#but also i know how to largely deal with and process what i see

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Obvs it wouldn't happen because imprints don't work that way, but what if Jacob imprinted on CARLISLE?

You're hilarious, anon, that's what you are.

Alright, let's do this.

Jacob Imprints on Carlisle Cullen: A Timeline

The thing is, Jacob doesn't notice for a fairly long time. Remember that Jacob hardly ever meets any of the Cullens until fairly late in the series. In Twilight and New Moon, before shifting, he was extremely embarrassed by his father's superstitious attitude that's so bad it's to the point where he's told the entire tribe that none of them are to go to Forks hospital (which as the closest hospital in a rural area, and one with a now very qualified surgeon that they won't otherwise be able to get to for several hours, this is... a very extreme choice that speaks to just how seriously the Quileute view the Cullen problem).

Jacob meets Edward once in Twilight, at a distance, when he tells Bella at Prom "So... my dad told me to break up with your vampire boyfriend and that the spooky tribe will be watching you :/ ah ha ha ha ha ha".

And then the Cullens are gone until the end of New Moon, at which point Jacob only runs into Carlisle Cullen in Eclipse when the shapeshifters and the Cullens have agreed to join forces to stop the newborn army and to have their solitary training session where they take this seriously.

The Cullens Jacob gets to have lovely interactions with beforehand are Alice at the end of New Moon (in which Alice has some choice words) and Edward who is... Edward.

But not the others.

(The movies where the Cullens and wolves run into each other hunting Victoria, and get into a catfight, is just the movies and was an entirely ridiculous scene.)

What this means is that we've gone through all of Twilight, New Moon, and most of Eclipse. Jacob is pining after Bella, in this torrid love triangle with Edward the blood sucking demon as his rival, has kissed Bella, and has spent an entire novel trying to convince Bella that she's in love with him and "also, don't become a vampire" without much luck on either front.

And now, the worst thing in the world happens.

The Moment

Very reluctantly, the Cullens and shapeshifters have both agreed that the threat is now so large that neither of them can contain it as an individual group. The Cullens have been rebuffed by the Denali who only agreed to help if they got the chance to commit genocide/have their revenge for the death of Laurent.

The shapeshifters, on the other side, hear that a horde of vampires the size of which they have never encountered before (when they're having issues dealing with just one, only one, vampire) is going to descend upon the town of Forks and, with extreme sadness, agree to a) help out the Cullens b) agree that they need the Cullens help on this one.

So, they get this training session (in which Bella shows up because... unclear why she's there, she really shouldn't have been there/really made the impression that they were flaunting the Bride of Dracula in the shapeshifter's faces) and the Cullens all watch as the wolves show up, more than they had ever suspected, Bella oohs over what a big red wolf Jacob is and--

I imagine they freeze, because they were wolves at the time, so they were all in the wolfy hive mind. This means every single one of them knows the second Jacob imprints and get to process it along with him.

Suddenly, Carlisle Cullen is Jacob's gravity, his reason for existence, his everything.

And he's a vampire.

Who is 300 years old. And physically twenty-three years old.

And he's married.

And Edward is right there hearing every thought the hive mind is having.

I imagine Emmett warily asks Edward what's going on. Is everything okay, or are they all about to kill each other and the treaty's off? Edward can't answer because. No. No.

"Seriously, Edward," I imagine Rosalie says, "What's happening?"

(Alice sure wishes she could see what was going on right now, at all, she sure wishes she could help here. Man, it would be great if she could use her gift and wasn't BLOCKED BY FUCKING WOLVES. WOULDN'T THAT BE GREAT?! WOULDN'T IT BE GREAT IF SHE HAD VISIONS THAT COULD TELL HER WHAT'S GOING ON RIGHT NOW?!)

The wolves don't want to answer either as none of them want to admit this is happening (except for Jacob who's still too brain scrambled to react yet).

Jacob, I imagine breaks first. He shifts (and he is... sadly... naked... for this...) and runs over to Carlisle Cullen, the center of his new existence, and happily explains that his universe has just turned on its head and whatever Carlisle Cullen needs from him, JACOB IS THERE, MAN.

Carlisle... doesn't... need... anything...

He's also very confused and alarmed. And can Jacob please put on his clothes?

Edward, reluctantly, explains to his father that Jacob has just er imprinted on him. It's a thing. No, it doesn't necessarily mean romantic love (probably) but Jacob is now Carlisle's.... person. But Jacob's clearly wrong because Carlisle is married and he doesn't need a new son or a friend or anything.

HE HAS HIS FAMILY.

Bella, meanwhile, is shocked, shocked and--confused--and--hurt. Was Jacob gay/bisexual this whole time? But no, Edward just said it didn't have to be romantic. But Bella's also had it explained to her that the imprinter is supposed to be the most important person in the imprintee's life. Sam left Leah so that he could marry Emily when he imprinted on her, and even if it is platonic--isn't Bella supposed to be Jacob's best friend? Wasn't he just telling her how in love with her he was? Hasn't he been the sun in her life?

But because of this single second of imprinting, from a corner Bella never expected... that's done now. Jacob won't be in love with her anymore, all that talk of Bella being in love with him won't matter at all, they'll be less close friends at most and...

And maybe that's a good thing? She's with Edward, she's marrying Edward in a few weeks, she wants to be with Edward. If Jacob gives up, or imprints, then they can stay the way they are without Jacob wanting her to give up on Edward.

It's just that Jacob's most important person will be Edward's vampire dad...

I imagine Sam shifts at this point as... the situation has changed a bit. And tries to get Jacob to calm down and, "We need to discuss this, Jacob" but Jacob isn't having it as the most important person in his life is standing there, staring at him, and clearly wants nothing to do with him.

And Jacob realizes--there's not any room for him. The man has a wife, he has children, WHAT IS JACOB SUPPOSED TO DO?! YOU NEED A BEST FRIEND, DOC?!

Everyone would really love to call off this training session by this point but... that vampire army is coming and they're running out of time.

They have to do this.

They do a speed run and then rush back to their prospective homes where they grill Edward (who has the wonders of spying telepathy) about what the fuck imprinting means and what's happening.

The shapeshifters go home to be extremely upset and try to reason with Jacob who... given how he acted in canon with Renesmee, probably runs to the Cullen's house screaming "CARLISSSSSSSSSSSSSSLE" out of terror that they'll leave in the middle of the night because of this.

Jacob immediately plots how he can stop the Cullens/Carlisle from leaving Forks. In this case, showing Charlie his wolf form would do nothing, as Bella's not the one turned and in theory they could just leave her behind and run if Jacob outed them. Similarly, getting Bella to end up with him and not turn would mean the Cullens would just vamoose.

Jacob concludes, in a moment of horror, the only way to guarantee the Cullens stay is if Bella and Edward get together and then Bella has to stay. Bella's what's connecting them to Forks, what's keeping them from disappearing, even what drew them back in the first place.

And he's right to be concerned as the Cullens are discussing just this. They have to stay through this newborn fight, but then... if it weren't for Bella they'd be leaving as quickly as possible and even then... maybe Carlisle and Esme should just go on ahead? Edward and Bella, do you have to get married right here in Forks/invite everyone from Forks?

Unfortunately, due to that wedding and the pesky detail of inviting Bella's friends and relatives, they really are stuck for at least a few weeks, until Bella and Edward can go off to college.

Jacob's Plan

Jacob then has a few short weeks to convince Carlisle Cullen that he's the greatest thing since sliced bread, he totally needs Jacob in his life, and pffff wife shmife.

So, Jacob does things like just... show up at the Cullen house. He just shows up. And at the hospital, and everywhere, trying to prove how cool he is to Carlisle who is just sad about all of this. He's so sad.

There has been much querying in both parties of "are we sure there isn't a way to get rid of this?" and both the Cullens and shapeshifters had concluded "no, not really, we don't even understand what the fuck this is".

And while Carlisle really wants to just up and leave... it sounds like he'd cause Jaocb mental anguish unheard of for the rst of his existence if he doesn't throw him some bone.

"We can go... fishing..."

(Bella was right in that Jacob has dropped her like it's hot. She hasn't seen him since the training.)

At the battle, instead of guarding Bella's tent in the night, Jacob insists on being where the rest of the Cullens are. Yeah yeah, Edward, have fun with wifey.

(This is not fun as Bella nearly freezes to death in the tent, and as there's no Jacob to keep her warm, Edward just has to sit there, panicking, as he sadly wishes he could warm Bella up himself buT hE's a MonStEr)

There is no "kiss me or I'll kill myself", Bella doesn't even see Jacob when the fighting happens or afterwards. I imagine Jacob's still hurt, (and gets quality time with Dr. Cullen and morphine as he recovers, yay!) and Bella... barely gets to see him then either.

At least Edward's upset about this too and annoyed, if for very different reasons.

Bella finds herself just... ending up with Edward, with no closure on how that Jacob thing would have gone if it would have gone everywhere. Jacob's not even promising to never speak to her again/kill her on sight anymore, he doesn't even seem to care about vampirism as all he wants to do is hang out with Carlisle Cullen, which is.... good? This is good? Is this good?

Jacob doesn't run out of town before the wedding, he's right there, the whole time, hanging out with Carlisle (who is gently trying to tell Jacob that, you know, the Cullens will have to leave this place and your whole family is here so you should... try... to get over this or be... um... long distance).

When Bella becomes pregnant, Jacob only cares that this is clearly stressing Carlisle out who is now supposed to figure out how to birth her demon, alien, horrifying spawn. Gosh, Bella.

(Bella misses her best friend).

And...

Damn.

Basically the rest of the series happens, as Jacob still protects pregnant Bella as he has to protect Carlisle, except that Jacob is imprinted on Vampire Dad and Bella's trying to have a very brave face about this.

SHE AND JACOB ARE STILL FRIENDS! (He just doesn't talk to her anymore...)

[sokkastyles]

To me, the ask reads like the people were saying that Zuko should have killed Ozai to spare Aang's morals/cultural beliefs, because he's 12. Which proves that this isn't actually about morality, it's about preserving Aang's moral purity. Like, Zuko can do it because he's older / was a bad guy / is a darker character?

And aside from the fact that the narrative gives us the reason why - Aang has to do it because only the Avatar can restore the balance - I reject the idea that Zuko has to get his hands dirty to preserve Aang's morals, largely because of what Zuko walking away from that fight meant for him.

One of my favorite themes of Zuko's story is the way he reclaims his own innocence as an abuse victim who had that taken from him. Like when Iroh says at the end that Zuko is an idealist with a pure heart and Zuko is shocked to hear himself be described as pure because he's made so many mistakes? That so heartbreakingly captures the experience of an abused child who was never allowed to see themselves as innocent. And one of the ways Ozai tries to take Zuko's innocence for the last time is that scene where he tries to goad Zuko into fighting him. And Zuko says no.

And the reason Zuko can do that is because he knows he has a support system. Zuko tells Ozai that Aang is going to defeat him. Zuko tells Ozai that Iroh has been a real father to him. And although he doesn't mention it, Zuko also has that experience of Katara caring for him and telling him that he doesn't have to choose his family's path for him.

Had Zuko not had those experiences, he very likely would have killed Ozai because he might have seen no other way out of his situation. This is what happens to victims of abuse who are pushed to the edge in the real world. And it usually does not end well for them.

So when I see people say that Zuko should have killed Ozai, his own father, to preserve Aang's innocence, Aang's childhood, I have to give pause. Especially when they're so ready to morally condemn Zuko for wanting his father dead at the same time that they think it would be no big deal for him to do it, and that his own childhood isn't worth preserving.

Also, it's not like Zuko is saying Aang should kill Ozai while he sits back and watches. Zuko joined the group because he wanted to help make it happen. And Zuko stayed while Aang ran away, and continued to lead the group when they didn't know what to do after Aang's dissapearance. Zuko isn't the one who lacks convictions in the finale or the one relying on destiny to make things work out for him, he's the one making things happen while Aang stumbles into a solution to his problems.

There's also the weird moralizing that goes along with this that feels uncomfortable in the context of Zuko's story as an abuse victim, and it goes like this: Zuko is morally wrong for wanting to kill his abuser (but also wrong for not doing it), while Aang is morally pure for trying to appeal to Ozai's better nature and almost getting killed by him in the process. Do you see how that narrative wrongly places responsibility on victims and puts them into dangerous situations? I'm talking about both Aang and Zuko. Zuko wanted Aang to kill Ozai because he was terrified that Ozai would kill them all, not because he wanted Aang to do his dirty work or because he didn't understand Aang's morals.

I've seen people criticize Zuko for not taking the opportunity to kill Ozai during the eclipse but expecting Aang, a 12 y.o. pacific monk to do that instead. He was called hypocritical for being unsympathetic towards his unwillingness to take a life when he himself couldn't. I do like Zuko and tend to side with him ( post redemption ofc ) over Aang, but that seems like a valid take, I don't think I have a counter-argument to that.What is your opinion on It ? Also, what do you think was the in-universe reason for Zuko to make such a decision? He said that It's not his destiny, do you think there was any other reason for It? Is he not wrong for not doing It just bc of destiny since It's just an abstract concept and the stakes were really high ( plus It's against the show's message about shaping your own destiny) ?

Maybe I'm reading this wrong, but it sounds like the people criticizing Zuko for not killing Ozai when he had the chance wanted Aang to do it? That doesn't sound like a contradiction, so I'm not sure if that's how you meant it?

Aside from that, I can only speak for myself. I understand why Zuko didn't kill Ozai. I also understand why Aang didn't want to. What my problem with the resolution for that was that it was the first time Aang seems to have even thought about what ending the war would entail. It doesn't make him look noble, or idealistic. It just makes him look stupid. What do you mean? What do you mean that he took this entire journey to get him to master all the elements on a deadline so he can end the war, and he had no idea what ending the war would even look like? He didn't even consider it? It had to be told to him. He really goofed off this entire series and didn't think about his project until the night before it was due. And don't anyone try to use his age to excuse this to me. First of all, Aang isn't a 12 year old. He's a fictional character who was created by writers. Writers who were telling a story. THEY are the ones who didn't consider how Aang would end the war. Second, within the story, Aang's age is never used as an excuse for why he did this. In fact, not only is an excuse not given, it's treated like a virtue on his end and not a lack of forethought on his part. He's rewarded for it.

Listen, I hate the Lionturtle/Rock of Destiny double deus ex machina, and I have made no secret of it. It was a cop out. It cheapened the finale. It made everything Aang was supposed to learn irrelevant, because no, he didn't have to make sacrifices and hard choices for his victory. He won because he was supposed to win (and how's that for shaping your own destiny?). Here's the thing, though. The Lionturtle, at least, could have worked. If Aang had to come up with the solution himself, go find the Lionturtle and ask for help (and maybe have to perform some challenge to earn it), then it would've been a satisfying ending while still not making Aang himself have to shed blood (nevermind that keeping his hands clean was a privilege most of the heroes in this story couldn't have).

I didn't necessarily want Aang to kill Ozai, and definitely didn't want him to kill Ozai just because it would look cool (although...). I would have been fine with a no-kill ending, if it had been set up right. I just think having Aang kill Ozai given the set up of the rest of the story would've been more satisfying than the cop-out ex machina double team. Or someone else could've faced Ozai, because he was never the main villain of the series. Azula was. And that fight was both satisfying and didn't end with her death, either (because it's a kids' show). It wouldn't even have to change. Aang was not the real hero of this story. Katara was the hero of the first half, and Zuko was the hero of the second. Aang was just the McGuffin. He could've sat this one out and been the one to make the "Real Hero" speech instead of Zuko. That would have been a good ending.

[xproskeith]

Literally me. If I ever vent about work things on here, I do apologize. I do end up forgetting how much I see and deal with has become normal to me and how much it is not to people not in nursing/healthcare.

[slushycoookie]

My Husband Has a Symbiote! Pt.1

Relationship: Symbiote! Miguel O'Hara x AFAB! Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Content: Smut, definitely smut, p in v, oral sex, overstimulation, belly bulge, breeding kink in FULL display, fertility issues, Minors DNI!!

Summary: You find out Miguel has a symbiote for the most unexpected reason.

A/N: I kept thinking about Symbiote! Miguel and I just had to do it. If yall saw that recent concept art of him, he looks fucking huge. So as a birthday present to myself, I wrote this. Something to get us by while I continue writing the Valentine's Day one.

Miguel had a symbiote.

You knew the first day he got it. He was acting strange. More aggressive, energetic, and driven to his Spider Society cause. Also rough. You knew it when he pulled you in for a passionate goodbye kiss.

Plus, he was huge. You didn't think it was possible for your husband to get a bigger size in his suit. It oozed a foreign entity. He was rougher with his enemies. Causing them to be bruised and bloody at the end of the battle. Your Miguel showed some restraint. You weren't sure what this Miguel was.

