describe Mako as flirty or as a serial romantic

But for the entire time you've known the muscular fire bender, some things have stuck out to you - most notably that he is, in fact, a flirt and a serial cheater (on accident)

Mako never actually means any harm to the girls he dates, but you have noticed a trend in his dating patterns of dating drop-dead gorgeous girls with a little overlap between them

It may just be the law of attraction - maybe Mako is just a magnet to romance and he can't help it

But it's most definitely a fact that if an opportunity is presented to the police officer, he takes it

And that is exactly what got the both of you into this situation

Mako and you were hanging out, Korra away somewhere on avatar business and everyone else at their respective jobs

The two of you were just chilling in Mako's apartment, having ordered take-out and drinking some new companies mass-produced rice-wine

As conversations drifted from one to the other, Mako started to vent about his highly active love-life

Being a good friend, you listened to the tall police officer - nodding along to assure him that you're listening to his ramble about his feelings for Korra and also for Asami

You of course throw in a joking comment or two at Mako's adulterous nature, but all in all you listen to his problems and offer your comfort

And your comforting and caring nature, mixed with the alcohol in Mako's system, was what resulted in your current situation

That being you on Mako's lap, making out with you handsome friend

Yes, you broke the kiss initially

Yes, you said you two shouldn't do this because of your close friendship with both of Mako's love interests

Yes, Mako begged for your warm, soft lips and for your comfort

And yes, you gave in...

Even though Mako was just yapping on about kissing Asami less than 24 hours ago, his chiseled face and warm brown eyes drew you in like an inescapable black hole

As the two of you made out, clothing started to make its way off of your body - the air in Mako's apartment becoming hotter and stuffier

But as your nude chest rubbed against the handsome man's pecs, a knock of the door forced you two apart

"Mako? Hey I wanna... talk about earlier!" you could hear your dear friend's voice shout

Asami was behind that door, and you most certainly didn't want her to walk in and see you and her not-so-boyfriend-boyfriend getting it on

You and Mako struggle to get off of one another and desperately reach for your clothes to cover up

You head to the bathroom to hide and dress back up as Mako let's Asami in to talk

You over-hear the two as you wait in your friends' tiny bathroom

Their conversation had ups and downs, but it definitely ended in an up

You peaked out of the crack between the door frame and the door, watching as Asami and Mako kissed goodbye

As the front door shut, you open the bathroom door and lean on the frame

"Sooo... looks like you really just can't help yourself" you say with a smirk to Mako

The tall man chuckles as he walks over to you

"Heh... yeah, I guess so"

"I don't think you deny being a playboy much longer, haha..." you joke

Mako holds you head up with his soft hand to make you look him in the eye - Mako's height being emphasised

"Shut up... and what if I am?" Mako half-lids his eyes as he focuses on your features

And while you know that it's a dick move on your part, breaking Asami's and even Korra's trust, you couldn't help but push your lips against Mako's

Your hands rest on Mako's strong chest, his tongue slipping past your lips as his masculine hands slip onto your waist

"That's what I'd do if your were... Hmhm~" you laugh after breaking from Mako's warm lips

The two of you laugh as the strong man picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms around his neck

As Mako makes his way to his bed, all thoughts of guilt float out and away from your brain

[startanewdream]

A small Harry and Minerva moment, set after the final battle, in honour of Minerva's birthday.

*****

"I am not coming back," Harry blurts out. Next to him, Minerva's only reaction is a flicker on her spell: for a moment, the broken chairs of the Transfiguration classroom get extra pairs of legs that make them look like spiders.

When the chairs go back to normal, she turns to Harry with an impassive look.

"I imagined so."

Harry blinks. "You did? You never mentioned anything."

Minerva shares his surprise. "It was not my place to say anything. You are of age now."

"So all this time I've been helping here at Hogwarts, you just knew and went along with it?"

"Would it please you if I say I do not agree with your decision?"

"Yes, actually."

There's a hint of a smile on Minerva's lips. "I think you should come back to school."

"Oh." Harry looks down at his feet before moving to fix the bricks on the wall. Despite what he just told her, it's undeniable that this was not what Harry wanted to hear. "You think I am not ready?"

He sounds young. It's difficult to match this adult Harry — nearly eighteen-year-old, tall like his father, and spotting too many scars for his age — with the eleven-year-old who was sorted into her House, but that's the memory that resurfaces: Harry is eleven and he was caught out of his bed at night, losing 50 points to Gryffindor. He'd looked upset at the idea of being a disappointment.

That's how he looks now.

"You are of age," she repeats, her voice more tender than she allows herself around him, lest she betrays her soft spot for him. Harry's eyes are hungry as he turns to face her. "You faced more than any exam could measure — you faced things that cannot be measured." She thinks about the unconfirmed tales of a sacrifice and master of death, and it's not easy to match this with a boy worried about homework and deadlines. "From an educational point of view, I believe your time at Hogwarts has concluded."

Harry watches her. "But?" He guesses.

She allows herself a little smile. "But education is not all Hogwarts has to offer." She remembers seeing that scrawny kid laughing as he first took flight on a school broomstick; three friends sitting outside on a winter afternoon, bundling up next to a warm blue fire and sharing tales; a boy and his girlfriend, walking hand-in-hand through the halls, oblivious to any gossip. "I would be glad if you returned only to enjoy your Seventh Year as a common student. No threat. No drama. Just school."

"Just school," he repeats, his gaze far away now as if he could see it. Then Harry blinks. "Hermione and Ginny are coming back. Ron is not, though."

Minerva nods. She won't say it, but sometimes she wonders if the fact that Ron Weasley isn't returning isn't what's weighing most on Harry. Inseparable like brothers. Like father, like son.

"Do you think my parents would be okay with it?"

This time, the question baffles her; she's glad she wasn't transforming anything because it might have been disastrous.

"I do not believe I am qualified to answer this, Harry," she says.

"Ah, it's just —" He holds the back of his head, ruffling his hair, unaware that this was what James did when he was embarrassed. "You are one of the last people that knew them."

And this, as far as Minerva is concerned, is a terrible thing. James and Lily would be only thirty-eight if they were alive. She has lived now nearly four times what they did; how is it that there are now so few people that knew them?

Harry looks young once again. She knows he's made up his mind — and like Lily, he's adamant once he's decided something —, so this need for validation isn't what she associates with the young man she saw standing up to Voldemort one month ago.

But for all his deeds, Harry is just a boy who grew up longing for his parents — parents who had loved him fiercely, she knows. She doubts Harry might ever do anything that James and Lily wouldn't support — God knows Minerva supports him, and she isn't even his relative — but she also thinks they would insist that Harry return to his final year.

Seventh Year. That had been the year when James and Lily were Head Boy and Head Girl, and the future had looked promising to both. That had been the year when they had started dating; when the darkness of the war hadn't yet tinted their lives. When they had been the happiest. How could they not want the same for Harry?

But that's not what she tells him. "Yes," she lies calmly. "James and Lily would approve it."

Harry breathes easily. "Thanks." He moves to fix another desk, not noticing how, a long time ago, someone carved JP+LE in the wood.

Harry's spellwork is good. He might enjoy some refinement, but she doubts he will be fixing desks in his future job, so instead of commenting on it, she just lets it slide.

"Of course," she notes with a hint of humour, "if you came back, it would not have been all fun. I would have high expectations for you."

"Quidditch?" Harry guesses. "I'd say that Gryffindor is safe in Ginny's hands."

"I enjoy the Quidditch trophy in my office," she agrees. "But alas I was thinking about another responsibility. A Head Boy badge would suit you." Harry's eyes widen; she is once more sorry for not insisting harder with Albus that Harry should have been made prefect. "As it did your parents."

Harry smiles. "I would enjoy that."

"There are tons of paperwork, I might warn you — though not unlike being an Auror." Harry chuckles. "But either way, Harry, your parents would have been proud."

As I am proud of you, she thinks.

[that-house]

December 3rd, 2031 – Sixty degrees, clear skies, and a nice southeasterly breeze. It was a beautiful day to lay siege to Dallas. It was a good thing the weather was nice, because everything else about the operation looked rough. Marian couldn’t wait.

Dallas was a classic Texan fortress-city, two rings of forty foot tall concrete walls with a killing field in between, bristling with anti-aircraft cannon. The ground-facing defenses were a little less thorough, but a few machine guns would make quick work of any infantry charge and Dallas had more than a few machine guns.

“We aren’t being paid enough,” Suzy griped. She was crouching in the shade, alternatingly blowing a bubble of gum and taking swigs out of a bottle whose contents were hidden by a paper bag.

“We’re mercenaries. Get used to it.” Marian hoisted her gun onto her shoulder. “Besides, they don’t exactly expect us to succeed.”

“Oh, are we leading a suicide charge? I wasn’t paying attention to the Duke.” Suzy was never paying attention, but the benefits of having her around outweighed the drawbacks. Most days, at least.

“Pretty much.”

“Did the guys we’re with know this was a suicide charge?”