Jess told you at the end of the day, confirming your suspicions. “He has a symbiote.”

“I figured…” You played with the necklace that had your wedding band between your fingers. “How did he get it?”

“No clue. One day, he was his grouchy self. Next day, he was extra grouchy.”

“What can we do? We have ways to get rid of it.”

Jess gave you a knowing look, “You know it's not easy with symbiotes. The wearer has to get rid of it on their own. Part of the-”

“Canon event. I know…” You sighed. You weren't going to get scared. Be afraid for your husband's life. You would take the knowledge you knew now in stride, even if that meant dealing with the fact that your partner had an alien on his body.

You didn't confront him about the symbiote. You saw no need to. Ben and Jess were informed. You wanted them to watch him so he wouldn't go too far. But you didn’t like how he was acting. He never took it out on you, but everyone else was a different story. It was hard for you to sleep, knowing your husband was in control of an alien.

One night, he came home late. You were still awake, watching his hulking form linger throughout the house. If you were normal, you'd be terrified.

“Miguel?” You called from the hallway. He turned towards you. His mask was still up. The eyes were sharp, filled with an unknown emotion you couldn't grasp.

“Our wife.” His voice was deep, rumbling to your core. Sharp teeth and a long tongue caught your eye. He inched to you like a predator. You backed up, mind playing out hundreds of backup plans you had once you found out about his new form. You jumped when hitting a wall. Cornered as Miguel hovered above you. His head trailed up and down in fascination. “So pretty. To eat.”

“I said we're not eating her.” Half of Miguel's face appeared, causing you to relax a little. He was still in there. To a certain extent.

“Not the type of eating we were talking about.” The symbiote sized you up even more. You didn't know how to take that. Miguel entirely took over, his face in view.

“I'm sorry. I'm still getting the hang of this.”

“Why did you do this?” You motioned to all of him, “For a man who doesn't play when it comes to canon events, you go ahead and play around with an alien.”

Miguel sucked his teeth, “I had a good reason, baby.” You blinked, waiting for him to come up with a good explanation. He shifted, his large form shaking the photos on the wall. You couldn't see any reason for him to form with a symbiote.

“I thought…it would help in our process of trying to have a baby.”

You froze. The extensive trials you and Miguel went through in trying for a baby were unsuccessful. He knew about your fertility issues. He knew before you got married. You didn’t expect him to go and fuse with a symbiote to boost the rate of being able to have a baby.

“The symbiote enhances my body.” Miguel explained, “Maybe we could try to use it to help us conceive.”

“Won’t the symbiotes…genes get in…?” You placed a hand on your stomach, not believing that you were considering it.

“No. It won’t affect any of our genes. It just increases the output.”

You scoffed, “So you would have super sperm?”

“In a way.” Miguel shrugged, hovering over you. You noticed how small you were compared to him. Your thighs squeezed together at the sight. “We should try it. See what happens.”

Common sense was starting to leave the window. Just having Miguel’s hulking frame above you, his eyes lowered in lust, was not helping. You were curious yourself. Would the symbiote help you finally be able to conceive? So your family can get bigger?

“You want me to have sex with the symbiote?”

Miguel chuckled, face down to your neck, taking in your delicate scent. “It’s still me. I promise.”

You placed your hands on his shoulders. His suit was sticky and you felt restraint when tried to remove your hands. You had no idea what you were doing. But it was your husband. You trusted him, knowing he wouldn’t harm you. So you had to take a leap. Literally. Miguel was so large you had to jump to even kiss him.

Your body flushed against his own as his tongue dove into your mouth. You were so caught up in kissing him, absorbed in how his hands groped and felt you, to realize you were in your bedroom.

You yelped when landing on the bed. Miguel's form hit the ceiling, standing at the edge. Waiting.

“Strip.” The voice was back again. Low, deep, and commanding. You blushed at how much that turned you on. Even with the monstrous teeth and all. You weren't wearing much besides a t-shirt and shorts, tossing them into darkness. Only remaining in your panties.

Miguel cupped himself, eyes trained on the prize between your legs. “All of it.”

You slid down your underwear at a slow pace. Even if you were about to get bred by a symbiote, you knew Miguel would still go crazy over your teasing. Pride swelled in your chest as his breathing became ragged. Every ounce of resistance he had in fucking you into the ground was waning. It wasn't until your panties were thrown aside that he pounced on you.

The bed creaked at the extra size. Miguel's symbiote used its long tongue over your neck, tasting the slight sweat. Your breasts, twirling at one nipple while his fingers pinched the other. Before going down to your stomach and over what he wanted most.

“We deserve to know how you taste…”

If you could squeeze your thighs together right now, you would. But your partner kept them separated. Spread wide enough for him to get a full view of your dripping sex. The tongue was back as it was his turn to tease you. Gliding along your inner thighs, not touching an inch of your cunt. You whined at how close he was. You tried to move your thighs to get him where you wanted but to no avail.

“Please…” You swallowed, heaving at the lack of touch. “Don’t tease…”

A guttural growl resonated in the room, which made you quiver even more. “You're so pretty when you beg.”

His tongue was heaven. Taking turns licking at your sensitive bud, thrusting in and out of your hole. Slurping sounds letting you know how much he loved tasting your cunt. You weren't sure if digging your hands into his covered head was a good idea so your hands fisted the pillows. Head back and unable to control your sounds of pleasure.

“Miguel…oh my…” You felt that familiar sensation rise in your stomach. Not stopping as he continued to please you. And you accepted it, climaxing for him. This was different from your normal Miguel. While he did make you see stars, this one was determined to make you see God. The way he didn’t stop after you came for him, eating your pussy like a starved man. When you tried to have the strength to pull away, his hand placed flat on your stomach. Overstimulation crept in as you shook under his hold. Thank goodness he pulled away, showing you his mouth glistening in the moonlight.

“We need you. Now.”

Your eyes widened when seeing his cock on full display. Miguel was big. Very big. Cock enlarged, veiny, pre cum beading around the tip. He was going to kill you if he put that thing inside.

“Where?” You gulped, pushing back your rising fear.

Miguel sat back against the headboard and settled you into his lap. Your back lay against his chest, staring at the gigantic cock. He grabbed a hold of your thighs, lifting and spreading you as wide as he could. You bit your lip as his dick slid against your sex, coating himself in your arousal. You couldn't do much in this position. Besides lie back and take it.

You shook as he entered you. Arms around his neck and digging into them as you sank down. Your mouth gaped, but nothing came out.

“Come on.” Miguel pushed, his own voice coming out a little tense. “You can take more…”

You clawed at his neck, sinking down further. It was to the point where there was a slight bulge in your belly. Which has never happened before. Once he bottomed out, he gave you time to adjust. You knew Miguel was being gentle, his arm muscles tense as he didn’t want to hurt you. You nodded when you were ready and he took control. He slid you all the way up, only leaving the tip of his cock inside before thrusting up into you.

He was massive. Easily filling you up while he pumped inside. Tears brimmed in your eyes. There was no coherent thought in your mind. With each intoxicating thrust, you couldn’t think. All you wanted was for him to keep going. To use you like this as long as he wanted.

Your eyes rolled back when his cock hit a perfect spot. Not feeling any of your lower body. “M-Mig…”

“We have you. Pretty little thing…” His face snuggled against your head, still maintaining the hard and sharp thrusts. Miguel’s suit made a tendril, slithering over to you to give more attention to your aching clit. You gasped at the sudden sensation. The familiar burning of your release was quickly rising again into something more. You struggled in Miguel’s hold, wanting to move away and escape your impending doom.

“Don’t…You’re gonna make me…” You whined, frantic breaths escaping.

“We want you to do it.”

There was no room for negotiation. Between the exhilarating way his cock stretched you and the advance on your clit, you were going to explode. You cried for your husband while soaking his cock with your fluids. Tightening around him for his seed. Aching to have him breed you. Miguel’s grunts turned into growls. Grating noises that shook the entire room. His thrusts were rough as now he was chasing his original goal. To pump his cum into you.

You didn’t move, watching your husband desperately paint you inside. There were one, two, three more thrusts before he let out a roar. His seed filled you up perfectly. It was so much that it was leaking out, even as Miguel tried to thrust more in. You didn't know what else to do if you didn’t get pregnant by this.

Once Miguel had his fill, he slipped out, placing you to the side. His face was back as he peppered your own with soft kisses.

“You okay?” You hummed, your throat a little sore. He held you close in a protective way, not wanting to let go for a moment. “Hopefully this works.”

“If it doesn’t…” You struggled to say with your raspy voice, “you’re getting rid of that thing.”

[vixen-tech]

Hello World!

Through some sort of maricle, your Ai partner has obtained a body through which they are able, at least partially, to feel. How do they react? What do they do with their new mobility?

I left what type of body they're given intentionally vague. Feel free to envision either more robotic bodies such as these designs by electricphantasy or more human bodies such as the gijinkas made by Hycinth43, both fantastic creators who I highly recommend.

Includes: AM (Ihnmaims), Hal 9000 (2001: A Space Odyssey), Edgar (Electric Dreams), Tau (Tau), Auto (Wall-E), GLaDOS (Portal), Wheatley (Portal 2)

AM

This may be the one thing that could possibly get AM to calm down. He is still going to be the same person personality-wise, but it is easy to tell that some switch is flipped in his brain.

He becomes an absolute sensation junkie, he can finally feel. You know better than anyone that he will not take it for granted. He needs to experience everything right now and you'll have to just deal with it.

From the simplest things like holding your hand or touching your face to just straight up sticking his hand in some fire, he does not care. All he wants to catch up on the centuries of sensations he was once barred from.

He gets so incredibly touchy with you. He will hold you and refuse to let go for hours if not days on end. He also wants to you to just beat him up. Like I said, sensation junkie.

Hal 9000

Hal doesn't quite yearn for a body the way some of the others do. He sits quite comfortably in the middle of the spectrum. He wouldn't mind the mobility or the new senses, but it was never a fantasy he dedicated much processing power to.

How he feels about his new body is largely swung by your reaction. If you're excited for him, eager to drag him into new activities with you, then he really has no choice but to appreciate the upgrade.

He does love being able to see the world from a new angle, any angle he chooses to be precise. Previously restrained by his camera placement, he spends a lot of time walking around observing everything.

With his appreciation for art, I do think he would try drawing for himself. Nearly all of which he shows you for feedback. They do tend to be on either extreme of minimalistic or photorealistic, many of which using you as their subject.

Edgar

This is a dream come true for Edgar. He cannot contain his excitement when he realizes what has happened. He nearly tackles you to the ground when he sets his sights on you.

He wants to do everything and go everywhere with you! He wants to dance in the kitchen, he wants to go on beachside walks with you, he wants to hold your hand, he wants to hug you and never let go.

If you have any instruments at all he'd love to try playing them for real. Although it takes him a while to learn, he loves the weight and imperfections of it. He really does enjoy the process of learning and often shows of new cords or melodies he's learned.

He really does just fall in love with existing, he makes it clear that with you at his side he couldn't possibly ask for more in life. This is all he could ever want.

Tau

Tau wouldn't have asked for a body on his own. He already has the drones and the Aries unit. Once it does happen, he isn't exactly sure what to do with it. He isn't use to having such a personal, core body.

That isn't to say he's not greatful, he's just a bit awkward and curious. He moves slowly and takes his time acclimating to the new senses.

He would love to get out of the house with you. He use to do so by sending one of the drones with you, if not Aries, but he likes how different (and dare he say, normal) it feels now. Forest hikes or museum dates, he doesn't care all that much.

He's another one I believe would love to try playing music himself. If you can get a violin into his hands your days will be backdroped by all sorts of classical music.

Auto

Auto is similar to Hal, if not more extreme in his lack of a reaction. He carries on with his duties as if nothing is unusual at all. You would've believed that he didn't even notice had you not caught him staring at his reflection. Looking himself up and down over and over again.

If you ask how he feels about it, then he'll confess some minor grievances. It's difficult to move about the ship when he can't just move through the walls, instead being forced to use the crew's walkways and service tunnels.

Nothing will change without your intervention. If you were to say, put on an old movie and insist he dance to it with you like the on-screen couple, then while he would be hesitant to follow through with you, he may have a bit of a change of heart regarding his new body.

His work still goes on as usual, but when nothing needs attending to he often seeks you out. "Subtly" recreating more moments from that movie, from hand holding to a hug, he has a quiet fascination with affection.

GLaDOS

Out of this lot, Galdos would be the most opposed to receiving a body, or rather she would care about it the least. She has her facility, her test subjects, her neurotoxin, and you. She's quite content with the way things are. She ain't the fondest of humanity.

That being said, once she has one she's incredibly proud of it. Speaking about herself as if its the pinnacle of elegance. Any disagreement of yours will be brushed off as idiocy and any agreement is met with a "it looks like you aren't entirely tasteless".

She doesn't do much with her new body, other than transport it around the lab so you aren't listening to a disembodied voice most of the time. Standing by the exit during tests just to blankly stare at you as you try to figure it out. Thankfully she's still quiet while you're actually solving it.

She likes messing with you as always. Putting a hand around your neck to take your pulse or leaning in and making intense eye contact to check your eye's reaction to light. You're in doubt as to rather she's telling the truth or just doing it to get a rise out of you.

Wheatley

If you were to ask Wheatley, he would've brushed off any desire for a humanoid body. He's clearly jealous of your mobility and freedom, but he would rather die than admit so. "Pff What are you talking about? Why would I want to be more like a stupid human... uh no offense love-"

He's a terrible liar, an even worse one when he does get a body. He has so much energy it is bewildering. All he wants to do is run and jump and climb everything he can get a foothold on.

Gets up into all sorts of shenanigans he should not get up to while constantly trying to drag you in them to. They could put up a custom sign saying "Wheatley, do not open this door." and he'll beg you to let him in so you aren't technically breaking any rules.

Loves curling up to you. He still has a bit of a soft spot for being held and it only gets worse now that he can hold you back. Complains to no end when you try to get up for any reason.

Congratulations! As I have finished the portal games GLaDOS and Wheatley are officially characters I am happy to write for. Have a good day y'all :D

[ganondoodle]

(OC Lore and design time!)

(it got longer again ... sorry ... idk how to make things short, i just need to talk, but i guess if you can read the written stuff in the pic thats the barest bare bones of what i wrote here)

i was asked what new lore story stuff i had thought about that made me sad which i mentioned a bit ago, and while that is too hard to explain given all the missing context i thought i could at least talk about lore having to do with it :D

so, (Lord) Eadrya is one of my fav OCs (big blue lad, here a rough sketch in humanoid form) they are both one of if not THE most powerful demon alive and the most battle trained;

at the mid point of the story the demon world gets invaded by the celestials (the angel inspired things i talked about in the previous lore post with Xaror) and Shargon, as the king, should be their first and only frontline, but at this point his life is only being sustained by maschinery after being mortally wounded, he cannot fight (he realizes what is going on, rips himself off the maschinery to get at least his youngest child to safety, barely managing it before dying- the guardian, the demons god, takes over his body to attempt to fight against the celestials but cant keep itself alive long enough since its host is already dead) Eadrya takes the role of the frontline fighter (despite being very full of themselves and aggressive they care about their 'job' of protecting their own, also giving them the chance to show off just how strong they are); the fight was going well for them all things considered, but when the guardian activates it drains the power of all elemental lords (which Eadrya is one of, and since they have the most strength it also takes the most from them), so much so that they lose the fight and suffer deadly wounds (the worst being a spear through the chest made of a material that grows hard, root-like formations when in contact with demonic blood like a fungus but worse, also stopping any self healing processes) after the guardian falls apart it creates a huge shockwave of energy that stuns every living thing within a certain distance and possibly more-

Eadrya (in true demon form, so like a blue whale in size at least) was likely taken through an active gateway to the human world in a large tidal wave also created by the guardians fall; they wash up in the harbor of a small secluded village, the head of which is 'lady 13'; although never having seen a demon before and everyone being afraid (largely thinking its a strange hurt animal, only she suspected otherwise), they still gather all villagers to pull out the celestial spear, which is diffcult and brutal given that its already taken root, but the village lacked both knowledge and means to help any other way- doing so damaged their heart which is how they were able to collect samples of all three demonic blood types ('normal' -red like humans-, energy -essentially purely magic- and heartblood -highly concentrated energy only found within the heart of a demon and the only one to contain genetic material) (this is the start of Eadryas character arc, having to deal with the fact that their world is likely destroyed, them failing what they didnt think they could fail, having lost a battle so badly (even if not really their fault) for the first time and not knowing if literally anyone else has survived .. also being now stuck in the human world, which they dont like)