Marion looked around at the Jeep the Duke of Austin had hastily assigned the duo to. The soldiers suddenly all looked a bit green around the gills. “I’m guessing not. Chin up, boys! Auntie Marian won’t let any harm come to you.”

One of the men, a lieutenant, managed to find his voice. “Why are we here?”

“The Duke hopes that we’ll die loud enough that Dallas won’t notice his bombers taking out the emplaced guns. Doesn’t strike me as very sound tactics, but hey, he’s got manpower to make up for what he lacks in brains.”

Silence in the back of the Jeep.

Marian continued, mostly to fuck with them. “And don’t think the tanks’ll be any help. See those big fancy guns up on the wall? Those are lonestar guns. You boys seen lonestar guns?”

“Yeah.”

“So you get the idea. But hey, cheer up! It’s not every day you get to storm the best-defended city in the state!”

The man slowly came to a revelation a long time coming. “You’re insane,” he said.

“Insane was my father’s name. Please, call me Marian Typhoon.”

Suzy cackled. “That was terrible.”

The soldiers looked between the two women, now realizing they were both mad. “How are you two so calm?”

Marian didn’t answer for a moment, looking out at the slowly-approaching walls of Dallas. The lonestar guns’ targeting algorithms would start flagging the vehicles soon. “Suzy, how far out are we?”

“About a mile and a half.” Suzy busied herself checking over her rifle.

“Now, boys, I’m gonna explain two concepts very quickly, so you’d best pay attention. The KL-90 fully automatic sniper rifle, sometimes called “Le Papillon,” was something of a failure, because for some reason those glorious Frenchmen decided to make it fire 1200 rounds per minute, giving it a tendency to dump the entire mag into one poor fucker. Only six were ever made, and nowadays they’re just museum pieces. In 2026, the American military plunged into the deep end of bioweaponry and concocted a little something known as the ‘vampire virus,’ which proved pretty damn lethal in 99.99% of cases. The 0.01% that survived were problematic enough that the program shut down, and all information about it was expunged from the record.”

Marion patted Suzy affectionately on the head. “Now you might be wondering how those two disparate pieces of information might happen to overlap, and if you boys just sit pretty for a moment I reckon you’ll be able to connect the dots. Suzy?”

The last surviving vampire, Suzy Nines, slotted the magazine into her KL-90 fully automatic sniper rifle, and squinted out at the Dallas walls. She squeezed the trigger, the barrel swinging into a wild blur of motion as the sound of gunfire filled the air. “Machine gunners down. Reloading.”

Marian patted the hapless lieutenant on the shoulder. “Come along, boys. Auntie Marian’s got a city to take.”

[dolliethv]

Like this pussy designed for ya.

summary: English is not my first language, so if you notice any mistakes I'm sorry!! I wanted to write a fanfic inspired by the song "nasty" by Ariana Grande... please this fic contains a lot of smut, so if you don't like it just leave !! enjoy it xoxo

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x fem reader!!

Word count: about 1,8k

"Why are you in my room, y/n?"

It seemed Jude Bellingham had started using your name regularly, and it made you wonder how long it would take him to go back to the "baby" stage again

"I didn't know it was yours." You shrugged. Meanwhile, all of your skin was burning under the gaze of the tall guy standing in front of you.

"Yes, you did." Jude gritted his teeth, and despite being very intimidated, you let out a sarcastic laugh

"If you didn't notice, Bellingham, I've never been here before. I couldn't guess your room even if I cared."

Although that was indeed the truth, the party was in a huge house full of rooms, and you had opted to enter the first one you saw. But right now, you thanked the heavens for having chosen THIS room... things were going to get interesting, it seemed.

"Really?" Jude asked ironically grabbing his chin and bringing your faces closer. "What makes it so unrecognizable? My clothes on the bed? My photos on the wall?" DAMN he was really getting to you. That kind of proximity wasn't doing you any good.

"I was too busy to appreciate the interior properly."

Even though you intended your words to be firm, they came out as murmured, making you seem fearful and hesitant, which you were, but it was a big mistake to show Jude that so quickly,

"Oh, I bet you were." Bellingham's voice now sounded more like a growl, each of his words sending electric shocks to the lower part of your body

"What do you think I should do?" Your voice trembled slightly, betraying your nerves. Jude's proximity disarmed you, leaving you on the brink of a reaction you couldn't control.

Jude tilted his head, his eyes burning with a fire you couldn't ignore. "Don't play hard to get. You know perfectly well you're not leaving here without giving me a good reason not to keep you here all night.

"And what if I do?" Your challenge was almost a plea as you searched for a safe place to anchor your gaze amidst the storm he represented

"Because I know that beneath that tough attitude, there's someone who's as caught up in this game as I am." His tone became harsher and firmer.

Oh, you understood where this was going.

Your legs trembled, and you clung to Jude and could feel his hard, and damn, big dick.

You also wanted to take the initiative, so you rubbed his hard cock up and down, and you could hear Jude's grunts.

"You have such a small and tight pussy," Jude moaned, slipping a finger inside you,

Feeling Bellingham's large fingers inside you was like seeing stars. The novements Jude provoked in your body every time he inserted his fingers into your cunt quickly made your breasts move, not too big or small, revealing those delicious nipples Jude loved to suck.

He didn't even think twice when he brought his mouth to those needy pink buttons, licking, biting, and sucking as if he were a baby

Your hips trembled as you felt his fingers moving faster and hitting your pleasure spot.

"Hmm, do you want to come?" You nodded with teary eyes, unable to speak with your mouth full, "pretty."

Jude rubbed your clit hard and fast, provoking a scream and a delicious orgasm that made you melt.

You couldn't move, feeling weak as strong arms held you, sitting on his! legs, bringing your breasts to the older man's face, rubbing against his erect member.

Jude saw how desperate you were for his cock, with his hands probing your tight entrance and gradually entering you

"Oh, mmh, you're so big," your hands clutched tightly to his broad back.

Jude thrust hard, fully penetrating your vagina, holding onto your small waist.

"Damn... baby, you're doing so well," he said, as you moved your hips with desperation.

He liked rough and passionate sex; seeing you so receptive and letting out delicious moans was incredible.

Your delicate body bounced with each thrust; you could feel his hands on your breasts, ohh, he loved to knead them. A few more thrusts, and Jude changed position, placing you on the edge of the bed, as if on all fours, and shoved his member back inside, slapping your ass and kissing your lovely back.

"Baby, I want it harder.

"I'm not sure if you can handle it harder..." he pondered.

Still, he decided to prove your point; Jude angled your hips to make you wait appropriately, then pushed in all at once, trying to make the friction as shallow as possible. He could hear the little "Ohh" sounds coming from your mouth.

Bingo.

Finally, getting the right grip, Bellingham pulled your hair, using it to control his thrusts, now much harder and deeper than before. He kept his hips steady

"Oh, fuck! Yes!" You screamed.

"Yes, baby?" Is that where you want it?" he asked, starting to thrust before giving you a chance to respond.

Your cunt tingled, and your hips ached from the firm grip Jude exerted, sure it would leave marks your body convulsed, and you came, squirting on the bed.

Bellingham smiled and slapped your red cunt, making it more sensitive than it was, not stopping his thrusting.

"Stop! It's too much! Hmmp!" Jude's cock penetrated with force and depth, overstimulating you.

"Then learn not to ask for more than you can handle," he growled.

When he felt your cunt tightening, he couldn't hold back anymore and came, filling you with his sperm "Damn, baby, you're incredible."

He turned you around, face to face, and went straight for your lips.

Their tongues entwined in a lustful dance that didn't want to end, but oxygen interrupted them.

You tried to catch your breath, panting, protectively hugging the jude's chest.

"J-jude," you moaned as he felt your legs spread, revealing your delicious lips stained with both your essences.

You opened your eyes in surprise with red cheeks when you saw Jude licking between your legs.

"Ah! So sensitive, stop! Ghm!" you said, but your actions were quite the opposite, gripping the man's hair to pull him closer to your cunt.

His tongue rubbed and sucked your clit, making you scream; your legs trembled furiously, and you came again in his mouth.

As you came down from the cloud of pleasure, Jude took care of you and cleaned you up. He was usually very affectionate after sex. You stayed embraced, enjoying the pleasant silence.

You were both truly exhausted.

[malfoys-demigod]

"So... care to tell me who that was?"

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Logan Howlett x Reader

A/N: I figured maybe one or two more last fics on Logan before my little break is over and things get so busy for me! // Y/F/N = Your friend's name Summary: A jealous friend (Logan) who sees you with a guy friend of yours in your classroom. [A very short but simple fic!]

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Logan had just wrapped up his last class of the day, feeling lighter than usual. The history lesson had gone smoothly—no ridiculous questions or headaches—and now, with the weekend ahead, he was in an unusually good mood. It was Friday, after all, and that alone was reason enough to be cheerful.

He had been thinking about how the week had kept him so busy that he hadn't had much time to spend with you, his closest friend at the X Mansion. Maybe he could make up for it now, take you out for the weekend, or at least hang out for the rest of the day. It would be a nice way to unwind together.

As he walked down the hallway, heading toward your classroom just a few doors away, he heard your laughter. That sweet, infectious laugh that never failed to make him smile. It was one of his favorite things about you, even if he’d never admit it.

But as he got closer, another laugh joined yours—deep and unfamiliar. Logan’s pace slowed as he reached your door and glanced inside. You were laughing, your hand resting on the shoulder of a tall, attractive man. The sight made Logan’s stomach twist, the good mood he’d been in quickly souring.

"Well, someone clearly missed my jokes," the man said, his voice smooth and dripping with confidence.

Logan’s jaw tightened. He was about to step inside, ready to interrupt, but before he could, the man leaned in closer to you, said something Logan couldn’t quite hear, and then straightened up, giving you a warm smile as he left the room.

Logan watched as you waved goodbye, still smiling. His mood darkened even further. He stepped into the classroom, trying to keep his voice casual. "So... care to tell me who that was?"

You turned, still smiling, but now it was directed at him. "Oh, that was Y/F/N! We go way back—haven’t seen him in years."

Logan nodded slowly, though the mention of "way back" did nothing to ease the knot in his stomach. "He seems... friendly."

You chuckled, clearly not picking up on his tension. "Yeah, we used to get into all sorts of trouble together. Actually, he’s taking me out to dinner tomorrow night. It’ll be fun to catch up."

Logan’s stomach dropped. "Dinner, huh?" He tried to keep his voice light, but the jealousy was creeping in, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it. "Sounds... nice."

Before you could respond, another voice cut in. "Hey, Logan, didn’t know you were into eavesdropping now."

Logan turned to see Scott leaning against the doorway, arms crossed and a smirk plastered on his face. "You must’ve been really interested in that conversation."

Logan glared at Scott, who clearly enjoyed seeing him squirm. "Mind your own business, Summers." For someone who was calling out Logan's eavesdropping, Scott seemed to have been doing the same, right?

Scott just laughed. "Just saying, didn’t expect to see you looking so... tense."

Logan clenched his fists, trying to ignore Scott's taunts. "I’m not tense."

"Right," Scott replied, still smirking. "Well, have fun dealing with that dinner date, Logan. I’m sure it’ll be a breeze."

Scott’s teasing only added fuel to the fire, but Logan couldn’t exactly punch him—not with you standing right there, oblivious to the real reason behind his mood. Instead, he forced a smile, though it felt more like a grimace, and turned back to you.

"Guess I’ll catch you later, doll," he said, trying to sound nonchalant, but the thought of you having dinner with Y/F/N was gnawing at him.

As he walked away, Scott’s laughter echoing in his ears, Logan couldn’t shake the image of you laughing with Y/F/N out of his mind. He’d have to figure out a way to deal with this... and fast.

[goosita]

first of all i love you. really. everything that you're writing is making my life so much better, so thank u <3 if that's okay for u, could you write something where reader is a single mom, she has a little girl and her daughter is very attached to billy? and it's the most sweetest thing ever cause billy loves her, calls her little princess (very sweet tooth 😭) one night, her daughter asks billy to read a storie for her to sleep and he does so and in the end, she says something like "i wish you were my dad" and it's just so cute and funny cause she gagged everyone, reader is like "babe!!!!" while billy is in shock but at the same time his heart is melting 🥺🥺 (sorry if this is too much, just write if u want!)

oh im. gonna cry and sob and piss everywhere this is the sweetest softest thing ive ever read yes oh my god

billy would be so so sweet with your daughter, especially if she was around 4-6 years old. at first you were worried that a man like him wouldn’t want anything to do with a single mother, especially one as young as you. but he never asked you to explain, and never judged you for it. all he ever did was treat you like a queen, and your daughter like a princess.

and your little girl is just enamored with him. she follows after him like a little duckling, so much so that billy starts to call her “ducky”. it makes her giggle every single time, always makes billy smile all warm and fond. they get on like a house on fire, your man and your baby girl. billy teaches her things like how to ride a horse, how to tie all kinds of knots, how to rope a little goat even. your daughter tells you one evening, her little face very serious, that she thinks “billy knows everything, mama. everything!” you want to let her believe it for as long as possible.

on this particular day, all 3 of you had spent the day together. billy had showed up bright and early to take you for a picnic out in a meadow behind your house, a daylong excursion that lasted until the sun slowly set. it was late spring, cicadas beginning to sing in the tall grass. once it got dark outside, billy pulled out a jar and showed your daughter how to catch fireflies. once they had about 10 of them, they sat on the blankets with their heads ducked together to observe them, giving each one a unique name.

“let’s call this one tommy,” she says, pointing at a bug near the bottom.

“perfect name, ducky. how’d you get so good at this?”

your little girl giggles, shrugging and letting billy name the next one. it makes your heart so happy to see a man with so much patience and love for your daughter.

when you finally return to the house, it’s time to get your kid ready for bed. tired and pliant from her long day outside catching bugs and weaving flower crowns (that of course billy taught her how to do), she goes down without much of a fight. she does ask billy to stay and tell her a bedtime story, though, and he’s never been one to deny that sweet little face whatever she wants.

you half-listen as billy spins some wild tale about a princess who slay dragons herself, one who doesn’t need a prince to come and rescue her. she’s strong and brave and guess what? she looks just like your little girl, same hair color and little lilac colored dress. his story makes her smile, even as her sleepy eyes begin to blink more slowly. when he finishes, he leans down to kiss her forehead softly and tuck her blanket around her small little body.

“i wish you were my daddy,” she murmurs sleepily, rubbing her eye with one small fist. you see billy freeze and slowly look to you, unsure what to say.

“oh, baby—“ you start, taking a step forward. billy gently cuts you off, which you welcome, not sure what to tell her.

“you know, ducky, sometimes i wish that too,” he whisper conspiratorially. her eyes light up curiously.

“really?” she asks, looking up at him.

“mhm,” he says with a nod. “but i think this little thing we have going here is even more special. you know why?”

she waits for an answer, eyes full of curiosity and wonder at the man sitting on the edge of her bed.

“because i didn’t help to give you life, life gave you and me to each other. and that’s pretty special, don’t you think?”

your little girl smiles, nodding her head. you swallow hard, your eyes feeling a little misty at the way he loves your baby and she loves him. it’s so pure, so unconditional the way they’ve attached themselves to each other.

billy smiles at her and brushes her hair away from her face, giving her chubby cheek a soft caress.

“sweet dreams, baby girl.”

“goodnight billy,” she says with a little yawn, snuggling down into her pillow. billy blows out the oil lamp beside her bed, following you out of her bedroom and closing the door softly.

“i’m sorry if i overstepped, i didn—“ he’s cut off by you grabbing his face and pulling him down into a dizzying kiss. you smile against his mouth when he doesn’t hesitate for even a second to kiss you back, his arms winding around your waist to pull you closer.

“thank you,” you whisper when you finally break away for air. “for loving both of us, for taking care of us.”

“sweetheart, you don’t have to thank me for that. i’ll always be here to take care of my two best girls,” he says with a grin, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. “and who knows? maybe one day soon you’ll let me put a ring on that pretty little finger and that little girl in there can call me whatever she wants.”

[verlaineszz]

"My lover, take cover, it's time for fire!"

PRINCESS AFAB! READER x YOKAI! FOREST PROTECTER DAZAI!

( ၴႅၴ+—SUMMARY: The kingdom particularly wasn't fond of the princess due to the conservative misogynistic beliefs, they expected a boy from the start to take over the throne, so the mistreatment happened since the princess was born. Jagged breathing filled the air as the princess ran through the forest as an escape, it was the middle of the night before the princess hid behind a tree, taking deep breaths and looking around before getting surrounded by a red fog and circled by a tall figure with tails and ears, a figure that was sooned to be destined the princess's savior.

࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖FLUFF + SLIGHT ANGST + ROYAL AU˖˚ֶָ֢‧࿔

A/N: I'll let you guys get a good ending.. I guess........ ;-;

also the first part is just a backstory and before reader ran away!!

ᯓ ⁺₊ ♱ .ᐟ — WARNINGS: Cursing, small super duper small mention of blood, a good ending, misogyny (from the kingdom, not dazai -_-..), petnames

Originally, the kingdom wanted a boy. Everybody was praying for another boy to be born since the first beliefs everyone had, that a man will always be stronger, and will always be the one that would do better on the throne. All the kingdoms joy slowly dissappeared when they heard a female was the one that was gonna be born, everyone became devasted.. Which led you to being known as a disappointment to the entire kingdom. All eyes went to your younger brother, same features as you and characteristics but the difference was, he was a male.

The favoritism between you and your brother was so different. Your parents indifference towards you was evident that you weren't special to them.

All this treatment towards your brother made him act immature and spoiled.

Now to present times.. Your parents currently made a fool out of you during one of the royal events, while they praised your brother. During the whole scenario, your hands were clutched and your knuckles white, it hurt. Everyone stared and laugh, your own family did this to you.