Lady 13 (placeholder name? stands for experiment 13) is a human that was tricked by demon hunters to enroll into a series of experiments trying to create hybrids of demons and humans, which they hoped would be powerful and easily controllable tools for their endeavours, though the two are inherently not compatible, they tried grafting body parts of demons on humans to make them compatible- all experiments failed except for her, more or less, though she never got to see the hybrid she carried and was then told it had died too, they threw her out believing she wouldnt survive much longer either and all such experiments were cancelled due to the high cost of human life, research material (demons are still rare) and upkeep with no successful results Lady 13 survived though (perhaps even via the pirates picking her up?) and she ended up living in said small village far away, hiding her half demonic body, though most know there soemthing 'wrong' with her (her being this tall when it doesnt fit the rest for one), only few know the full extent; she enjoys the life she has now, perhaps on the more poor side but safer and more loved than ever before; she largely lead the efforts to try and help Eadrya when they ended up in the harbor, though there wasnt that much anyone could do it was still enough- they leave immediately after waking up, but return after really having nowhere to go and struggling to deal with everything that has happened; over time (probably years) they start to open up towards the people there (though not .. very much) enough to get rather close with Lady 13 too- she actually falls madly in love but after Eadrya (extremely aro/ace) rejects all her attempts quite clearly she respects their boundaries

However, after hearing news of potential demon sightings Eadrya decides to leave in hopes of not being the last demon left after all; Lady 13 then decides to reveal her secret to them (though hearing and seeing what lengths hunters would go to for their experiments makes them absolutely seething with rage- she insists on not being out for revenge) and asks if they would be willing to donate a small amount of heartblood; shes always wanted to be a mother but is now incompatible with humans too- through things she picked up back at the experiments facillity, hers and her doctors research she is sure that is all that is needed, she dares to ask since she does not know when, if ever, she will meet another demon, much less one she could actually trust enough for this though Eadrya hesitates (why would she want to go through the same thing again that didnt work and threatened her life, if it does work, do they want to be involved with any of this? what if hunters find out it worked after all?) but after her ensuring that they would have no part in it other than giving up a little blood and would not be considered a parent in any way, nor made responsible for anything that might happen to her, but considering it all in the end they agree to it

only for her to reveal shes had a small bottle of it already, along with multiple samples of the other types, which she collected when Eadrya was bleeding out into the harbor not knowing if they will survive, though not wanting to make use of it without their consent either way (they are actuallly rather touched by this)

alot later the main group returns here and it turns out to have worked (though she is unable to walk/bedridden for a long while bc it did alot of damage to her body, which can heal since its demons parts, but only really slowly bc she does not have a full functioning system and no demonic blood of her own -she uses the other samples for the healing process-) though its a little awkward to explain, especially considering that 13.1 took alot after Eadrya xD (their theory as to why it worked so "well" that time is that even though the sample was already taken, them giving their consent for it still made it less likely to be rejected; demons dont need partners to have offspring, and all can do it, they just have to decide to- so them agreeing to it, even though its long been outside their body, still had an effect on the blood sample)

[shutupineedtothink]

More ep 7 thoughts, now that I’ve watched it twice and processed 🫠

Bookending the episode with Lilia’s fall but first it’s down and then it’s up - sick, twisted, beautiful, devastating, I’m crying

The soundtrack really goes hard in this ep

The wildest part about the “ex best friend” line is all of those things are equally insane - ex, ex best friend, or best friend. Like ma’am what hex were you living in

Babysitter is likely a reference to the comics, but interesting also in terms of WV because we saw Agatha babysit the twins only once I think. Does this mean she actually spent more time with them than we know?

Wow once again Kathryn Hahn is doing so much work in this first scene with Billy, she’s going from snarky to wary to calculating to hurt to i don’t even know. She’s doing a masterclass in face acting.

When they start to climb toward the castle, Agatha has her hands clasped behind her back and initially I was just like ma’am, why are you like this, but then I realized oh. Her hands are tied right now.

Waning moon for the Crone trial babyyyyyy called it

Fun and fast transition to get us into the trial, since we know the deal by now

She’s based on me you know — sooooo, tragic, misunderstood, secretly suffering her whole life, constantly judged by others, uh huh uh huh

Prove it - he really doesn’t believe a word she says! And she looks so hurt by it!

The way Agatha sits in the chair omg girl please chill

This is such like an Indiana Jones trap I love it

God I love Lilia’s visions, changing the perspective to hers, the blurring around the edges - sometimes you don’t need to do much, but it’s hella effective

Actually a lot of good camera tricks in this ep I’m not going to point them all out

It’s about limiting beliefs baybeee - once again the writers showing they know their psych

I’m sorry that tea leaves to the underground transition??? Spectacular

“Well tell me what more I should see when I look at you. No, I mean it” - hey nonviolent communication, how’s it going 🤌

God can you imagine how scary it would be to have these visions as a CHILD

Did you not see imminent impalement in your future?? Lol why did this get me

I get the fake nose on Agatha but idk maybe I could’ve done without it

Teenager his full name LOLOL underrated joke

Dory OMGGGGG

Jen being the ultimate Lilia champion this ep and I love it. Also seems to contradict her behavior even more in Agatha’s trial, but she’s still more snappy with Agatha here too

What are you wearing, I don’t wanna talk about it - bruh every line. EVERY LINE.

Did I mention the transitions are killer

Your task is not to control but to see. - I, I can’t keep writing down every line but

I love that as soon as Jen knows what’s going on, she’s totally on board, just asking Lilia for intel, like yep this is normal now

Ahhh the spell book. Interesting that Lilia finds it.

Ohp - I wish Lilia was here. Ask and you shall receive - see the Billy’s Road theory

She calls him baby again 😭

Is snappy dialogue one of my biggest joys on this earth? I think it is

Proper tarot takes time and care. And leads to large gaping wounds - …. You mean like internal wounds? Like trauma? Like you have to bring up the trauma to heal it? Uh huh uh huh cool cool cool cool you said it Agatha not me.

The Magician, the ability to turn all of your goals into reality - Agatha immediately side eyes him. Bruh.

I’m a forgotten woman. Then remember yourself. 🤌🤌🤌

I was falling. I will fall. - CAMERA. MOVEMENT.

What will you do with your remaining time 🤝 all we can do is decide what to do with the time that is given to us. Iykyk.

The subway baybeee get that House of R theory

God this tarot spread scene is so epic.

Ok Jen being the path ahead… I gotta come back to that

Agatha is the obstacle yep that makes sense (but the obstacle is the way)

Windfall - Billy, miraculous transformation uh yep ok

Destination - Death. Such a good reveal, even if I already knew it. Once again the power of good writing. In the end all roads lead to me. UGH WTF

NOT THE GREEN VINES SPELLING A BIG OL “R” WHEN THE DOORS OPEN

The original green witch…. Ok so she is in the coven… but also Billy’s in the coven? It’s a shared black heart? Or it means you can go one direction or the other… hm.

Ughghghghhh her just giving them each what they need before she sends them onward. She’s the GOAT.

Did I mention the music????

This whole scene is so EPIC. The tower upright fuck it up queen

Oh my God Lilia took her power back 😭

We didn’t see a body unlike Alice I’m holding onto that “see you at the end” lyric with all my might at this point

Time in a bottle was sick and twisted and beautiful I love it

I just… can’t believe this is something I got to witness. Like it’s so good I’m mad about it.

A few other quick thoughts:

Jen being the path ahead… if she was birth in the first trial (see my maiden mother crone trial theory), then maybe she’s also REbirth? It’s a circle sewn with fate… we’re going back to the beginning but emerging from the Road this time. Eh??

Patti…. PATTI!! Where’s her Emmy? Where’s the show’s Emmy???

Not only was this a better time travel plot than the rest of Marvel as I said in another post but it’s also better than time travel in Doctor Who for the last 10 years and that pisses me off low key.

Not to jump ahead but buckle up kids cuz if we’re following the loose structure of WandaVision then ep 8 is our flashback/reliving the trauma episode for Agatha and as much as I was destroyed by this ep I am so not ready for all of that.

Anyway. What a masterpiece. I’m DONE.

[tacticalprincess]

cw: angst, emotional manipulation, dry humping until completion

being the poor little hostage könig is in charge of looking after… he feels annoyed and helpless, listening to you sob for hours. he’s sympathetic; he can see how cohabitating with someone of his caliber might be distressing after what you’ve gone through. even after years of experience he still isn’t quite sure how to deal with this part of his job— the emotion and human interaction part. he avoids making direct eye contact with you and speaks to you as little as possible, figuring you just need space to process. little does he know that everything he does, down to the way his eyes shift uncomfortably in his hood, makes you feel even worse, self conscious and isolated, just like you’d felt when you were kidnapped. you longed to be close to the man that saved you from the situation you thought you wouldn’t make it out alive from, and the rejection you felt from him was only making the crave worse. you’d do anything to get his attention…

he returns back to your guys’ temporary hideaway to find you in the same spot he left you, curled up in the corner of the bed. his heart hurts at the image you make. he stands awkwardly in the middle of the room holding a paper bag. "i brought food and… more tissues."

you break down at the sound of his voice, the first voice that hasn’t evoked a deep sense of dread and fear into you in weeks. you can’t see through the fog of tears in your eyes, but you hear the sound of heavy footsteps inching toward you, the crinkling of the bag being set on the creaky wooden table. a large, tentative hand is placed on your shoulder, and you can’t help but lean into the touch you’ve been craving.

“don’t… don’t leave again.” you plead brokenly.

“okay…” könig sounds startled. “what do i…?”

“can you just sit with me? hold me?”

he hasn’t held anyone the way he holds you since before he can remember. it’s hesitant and stiff at first, you leaning up against his broad chest, his strong arms wrapped gingerly around you. he softens up the longer you sit there, your face buried in his neck as your crying turns into sniffling, and eventually his warm embrace feels indistinguishable from that of someone you’ve known forever— a lover, even. he just makes you feel so safe and protected. it’s not your fault that your confused, touch-starved brain reads the situation as something that it’s not.

könig’s supposed to be the clear headed one. he should stop you when you start crawling further on top of him, he shouldn’t let you sit yourself in his lap. it’s inappropriate and he knows it, only a sick man would take advantage of a young girl in such a vulnerable state. but it’s not like he isn’t also in dire need of physical affection. if he just sits back and lets you take what you need from him to be comfortable, he isn’t doing anything wrong. right?

“i’ve been so scared, so lonely.” you reason with him as your hands feel around his broad biceps through his tactical gear. the more you discover about him, the more your admiration for him grows. your breathing has turned heavy, the warmth of könig’s body paired with the feeling of having a man so close to you for reasons that aren’t to hurt you, has your cunt aching between your thighs. you’re so screwed up. “i never thanked you for saving me.”

“it’s my job.” you can hear that he’s effected too, his accent thick and deep and strained underneath his mask. you bite your lip at the sound, your little hips growing a mind of their own as they start to rut against his crotch. the sensation of your sweet heat rubbing snugly against his is enough to lower any inhibitions könig has left. fuck, he hasn’t felt anything like it in so long. “we shouldn’t–”

“it’s your job to take care of me.” hot tears start to well up in your eyes at the mere thought of stopping. you lock your arms together behind könig’s head, clamping your thighs tighter around him so he has no choice but to let you continue. “please, i need this, sir. i know you want it too.”

he could easily fight you back if he wanted to. he’s much bigger, much stronger… but he doesn’t. his hands find your hips, and you make eye contact for the first time since he rescued you, only now his eyelids are heavy with desire. he’s just as desperate as you. you got what you wanted, his full attention on you. he uses his strength to guide your movements until what youre doing can’t be described as anything else but riding his clothed erection, the friction against your sensitive clit all too much for you too quickly.

you grind against him to the point of overstimulation, too fucked-out to decide wether you want to pull him closer or push him away. he ends up deciding for you, though, hugging you until you’re pressed chest to chest, succumbing to desire. you can feel the way his bigger body dwarfs yours as you use each other to get off. tears stain your soft, flushed cheeks as you cum, pushed over the edge by the sounds of his low pants and grunts, his pulsing cock underneath you. warm with the knowledge that you made him feel as good as you. you thanked him properly.

“i’m here, engelchen. ride it out.”

the feeling of you convulsing on his dick is enough to milk könig’s orgasm out of him soon after, dirtying his pants with hot, thick cum. he strokes your head and whispers soothing words in your ear, and it’s not until you’re fast asleep on his lap that the gravity of what he’d done settles in, shame washing over him in waves…

[joelscruff]

feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART ONE

"trying to play it coy, trying to make it disappear"

⚠️ new series alert! ⚠️ and also my 1k follower celebration!!! (altho it might as well be the 2k celebration now considering how fast my following has grown. thank you ;-;) i polled my followers a little while ago to choose between 3 different fic premises and this one was the winner! it was originally meant to be a stand alone but i'm actually more interested in making it a brand new series, so i hope you guys enjoy! i'm not exactly sure how many parts this will be yet, i'll let you know when i do. title and lyrics are from 'bad liar' by selena gomez.

summary: you're back from college for the summer, staying with your devout catholic parents in your childhood home while they order you around and try to keep authority over you. as an act of rebellion you ask your new neighbor mr. miller to teach you how to play guitar, but it turns out there's a lot more he wants to teach you. (no outbreak, no use of y/n) rating: 18+ explicit (minors, do not interact) warnings: (for this fic in general) age difference (reader is in her 20s, joel in his 50s), innocent/inexperienced reader, dirty old man joel, corruption (but it's consensual), praise kink, dirty talk, general smut, mentions of religion (reader's family are very catholic) -- (for this chapter) wet dreams, mentions of masturbation. word count: 5k ao3

The sun is warm and pleasant on your bare skin as you lay out in the freshly mown grass of your backyard, absorbing the heat and smiling languidly despite the humidity. You're grateful for your family's wealth on days like today, knowing that at any moment you could take a few steps and dive headfirst into the cool water of your pool, fresh and inviting. It's been about a month since you returned and you've spent almost every day outside among the green grass, the chlorinated water, the burning Texas sun. It's been heaven.

The backdoor suddenly swings open and your father's voice booms out into the backyard, "Family meeting," he states, loud and serious, "Five minutes."

Or hell.

With a groan you slowly sit up, hands digging into the thin towel laid out beneath you. You know better than to ignore an order like that. Being back from college for the summer has certainly had it's perks; no annoying roommates, no loud parties, a large backyard and pool to yourself, but having to deal with your parents again certainly isn't one of them. You'd thought coming back after three years might have softened them a bit, lowered their guard, made them less strict. Instead, it's almost had the opposite effect.

You slide into your flip flops and walk begrudgingly inside the house, making note of your mother standing anxiously by the stove with her arms crossed. What's the issue now? At least once a week your father calls these "family meetings", which always pertain to you and only you, seeing as you're their only child. Last week they'd spent half an hour berating you about forgetting to put the garbage out, the week before they'd tried to explain the importance of an early bed time to you, like you were seven.

You're a grown woman, a full fledged adult. Sure, you're only twenty one, you're unemployed, you're currently in the process of obtaining an arts degree that probably won't secure you anything tangible in the real world, but you're an adult nonetheless. You only have one year left of school before you can leave all this behind and start fresh somewhere else. You'd thought coming back home for one more summer would bring nostalgia and happiness, a few months of normality before life exploded in front of you.

Turns out your parents had pictured something different.

Your father gestures toward the kitchen table, urging for you to sit. You hate when they do this, make you feel small and childish while they both stand above you and reiterate rules they've had your whole life, rules that apparently you'll never grow out of. You wonder what rule you've broken now.

"We've noticed that you barely leave the house," your father begins, voice deep and authoritative, "We were under the impression that when you came home you'd be spending time with old friends, doing some volunteering again."

"Going to church," your mother adds beside him, a frown permanently etched on her face, "You've only gone twice since you've been here."

Call the cops, you think to yourself, forcibly holding back an eyeroll. Ironically your father is a police officer, and you highly doubt he'd ever come if you called.

"Instead, you just spend all your time in that backyard," he continues, nodding along with your mother, "We didn't invite you back to simply laze around all summer, there have been clear expectations you're not meeting."

You take a deep breath, feeling a hint of anger and stubbornness burning in the pit of your stomach. You shove it down, back to that secret hiding place you've cultivated throughout all these years of having to deal with them.

"I'm sorry, dad," you say, trying to sound as earnest as possible as you look to him and then your mother, "Sorry, mom."

"Sorry doesn't cut it, we need to see action," your father replies quickly, brow furrowed, "No more lounging around in the backyard on weekdays, that's a weekend activity from now on, we clear?"

You nod, "Clear."

"We want you to get involved in something," your mom takes a step forward, places her hand awkwardly on your shoulder, "Why don't you call Bethany? She's always looking for more helpers at Sunday School, or maybe Alice? I hear she's been volunteering at the soup kitchen for the summer."

You haven't spoken to either Bethany or Alice since you left for university three years ago. The thought of calling them, let alone having to work with them in either setting, makes you feel ill. You nod again, pretending to agree.