As they laugh, you slowly excused yourself and walk away, the second you left the sights of the crowd, you ran. You ran as fast as you could. You went in your room and removed some of the layerd of your dress, everything was heavy. It was overstimulating, tears escaped from your eyes because of how much anger you held against your family, you wore something lighter to go out, some longer bloomers, socks, an above the ankle length skirt and you packed your things in a slingbag, a dagger slid down the thigh garter pocket incase of self defense, you took your cloak and put it around you.

You looked around and outside the window if anyone was watching you, you were paranoid. It was already near dark so you snuck out.

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺𓆩❦︎𓆪༻♱༉°‧₊˚.

Running through the woods was tough, the rough and spikey rocks were always in the way, it was getting dark but atleast the stars and the moonlight illuminated brightly so you can atleast have some light source, during the first period of running, you tripped and scraped your knee multipe times, you couldn't help to run. You felt all the negative feelings anyway..

Your breath was unsteady, the blood dripped down your knee and you slowed down, your movements became sluggish, you sigh and walk farther in the forest, having no clue where you even were right now. You had a map but you were too tired to get it out, as you walked sluggishly, at the corner of your eye you saw something. A black figure circling fast.

You gulped and stop dead at your tracks from fear, this can't be happening right? You weren't even aware that there. Might've been ghosts around the area, you cover your mouth with shakey arms to stop yourself from screaming, you began to ran.

Your breath became jagged as you ran, sweat trickled dowm your back as you ran, without looking down where you stepped, you tripped again. Leaving a patch of blood on the ground, you try to catch your breath and you sit down, leaning on a tree before seeing red fog.. It was a beautiful crimson red. You crawl backwards, letting out a gasp as a tall figure immerged from the fog, he had brown brunette hair, brown eyes, 9 tails and fox ears on his head.. He grinned as he looked at you, walking to you slowly.

He wore a dark crimson red hakama kimono and a mischievous grin.

"What the.. Who are you?! Don't get any closer!" you yelled, he tilted his head to the side with pursed lips, he stared at your bleeding legs and bruised arms. You notice this action and cover them up, he sighed and obliged, not getting any closer since he respected your boundaries.

"But your injured. I can smell the reek of blood from you, yknow." he pouted and looked to the side with his arms crossed, still keeping a safe distance from you.

"This is none of your business." you snarked back

"Maybe it is." he grinned at you, he already knew who you were, he has been guarding the forests for years, he always knows what the news are in the city, and that led him to catch an interest towards you, he somehow empathizes with you.

"Unless you want that to get infected." he slowly walked closer to you, he bent down and checked your wounds as you sat there, not really knowing what to do.. He was quite attractive, but then again, you don't trust anyone.. But he did have a point.

You look to the side and scratch the behind of your neck, his presence was oddly comforting but the suddenness made you feel weird, it was like a paradox, and you didn't know if you should let him get even near you.. He had 9 tails and ears for godsake...

He looked at your tearstained face and he smiles softly, "Do you have a place to stay at? What're you even doing here anyway.."

"... I dont, but I'm here because i ran away."

"tsk tsk tsk.." he shaked his head, "Don't be so reckless next time, since you are a pretty little thing. Why dont i help you out?"

You raise a brow, "Really? You will?" you ask skeptically.

He chuckles and puts his hands on your wounds, your eyes widens when he touched you, it stung before a crimson glow emitted from his hand, the glow healed your wounds.

"Wait..how..?" you look back at him in awe, he laughed and rest his elbow on his knee while his cheek was againts his palm. "Don't worry about that bella, do you want a place to stay at for tonight?"

You blinked, "uh.. And how do i know i can trust you?"

"I just healed you?" he replied back.

He did have a point.. "Okay, i do need a place to stay at for tonight."

⁺‧₊˚ஓ༻𓆩♡𓆪༺ஓ˚₊‧⁺

The trip to his realm was breathtaking, it was a whole nother realm. The crimson realm. The moon was a glowy red, the trees were red leaved weeping willows and there were red lamps everywhere, and a row of toriis.

Everything had a beautiful illuminating red, as you left the multiple rows of torii gates stairs, you were greeted with bustling red and orange lights, chatter, and a tune played by a shamisen, dazai patted your head and turned your attention to him. "That's just the market, my dear. Let's go to my place." he smiled softly at you.

"okay.." you nodded and followed him.

The forest full of weeping red leafed willows and a beautiful clear river that reflected the moonlight was beautiful, he walked through the path and walk on a tall red bridge. The bridge was high, you looked down and saw a white fog abyss. Dazai smirked and tapped your shoulder, pointing at the sky. The sky was a beautiful glowy dark red, it was only red because the moon illuminated it. Up at the distance were floating foggy houses, it was all floating in the sky, you smiled softly and chuckled, you were definitely happy that you went with him.

He notices your smile and he chuckles, finding your little reactions cute.

The ongoing trip was beautiful, everything was so picturesque and this is probably the most happiest you have ever been, you and dazai eventually reached his home.. And his house was big.. It isn't even a house, it was a mansion. It was a tall tenshu. The length of the house was so tall that you couldn't even see the top, it was ongoing into the foggy abyss up in the sky.

"This is absolutely gorgeous." you say in awe while you stared.

"Aw.. Thank you!" dazai chuckled.

The trip into his palace was like a Rollercoaster, there were multiple foxes guiding the both of you into it, "If you ever get lost, just ask one of the foxes, this place is infinite so don't try to find out whats the highest floor."

Oh.. Err.. You nod and continue following him along the way, each step, walls kept changing, his place was a maze and a puzzle that only he could solve.

"So, er.. Why are you taking me in?" you asked as you followed him in little puppy steps.

"Well why not? You're a pretty little thing and i can't leave you alone in the woods can i?" he smirked and tilted his head to the side abit as you followed him into his room

The scent of something floral flooded your nose, he really did know how to keep a place looking sleek. Red and yellow lamps surrounded the hallways, you follow dazai and as he tours you around, you notice how lonely it must be in his big place.

He sits you down on a chabudai table which already had food laid out on it, brewed tea and chopsticks, as if dazai knew he'd be taking you home for tonight.

He sits right infront of you, a cocky smirk plastered on his face, "so how do you like this place?"

"The aroma and the art in this place is beautiful." you reply back with a chuckle, gently taking the chopsticks and looking at the food served at the table, as soon you took the chopsticks, he did as well, eating the same phase as you while talking.

"Not as beautiful as you though!" he mutters in a sing-song tone, like he was saying it sarcastically, when he fully knows, he meant it.

"Oh cut that out" you snarked back, before chuckling. As soon as the corners of your lips turned up, dazai felt pleased with himself, staring at your pretty face and thinking about how you'd look tainted in his affection and obsession.

⁺‧₊˚ஓ༻𓆩♡𓆪༺ஓ˚₊‧⁺

After their meal together, dazai leads you to the red and yellow lamp lit halls, with foxes lying around and playing everywhere, the atmosphere calm with a faint shamisen sound filled the halls with a low hum of an energy that reeked of awaiting and satisfaction.. Since dazai did create this realm in his own magick, surely must of hus thoughts or emotions have been engraved in the air right?

Dazai leads yoy down a long, shadowed corridor. His usual aloofness has melted away, and he seems to radiate a possessive intensity, his eyes watching your every movement as you are his most precious treasure and priority.

Finally, he stops in front of a large, ornate door, its wood dark and polished, the carvings on it glowing faintly as if they’re alive. He opens the door and gestures for you to step inside, what a gentleman i guess?

The room is extravagant, more extravagant than your room in your own home. Every corner of the room is adorned with trinkets and ornaments that flows a mysterious, ancient charm, treasures he has collected over countless centuries, just to impress you.

Dazai’s gaze never leaves her, his expression dark with yearning. “This is all yours now,” he says, voice low. "Just for you, my dear." he winked.

There’s a strange glint in his eyes that you couldn't put a finger to. Was it a glint of approval? Promiscuity?

He swiftly walks behind you, extending a hand to pat your head, grabbing your hand and kissing your knuckles, making you jump abit.

Days turn to weeks and weeks turn into months, and each and every day, Dazai's obsession deepens, a deep affection eating him with urges of wanting your touch and words, say his name and he's wrapped around your finger.

Every morning, he is there whenever you wake up, as if he was watching your every move.. Always greeting you with a possesive look, always feeding you delicacies from both the human world and his own Realm, dishes and delights reserved only for royalty. He takes his time to pour you tea, serving you as though you were an empress and he , your one and only devoted subject.

Though during the first few weeks of dazai acting like you were the empress of the realm, some spirits first looked at you with suspicion.. Since you are a human lady. But slowly and surely, the way dazai looked at you and how you somehow always reject his advances, the spirit folks got used to it, worshipping you slowly as dazais influence spread around the realm like wildfire. Giving you the royal attention and treatment you deserved.

By night, Dazai stands guard at your door or sits beside you, gently peppering your knuckles with kisses, his gaze lingering over you with an almost feverish intensity. He often brushes his fingers along yoru hand, and though his touch is gentle, there’s a power behind it.. a silent oath that promises to keep you safe, adored, and worshipped.

Unbeknownst to you, Dazai has already begun initiating his planned wrath upon the family that mistreated you..

In the mortal realm, your family’s wealth starts to burn into ash slowly, their alliances falling apart in ways that seem like mere misfortunes but are far too perfectly timed..

Of course, dazai, the bastard he is, never told you.. Since he was too busy giving you a good time so you'd never even think of leaving his realm that he made just for you, within each touch from you shoulder to your neck, blood is already dripping down from the neck of the people who hurt you,

And each night, as you drifts off to sleep in your room adorned with luxury, Dazai’s adoration swells to something beyond mortal love.

A/n: this fic is super rushed... I was originally gonna make it more bloody but i got tired. Giving you guys a taste of fluff.

© All works by @Verlaineszz. Do not copy, redistribute, or repost on other platforms.

[t1red-twilight]

through the ages

part 1

content/warnings: gn!reader, fluff, doesn’t follow cannon super closely (i’m stupid), cursing, mentions of spencelle (bc i said so)

notes: lmao finally got this out

word count: 2.0k

masterlist series masterlist s. r. masterlist

hotch opened the door and brought you in. spencer took note of everything; the curve of your lips, the way you walked. he had never been so enamored with a single person before. sure, he’d had crushes. but never once had he immediately needed to know someone.

aaron’s introduction of you was wordless; the world lagged as spencer gazed upon you but desperately tried to avoid eye contact. every spot of your face, every imperfection had him speechless.

you had just graduated, masters in criminal justice and a minor in sociology from princeton. full ride scholarship, spencer later found out. (your writing was exquisite; very insightful. he looked it up in the hotel later that evening.)

it had been a normal day in the office, as normal as it could be. then, his world stopped when he saw you. after elle had left something in him felt sort of numb; maybe, you could give him a spark.

you sat in the chair directly to his left on the opposite side of the table. one elbow leaned on the desk, and you wordlessly mouthed words he couldn’t make out as the case was described. your eyes flicked over to him, and he quickly looked back at hotch. had you caught him staring, or had you wanted to catch a glimpse of him? he knew that this could maybe mean that you were trying to look at him from the same motivations that he was, enamorment, or maybe you had just sensed him staring like a frog at a fly: quickly, insignificantly.

the only issue was that it seemed you liked morgan.

las vegas, nevada was where the team was headed. being here reminded spencer of things, memories he didn’t care to recall. he noticed how you were hesitant to speak up, a feeling he had been familiar with a few years ago when he first joined the team.

the police station was incredibly stuffy, typical for the las vegas summertime. if you looked out into the road, you could see mirages. the police station had ac, but it was not helpful by any means at all.

spencer looked over at you. your hands were in your lap, and you were intently focused on something that morgan was saying. morgan was sitting on the table in the centers of the conference room, and you were looking up at him.

the stretch of morgan’s muscles underneath his shirt made spencer’s chest pang with envy. what did you think about morgan? was morgan your type? oh, god. maybe spencer didn’t even have a chance.

he didn’t see hotch approaching. “you find anything on the geographical profile, reid?” spencer blinked rapidly in an effort to clear his mind. he turned around to face the map that he had been leaning on. “distracted?” hotch’s eyebrows raised in what spencer knew to be amusement, though he was never hyper-expressive.

“uh- no. i’m alright. all the murders were in the same police jurisdiction, and all within a mile of each other. the focal point of these suggest that the unsub might live-“

-

you couldn’t stop your hands from shaking. this introduction could make or break your relationship with the bau team. it didn’t help that you were so young and inexperienced. hell, you were still working on your phd.

aaron hotchner guided you into the room and recited your name and qualifications. however, your eyes were glued to the wall right above the shoulder of a tall man, who had a goatee.

when you peeled your eyes away from the wall, you saw him. he had light brown hair, and starry eyes that were behind thick-rimmed glasses. one of his plump lips was tucked between his teeth.

once hotchner finished, you sat down paid attention as much as you could to the case that you were being sent on. baptism by fire, you guessed.

every now and then, you’d look out of the corner of your eye to look at the man in glasses. hopefully he wouldn’t catch you trying to memorize every freckle and line on his face.

you stayed mostly silent on the jet. you figured that you could mostly shadow the other people on the team before you got the hang of things. the chairs on the jet were not super comfortable; or maybe, you were just ridiculously tense.

you had only been to las vegas one or two times, and one of those times was just driving through. the police station was crowded and full of typical police assholes. that, you were more than used to. a bead of sweat dripped down your back.

when you sat down to look at the police reports one more time, you heard the table creak as someone sat upon it. looking up, you saw the man with the goatee from earlier. “so, where’d you work before you landed this gig?”

you exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding. at least he was being casual. still, you dropped your hands to your lap to fiddle with your fingers. “i was an assistant at a firm up in jersey,” you said, pausing briefly. “remind me what your name was again?”

“i’m morgan.” you followed by telling him your name. he must’ve seen you glancing over at the man in glasses repeatedly. he was raptly describing the geographical profile to agent hotchner. “that’s reid, if you didn’t already know.”

“that’s good to know. this morning was a little rushed.” your eyes trailed over agent reid. the way his fingers moved across the map with intense dexterity was enticing.

morgan chuckled and rolled his eyes playfully (even though you couldn’t see it, your gaze still locked on reid). “he’s single,” morgan purred, jumping off the table to return to his previous task.

you felt like a deer caught in the headlights, but morgan was gone before you could protest to what he was alluding to.

-

the case had gone by smoothly. but spencer could hardly even focus when you were within fifty feet of him. he was inexplicably drawn to you.

the jet was much cooler than vegas had been, and the entire team felt relieved. you were the last on, spencer quickly sat upright. were you walking towards him?

you spoke in a soft tone, “can i sit here? all the other seats are taken.” you clasped your hands together, likely out of nerves.

spencer nodded vigorously before he answered. he almost forgot to respond verbally. “yeah!” he said loudly. shit. he didn’t want to seem too eager, he might embarrass himself. “yes, of course you can.” this time, he spoke as quietly and calmly as he could muster while simultaneously scooting over to make room for you on the couch.

he tried to avoid eye contact. luckily, you weren’t even looking in his direction. if you had been, you might see the red creeping up his neck. you had a light floral scent about you, one that reminded him of simpler times when life was less hectic.

“agent reid, right?” you murmured. even though it was just his last name, he loved the way you said it, rolling off your tongue so smoothly and delicately.

he shrugged and leaned back on the couch slightly, trying to relax his shoulders. “doctor, actually, but you can just call me spencer.”

your tongue swiped your bottom lip before you spoke. “spencer. that suits you.” oh god, it did sound great when you said it. it sounded downright angelic; almost as if you were the only person meant to say it.

a silence followed. while being slightly awkward, spencer wasn’t too concerned about it. at least you were sitting next to him and not derek. “did you have a job before this one?”

“yeah, i was a lawyer’s assistant.” your voice was more soft than it had been. spencer looked over at you for the first time since you sat next to him.

“you like the bau so far?”

“how long have you worked for the bau?” you both spoke over each other; you turned and met his gaze. your eyes were beautiful, the lighting of the jet illuminating your face in a perfect way. spencer gestured for you to speak first.

“yeah, it’s alright.” a small smile adorned your lips. spencer wondered what they tasted like, before shutting that thought down completely. he couldn’t be thinking that about his coworker, let alone one he met less than forty eight hours ago.

you mirrored his gesture. “i’ve worked at the bau for a couple of years now.” what a dumb response. why couldn’t he think or speak properly?

his mind kept wandering. “you like it so far?” he whispered.

“yeah, it’s pretty cool.” pretty cool? who even says that? “just let me know if you need anything.” you gave him a warm smile and nodded. the way you smiled made him giddy and filled his stomach with butterflies.

-

being last on the jet didn’t work out well for you. every seat was taken, and the few that weren’t had feet propped up on them. in the back, you could see the couch still had space. perhaps spencer wouldn’t mind?

you walked over hesitantly to the couch. he didn’t notice you right away. “can i sit here? all the other seats are taken,” you noted, rocking on your heels.

he looked up at you, responding brightly. “yeah!” he moved over and spoke more quietly. “yes, of course you can.” there was a good six inches between the two of you, but it was as if you were brushing up against him with how your nerves were treating you.

small talk sucked, but you figured it would probably benefit you in getting to know your coworkers. “agent reid, right?” you recalled morgan’s anecdote from earlier, at the police station. it would really suck if you had somehow managed to forget his name in the time it took to solve the case and fly back to quantico.

“doctor, actually but you can just call me spencer.” shit, you totally just disrespected him. if only agent hotchner had properly introduced everyone when you were introduced.

trying to hide your increasing embarrassment, you tried, again, to be casual. “spencer. that suits you.” you should have apologized. not knowing what to say, you sat in the silence that consumed the rest of the jet. your knee bobbed up and down, you pulled at your fingers, and breathed deeply.

“did you have a job before this one?” he cleared his throat. did everything he did have to be attractive?

“yeah, i was a lawyer’s assistant.”

he had been looking at you, you realized. how long had he been looking at you and you were too skittish to look at him? how could you, with his gorgeous starry eyes.

in another circumstance his ‘interrogation’ would have intimidated you but, you only felt anxious from trying to impress him. “you like the bau so far?”