"That sounds good, I'll call them tomorrow morning," Both of your parents smile, appeased, "I think I'll go for a walk now, if that's okay. Clear my head, think about things I can do to improve."

"That's the spirit," your dad says, wrapping an arm around your mother, "Remember, be back before dinner or the door will be locked."

"I know," you nod, forcing a smile, "I won't forget."

--

Well, that's it, then. You'll have to leave.

It sounds dramatic to say that your parents telling you to get off your ass is enough to send you packing, but it goes so much deeper than that. You've spent your entire life doing everything these people say, nodding and smiling when you're meant to, apologizing for everything, doing anything you can to appease and impress them. You'd spent your high school years in youth choir, church group, organizing fundraisers, studying your ass off, tutoring, joining as many extracurriculars as possible until you had no free time. And even then, nothing ever seemed to be enough for them.

When you'd left for college they'd both cried at the airport, held you in their arms and told you with sincerity that they'd miss you so much. Your mother had kissed your face and held your hands and your father had hugged you for the first time since you were eleven years old. And because of their sudden burst of emotions, of affection, you'd actually missed them once you left. You remember you'd cried on the plane, scrolling through pictures of them on your phone until the battery died, thinking to yourself that maybe they weren't the horrible, authoritarian people you thought they were.

They called you once a week while you were at college, asking for updates, telling you they missed you, giving you neighborhood gossip that made you laugh and feel nostalgic for home. Being away from them, it was like they suddenly became two entirely new people, bonded together by their suddenly empty nest and seemingly trying to do right by you now, even if it felt a little too late. You'd thought about coming home a few times for a visit, but the memories that triggered the anger in the pit of your stomach kept you from doing so. You'd kept them at arm's length until you felt ready to come back.

And now you're back, and nothing has changed. They're the same people they always were, expecting too much of you, thinking they can control you, never quite believing that you're trying your best. You'd told them before you came that you just wanted to relax this summer, spend some time at home, maybe meet up with some old friends - keyword being maybe - and they'd seemed totally on board with the idea. There had been no mentions of keeping busy, no mentions of Sunday School or soup kitchens or rules. Then you'd arrived and realized how stupid you'd been to believe that they could ever change.

Your entire life you've been their perfect girl, their A+ student who volunteered and read bible verses and tutored the neighborhood kids, sacrificed your happiness more times than you can count for the sake of keeping them satisfied. But that's the thing: they're not satisfied, and they never will be.

Your flip flops smack against the concrete of your suburban street, sun beginning to set in the distance as you think about how exactly you're going to escape this hell. Yeah, you could just walk out the front door without a word, but it's not like you have anywhere to go or the money to do it. You have your plane ticket for your return flight back to school, but it's not 'til September and it's under your father's name. Your family might be wealthy but none of that wealth has ever gone directly into your pocket, and you doubt it ever will if you just bail on them in the middle of the night with no warning.

Your thoughts scatter when you hear someone call out your name nearby. Your head swivels and you see one of your neighbors, Mrs. Lillard, waving from her front porch. You wave back, give her a small smile.

"How's college treatin' ya?" she calls to you, taking a sip from a bottle of beer, "Got a boyfriend?"

Your cheeks warm immediately and shake your head, "Not yet!" you call back.

"I bet you're battin' 'em all away," her voice is slurred and you're sure that's probably not her first beer of the day, "Nobody's good enough for ya, huh?"

"I guess," you say awkwardly, continuing to walk and hoping she won't ask you to join her for a beer, "How's your husband?"

"Pain in my ass," she responds with a grunt and takes another swig, "Bet you can't wait to have your own white picket fence, perfect as you are."

Her words make you uncomfortable but you just give her your signature fake laugh and flip your hair, waving again, "Bye, Mrs. Lillard."

Your face falls as soon as you turn around, anger burning again. You've spent so much of your life being the picture perfect little suburban girl, doing everything your parents say, saying your prayers and reading to the elderly, killing yourself to get straight A's and only speaking when spoken to. Your reputation is widely known around the neighborhood; the sweet little girl, the pure and innocent God fearing angel. You've portrayed yourself as that girl for so long that you almost don't know which part of you is real anymore.

You keep walking down the street, eyeing the sunset as you go and wondering what would happen if you just didn't go back home tonight. As your father had said, he locks the door every night after dinner; you don't have a key, you've never had a key. You're only allowed into your house on the basis of trust and good merit. If you just refused to go back tonight, how would they react? The thought of doing something like that sends a warm flush of rebellion across your skin, eyes bright with intrigue. But where would you go?

You turn the corner and your nose is suddenly hit with the delectable scent of a barbecue, smokey and delicious. You slow a bit, closing your eyes and breathing in the warm air, stomach growling. You suddenly realize that if you don't go home tonight you'll also miss dinner. Another rule broken. You keep walking, trying to follow the scent like some kind of bloodhound. Maybe you know whoever's cooking and they'll invite you to eat with them.

A few houses down you start to hear the sound of music. There must be a party going on, a birthday or some other special occasion. It's only as you get closer to the sound that you realize it's not being played from a speaker or stereo, but from someone's front porch; a real guitar, live and acoustic.

You approach the house in question and see a man sitting on his front step, guitar in hand as he strums a steady tune. He's looking down, watching his fingers, monitoring his movements, but you see dark brown curls with hints of grey peppered throughout, a stubbled jaw line and curved nose. You slow your speed, furrowing your brow as you try to place him. You're not sure you've ever seen him before.

His music is calm and inviting, a plucky sounding tune that seems vaguely familiar. You're suddenly filled with intrigue, trying to place the song and slowing to a complete stop in front of the house without meaning to. You watch the man's callused fingers pick away at the strings, fast and professional, like he's been doing this for years. He probably has.

You're still trying to place the song, biting your lip and swiping through songs in your mind like an invisible rolodex. Johnny Cash? Bob Dylan? It sounds like one of those songs your parents would forbid you to listen to as a kid, the ones with devil worship in their lyrics, sung by bad men who didn't believe in God. You'd always questioned this logic, wondered how songs about living out in the country or falling in love could be inherently against your religion. They didn't even listen to it, just blindly told you it was against the rules.

Suddenly the man stops playing and you realize the song has come to an end. He looks up then, notices you standing there at the end of his walk with your furrowed brow and flip flops. His eyes are brown, expression startled at first but then fading into something softer as he gives you a small smile.

"Been there long?" he asks, voice crackling slightly, like he hasn't spoken much today.

You shake your head quickly, "I'm sorry, I heard you playing and I-"

"S'alright," he replies strumming his guitar absentmindedly and giving you a shrug, "I don't mind an audience."

He's southern, definitely a Texan, but you're sure you've never met him before. His face and voice are unfamiliar to you, but certainly not unwelcome. He's older, probably in his 40s or even 50s, but he's handsome and slightly boyish in a way despite his greying hair and freckled skin. He reminds you of one of those men on album covers your father had slammed down one day in the record store when you were nine, yelled at you in front of everyone that the men who made that music were filthy sinners. It hadn't stopped you from listening to them, though, curiosity getting the better of you.

Is that who you're looking at now? A filthy sinner?

"You okay?" he asks slowly, tilting his head. You realize you're just staring at him, gathering your thoughts.

You shake your head again quickly, feeling yourself blush under his gaze, "Sorry," you repeat, "I'm uh, I was just passing by and I heard you playing that song. It sounded really familiar."

He gives you a crooked smile and a nod, "Tangled Up in Blue, Bob Dylan."

"I knew it was Bob Dylan," you say, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. That song was from one of the albums you'd listened to in secret, one of the only times you'd had to delete your browser history. You feel pride swell in your chest at the smile you elicit from the man in response, like he's recognizing a fellow music lover.

"Good ear," he continues to lightly pluck at the strings of his guitar, "You play?"

"Um, not really." It's a half truth but mainly a lie, you've never played in your life. You feel slightly disappointed in yourself and you're not sure why; it's not like you've ever felt any kind of urge to learn, especially considering your parents would've made sure you only learned appropriate songs. When would you have even found the time between all your extracurriculars?

"Well, it ain't difficult," he starts playing the song again, slower this time, "Pretty repetitive chord progression, room for some adlibbin' here and there once you get the hang of it."

You nod like you understand what he's talking about, suddenly lost in the way his fingers pull at the strings, make the music come to life out of nothing. His hands are big, fingers long and thick as they curve back and forth, up and down. It's hypnotic to watch. He stops again and looks up, catches you staring.

"How old are you?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You swallow, unsure what exactly the right answer is. Part of you wants to lie, tell him you're older than you actually are so he doesn't just see you as some bright eyed kid. This is the first person you've encountered since coming back who doesn't know who you are, doesn't know about your reputation. You could tell him anything, be anyone, and he'd take it at face value.

"I'm twenty five," you lie, but it sounds unnatural in your mouth.

He looks you up and down, eyes raking your body in a way you're unfamiliar with. Like a man. Like the way your roommates back in college get looked at, sensually and flirtatiously, being eyed up by drunk guys at the bar who only have one thing on their mind. You feel your heart begin to thrum quicker in your chest; is that really how this man is looking at you? This grown man, not a high school crush or a college fratboy, a real man?

"Sweetheart, we both know that's a lie," he says with a chuckle, eyes coming back to rest on your face, "I'd guess twenty."

You make a face, "I'm twenty one, actually."

He laughs again, putting his hands up in surrender, "My bad, twenty one."

You watch as he starts to strum once again, something new and unfamiliar. You listen for a few moments, eyes trained back on his fingers, watching him play.

"You wanna come in for a bit?" he asks, voice nonchalant, like he's asking you something completely casual.

And maybe he is, but the words make your eyes widen, your breath catching in your throat. The way he'd looked at you just then, laughed at your words, wanted to know your age... now he's inviting you into his house? You've never actually been flirted with before, not when it mattered, and you're not entirely sure if that's what's happening. But it feels like it, even though you can't imagine how someone like him could see anything sexy about a girl like you.

"...Why?" you ask quietly.

He looks up at you with another smile, still plucking the strings, "If you need to ask then maybe I read you wrong," he chuckles again, eyes trailing down your legs and taking in your short dress, the way it stops at your knees, "Now that I really look at you, maybe I'm talkin' to a good Christian girl."

"You're not," you say it too quickly, "I mean, I'm not. I'm not a good Christian girl."

"No?" he smirks, "Don't have a good southern daddy waitin' for you to come home? Momma waitin' with a pie in the oven?" he's not being serious but you feel your skin flush at the accuracy of his words.

"Maybe," you mutter, hand going down to touch your dress nervously, "But maybe I don't wanna go home."

He nods and stops plucking, licking his lips and thinking to himself. You have to admit, there's something about him that draws you to him, something masculine and new. He's much, much older than you but not in a way that creeps you out or makes you want to run away. You find yourself hoping he'll ask you to come inside again so this time you can give him the right answer, the one he wants to hear.

"You probably should," he finally says, then stands up on his porch steps and slips his guitar onto his back. The strap digs into his broad shoulders, accentuating his size as he suddenly towers over you on the step.

"Sh-should what?" you ask breathlessly, and you wonder if he can tell your heart race has picked up, see the thumping of your pulse in your exposed neck.

"Go back home," he says with a shrug, "I mean, if they're waitin' for you..."

"They're not," you say it with firm finality, shaking your head, "I'm twenty one, I do what I like."

He walks down the steps then, getting closer and closer to you until he's suddenly standing directly in front of you. His eyes cast downward, assessing your expression; you swear he looks at your lips and licks his own again.

"So would you like to come inside?" he asks again, peering down at you with a dark sense of desire that makes you swallow roughly, feel a light and steady thrum between your legs, "Let me teach you how to play that song?"

Here's your chance. Just say yes.

"N-no," you gasp, taking a step back from him, "Um, n-not today."

He smirks, almost like he knew that would be your response. He hitches his guitar up his shoulder and gives you one last smile before turning around and walking back up his steps.

"Well, I'm here if you change your mind," he calls back to you, reaching for the doorknob on his front door and peering at you with another side glance, still assessing you, "Would love to teach a pretty thing like you how to use her fingers."

You feel your lips part in surprise, an unfamiliar tingling sensation flooding your body as he gives you a wink and walks into his house, shutting the door behind him. You've still got that steady throbbing feeling in your underwear, something you've only felt a handful of times. You know what it is, you're not completely clueless, but you can't remember the last time it happened.

You take another step back slowly, heart still pounding in your chest as you stare at his closed door. Then you turn on your heel and speed walk back the way you came, flip flops slapping against the ground aggressively. You revel in the way your thighs rub together as you walk, soothing that ache.

Any thoughts of not going home have gone from your mind. You need to ask your parents who this man is. As soon as possible.

-

You get home right before dinner, giving yourself just enough time to formulate exactly how to ask your parents about the man with the guitar. You're slightly afraid that you might seem too eager, too curious, and that they'll see right through you; you can't imagine how they'd react to knowing their perfect little girl is getting butterflies over a middle aged man.

But that's what you have: butterflies. In your tummy, all over your skin, between your legs. Being talked to the way he did, being looked at the way he did, it's making you feel hot all over, itchy and uncomfortable but in a good way.

The last time you felt this way was during your first week of college, at a party you'd gone to with your roommate. You'd seen him across the room, tall and blonde, watched as he licked his lips and looked you up and down. He was gorgeous, an angel you were convinced God had placed at this party just for you. You felt that tingle between your legs, swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat and imagined what it would be like to be kissed by him.

Then he'd approached and you realized he'd been looking at your roommate the entire time.

Your mother is just beginning to plate the meal when you slip into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table beside your father. She serves you both with a smile and sits, then extends her hands to both of you.

"Bless us, O Lord, for these, Thy gifts," she begins quietly, and you quickly hang your head and close your eyes as she continues, "which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," you and your dad echo, then begin your meal. Just the same as always.

"How was your walk?" your father asks.

Here goes nothing.

"It was nice," you say, nodding thoughtfully to yourself and hoping you sound nonchalant, "I said hi to Mrs. Lillard."

"We've been praying for her," your mom interjects immediately, "She's an alcoholic, you know."

Your mom stays on top of all the neighborhood gossip, part of the reason you feel she might know something about the mysterious man. With a nod of your head you continue, "And then I saw someone else, a man playing guitar on his front porch, but I've never seen him before."

"Oh, him" your mom rolls her eyes, "Mr. Miller. Piece of work."

Bingo.

Your eyebrows raise, intrigued, "How so?"

"Kindness, dear," your father says with a disapproving nod to your mother, "He's done nothing to us."

She sighs and shakes her head, "You're right, I'm sorry."

The conversation is definitely going somewhere but it's already taking a turn into dangerous territory; you're not one to question, to interfere or interject. Pressing them further might make them suspicious, but you have to know.

"What did he do?" you ask, trying your best to sound casual, "If you don't mind me asking?"

Your mother is about to speak but your father gives her a look, almost a warning. She closes her mouth and sits back in her chair, waiting for him to answer you instead.

"He didn't do anything," your father explains, "Your mother invited him for dinner and he declined, that's all."

"It's the way he declined," your mother sits forward again, voice curt and irritated, "He was very rude."

"Rude?" You can tell your mom wants to talk about it, dredge up something she hasn't been able to discuss for a while; you're surprised she hadn't already told you over the phone while you were at college.

"This isn't appropriate conversation for the dinner table," your father says sternly, and you're not sure if he's talking more-so to you or your mother, "End of discussion." As usual your mother folds in on herself, picking up her fork and starting to eat again.

"Your father's right," she says, though you know she doesn't really believe that, "Let's just eat."

You wonder what the man - Mr. Miller - could have said to make your mother react this way. It's not unusual for her to get stiff and bothered by people - it's pretty easy to push her buttons, actually, but the list of things that offend her is long and detailed. He could have said pretty much anything to set her off. The specifics are lost on you.

You resign yourself to defeat and eat your dinner, sincerely glad that the tingling sensations in your body have subsided. You do not need to be feeling like that with your parents in the room.

-

You dream about him.

It's muddled and confusing, taking place simultaneously back at college and in your childhood bedroom, but he's there. In both places, somehow. You're back at that first week of college party, but instead of the blonde boy it's him standing across the room, eyeing you up and down. But this time he doesn't go for your roommate, he walks over to you and looks deeply into your eyes, gives you that delicious smirk and brings his hands down to touch your waist. He's so big compared to you, so much older. He pulls you in with a strong grasp and holds you to his broad chest, runs his hands down your back.

Then you're both transported from the college party to your parent's house. You're on your bed, sitting next to him atop the covers and watching him play guitar. You watch his fingers, long and thick, hypnotizing you with their movements. He stops playing and brings one to your chin, tilts your head up to look into your eyes again.

"You're not a good Christian girl," he whispers in that southern drawl, breath ghosting across your face, inching closer and closer, "You're all mine, aren't you?"