“how long have you worked for the bau?” the two of you interrupted each other. a laugh was shared and you relaxed for once, your posture looking a little less like you were constipated.

the chill of the jet was setting in; that, or spencer was just giving you goosebumps. he waved his hand in a motion saying that you should respond first. “yeah, it’s alright.” you actually really liked it (despite the morbidity, but that you were used to). but, you had to seem cool. chill, not like you were analyzing every thing he did and said to see if he liked you.

copying what he did, you silently urged that he was good to respond. “i’ve worked at the bau for a couple of years now,” he nodded as he spoke.

small talk did suck, a lot, but at least you were talking to spencer and not alone with your worried thoughts. “you like it so far?” you asked.

“yeah, it’s pretty cool.” his adam’s apple bobbed. “just let me know if you need anything.” you smiled at this, his comfort proving successful. the tension in your spine finally dissipated. it was good that you were at least on good terms with the bau member closest in age with you.

next part

[moonselune]

hi there 🙃

could you write the female companions' reactions to a normally passive (as in, pacifist, -- bard, healer, etc) tav, who genuinly dislikes violence, absolutely demolishing someone after they dared lay hands on their beloved?

not like in a, 'dont touch em!! Take dat!!' way after someone accidentally bumps shoulders with their partner, im talking about someone insulting tavs significant other, both physically and verbally, SO BAD, that tav cant help but go ballistic on em 😦

like, for example, someone berating Shadowheart, mocking her, mocking shar, kickin her to the ground n allat, and before she can even respond or fight back, the very same person who was berating her suddenly has a spear impaling them through the heart ?? As the stranger falls down, tav stands tall behind them, pulling the spear out and hurling it to the ground along with the now lifeless corpse 👽

if this is too dark feel free to ignore 💕

Ahh I love this and not too dark at all xox

Karlach:

The camp was quiet, the crackling of the fire and the occasional distant howl of wildlife the only sounds in the crisp evening air. You watched as Karlach, her fiery mane glowing in the flickering light, paced near the edge of the clearing. Her usual exuberant energy was gone, replaced with a taut line to her shoulders and a clenched jaw. It was rare to see her so subdued, and it made your heart ache.

The cause of her distress, Gortash’s lackey—a smarmy, cruel barite with a penchant for striking where it hurt most—still lingered in the shadows, his mocking laughter replaying in your ears.

“Naive and stupid,” he had jeered earlier. “To think you’d ever amount to more than a pawn, Karlach. A brute without a brain. That’s all you are, just a weapon Gortash no longer needs.”

Karlach had held her tongue—barely. You’d seen the way her fists had clenched, the way her chest had heaved as she fought to keep her Infernal Engine from roaring to life. Instead of lashing out, she had walked away, muttering about needing to cool off.

But you couldn’t let it go. Not this time.

You rose from your seat by the fire and slipped into the shadows, the hidden dagger in your boot feeling heavier than usual. Violence wasn’t your way; it never had been. But for Karlach? For the woman who had given you her heart, who carried so much pain behind her warm smiles and boundless energy? For her, you would make an exception.

You found the lackey leaning against a tree, a smug grin plastered on his face as though he thought himself untouchable. He didn’t even notice you approach.

“Lost, are we?” he sneered, his eyes finally meeting yours. “Or have you come to defend your pet?”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you closed the distance in a flash, the dagger in your hand before he could even register the movement. One swift, silent motion, and it was over. The man’s eyes widened in shock as he crumpled to the ground, his lifeblood staining the forest floor. You wiped the blade clean on his cloak, your heart pounding in your chest—not from fear, but from the fierce protectiveness that had driven you to act.

When you returned to camp, Karlach was sitting by the fire, her head resting on her knees. She looked up as you approached, her fiery eyes searching your face for any sign of what had transpired.

“Where’d he go?” she asked, her voice tinged with confusion. “The loudmouth. I didn’t hear him leave.”

You sat beside her, tucking the dagger away as nonchalantly as possible.

“Don’t worry about him,” you said softly, offering her a reassuring smile. “He’s gone now. Probably realized he wasn’t welcome.”

Karlach tilted her head, studying you for a moment. Then she smiled, a small, grateful thing that made your heart swell.

“Guess even idiots like him know when to back off, huh?” she said, leaning into your side.

You wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close as her warmth seeped into you. If she suspected anything, she didn’t show it. After all, you were the pacifist, the one who hated violence. The idea that you could harm someone—let alone end them—would never cross her mind.

As you sat there, the fire crackling softly and Karlach’s tension melting away, you felt a strange sense of peace. You had done what needed to be done, and Karlach was none the wiser. She didn’t need to know. All that mattered was that she was safe, her spirit undimmed.

You pressed a kiss to the top of her head, your lips brushing against her wild hair.

“I’ll always look out for you,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her. And you meant it—no matter what it took.

Minthara:

The dimly lit underdark tavern was alive with the quiet murmurs of its occupants, the air thick with the heady mix of incense and intrigue. Minthara stood at your side, her presence regal and unyielding even in the face of a room filled with drow - some nobles. Their venomous words and sidelong glances were nothing new—Minthara had endured their scorn since the fall of the Absolute. But tonight, one of them crossed a line.

Lady Velrith, a figure draped in finery as dark and ostentatious as her twisted smirk, circled Minthara like a predator.

“The mighty Minthara,” she drawled, her voice dripping with mockery. “Once a chosen of the Absolute, now… what? Cast aside by the very gods you claimed to serve? Even Lolth herself wouldn’t sully her name with your devotion.”

Minthara’s hands clenched at her sides, her jaw tightening as she prepared to retort—or strike. Her amber eyes glinted with barely contained rage, but before she could act, you stepped forward.

“Enough,” you said, your voice calm yet laced with a warning. Velrith turned her gaze to you, clearly unimpressed by your intervention.

“And who is this?” Velrith sneered, looking you up and down. “Minthara’s little pet, come to defend her honor? How quaint.”

Your grip tightened on the hilt of your dagger, hidden beneath the folds of your cloak. You were not one for violence—it was something you abhorred, something Minthara often teased you about. But this time, this venomous noble had gone too far. Minthara was yours, your heart, your everything. No one insulted her and lived to gloat about it.

Without a word, you lunged. The dagger moved like a whisper, slicing through the air and finding its mark in Velrith’s throat. Her eyes widened in shock as she staggered, clutching at the wound, blood spilling between her fingers. She collapsed to the floor, lifeless.

The chamber fell into stunned silence. You stood over the noble’s body, your chest heaving as you looked down at her. The room seemed to shrink around you, every eye locked on the scene. But none mattered except Minthara’s.

When you turned to her, she was staring at you, her expression a mixture of astonishment and something else—pride.

“You… killed her,” Minthara said, stepping closer. Her voice was quiet, but the weight of her words hung heavy in the air. “You, who flinch at the mere thought of bloodshed.”

“I did,” you replied simply, wiping the dagger on a scrap of cloth before sheathing it. “She insulted you. I couldn’t stand by and let that happen.”

Minthara’s lips parted, as though she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. For a moment, the ever-composed drow was at a loss. Then, a slow, almost predatory smile spread across her face.

“You stole my kill,” she said, her tone light but edged with amusement. “But I find I cannot be angry with you. Not when you’ve proven yourself so… capable.”

“I wasn’t going to let her speak to you like that,” you said, stepping closer to her. “You deserve better.”

Her amber eyes locked onto yours, and she reached up to cradle your face in her hands.

“You surprise me, my love,” she murmured. “You, with your pacifist heart, spilling blood for me. I could not ask for a more devoted partner.”

Her words sent a warmth through you, even as the weight of what you’d done lingered in the back of your mind. She leaned in, brushing her lips against yours in a kiss that was both possessive and tender.

“Next time,” she whispered against your lips, “leave the killing to me. But… thank you. For reminding them, and me, that I am not to be underestimated.”

The two of you left the chamber together, her hand resting on your arm as though to shield you from any further hostility. Though you had shocked her, you had also proven your devotion in a way few ever could.

Lae'zel:

The air in Creche Y'llek was sharp with the scent of steel and the faint tang of psionic energy. Githyanki warriors moved through the halls with an air of superiority, their every movement deliberate and precise. You stayed close to Lae’zel, her presence steady and fierce as ever, though you could sense the tension coiling in her like a spring. This was her home, but it was no safe haven—not anymore.

“Traitorous filth,” a sneering voice cut through the air, stopping the two of you in your tracks.

A gith warrior, clad in gleaming armor, stood with arms crossed, his expression twisted into a contemptuous sneer. His name was Ver’sath, a seasoned warrior and a guard they had encountered at the entrance, and his eyes burned with disdain as they locked onto Lae’zel.

“You dare walk among us, tainted by the ghaik’s spawn?” Ver’sath spat, his voice dripping with disgust. “Your very breath defiles this creche.”

Lae’zel’s jaw tightened, but she stepped forward, her gaze like steel. “I am no ghaik, Ver’sath. I bear the parasite, yes, but it does not rule me. I will cleanse myself and prove my worth.”