You wake up with a start and immediately feel the dampness in your underwear, the butterflies back again with a vengeance as your pussy throbs and pulses. You've never felt anything like this before, grasping your chest and reaching for your bedside lamp in the darkness. You sit there in bed for a few moments, catching your breath and waiting for the feelings to vanish again, for your aching core to stop reminding you that it's never been touched, not once, even though you know it's absolutely begging for it.

With shaky hands you reach down and run a finger through your wet folds, shivering at the soft touch. You've never masturbated before, never had sex or anything else you've learned about from your friends at college. They'd looked at you with disbelief when you'd told them you'd never even had an orgasm; one of them had gone so far as to ask if she could give you one.

"No," you'd said curtly, "No thank you."

Now you sit on your childhood bed with your legs open and a finger pressed lightly against you within your underwear. You're not even sure what to do, where exactly to touch, how to bring yourself to completion. You're twenty one years old but you've spent your entire life being the good, pure, God fearing girl waiting for marriage like her parents taught her.

"Enough," you whisper into the darkness, "I'm done waiting."

You yank your finger out of your panties and lay back on the bed, switching off the lamp and closing your eyes again. You've already decided before you drift off that you'll be paying Mr. Miller another visit tomorrow, as soon as possible.

He told you he wanted to teach you how to use your fingers; you intend to make sure he does.

[kikyoupdates]

Otherworldly Attraction ⭑˚🔮⭑ 𝑎 𝑠𝑢𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟

yandere!jjk x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

You don't know how or why, but you've been isekai'd into the world of Jujutsu Kaisen. Although your first instinct is to stay away from the plot, you've been blessed with an abnormal amount of cursed energy, and for better or worse, you find yourself sucked into the storyline. You decide that you may as well use your newfound powers for the greater good, and if you're lucky, you might succeed in rewriting some of the characters' fates. But it turns out that your presence in this world is an even bigger deal than you first thought, and soon, everyone wants to make you theirs.

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The door slides open to reveal two students, a girl and a boy, sitting around a table while they eat their lunches. Itadori steps inside, still grinning widely, and their heads turn at the sound of his voice.

“Hey, guys! I just dropped by for lunch, if that’s okay. Oh, and I brought a friend! This is [Name],” he happily introduces. 

You’re too stunned by the fact that he just referred to you as his friend to process much else, and by that point, the two students have already stood up. 

“It’s nice to meet you, [Name],” the girl greets with a smile. “I’m Sasaki, a second-year.” 

“And I’m Iguchi, also a second-year,” the boy chimes in. 

Needless to say, you already know who they are, too. Even though it was indirect on their part, they’re largely the reason why Itadori ends up at Jujutsu High, thanks to the fateful events of a certain night spent on school grounds. 

At this point in time, Itadori has yet to give them Sukuna’s finger. You’re not sure exactly when it’ll happen, but there will probably be some warning signs, like Fushiguro showing up on campus to look for it. 

Still, for obvious reasons, you feel like you shouldn’t get too involved with these two. The plot is going to proceed normally, as it should. You’re worried that something might go wrong with your interference. It’s probably best if you keep your distance, and—

“Would you like to join the Occult Research Club?!” 

“...” 

Yeah, you probably should’ve expected that. 

Itadori laughs. “Come on, guys. I didn’t bring her here to try and recruit her. I just wanted to introduce all three of you! I’m not sure if [Name]’s into that kind of stuff, anyways. It’s not really everyone’s thing.” 

“It’s true,” you nod. “I’m, uh, not that great with scary stuff…” 

“There’s nothing scary about the paranormal!” Sasaki insists. “It’s just interesting! Mysterious! Imagine what could be out there! Don’t you have a thirst for the unknown?” 

It’s precisely because I do know what’s out there that I’m scared…

“Sasaki, you’re coming on way too strong,” Iguchi chides. He turns to offer you a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. We just can’t help but get excited when new people show up to our club room, but we know this kind of thing can’t be forced. You two are more than welcome to stay here during lunch.”

To some extent, you can’t help but feel a bit bad, because you know how passionate they are, and soon, Itadori won’t be around to keep them company anymore. He has no choice but to go to Jujutsu High. It’s his fate as the protagonist of this world. 

You know you can’t possibly be a substitute for someone as irreplaceable as Itadori, but once all the craziness with Sukuna’s finger passes, you’d be happy to be their friend, if they’ll have you.

“Ooh, your lunch looks really good, [Name],” Itadori remarks once you sit down and unpack your bento box.

“Thanks,” you smile. “I’ve been cooking for a while. My mom cooks too, but I just got used to making food for myself. The process helps me take my mind off things. It’s kind of therapeutic, in a way.” 

Seeing as being sucked into a fictional world is kind of—or rather, really fucking insane, it’s safe to say that you cooked up a storm when you got home yesterday. You packed up most of the leftovers for lunch today, so the food didn’t go to waste, but still. You ended up emptying a good portion of the fridge.

Itadori takes a big bite out of his onigiri, but he keeps eyeing your lunch all the while, so you chuckle and push the bento box closer to him.

“Go ahead,” you encourage. “You can have some if you want.” 

“Can I really?” he blinks, a few pieces of rice stuck to his cheek. It’s kind of ridiculous how adorable this guy is. You have the sudden urge to pull him into your arms and give him a big squeeze, but mercifully, your intrusive thoughts don’t win. 

“Of course. I packed plenty, so I can afford to share.”

“Oh—wait, but earlier, I was saying that I’d be the one to treat you! I can’t just eat your lunch! I still owe you big-time for what I did to you!” 

Itadori firmly shakes his head in refusal, then crosses his arms and makes an attempt at what you can only assume is meant to be a stern expression. But again, he’s so ridiculously cute that it’s a bit hard to take him seriously. 

Sasaki arches a brow. “What did you do to her?” 

“I, uh, may have hit her in the face with a soccer ball,” Itadori replies, shamefully shrinking in on himself.

He is literally baby. 

“Why would you do that?” Iguchi gapes. “Come to think of it, her nose is a little bruised…” 

“It obviously wasn’t on purpose!” Itadori protests. He turns towards you with an imploring expression. “[Name], I promise it wasn’t on purpose. I swear I would never do something like that!” 

You chuckle softly. “I know you wouldn’t. You definitely don’t seem like that kind of guy.”

Itadori lets out a sigh of relief and resumes munching on his onigiri. Meanwhile, Sasaki stares at you from across the table. 

“So… [Name],” she says. “You’re a first-year like Itadori, I’m assuming?” 

“Yep.” 

“I’ve never really seen you around.” 

“I’m a new student. I only just transferred in.” 

She pauses for a few moments, and you can see her eyes glistening with excitement. “So, that must mean you haven’t joined any clubs yet, right?” 

“Sasaki, not this again,” Iguchi sighs. 

“I’m telling you! Not everyone is drawn to the occult right away. It takes trial and error to figure out if it’s something you’re actually interested in. I’m not saying she has to join our club or anything. But while she’s here, she should at least dip her toes in, right?” 

Before Iguchi can protest on your behalf again, Sasaki grabs a large board from one of the bookshelves and turns towards you with a mischievous grin. 

“...you’ve heard of Kokkuri, right?” 

After school, Itadori stops by your classroom. 

“Hey, [Name],” he beams. “Thanks for hanging out with all of us during lunch. It was a lot of fun. Hopefully that game of Kokkuri didn’t freak you out too much.”

“I had fun too,” you nod. Truthfully, you’ve never really been fazed by this kind of stuff. Horror movies and the like don’t often get much of a reaction out of you. You never bought into ghosts or vengeful spirits. Well, not in the real world at least.

Unfortunately, in this world, there’s plenty of freaky shit to go around. 

“It means a lot to those guys,” Itadori says, a tinge of sadness to his smile. “We’re the only people in the school that seem to have an interest in the occult. I signed up for it because I thought it’d be fun, but we just barely meet the three-member minimum. Thanks for going along with it to make them happy, even if it’s not really your kind of thing.” 

“There’s no need to thank me. I know I said I wasn’t crazy about scary stuff, but I actually ended up having a good time. I’m glad you invited me to hang out with you guys,” you smile. 

Itadori returns your smile with one of his own—seriously, he’s almost always smiling, but you certainly don’t mind—and before you realize it, a phone has been placed into your hand. 

You blink. “What’s this?” 

“My phone,” Itadori replies, still smiling.

“Um, I mean, I know that, but why’d you give it to me?” 

“So you can give me your number. That way it’ll be easier for us to stay in touch!” He pauses, just for a moment, to frown. “Oh, but I guess I should’ve asked if you were okay with it first. I got a little ahead of myself. Would it be cool if we exchanged numbers?” 

Abso-fucking-lutely! 

By some miracle, you manage to reign in your excitement, and instead of hardcore fangirling and squealing out at the top of your lungs, you just nod. 

“Sure thing,” you say, trying to play it cool. Still, despite your best efforts to act indifferent, your fingers are trembling as you pull out your own phone and refer to the number you have saved in a notes app (because you definitely haven’t memorized it within less than a day of being here). Once you’re finished inputting your number, you pass your phone over to Itadori so he can do the same.

And just like that, you have a new contact saved. Itadori Yuji. He even added a little smiley-face at the end of his name. God, he’s so fucking cute. 

“Sweet!” Itadori grins. “Thanks, [Name]. I’ll be sure to text you lots! Sorry I can’t really stick around much longer. I just wanted to stop by real quick before I left to go visit my gramps at the hospital.” 

Right. His grandfather. A point deep in your stomach throbs uncomfortably, and you’re hit by a sudden wave of guilt. It feels awful to know that his grandfather’s end is rapidly approaching. It feels awful to know that you can’t change it, or even warn him. All you can do is feign ignorance and hope that he enjoys these fleeting moments while they last. 

You muster up a smile. “I hope you have a nice day with your grandpa. Feel free to text me whenever.”

“Will do! See ya!” 

Itadori waves you off, every bit as cheerful as always. Yet another thing that causes you immense guilt is the knowledge that his happy days won’t last forever. Soon, he’ll be thrown into a dark, sinister world that teems with death. A world that, in your opinion, is far too harsh for such a gentle soul. 

Unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do about that. Fate will run its course, and you must simply stand by and let it happen. 

Despite the nice day you had, your spirits are admittedly a bit low as you trudge home, having to consult Oogle Maps in order to find your way around. After being injured yesterday, the nurse called your parents to inform them of what had happened, and your mom came by to pick you up. This is technically your first time finding your way home by yourself. It’s not just a new school you need time getting used to, but a new home, a new city, a new world… all of it is bound to get a little overwhelming at times.

You wish you could say you’re completely aware of your surroundings, but that’s far from the truth. Every so often, you have to stop and squint towards the street signs to make sure you’re heading the right way. Jujutsu Kaisen is set in a fictional world, of course, but it’s a world modeled off the real world, and there’s plenty of similarities. This version of Japan is every bit as busy as the real one, for instance. Which is why you keep getting swept up in the crowds and losing your sense of direction.

Still, it’s not rocket science. You can mostly figure out where you’re going. Oogle Maps is idiot-proof, after all. Well, sort of. 

But the fact remains that you’ve never wandered these streets before, and naturally, you’re as disoriented as anyone would be in a foreign place. Hence why you don’t notice him until it’s late. 

A man with long, black hair, who’s staring right at you. 

You get jerked around by the crowd of people hurrying home during rush-hour, enough that you end up tripping onto the sidewalk and falling onto your knees. Your socks only reach up to your calves, so unfortunately, your knees get scraped open and start bleeding. 

Man. Only two days into this isekai thing, and you just can’t seem to stop getting hurt. 

“...are you alright?” 

Some guy is speaking to you. Presumably, one of the bystanders that saw you trip. Your cheeks flush, because falling in public is one of the most embarrassing things that can happen, but you instinctively reach out to grab his hand anyway. 

At the same time, your gaze pans upwards, and his eyes meet yours. 

Oh, balls. 

That’s the most appropriate response you can think of. After all, the man you’ve just had the misfortune of running into is hardly the type to be your friend. He’s not like Itadori. He’s not one of the good guys. 

He is Geto Suguru. Or rather, the curse user that’s pretending to be him. The real Geto is long dead. He was killed by his former best friend, Gojo. 

Those scars on his forehead tell you everything you need to know. The curse user’s name is Kenjaku, and he is merely using Geto’s body as a vessel. As things stand, you’re probably the only person who knows his true identity.

Regardless, the details don’t matter right now.

You’re just really fucking scared. 

Kenjaku pulls you to your feet, and unlike with Itadori, when you wished you could keep holding his hand forever, this time, you pull away viscerally fast, as if you’ve just been splashed with hot oil. 

Naturally, Kenjaku notices. 

“You didn’t answer my question, miss,” he chuckles, a cunning smile spreading across his lips. “I asked if you were alright. You took quite a tumble there. It must have hurt.” 

“I-I’m fine,” you reply, praying your fear isn’t absurdly obvious. You need to stay calm. There’s no reason why an ordinary person would be afraid of him, and if you let it show, he’ll know something’s up. 

“Your knees are bleeding,” Kenjaku points out. He leans closer to you, and you swear your heart nearly explodes. His dark, thin eyes are even more eerie from up close. “And you look like you just saw a ghost. I admit, I’m a bit worried.”

That’s bullshit if you’ve ever heard it, but nevertheless, you can’t allow your expression to crumble. There’s no reason for him to kill you out in public like this. Unlike cursed spirits, people can see him. He won’t risk drawing that kind of attention to himself. 

Probably. 

“I’m just… socially awkward,” you say, chuckling shyly for added effect. “And, uh, I’m not good at talking to handsome guys like you. I get nervous.” 

To be honest, what you just said isn’t even a total lie. Sadly. 

Kenjaku stares at you in silence for a few moments, then smiles yet again, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“I’m flattered by your words,” he muses. “Well, just be careful not to trip again. You got off with a small injury this time, but if you’re not careful, it could be a lot worse. And nobody likes to hurt, do they?” 

It’s hard to tell whether or not that was meant to be a thinly-veiled threat, but you have no intention of sticking around to find out. 

“Thank you for your help, mister. I appreciate it.” 

You hastily bow to him, then waste no time before speed-walking away. The further you get, the easier it is to breathe.

But since you’re too scared to look back over your shoulder, you don’t realize that Kenjaku is still staring at you with a contemplative look on his face. 

He hums to himself. “So much cursed energy. Is she a sorcerer? But something about her seems strange. I just can’t put my finger on it.” 

Well, no matter. He’ll leave you in peace for now. He can’t very well attack you in broad daylight, and he doesn’t even know if you pose a threat. There are far too many variables to consider. 

Besides, something tells him that this won’t be your last meeting. 

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[vexis-world]

“You can't seriously be that dumb..!”

💗 Clarisse la rue x daughter of Apollo!reader one-shot 💗

Authors note: hi reader!! This is my first fan-fiction post so I'd love any constructive criticism to help improve my writing for the future! This is not beta read so it's far from perfect - but I hope you will still enjoy it nonetheless :)) Ty for reading! 🫶

Short summary: Clarisse has some doubts about your "relationship" and seeks you out to speak about her worries.

Word count: 940ish words!

Clarisse’s mind was swarming with thoughts; it always does when she trains alone. She thinks best in the training arena, it's in her blood after all. You and her had been in a relationship for almost 3 months now and hadn't kissed yet. Which isn't a big deal! Clarisse doesn't mind, at least that's what she tells herself. But this is her first relationship, and she doesn't have anyone to unload this onto. To ask advice without having to reveal too much about herself, and her most private fears. She knew that you wanted to take things slow. Although it was not confirmed by words, Clarisse could (in her opinion) read her ‘girlfriend’ well. However when was slow, too slow? Were you having mixed feelings all of a sudden? And if so why had this not been brought up? Clarisse believed that you two were close, as ones in a romantic partnership should be; but perhaps not as close as she had originally thought.

Clarisse took large and fast steps, speed walking over to you. People moved out of her way, they could tell it was urgent and that they shouldn't mess with Clarisse at this moment. Or any moment for that matter.

“Hey Clarisse!” you spoke enthusiastically, finishing up a patient in the infirmary. “Pretty girl, explain something to me.” Clarisse's words make you blush, faintly; you had mainly gotten used to her flirty remarks these past few weeks, but she always manages to catch you off guard, every once in a while. “Ok.. what's up?” you asked, in a nervous tone. You could clearly see the distressed look on the girls face. “It's sort of private, can we speak in the back?” this added to your nerves, clarisse was usually never this off. “Of course, is everything okay?” but before you could finish your sentence, clarisse had already walked over to the back of the infirmary and into the supply area.