Ver’sath snorted, taking a step back as though the mere proximity of her presence was offensive. “You are already lost, Lae’zel. A ghaik puppet masquerading as gith. I wouldn’t sully my blade or my honor by crossing steel with you.”

The insult hung heavy in the air, and you felt your blood boil. Without thinking, without considering the consequences, your hand darted to your weapon. Before Lae’zel could respond, you surged forward, the blade singing as it left its sheath.

The movement was swift, fueled by a fire you rarely allowed to burn. Ver’sath’s eyes widened in shock as your weapon pierced his chest, the blade slipping between the plates of his armor. He staggered back, a choked gasp escaping his lips as he collapsed to the ground.

Silence fell over the corridor, broken only by the sound of his lifeless body hitting the stone floor. You stood there, breathing heavily, your weapon dripping with blood.

“Lae’zel,” you began, turning to her, but her expression stopped you short.

Her golden eyes blazed with a mix of fury and disbelief. She grabbed your wrist, yanking you aside.

“Do you know what you’ve done?” she hissed, her voice low but intense. “We are in a creche! Such actions will not go unnoticed!”

You met her gaze, guilt and defiance warring within you. “He insulted you. He—”

“I did not need your protection,” she snapped, though her grip on your wrist softened. “This place is not like the surface. Here, there are rules—strict ones. You jeopardize both of us.”

“But he called you…” you trailed off, the weight of your impulsiveness settling over you. “I couldn’t let him speak to you like that. I couldn’t stand it.”

For a moment, Lae’zel said nothing. Then, with a heavy sigh, she released your wrist.

“You are a fool,” she muttered, her tone softer now. “A reckless fool. But… you acted from loyalty, and for that, I cannot truly fault you.”

Her gaze lingered on the fallen Ver’sath before returning to you.

“Come,” she said, pulling you away. “We must move quickly before his absence raises questions. But hear me, my love—do not act so rashly again. I can handle the scorn of weaklings like him.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as you followed her. “I only did it because I care.”

She glanced at you, the corner of her mouth twitching in what might have been the ghost of a smile. “I know. But let us survive this place, so you may continue to care another day.”

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart rarely showed fear. She was a woman forged in darkness, raised to endure pain and thrive in chaos. But as she knelt on the damp cobblestones of the alley, surrounded by sneering Sharrans, her shoulders trembled ever so slightly. Their taunts echoed off the walls, cruel and cutting.

"Look at her," one sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "A failed servant of the Dark Lady. What a disgrace. Did Shar discard you like the trash you are?"

Another kicked her in the side, and Shadowheart grunted, but she refused to cry out. "Pathetic," the second hissed. "Begging for scraps of redemption when you were meant to walk the shadows."

The third leaned close, gripping her chin roughly and forcing her to meet his gaze. "Do you miss her embrace, girl? Or did you run because you knew you weren’t worthy?"

Shadowheart’s hand twitched toward her weapon, but she was outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and worse, they knew her weaknesses. She felt their jeers carving into her like knives, cutting far deeper than any blade ever could.

But then, a voice cut through the din like a blade through silk. “Take your hands off her.”

The Sharrans turned, their expressions shifting from derision to surprise as you stepped into the mouth of the alley. You weren’t carrying a weapon; you never did. You were a bard, a healer, someone who mended wounds and sang away sorrow. To them, you were no threat at all.

And yet, there was something in your eyes—a stillness, a quiet storm—that made them pause.

"Or what?" one of them sneered, recovering quickly. "You’ll sing us a ballad?"

Your gaze flicked to Shadowheart. She was watching you, her face pale but her eyes wide with something like warning—or perhaps pleading. And then your attention snapped back to the Sharrans.

It happened so fast they didn’t have time to react. In one fluid motion, you grabbed a discarded spear leaning against the alley wall—likely dropped there by the very fools now surrounding Shadowheart—and hurled it with deadly precision. The first Sharran crumpled to the ground, the spear embedded in his chest.

The others blinked in shock, their bravado faltering. Before they could act, you closed the distance. Your movements were a blur, driven not by technique but by sheer, unrelenting determination. You snatched the spear from the lifeless body and swung it in a wide arc, knocking the second Sharran to the ground. He tried to scramble to his feet, but you drove the butt of the spear into his skull with a sickening crack.

The last Sharran, the one who had dared lay hands on Shadowheart, stumbled back, his confidence shattered.

“You’re mad!” he spat, drawing a dagger. “You’re just a bard—!”

His words were cut short as you thrust the spear forward, impaling him through the heart. He looked down at the weapon protruding from his chest, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for words. Then he fell, lifeless, onto the cobblestones.

You stood there, breathing heavily, the spear still clutched in your hands. Blood dripped from its tip, pooling around your feet. Shadowheart pushed herself upright, staring at you in stunned silence.

“Are you hurt?” you asked, your voice softer than she expected. You turned to her, your hands reaching out, but when you saw the blood on them, you hesitated.

Shadowheart shook her head, stepping closer. “You…” Her voice faltered, her usual poise slipping. “You just…”

You dropped the spear, letting it clatter to the ground as you moved to her side.

“They touched you,” you said simply, as though that explained everything. “No one touches you.”

For a moment, Shadowheart didn’t know what to say. She had always seen you as the gentle one, the light to her shadow, the person who hated violence and refused to carry a blade. And yet here you were, standing over the bodies of her tormentors, bloodied but unbowed.

“You didn’t have to—” she began, but you cut her off with a look.

“Yes, I did,” you said firmly. “And I would do it again.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. Instead, she closed the distance between you and pulled you into a fierce embrace, her hands clutching the back of your tunic as though afraid you might disappear. You held her just as tightly, the adrenaline in your veins slowly giving way to the aching reality of what you’d done.

“You��re a fool,” she murmured against your shoulder, her voice thick with emotion. “A reckless, beautiful fool.”

“And you’re worth every risk,” you replied, your lips brushing against her hair.

For once, Shadowheart didn’t argue.

Jaheira:

The evening at the tavern had been pleasant—cozy firelight, a few shared drinks, and soft murmurs of conversation between you and Jaheira. That was until a brash mercenary swaggered in, loud and boisterous, his voice cutting through the calm like a blade. His gaze had landed on Jaheira almost immediately, and the mocking began.

“Well, if it isn’t the elder druid herself,” he sneered, leaning on the edge of your table. “Tell me, Jaheira, do you need a cane to walk the forest now? Or do you just lean on the young one here to keep from breaking a hip?”

Jaheira’s lips tightened, her calm exterior betraying the faintest flicker of irritation. “Is there something you need?” she asked coolly, clearly unimpressed by his attempt to bait her.

The mercenary chuckled, ignoring her measured tone. “No need to get prickly, grandmother. Just surprised to see someone your age still kicking about. Aren’t you tired of pretending you can keep up with the rest of us? Retirement suits your kind better.”

Your hands clenched under the table. You hated violence, avoided it when you could, but the disdain in his voice and the way he looked down at Jaheira lit a fire in your chest. Before Jaheira could respond—before she could dismiss him or turn him into a toad with a flick of her magic—you stood up, your chair scraping against the floor.

“Step outside with me,” you said evenly, your voice calm but cold.

The mercenary blinked, surprised by the sudden challenge from someone who looked so unassuming. “What’s this?” he laughed. “The pacifist wants to have a word?”

“Now,” you insisted, your tone brooking no argument. The quiet intensity in your gaze must have unnerved him, as his smirk faltered before he shrugged and followed you out.

The alley behind the tavern was dark, the cold night air biting at your skin. The mercenary turned to face you, still smirking. “So, what’s this about? You gonna give me a little lecture? Maybe cry about—”

His words were cut off as you moved faster than he expected, the dagger in your hand finding its mark before he could react. A choked sound escaped him as you withdrew the blade, letting him crumple to the ground. You wiped the dagger clean on his tunic and left him where he fell, the anger in your chest finally settling as you turned back toward the warm glow of the tavern.

Jaheira looked up as you reentered the room, her sharp gaze immediately locking onto you.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.

“Nothing,” you replied, slipping back into your chair with an air of nonchalance. “It’s taken care of.”

Jaheira’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she reached across the table, her thumb brushing against your cheek. When she pulled her hand back, there was a faint smear of red on her fingertip.

“I see,” she said dryly, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite the situation. “And I suppose I shouldn’t ask for details?”

“Probably not,” you admitted, leaning back in your chair.

Jaheira studied you for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she reached for her drink, raising it in a small, almost imperceptible gesture of gratitude.

“I don’t need to know,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “But… thank you.”

You smiled, a warmth blooming in your chest that had nothing to do with the firelight.

“Always,” you said simply, and Jaheira’s small smile widened just enough to light up her face. The incident, though dark, faded into the background as the two of you resumed your evening, the connection between you stronger than ever.