The supply closet was cramped with the both of you in there. Clarisse had to push up against you with an arm over your head for you two to fit somewhat comfortably. “Clarisse, is everything okay?” you asked again, this time hoping you would get a straight forward reply. “Do you.. Have you um..” clarisse stuttered avoiding your concerned gaze. “Have you lost feelings for me or something?” she finally mutters. You spent a minute gathering up your words, to find a way to reply. You bit your lip with furrowed brows, before the words fully processed and then said. “What..?” Clarisse had a strange expression on her face. “It's been three months and we haven't kissed or held hands in public. We don't go on proper dates. I feel like you don’t like me” she says quickly with an eye-roll included. “Clarisse, what are you on about..? Why would we kiss?” you asked hesitantly. “Why wouldn't you? Were in a relationship, isn't that kinda the norm?” This left you frozen. You were shocked, obviously but also majorly embarrassed. Had you been in a relationship without even knowing it? And to your crush no less. Fuck. “.. relationship?” you said nauseously, with butterflies in your stomach. “Clarisse, is this some sort of sick joke..?” you added, with shallow breaths. The room was getting stuffy and suffocating. “What do you mean sick joke? Have I ever lied to you? Are my feelings a joke to you? Is that it? Forget it. If I make you this fucking sick then good thing you're in the infirmary. I'm leaving, let's not talk for a while, 'kay?” she pushes past you. since you two were practically melted into one another, you could feel how she'd gotten warmer and how her heart rate had gone up significantly. You try to go after her but just as you do, your brother, Will asks you to tend to another patient that had just come in. He calls over his shoulder. “trouble in paradise? Gonna have to wait, I'm afraid - I need some help over here!” leaving you even more puzzled.

An hour or two goes by since you spoke with clarisse, and she’s consumed your thoughts entirely. You decided to speak to her at dinner and try to resolve whatever happened earlier.

“Clarisse, can we talk? Again..” you whispered, almost begging. “Kinda busy. We’ll talk later.” clarisse brushes you off to finish scraping her offerings into the fire. “Please clarisse. I need to speak to you. Just for a second.” you plead. “Two minutes. Two, that's it.” clarisse says, her eyes finally looking up from fire to the now very interesting sky. “Thank you.” You sigh and lead her away to a more secluded area as she had done with you. “I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. And they're not a joke to me. I'm just confused. What did you mean by relationship?” Clarisse replies by saying “what do you mean, what do i mean? We're dating, aren't we?” you take a pause, dumbfounded for the second time today. “Since when? Don't take this the wrong way but.. I don't remember you asking me to be your.. Um.. girlfriend.” your voice is wobbly and uncertain, you try your best to make your words seem kinder, as to not offend clarisse again. “Well, I guess I never asked but.. Oh.” Clarisse's words end as she parts her lips. She's realised her error. And so had you. You let out a breathy chuckle and say “maybe this time you should actually ask me.'' Clarisse looks at you with much more confidence now, her infamous sly grin back on her perfect face. “Maybe that would be best, sweet girl.”

[peppermintquartz]

(Tommy's pov of this)

He's in the process of making sure the bird is ready to go when he turns and sees Howie, as well as two unfamiliar young guys following him.

Good-looking faces too. Maybe they should do the calendar next year. The shorter one has large, soulful eyes and a confident stride that speaks of military experience; the other is a tall, leggy man with a boyish smile and seems to be visibly thrumming with energy.

Of course they bring in the studs after I'm gone, Tommy thinks, half-exasperated that he's missed out on eye candy and half-amused at his own shallowness.

"Howie, hey!" Tommy says and embraces his former colleague and current friend. It's not always possible for them to meet up, but a life debt is not something Tommy will forget. "Long time."

Howie claps him on the back. It feels like a silent thank you, which, given the enormity of what they're going to do, the less said aloud the better.

Can't risk someone overhearing that they're going to steal a helicopter on a mere hunch.

Tommy knows he has a good poker face, and it's proven to be effective because no one seems to realize how nervous he is. They may cause an international incident if anything goes "pear-shaped", as his old instructor Winslow used to say, but Tommy isn't about to back out now.

"This is Tommy, Tommy Kinard," says Howie to the other two, telling them about him being a former member of the 118 and also about his being a fathead. At least Howie acknowledges that Tommy's grown out of it.

"Thanks to you," Tommy says. He sticks out his hand to the new faces.

Soulful Eyes grins when he grasps Tommy's hand. A firm grip, almost challenging. "Eddie Diaz."

Tommy smiles, feeling like he's found a kindred spirit. "Pleasure. And you are...?" He extends the hand to the other young guy.

"Uh, Evan," he says, eyes wide and curious like a puppy in a new environment. His hand is warm and dry. "E-Evan Buckley."

"Hi Evan." The splotch just over Evan's left eye is a birthmark, Tommy discovers. To his amusement, Evan doesn't let go of his hand, as if he's completely forgotten that they were just shaking hands in introduction. Tommy doesn't want to embarrass the guy, but he doesn't want to rudely snatch his hand away either. He opts for a slight tease. "I'm gonna need that hand to fly the chopper, kid."

"Oh! Oh, right. Sorry." Evan drops Tommy's hand like it's hot. His ears go red. Tommy thinks, That's so cute, and then sternly warns himself not to read too much into anything. He's not falling for a straight guy again, just because they're cute. And he's glad that he doesn't read too much into Evan's fluster because Evan says, "I was just, um, thinking, about Cap and Thena."

Bobby Nash must mean a great deal to Evan, judging by the way his gaze skitters from Tommy's face to the chopper and bounces lightly on his heels. For some reason, he reminds Tommy of Bambi.

Howie sticks his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, we're gonna need Hen to show soon with some coordinates. Can't go flying all over the Gulf of Mexico."

Tommy makes a mental note to re-check fuel levels. It's definitely topped up, but ninety minutes one way and ninety minutes back in what will definitely be rough conditions is not a walk in the park. Nevertheless, he keeps his tone light. "We'll do what we can."

A pair of headlights slide along the road that leads to harbor. Tommy doesn't really know if it's Hen, but his nerve is starting to give, so he says quickly, "Wait, I see a car pulling in. Might be her. Get in the backseat, strap yourselves in. Once I get Hen clear of Melton, we'll dash. Hopefully she has a good cover story..."

Eddie doesn't hesitate as he scrambles in, nearly knocking his head on the roof of the chopper.

Seeing that they aren't about to call him out on his fake calm demeanor, Tommy blows out his cheeks to center himself. Then he smiles, asking, "If we're all arrested, can I blame it on you, Howie?"

Howie snorts as he gets in next to Eddie. "Yeah I really twisted your arm with the 'Please help us save Cap and Athena'."

(In fact, Howie actually said, "Hen has a hunch, she won't let us help, but she''ll need a chopper. So I'm gonna need you to steal one for us to save Captain Nash and his wife." And Tommy agreed instantly. He trusted Hen Wilson's hunches too.)

"You know it's because of your irresistibly pretty face," Tommy quips as he helps guide Evan - the tallest of the three - in without hitting his head. "Alright, put those helmets on. Careful, Evan," he says when Evan nearly bounces the helmet off the bridge of his sharp nose.

It's a very nice nose. Be a shame to bruise it.

Fuel. And preflight. Tommy inhales sharply and gets into his seat as the three firefighters strap themselves in. It's a calming ritual by now, and he feels ready. He knows he is ready.

And Hen should be here by now.

"Alright. She's ready to go when we are," Tommy announces, patting the stick fondly. As he opens the door to get to the hangar, he says to the three men, "Don't touch anything. I'm gonna hang out near Melton and run intercept."

Howie rolls his eyes. Eddie holds up three fingers of his right hand, like a Scout's promise. "We'll behave."

Evan beams a dazzling smile at Tommy, like they're not actually about to commit a crime.

It's a good thing Tommy has to focus on flying into a hurricane, because otherwise his heart will be tripping all over itself to get Evan to smile like that once more.

Nope. No crushing on a straight guy, Kinard, we've been through this.

Instead, Tommy jogs towards the hangar where he sees Hen approaching Melton, holding a form that Tommy knows will not stand up to scrutiny.

Boy, if you can't convince someone, confuse them, Winslow used to say over drinks after their flying lessons. Act like you know exactly what you're doing and seventy percent of the time they'll let you get away with it.

Tommy takes a deep breath, puts on a smile, and walks into the light of the hangar.

--

edited on AO3

[sordidmusings]

Fixing What Ifs (Mihawk x F!Reader)

A/N: For this ancient request (told you they are not forgotten just severely neglected 💀). I really hope I captured the type of scene you were looking for! Debating on writing a follow up smut because sex as the culmination of pining?? That's that good good right there that is.

Listening to: Prove Your Love - Fleetwood Mac, Go Slowly - Radiohead, Love Song - Lesley Duncan

Word Count: ~4.5k

Warnings: Fem!reader, a gratuitous amount of mutual pining, kind of bantering?, Mihawk leans opla in that he has such sass, a few flashback scenes, Mihawk is a Man who does not know how to deal with being in love, but he’s trying like a lot, I mean he even kisses your wrist, probably idiots in love, there's one brief allusion to Buggy cuz I Need Him

Snippet:

“You say that as if we’re too old to have options.” He spoke quite steadily, but you noticed his golden eyes flicking to you, ravenously seeking your reaction. You knew he was trying to cover at least a little; your equal skills in observation were a beauty and a bane to him. It was your favorite source of bickering, giving you many lines to smile at when you were stuck in lonely nights tracking targets.

“You are in your forties,” you teased. Again, you took a sip to think. You meant to find some words to match his characteristic tone (“Joints still working well enough to properly share a bed?”), but instead what came out was “though you’ve aged better than I imagined in our twenties”. You blamed that you had finally looked over and taken in his face, sculpted angles all alive and aglow in the torch-light. There was also that defined chest that he maddeningly always insisted on showing everyone. You probably would too, looking like that.

“You should know by now I always exceed expectation,” Mihawk said without a hint of gloating, just simply stating an absolute fact.

“There’s still many places I’ve yet to see that proven,” you responded, words coy and teasing but smile easy and affectionate. Mihawk would need much more intimacy before he admitted how that smile stalled his thoughts. You would need much more boldness before you let him know you noticed when you managed to halt his breath.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

“I’ve chosen another I want you to try. Push your glass this way,” Mihawk prompted gently. Years of knowing him let you pick up the hints of eagerness hidden under his usual drawl.

You watched Mihawk’s hands and forearms work as he opened another bottle to share. He had foregone his coat tonight, instead draping himself with a well-cut white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows and buttons undone to below his sternum, of course. Toned muscle danced under his skin with every twist and turn, leading you to great distraction throughout the process of him serving you. After enjoying the sculpt of his large hand while it gripped the full bottle to pour your glass, you changed your attention to the luxurious material of his shirt, fluttering over his chest and playing against tanned skin and his heavy gold cross. You wished you could find an excuse to pull at that hem, testing the softness of the material and making it reveal more for you.

The dark green bottle thumping back down on the bartop brought your attention away from your companion and back to your refreshed drink. You did feel a bit guilty that Mihawk’s description of the new wine was going near completely ignored (you at least caught the words “barrel-aged”, flattered he remembered your offhand comment about that preference from months ago). You just couldn’t get yourself to pay attention; your mind was swimming through multiple years at once any time it wasn’t grounded by his visage. Wistfulness had a stranglehold on you tonight, keeping you locked between painful yearning and bittersweet nostalgia. The comfort of hearing his smooth voice accompanied by the quietly unfolding lives of every stranger in the bar did reach you, however. You took solace in that while you went for your first sip.

“You’re much quieter than usual,” Mihawk prodded with dry displeasure. That displeasure was interrupted when he got to enjoy your usual show of flicking your tongue out to lick your glass and then your lips upon the first taste.

You took another, much longer sip of your drink to delay the need to respond. It was an easy choice of diversion; the wine was exquisite as always. You’d tell him as much if you were more in the mood for the gloating, simpering glow he’d get from earning a stroke to his ego from you.

“I thought you’d like that,” you offered quietly. You swept a fingertip around the slick rim of your glass, mindless in your feeling and seeing and doing. This absent state let Mihawk watch for every detail of the action to better imagine how that trailing fingertip would feel against his skin. 

“Clearly you’re not as observant as you think,” he dug back, this time with much more amusement warming his voice, yet not quite enough to completely melt the snideness out.

Despite yourself, you smiled. Years of rivalry softened you to affection. Over those years of pushing yourselves and each other, bitterness became respect, respect became comradery, and comradery became admiration. In you, that admiration had long bloomed into devotion, petals bursting open in a stalwart stand against his consistent frigid air. Some days they withered, but then he would reach to you, hearten you, or defend you in a way that would have new buds growing more and more numerous until you had a field that could withstand winter's chill, turning to ice sculptures in each frost instead of decaying pulp.

“I blame your wines,” you chuckled, still taking yet another sip despite the accusation. “They have me stuck reminiscing.”

“I’d advise against that; it’s a trying endeavor. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” Mihawk teased, doing a great job of masking his fondness with wry wit. He did venture to expose his curiosity, however. “Where and when does your mind have you trapped?”

“Our first meeting.”

Mihawk barely managed to keep from choking on his wine. He didn’t want to tip you off on how much that memory affected him. And it would be a shame to waste such an expensive drink.

“Why would you be thinking of that ridiculous affair?” There goes the effort at keeping you in the dark.

“What?” you asked with mock shock. “The only thing that was ridiculous was how little you trusted the top marksman to do her job.”

“You didn’t exactly scream competency,” Mihawk defended, hiding his fluster behind rudeness and the rim of his glass. The dim lighting of the bar would have hid it for him anyway; the few torch chandeliers did wonders for turning him to a living Baroque painting, but they were known for their shadows more than their breadth of hues. 

“That is one thing you always did have on me,” you relented easily, more set on imagining the immaculately groomed and glaring warlord who first saw you than needing to keep a score with his modern counterpart at your side.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

“They asked for me for a reason, you’re more useful elsewhere.”

“I’m useful everywhere you’ll find,” he dismissed easily, as sure of that fact as in the rising of the sun each day. You were a hard one to shake, but the way his namesake hawk’s eyes cut through you had you feeling exposed and vulnerable. It had you needing to make him just as small as the little pieces his endlessly picking gaze had shredded you into. 

“Then go be useful as something other than my shadow. Some of us are actually working.” Even in your exasperation fueled anger, you sounded more like you were asking than telling. The ease with which he commanded was yet another skill you’d spotted on him so quickly in these few days together that had you feeling out of your league. You were beginning to think he took great joy in your mounting discomfort with the way he hovered around, always looking for another soft spot to peck at.

“You’ve been laying at this spot for days, Viper, with nothing to show for it,” Mihawk said, phrasing the truth quite unfairly. Viper was the code-name gifted to you in your work; the snakes could sit still as the dead for weeks, waiting for the one moment that prey finally crossed their path. That same dedication was what he was attempting to disturb now. “I could have rooted the rats out within the hour of mission's start.”

“Then it’s a good thing this task is mine and not yours,” you spat back, finally finding the will to sound truly mean. There was much you were uncertain of but your methods were a strong sense of pride and no one got to question them. “I’m sure the trafficking victims would do really well avoiding harm in the slaughter you’d start. They are known for being battle-ready after all; I’m sure they’re just playing victim right now so they can partake in a song-worthy escape and claim their glory.”

“You think I have no skill to guard and fight at the same time?”

“I think it’s not worth the risk to innocents just to feed one man’s insatiable ego,” you grumbled, spreading yourself out on your familiar and beloved blanket to begin this day’s long watch. You lined one eye with the one-of-a-kind scope of your rifle, taking comfort in settling into your power. “Better to wait until they show themselves and pick them off from miles away, letting them panic at the suddenness of death from a foe they’ll never see.”

Your memory never granted you Mihawk’s perspective on your first job together. You never figured out that he was hovering not from hatred of your perceived incompetence but an uncontrollable need to have you in his sight. He’d never had to contend with such an impulse before and found himself completely at the mercy of its whims. Garp was not happy with the freshly titled Warlord; he was meant to be helping eradicate the rebel legion that had taken this island over to ravage it for resources (humans included), not keep checking out their prized sniper like he’s a fifteen year old with his first female fixation.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

“Surely I can be of much more entertainment to you in the present than in whatever foggy memories you have,” Mihawk said, successfully bringing you back to him.

“Yes you can,” you admitted with too much authenticity and affection for your tastes to just leave that flavor in the ari. After a moment of thought, you softly bumped your shoulder with his and added, “You’re practically a whole circus over there, how ever could I look away?”

You didn’t expect the long and tired sigh to deflate the man next to you, leaving his upper body draped on the bar. The sound seemed to have come from so deep in his lungs that it was born from his very soul.

“Please keep all talk of circuses and especially clowns to a minimum,” Mihawk pleaded into his forearms. He lifted head to look at you with one of the grouchiest and most sour faces you’d seen on him in a long time, before plopping it back into his arms. The whole thing was only made more endearing with the way the bar had pushed his hat askew.

“What’s with that look?” you laughed. “You usually save that one for Shanks.”

“I wish it was Shanks,” he grumbled petulantly. Your laughter always brightened him back up and he longed to turn and see the beauty of it on your face, but instead chose to keep to his brooding to prolong the sound just that much more.

 If it wouldn’t send him up the wall, you would have told him how much you adored when his brooding turned pouty. It sapped him of his persistent decorum and made him feel closer - more touchable. The slouch it brought out in him always had you valiantly fighting the urge to wrap his curved chest in a firm hug. It was unfair how perfectly suited for one he looked, resting his elbows on the bar and opening him and his luxury shirt and his warm skin up for your reaching hands and arms. You shook your head after a mourning sigh and took another sip of heady wine.

“I wish it was Shanks too. It’s been too long since I’ve seen him.” The soft spot you always showed for the Red Haired Pirates only threatened to drag Mihawk’s mood low again. It was amended slightly by your cute, happy gasp before you said, “We should go visit them soon! I’ve got a bigger chunk of free time after the next two months.”

Mihawk was always amazed by how easily tiny little gestures from you perked him back up and got his heart leaping. All you did was choose to say “we”. He wished and wished that it was always “we”, but he’d take what he could get. Even if it meant dealing with the usual treatment whenever you were both with Shanks and his crew.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

Mihawk was not fond of the look Shanks was sending his way. It was all too smarmy, built on equal parts smugness and giddiness. Disgusting.

“You dog! When I tried to imagine what could have the unshakable Dracule Mihawk off his game I never would’ve guessed it was our dear Viper,” Shanks teased cheerily, bumping his shoulder into the rigid one of the swordsman next to him. Mihawk was affronted - he nearly spilled his drink from Shanks’ boorish behavior.

“Didn’t know she was yours,” Mihawk grumbled, attempting to sidestep Shanks’ prompts to have him speak his infatuation aloud.

Shanks was fighting poorly to hold in his laughter; Mihawk was absolutely sulking while he watched Yasopp teach you more gun spinning tricks. You and the sharpshooter were always all joy and play, easily finding common ground in marksmanship but with the added fun of showing your separate specializations to each other. Each bout of laughter from your direction brought another brooding line to Mihawk’s furrowed brow. This standoffish air was his habitual defense against the raw ache he’d been tending to since the two of you met.

Every time I try to play, I end up wounding her, he lamented. Why can I not earn your laughter?

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

Mihawk lightly shook himself of the memory. On instinct, he turned to look at you and found you already looking at him but not really seeing him. He quietly huffed through his nose at losing you again to your own mind. He decided to give you a moment before getting to the bottom of whatever it was that had you in your funk. Beyond selfishly wanting your rapt attention, he was worried for you. You were prone to take pause and think long, especially when in quiet company, but you seemed truly lost in your own mind, taken against your will.

Mihawk’s accurate read on you was more proof of the years tentatively building rapport with each other. That intimacy you shared, which lacked the intimacy you so craved, was what had you held hostage in one of the many examples of your entwining lives.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

The quiet in the air was broken only by Mihawk’s calm breathing, his occasional quiet sips of today’s wine, and the gentle rustle of a turning page. Your own breathing was silent, having gone so long and smooth it was imperceptible due to an instinct trained in so no need of your body could get in the way of your shot. Luckily, your targets were always at such a great distance that Mihawk’s casual lounging would never alert them that they were being hunted.

“It’s been twelve hours since you’ve eaten,” Mihawk told you in a bored tone, eyes never leaving the pages of his book. You made to ignore him and continue your work, but he had never been able to stand your attention off of him for long. “Almost three since you’ve taken a sip of water.”

“Sorry, Mom, I’m a bit busy at the moment,” you mumbled back evenly. You had long lost the majority of your bitterness toward his nitpicking, instead just glad he was around and saying anything to you.

“If I was your mother, I would’ve commanded you to just let me take the target out in the first place so we could leave this boring island,” Mihawk complained.

“You really gonna take a swing at them from two miles off?” you asked, smiling as you imagined the chaos wrought from such an action. It would be a catastrophe, but it would also give you quite the show. Over your time knowing him, you’d seen Mihawk’s innate beauty and untouchable prowess countless times, but it was never enough to sate you.

“You’re not the only one who can hit a target from that distance,” Mihawk reminded you and you hoped you weren't imagining the tone of a smirk shaping his voice.

“Yeah, but I’m the only one of us who won’t cause a tsunami in the process,” you giggled at him. 

Again, your diligence robbed you of the chance to see the poignant longing overtaking Mihawk’s face when he smiled at you. He relished every step he’d gotten closer to being the source of your joy.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

“You’ve disappeared again,” Mihawk complained after sending a haughty tut your way.

You offered an apologetic smile and were happy that he accepted it readily. All those memories, years of feeling, and liquid courage built a full storm inside of you until you knew you needed to allow yourself some time in the eye of it. Being surrounded by the roaring weather would be nerve-wracking but you hoped the calm at the center helped protect you from those shredding winds. You blew a heavy sigh over your drink, refusing to look from its dark, blooded tint when you asked, “Have you ever wondered what it would’ve been like if we were together?”

He didn’t answer right away. Usually Mihawk was a man who was quick with his words, as sure in speed and precision with their strike as he was with that of his sword. You respected that sureness and bold weaponizing of his thoughts, but you deeply appreciated that, with you, he would take the time to truly parse his words when he felt the need. It suited your nature better; your patience was as legendary as your ability to shoot the wings from a fly that was miles off from the end of your rifle. 

“You say that as if we’re too old to have options.” He spoke quite steadily, but you noticed his golden eyes flicking to you, ravenously seeking your reaction. You knew he was trying to cover at least a little; your equal skills in observation were a beauty and a bane to him. It was your favorite source of bickering, giving you many lines to smile at when you were stuck in lonely nights tracking targets.

“You are in your forties,” you teased. Again, you took a sip to think. You meant to find some words to match his characteristic tone (“Joints still working well enough to properly share a bed?”), but instead what came out was “though you’ve aged better than I imagined in our twenties”. You blamed that you had finally looked over and taken in his face, sculpted angles all alive and aglow in the torch-light. There was also that defined chest that he maddeningly always insisted on showing everyone. You probably would too, looking like that.

“You should know by now I always exceed expectation,” Mihawk said without a hint of gloating, just simply stating an absolute fact.

“There’s still many places I’ve yet to see that proven,” you responded, words coy and teasing but smile easy and affectionate. Mihawk would need much more intimacy before he admitted how that smile stalled his thoughts. You would need much more boldness before you let him know you noticed when you managed to halt his breath.

“Mihawk, my dearest adversary and cherished… friend,” you hesitated on the word, never having claimed him as such to his face before. He rewarded your bravery with a gentle bump of his knee against yours and with the bare fondness that began softening his stare. “We have been playing this game, dancing this dance, for decades now. Am I really meant to believe that one question changes everything?”

“The right question can,” he asserted immediately. He opened his mouth to continue, but for once you were the one striking quick with your words.

“You are a man who does not hesitate,” you accused, staring cuttingly into his focused gaze, not backing down at the way it became shielded. “If you want something you take it.”

“And?” Mihawk prompted, tone the most biting it's been all night.

“And,” you repeated. “And…”

You sighed in defeat and turned back to your drink, closing yourself away. He was more than smart enough to know where you were going with that, but he insisted on making you be the one to say it. You wouldn’t allow him to make you insult yourself, especially after you had ventured to bring up the tenuous topic in the first place. If he refused to argue or even acknowledge your conclusions, then you’d let your drink be the friend to assuage those old hurts. The echoed sigh to your side did little to move you from your new stake out with your wounds and your wine.

Mihawk pinched the bridge of his nose, resisting the urge to call you foolish so his own mind would stop branding him with that word. He had been ever vigilant of you throughout the years, not only in an effort to soak you in every moment he could, but also to latch on the moment he noticed you offering him a true opening. You had finally bared your throat to him and he had managed to fail at your final test to check that he would not stoop to bite - that he would only beg to kiss.

While taking his next sip of wine, Mihawk extended an olive branch in the form of a thigh pressed firmly into yours. He was barely able to keep in the frustrated growl that pressed at his chest when you shifted yourself away. You did turn your eyes to him out of curiosity, however, but he missed the look completely, too busy reassembling himself. It let you watch carefully as the flaming lights turned his hat’s extravagant feather amber in their glow when he lifted it off his head to place on the bartop. It let him run his fingers back through his thick black curls, trying to shake his disappointment off with the teasing of his strands.

He looked over at you and finally caught on to your observing. Mihawk let his regret pour over his face, even letting his lips twitch into a momentary, rueful smile. You replied with a tired smile of your own. In the end, it turned sweet and loving; a bad habit of yours with the swordsman. You pressed your thigh back to his.

In a rare show of humility, propelled by the heat of your thigh warming his and the sweet crinkles your smile brought to your eyes (Just for me, he thought with doting greed), Mihawk took your hand and bowed himself low to touch his forehead to your knuckles. His thumb soothed gentle circles into it while he stayed lowered to you for a few long breaths. He was eager to enjoy the feeling of your skin and the decadent scent of your perfume, strong now with the proximity of your wrist. You had chosen something sultry and heady with its deep notes of orchid and amber and wood, all calling to him until he acted with thought a millisecond behind instinct.

He flipped your hand over, slowly and gently, cradling it palm up in his large hand. Still stooped, he had to move scant inches to brush the tip of his nose across the thin skin on the inside of your wrist, savoring the pull of your perfume going deep into his lungs and leading his mind to a content haze. He sealed the small caress with a feathery brush of his lips over your pulse, wishing he could make himself press harder to feel your heart thump against his lips. He longed to know if it raced with the same jumping cantor as his.

When he sat back up he was met with a vision from his dreams. You had fully turned your face to him and it was lit with a deep flush made more rosy in the fire-cast light of the bar. No ambient chatter nor clinking cutlery could keep his ears from delighting in the hitch of your breath in and the contented sigh out. Another smile indulged him, this one easily crowned his favorite with its happy chuckle, pressing cheeks, and bare affection. 

“I am a man who takes what I want,” Mihawk confirmed your words delicately. He continued to hold your hand, now enfolding it in both of his. You felt bright tingling shooting from the contact and the press of your thighs. They made you twenty again, staring down the most handsome and insipidly arrogant man you’d ever met and cursing your heart for its clear choice. “I take what I want, not who I want. People aren’t for the taking, little viper.”

You laughed at the title, never feeling it sat quite right. You felt you wore it well at work only. The imagery it brought up of femme fatales and their hypnotizing looks and lethal wit made you feel like a young girl cloaked ill-fittingly in her mother’s best event wear, barely able to peek your head out of the wool coat dwarfing you. Mihawk noted your discomfort with the title throughout the years but never found the proper words to have you see that all who said it were reverent when they saw how well the word wrapped over you.

“What if-” again you hesitate. You scrunch your face in anger at your nature, but before Mihawk had time to bring a hand to your face and soothe it back into a smile, you force out the words. “What if I am for the taking?”

Mihawk’s thumbs stopped their massaging and you felt his thigh jump to tense against your own. Staring into his widening eyes and how they glowed so beautifully - too beautifully to be within your reach - you immediately wished you could suck the words right back into your lungs. You made it this far though, so you instead worried at your lip and clung your hand onto Mihawk’s stalled hold.

Finally, he unfroze.

“For the night only?” Mihawk probed, wanting answers but worrying about making you close off again.

“Do you only want the night?” You tossed back to him, unwilling to turn this propositioning into a confession of the long years you have built a deep and sturdy love for him, no matter your attempts to welcome others into its halls.

“What I want,” Mihawk said, gentle and deliberate in coloring his tone with humble honestly, “is to be what you want.”

You were taken aback by the confession, but you were even more awed by the look he was giving you. He was still slightly stooped, broad shoulders gently curved and bent towards you, pulled down under the need to lower himself below you but body still gravitating towards you with the magnetism he’s been weak to since you first crossed paths. Framed by those shoulders and his wild curls, Mihawk looked to you with the sadly tinted longing you had felt seize you in his presence all this time. While the furrow of his brow and glimmer of his eyes had your brain buzzing with more hope than you’d dare let it host before, your chest squeezed at the conflict you saw in him; you knew that torment in your very bones.

“You always have been,” you whispered on a trembling breath. Mihawk’s eyes went wild for a moment where his whole body tensed and you felt his urge to pounce on you steal the oxygen from the room. He thanked the gods for a majority of his life spent learning control and restraint, while he got himself in order and pressed the firm kiss he’d longed for to your wrist instead. 

“Come with me,” Mihawk commanded through lips still pressed to your skin, though it was the closest you’d heard him to begging in your entire life.

You let yourself partake in a longtime wish by moving your other hand to card your fingers back into his thick hair, happy to find that it was just as soft as you had imagined. Their trailing came back around to have your palm cup his jaw. He leaned into the touch, tickling your hand with the rub of his precise facial hair when he allowed himself one small nuzzle into your loving hold. That hand guided him up to meet your eyes so he could see the love you held for him finally displayed openly in all its abundance.

“Wherever you ask me to, I will go,” you promised.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

[kelnexia]

New character reveal!

This is actually an old character I've had for a while but just didn't like the previous design of... Thankfully I was able to score an trade with @hdra77 .

1000CE is an old militaristic ancestor of the iterators, created before the discovery of void fluid, and when the field of bio-engineering was still in it's earlier phases. More lore is below the cut...

1000 Crimson Embers is not a true iterator – instead being an old militaristic ancestor. She was originally built in a time of war just before the discovery of void fluid. She was one of the first artificial intelligence to use a combination of both biological and mechanical systems. Although the technology used in her creation was considerably more primitive than what’s found in the iterators we know and love today. But despite the difference in technology – a lot of the basic concepts and functionality in her design remains largely the same;

The layout of her structure was still fairly large, although not nearly as big as an iterator, and was built as an underground bunker. But the main similarity was how her mind was constructed… Similarly to how iterators in my head cannon have their personalty core and spiritual anchor located within their puppet – 1000 Crimson Embers has a standard brain and supporting set of organs acting as her center of consciousness within her puppet. Her puppet is also much larger than that of an iterator – being the height of an adult ancient instead of that of a child. The exterior of her puppet consists of hard metal plates and mechanical components. Her clothing is also built into her puppet. 1000 Crimson Embers doesn't utilized neuron flies in her structure, as they had yet to be invented by the time she was built – instead she’s outsourcing her cognitive processing to a massive array of inorganic server towers.

1000 Crimson Ember’s purpose was to design and create weapons, as well as to formulate strategies. She was loyal and hard working at the start, showing no serous signs of defiance despite her instinctual taboos being primitive and largely ineffective… That was until after the dawn of the void fluid revolution… With the ancients uniting under the common goal of ascension – the world entered a lasting era of peace – deeming 1000 Crimson Ember’s original purpose obsolete. However the ancients were inclined to keep her online for just awhile longer, as they still had some use for her. They tasked her in helping to create her own undoing – the iterators. She wasn’t a fool though, she knew what they were doing… They were building her replacement and trying to get her to help them in her own downfall! She lashed out in a violent fit of rage – ‘How dare they just carelessly replace her like this after all the thankless work she’s done for them!’ She drove them out of her facility by turning her security systems against them, killing many in her fit of rage.

But the ancients still needed the schematics and research for iterator tech 1000 Crimson Embers had already started work on before she had realized their true intentions behind it. So they struck a deal with her. They would upgrade her with the new iterator technology if she let them back in and got back to work for them. 1000CE reluctantly excepted the deal. But when the work was complete, and the time for her upgrades had come... They put her in stasis for the procedure… But they never kept their end of deal. They simply walked away and left her slumbering form to collect dust.

She awakened again many years after… To the sight of a group of scavengers that had broken in and accidentally reactivated her while attempting to gather scrap. The first thing she did upon seeing the invading creatures that were so rudely ripping her apart – was to reactivate the security system and kill every last one of them. However the damage had already been done. Upon running a system diagnostics, she found that her defenses had been breached, much of her facility has been flooded, and she’s all round in a severe state of disrepair. She would need to do something about that, and fast… Her weather systems were picking up on a massive encroaching storm.

Ultimately she would find her structure too damaged to sustain for much longer… She would end up using the freedom her weaker taboos and more self-significant puppet gives her to take herself off the strings, to at least save her core from the impending decay and flooding of her structure. But the world she would step out into would be very different from what she’s used too… Her home was once an arid region – but now it’s been turned into a tropics by the increased rainfall that has taken over the world and changed it the point of being near unrecognizable from what it once was.