I hope everyone is having a very happy holidays, here are some bg3 ladies for you all. Hope you enjoyed this! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[psiroller]

OkOk, so I know you’re currently in the middle of writing who knows how many more dunmeshi fics, but have you considered Tall-man x Tall-man Chillchuck and Laios yet? Maybe for a quick little drabble or something? I feel like that could go somewhere maybe.. If not this is just me rambling 😔, so feel free to ramble back and have a good day <3

oh anon. you found me juuust as i was raring up to procrastinate. you are in luck. CHILAIOS/656 WORDS/TALLCHUCKXLAIOS/CONSIDER THIS BREAK THE LOCK CANON

“Okay,” Chilchuck said, his voice deeper and rougher than Laios was used to. “What’re you staring at?”

Laios blinked. “You, obviously.”

“But aren’t you used to this shit yet? Do I look different now that you’ve changed back?”

Laios cocked his head. The changeling effect had worn off for Laios a few hours ago, but Chilchuck was still a tallman. Maybe because he was lower to the ground, he got a larger payload? Laios had made extra sure they’d scrubbed everything off him, so it was only a matter of time. Laios didn’t like to think about the possibility Chilchuck never changing back, but with his taller stature returned he could properly appreciate the differences. Chilchuck loomed over Laios as a dwarf and was still taller than him now. His cheekbones were higher, his face stretched along a taller jaw, stubble emerging so soon after a morning shave. Yet, besides the slightly sunken and tired look, Chilchuck’s eyes were still the same; pitch dark in low light, amber-brown in front of the fire, intense when met.

“You do,” Laios said, “but you don’t. I keep noticing little things.”

A blush rose on Chilchuck’s gaunt face, scratching at the nape of his neck. “Well, don’t get too invested. It’s gonna wear off soon.” He rubbed the pressure point on his temple. “Hopefully.”

“It will,” Laios assured him, and scooted closer. “But it’s fascinating… I wonder how the changeling spores decide what form to change someone into?”

“I guess whatever’s funniest,” Chilchuck said with a wry grin. “You saw Izutsumi.”

“I don’t think you’re funny looking, though,” Laios frowned, his eyebrows pinching together. Chilchuck pshawed at him and put a hand on his face when he got close. Laios pushed against it and wriggled, an over-affectionate dog held at bay.

“It’s supposed to make me look freakish to everyone else, so I die alone, right?” Chilchuck said. “Half-foot to tall-man makes sense. I’m twice the size of the biggest guy in my family. Imagine if I came home to my kids like this when they were young.”

He frowned at that, the dark humor sucked out of it by frank darkness. “And an elf to a half-foot,” he went on, trying to wipe the annoying concern off Laios’ face, “That’s gotta be a nightmare. We’re the lowest of the low to them, right?”

“Chilchuck.”

Laios was back in Chilchuck’s space, having evaded his hand, or Chilchuck had let him. It didn’t matter. Chilchuck’s hand found Laios’ shoulder but he didn’t shove. Chilchuck hated being observed so closely, but he made endless exceptions for Laios.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. Chilchuck honked out a laugh. “I’m serious!” Laios barked, and Chilchuck petered out. “I mean it, Chil.”

Chilchuck rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s a shame, since you’re never gonna see this face again.”

Laios held his face and turned Chilchuck to face him, to kiss him. Their faces fit together unevenly even though they were the same size now. Laios scratched his fingers through Chilchuck’s stubble and nuzzled their noses together, did that creepy thing where he opened his eyes to watch Chilchuck as they kissed that always drove him crazy. Laios reached up to touch Chilchuck’s ear, finding a nick in his ear that Marcille could never fully heal all the way, and Chilchuck grumbled as he felt—something like it, it was doing something for him, but maddeningly dull compared to his memory.

“That’s just it, Chil,” Laios breathed. “Seeing you like this, as cool as it is…” he grinned sadly. “I miss you as you are.”

When Laios brought up his other hand to cup Chil’s head, there was a rush of something electric. As he drifted back into reality, he was engulfed in Laios’ warm shadow, and they couldn’t easily interlock their hands. Chilchuck gripped the broad gap between Laios’ middle and ring fingers, and thanked the stupid mushrooms for letting them fit together properly again.

[marvelobsessed134]

Bloody kisses

Based off the request above by @rocklive44

My first time writing for Dracula, so excited!

Pairings: Dracula x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut, biting and blood (obviously cause hes a vampire), somnophelia, my attempt at writing old timey smut 😭

You had gone looking for your brother, Renfield. Now it’s no secret he’s gone mad these past few months having taken up a residency at the local asylum. But he escaped again and you wanted to find him and make sure he’s okay. You learned he tended to frequent a castle of all places. One that seemed to be abandoned but well kept at the same time. Like some lived there but not a human.

You walked through the draw bridge and towards the two large front doors. Using the big knocker, you knocked, waiting for an answer. A few seconds later the two doors opened on their own. Which did set you back a bit, but you were determined to find your brother.

Taking a deep breath you stepped inside, your heels clicking against the floor. The castle was very grand, tall ceilings, a grand entryway and staircase. A prefect gothic fortress. After you got done looking around the entryway you jumped when you saw a man standing at the top of the stairs. He had skin as white as snow, slicked back black hair, a long black cape, white dress shirt underneath with some black pants and loafers. He looked so peculiarly handsome. Dangerous, even. But not dangerous physically. Dangerous in the way he made you feel.

“Um…hello. I’m here looking for my brother, Renfield. I heard he escaped the hospital again and I was told he frequents here a lot. Are you a friend of his?”

A smile spread across the man’s face, “Ah, he’s told me lots about you, Y/n.” His accent was thick and you couldn’t figure out where it came from.

“Oh! Well I hope they’re all good things.” You chuckled nervously, “is he here?” As you spoke you stepped closer to the staircase.

“He’s not here at the moment. But may I show you to a nice meal?” The raven haired man stepped down till he reached you, offering his arm for you to take.

You blushed, “Sure…I guess I don’t see any harm in that.” Oh, how oblivious you were. 

you let him lead you up the stairs into a large room with a fire place, bed, and table & chairs. There was already food on the table with two glasses of wine. The liquid in one of the glasses seemed so much dark than the other but you didn’t pay any mind to it.

“Wow, you must’ve already been expecting someone.” You said.

“Yes. But they seem to have abandoned our dinner plans.”

“Oh.” You gave a sad look, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s quite alright now I have a beautiful lady in my presence.” You blushed at his words.

After you sat down you dug right into the meal, not realizing how hungry you were. “Say, I never got your name.” You asked.

“Dracula.” He responded.

You lifted your eyebrows in surprise at the exotic sounding name, “Very interesting name. Are you from somewhere other than here?”

“I’ve lived in Transylvania my entire life.” He responded.

You watched as he drank his wine, slowly. It seemed like that was his meal. Odd.

After you finished your food you saw the grandfather clock in the corner, “Oh, my! It is getting rather late, I must head home!”

When you stood up to head towards the door Dracula gently grabbed your arm, “It is too dangerous out there for a little girl like you. You can sleep here for the night.”

“Oh, why, I couldn’t be a burden!”

“You would be the opposite, actually.” Oh, there you go again blushing at his words.

“Okay then…I guess I’ll just head to bed.” You pulled back the covers and hopped into bed, relishing in how comfortable it was. You pulled the covers over you and called out to Dracula, “Goodnight Mr-“ but he always already gone.

Late in the night, you swore you felt a presence by you in your sleep. Dracula loomed over you admiring the rise and fall of your chest. Your plump lips as you snored softly. Your hair splayed out on the pillow. Carefully, he pulled back the covers, exposing your body to him.

The vampire undid your blouse and pulled off your skirt, along with your underwear. Your nipples hardened at being exposed to the cold air of the castle. He lightly touched the sensitive buds, pinching them slightly. He didn’t wanna taste you-not yet-because he’d be too tempted to draw your blood.

So he rid himself of his clothes and let his hand wander down to your core. You were already soaking wet which made him grin from ear to ear. His fingers entered you expertly, pumping in and out at a steady pace.

You squirmed and moaned in your sleep, your brows furrowing as he worked his magic. “Sweet little lamb.” He whispered, just as you shot awake. You were embarrassed, scared, and turned on.

“Mr. Dracula! Why, what on earth are you doing?” You asked, making no effort to move out of his grasp as he continued to finger you.

“You’re too sweet for me to ignore, little one.” The man responded, his accent making you even more turned on.

You moaned as he sped up his actions, sending you to orgasm before you even knew it. “Oh!” You cried out, echoing amongst the stone walls.

He quickly lined his cock up to your entrance and pushed himself in, wasting no time to thrust into you over and over again. His calloused hands found their way to your hips, keeping you still while he plowed into you. You moaned and cried out. He groaned and rolled his eyes, muttering praises.

It was so sinful, oh so sinful. You weren’t married to him! But you didn’t want him to stop, it felt so good.

“Fuck!” You huffed as he repeatedly hit your special spot. The vampire found himself getting closer to the edge and right as he came, he lost complete control and bent forward to sink his fangs into your neck. You screamed in both pain and pleasure, the stabbing feeling in your neck and his seed filling your womb.

You should’ve known something was off about Dracula. He was a creature of the night. But part of you let yourself fall victim to him, letting him consume you in anyway he wanted.