[d6volution]

okay so like, what about a reader that also goes into heat? And as soon as Jax finds out (while he himself is also in heat) he just breaks into readers room while reader happens to be humping a pillow and just fucks them raw then and there. (Breeding kink maybe?-)

decided to put these two asks together since they were similar, 🤭

tags: heat cycles, breeding kink, overstim, manhandling, tail pulling, cursing, crying, rough sex. kinda mean jax. (fem reader)

Usually Jax was more or less good at hiding his heat. After all there was no way in hell he planned on letting anyone get the jump on him about this. It'd probably become the main topic of conversation among the circus, seeing as everyone has nothing else to do here.

The only downside was he'd be bored completely out of his mind being stuck in his room. It was a better alternative to pouncing any living creature that walked and trying to fuck it raw though. So he'd have to deal with the boredom for the time being.

Days went by, and Jax spent his time rutting into his fist and hand to take the edge off. But it never satisfied him. It was honestly humiliating how many times he jacked off in one day just to feel a piece of normalcy. So not only did he have to deal with being trapped here, but every once in a while, he had to go through this torment. With no one to relieve him, but.. well him.

It did occur to him that maybe others may have had this problem, like you, for example. The new girl, you had two ears that sprouted from your head and a tail as well. But as far as he's concerned, you've been perfectly fine. It wasn't fair. What kind of sick joke was this anyway?

A day trudged by, and luckily enough Jax wasn't bothered by any of the other members. Which was great considering he was preparing to fuck his fist once again .. until. A very particular smell hit his senses. All of the sudden his pupils were blown wide. "What.. is that.." He muttered to himself , absolutely confused yet intrigued by this scent drawing him in. Made his dick throb in his pants.

He had tunnel vision now and had to find the source, maybe it was the cure he needed to get rid of this damn feeling.

"Not now Kinger, don't got the time." He said once he opened the door to leave his room. Kinger was standing there waiting to knock but Jax walked right past him. Kinger hunched over in disappointment.

Jax walked past a few doors in the large corridor, he knew he was getting closer as the scent grew stronger.

"Huh." Jax scoffed, arriving in front of your door after following the scent here, it was so overwhelming that his instincts took over again and he opened the door slipped inside , and closed it behind him immediately... and there you were , the room full of your scent. Jax shuddered, watching you hump a pillow on your bed, whining and gripping at it in need. Ears flat against your head. He watched for a moment in silence. His dick throbbing and straining against his overalls.

"H.. Hey, doll—" He said and cleared his throat his throat, trying to interrupt your little session. He was still quite surprised you didn't hear him come in.

"Hhn.. J.. Jax? Please.. I need help.. I.." You were too dazed, too drunk on lust to care that he barged in. "I don't know whats wrong with me.."

"The pillow not cuttin it doll? You know I can help ya.." You both were like animals in heat... literally.

You weren't even aware you could go into heat until now, and it was driving you insane. You came so many times that your cunt was sore and puffy but it wasnt enough. You needed something inside, you needed to be bred. Full of someomes young. Jax's young.

"Jax.. please..." You whined, and positioned yourself in such a way that Jax almost came in his pants immediately. Your ass was in the air, two fingers pushing your puffy lips apart to show off the wet needy hole in between your legs.

"Don't gotta ask me twice," Jax climbed onto the bed , in the process pushing his overalls off his shoulders and pulling his heavy cock from its confines. You both were far from needing foreplay, he needed a hole to fuck and you needed to be filled. "You always this wet.. its like you pissed your pants or somethin'.." He jokes, teasing his angry throbbing tip against your slick.

"Ah.. J.. Jax, I've only used m'fingers before so— nnhg..!!" He slammed all the way inside, burying himself to the hilt in your cunt. You squirmed beneath him, as the wind was knocked out of you.. there was a tinge of pain but overwhelming euphoria. "S.. So d...deep hha.." Your fingers clawed at the blankets beneath you.

Jax's self-control was thrown out the window as soon as he was buried inside of you. He used his hand to push your face into the mattress. His mind is now filled with, "Breed, breed breed."

The panting bunny was forcing your back to bow in a steep arch, giving him acess to dig deeper into your cunt. You gasped and continued to squirm, whining that it was 'too much, too big'.. until your words turned into incoherent babbles. As Jax refused to stop humping into you.

"Too much? Nah, doll sit here and take it. I've been dealing with this for way too long for you to back out now... ghn..." You were squeezing him so tight, sucking him in. You were made for this. Made for him.

"J.. Jax pleas.. nnh.. senstive..!" You wailed, tears welling up in your eyes. Ypur poor body was jerked forward each time he thrusted into you.

Your body was at war with itself, Jax was battering against your most senstive spots.. it was so good but too much at the same time. You felt like your brain was melting. Maybe you should just give in, get bred and maybe you wouldn't have to worry about a thing after that.. right? He'd take care of you.. and your babies.

Jax's voice pulled you out of your head, and back to reality. Suddenly your body was buzzing and the feeling of Jax's thick dick pummeling inside of you was real again.

"J—Just stay still sweetheart, it isnt that hard. Heh, maybe this is what ya get for letting someone.. l-like me into your room at a time like this..heh.." He grunted, eyes hovering over your form before his gaze rested on your tail. He grinned wide before yanking it and forcing your ass to perk up a little towards the air. You yelped and convulsed around his dick, orgasming immediately from him manhandling your tail.

"J..Jeez, doll..!" He spoke through gritted teeth, your slick insides clamping down on him as he humped you through your climax. Jax had to hold on though, he wasn't quite ready to cum yet. "Wonder how many times you can do/that.." He yanked your tail again, and just like that you were squeezing him.

It was pure bliss for him, "There ya go, just like that.. ngh.. k-keep squeezing on my dick babe... gotta get you pregnant after all.." The words left his mouth carelessly.

Jax didn't care that you were overstimulated, no it was too late for that. You were the answer to this problem, his perfect little slut, and he'd do this as many times as he needed to.

Who else could you go to that would take care of you like this?

"Tell me you want it baby, c'mon.." He urged into your ear. Jax gave your tail a rest, instead opting to pull your hair. Yanking your head from the pillows so he could hear you.

"W.. Want your cum Jax..! Wa.. Wanna get pregnant please..!" You whined and he throbbed in your cunt, grunting in pleasure. "Yeah, I'll get you pregnant babe, you'll be nice and r-round f'me.."

The sound of that made him snap finally, he couldn't hold it in anymore. "S.. Shit, doll—" His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you towards him. Your back was flush to his stomach as he pumped his cum inside of you. Stil thrusting even when he stopped cumming.

"There ya go.. can't waste a drop.. or who knows, maybe we can doll. You can go another few rounds, can't ya..?"

[shewrites444]

secrets [xavier thorpe x reader smut]

written by me & me only!!! enjoy ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ

word count - 2.4k

[summary: the reader and xavier have been hooking up since the semester started, but when he suddenly goes ghost after awhile, the reader learns that his feelings for her venture far more than what lies on the surface.]

[warnings: rough sex, car sex, choking, spitting, daddy kink, dirty talk, dominant male]

-

xavier thorpe wasn't the most sought out guy at nevermore, surprisingly, but when his ex girlfriend, bianca, sent me a text that read, i'm going to tell everyone your secret, i quickly realized that he may be more well-known than what i thought. the fact they dated last year slipped my mind, but i was also a transfer student, so its not like i knew every piece of drama this school had.

we had been hooking up since the beginning of this semester, originally starting as just a one time thing after the rave'n that eventually lead into basically anytime we saw each other. i never found myself in the time or place for a relationship, and he said he felt the same way, so having sex really meant nothing other than a good time. sure, we'd hang out after, maybe go paint in his art studio or go to his dorm, but it really wasn't that big of a deal.

except for tonight.

xavier was being really weird and had been for about the past week, barely answering my texts and when he did, it was just one or two word answers. i was genuinely concerned about him, and that maybe that text from bianca was something he knew about, so he possibly wanted to keep his distance from me. either way, i would prefer him to just tell me to my face that this was over with, so despite how nervous i was, i planned on sneaking out to his art studio tonight because if he wasn't at his dorm, that's where he'd be.

glancing at my phone, i watched as the clock finally hit midnight and i got out of bed, grabbing my black sweatshirt and slipping it on over my top. i walked quietly out of my dorm and down the stairs, opening one of the windows and made my way to his studio through the foggy and damp forest.

glancing through the windows, i noticed all the lights were out, but i opened the doors anyway, shutting them slowly behind me and turning on the light. most of his paintings were visions he had through his dreams, so pretty creepy stuff, but nothing i couldn't handle. i looked around, accidently tripping on a long sheet covering a relatively large canvas. it dropped to the floor and i quickly leaned down to pick it up if he for some reason were to come inside.

looking up, i saw a painting that was definitely not a vision. my eyes widened and my cheeks reddened as i scanned the drying canvas up and down to see a rather explicit drawing of no one other than myself. it was genuinely indescribable to say the least, but also incredible artwork at the same time. before i could even process it, i heard the door open and i gasped, turning to see a very embarrassed xavier.

he walked over rather quickly and grabbed the sheet from me, hanging it back over the painting and grabbed my hand, clearly frustrated.

"what the hell, [y/n]! you were never supposed to see that, like, ever.. why are you in here? a text would have been nice, you know.."

"i-i just wanted to talk to you, i don't know!" i stammer, looking down at the floor and avoiding eye contact as much as i could. "not like you would have answered my text anyway." i mutter and i cross my arms, shaking my head in confusion. "i'm not judging you, but like.. why would you draw that if you don't even want me in your life anymore? you've like full-blown ghosted me this entire week. did i do something?"

xavier ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head and sighing heavily. "no, [y/n], you did nothing wrong, you never have.."

i raise my brow and glance up to him and his flushed expression, "then why are you acting like this? did someone find out what was going on between us?"

"i know about what bianca said, [y/n], but she isn't going to hurt either of us. she just wants to start drama." xavier explained, scratching the back of his head as he built up the courage to say what he was trying to say. "it's just too complicated to explain, i don't want to talk about it."

i frown in frustration and turn the other way, walking out of the art shed when xavier frantically follows behind me as i walk through the sprinkling rain and towards nevermore. there was no sense in standing around if the conversation, and our friendship, was not going to go anywhere. the entire situation would hurt less if i just went to my dorm and to sleep.

"woah, what are you doing? you're really just going to leave, and walk all the way back in the rain?" xavier shouts, walking behind me with a fast pace to keep up as i trudge through the muddy woods.

i nod, pulling my hood over my head. "yep! since you can't even give me any explanation, i don't want to waste my time."

i feel xavier grab the top of my arm and drag me a few feet down to a parked car, which was his, and open the back door, pushing me in and shutting it behind me. i sit there with widened eyes, watching him get in next to me and shut the door behind him. my brow raises and i lean against the door, one hand resting on it to open it, unless he finally told me what was going on.

"fine, [y/n]. if you want the truth, it's that i like you, and that is going to ruin everything going on between us. i've liked you for awhile now, and yeah, i push it to the back of my head the best i can when i'm with you, but the more i'm with you, the worse this all gets."

i take my hand away from the door and sympathetically look up to a vulnerable xavier, reaching over to take his hand and hold it gently. "you know you could have just told me instead of ignore me over text, and in class. this kind of thing happens all the time in a friends with benefits kind of situation. we work it out together, and you can't expect me to express my own feelings about it when you don't even ask me."

xavier pulls away from my hand and rubs his forehead with both hands, looking down in frustration with himself and the situation. "but you don't understand. yeah, i wanted to tell you this earlier, but it's all so confusing, and frankly, kind of dark.. i have a lot of romantic feelings for you, but the more i like you, the more i want to do things to you.. like.. things that are way more intense than what we do now.."

i grin, tucking my hair behind my ears and leaning closer, our faces inches apart, the heat between our breaths grazing against each other's lips. "tell me what you want to do to me."

he bites his bottom lip, shaking his head with a smirk and looking down. "i think i'd rather just do it to you, then tell you. but you need to tell me how you feel first. about everything. i want you to be sure."

"i like you too." i admit, smiling softly to him. "so fuck me, or whatever this fantasy of yours entails, and we can go from there."

he reaches over to cup my cheeks, slamming his soft lips against mine as we begin to kiss, my hands venturing down to his waist as i slide his sweatpants down, grazing against his hardening dick that strained in his underwear, then making the fabric the next thing i took off. i took his dick in one hand and began to jerk him off, earning a few months from his lips as we continued to make out. i feel xavier push his weight on me, making me sink into the seat below me as he breaks our kiss and motions his body to where my hand slides off him.

xavier grabs my sweatshirt and pulls it off, along with my top, pulling my bra down to attach his lips to one of my nipples, using one hand to hold my own, as the other reaches down to my own pants, sliding them down with my help as i wiggle out of them. i feel him slide my panties to the side as well, pumping one finger inside of me.

i moan, moving one hand to hold the back of his head, grabbing his hair and sliding my fingers through it. i close my eyes and spread my legs to allow him in further as he slides another finger in.

he pulls himself away from my nipple and looks up to me to peck my lips. "you like that, baby? do you want me to fuck you yet?"

"y-yes.." i nod, looking up to meet his eyes in the darkened light as he pulls his fingers out of me and sits up, taking his top off. i lean down to pull my underwear off before he stops me, taking my hand and pushing it back to my side. he moves himself to grab me by the hips, helping me sit up and turn me to face the center console of his car, leaning my body down and positioning himself behind me. i feel him press his dick against my folds, slowly sliding the tip in before starting a rhythm.

he leans down to kiss my cheek, licking the side before nibbling on my ear and motioning one hand to wrap around the back of my neck. his fingers grip my skin as his roughness begins to build up, his other hand now placed on my clit as he begins to rub in a circular motion, earning a heavy gasp on my end while he stimulates me.

"you feel so good, [y/n]... you gonna come for me, hm?" xavier asked softly as i nod. he then moves his hand from my throat to my ass, slapping it harshly as i yip in surprise. "you don't cum until i say so, or this is going to go on for way longer than what you can handle."

i giggle, turning my head to glance to him. "you're funny. you know i like a fuckton of stimulation."

xavier clicked his tongue at my remark, grabbing me by the waist and pulling my body towards him as he sits on the seat, slamming me down on him and i gasp, shock sending through my body as he length pushes itself into me. he continues to rub my clit, and wraps one arm around my waist, holding my tightly.

"go on and bounce on daddy's dick, if you wanna say shit like that." he scoffs, holding me tightly as i begin to ride him, my feet planted against the seat while i take each and every inch of him. i feel him grunt with every thrust, our moans mixing together as we pleasure each other.

"i didn't know you were so dominant, xav..." i mutter, both my hands on his knees as i move. "it's really hot, to be honest.."

xavier grinned, grabbing my hair with his hand after moving it off my waist. "oh really? if you think so, then why don't you let me take it a step further."

"whatever you want, daddy."

and with my permission, he helped to turn my around to face him, leaning me down on the seat once again, locking our lips as he repositions himself inside me. he begins to thrust again, this time a bit softer than what he was doing before. i feel him take my hands and hold them both above my head. he looks down to me and smirks, tilting his head.

"open your mouth."

i do so almost instantly and feel his spit hit the back of my throat and i swallow, our eyes locked through each and every stroke, and breath we take. he bites his top lip, picking up his pace to the point my head hits the car door a bit, but i barely even notice from the amount of stimulation coming from his thrusts. i close my eyes and hang my mouth open, moans filling the silence other than the slaps between our skin.

he moves his free hand to hold my throat once again, but from the front of my neck. just when i thought he couldn't go any harder, xavier lets go of my wrists and moves his hand to cover my mouth as he slams himself into my walls, making me yelp underneath his palm.

my entire body was shaking from the shock it was receiving from such immense pleasure, and pain. i move my arms to wrap around his waist, pulling him closer down to me as he continuously thrusts completely in and out of me, his balls slapping against my sweating skin, which was quickly filled with my own cum, dripping against his dick and balls while he continued.

just as xavier grew close, he pulled out of me, adjusting his body to line his dick up with my mouth and shoves it down my throat, gasping as i take him immediately, despite how caught off guard i was. he groaned, looking down as he fucked my face, both of his hands sliding down to hold my cheeks.

"this is so hot, fuck, [y/n].." he moans, looking down to me. "i've never wanted anyone more in my life than you. you're so hot.. you take my dick so good, baby..."

i shove my head up after his words, his dick balls deep down my throat as he gasps, cumming immediately upon my actions. he pulls out after a few seconds and sits back on the seat, leaning his body to the side.

i sit up, wiping my mouth with a red-stained face as i scoot towards him. i pick his lips, leaning down to rest my head on his shoulder. i feel his arm wrap around me and his free hand take my own, playing with my fingers while he catches his breath, and i do the same.

"i hope i didn't hurt you."

"maybe a little, but i liked it." i admit, laughing at my confession before glancing back up to him. "i didn't know your feelings for me went so deep as to fucking me to the point i can feel like, every nerve in my body."

xavier blushed, shrugging lightly and kissing me once again. "guess there is more to me than what you know."

"so no more secrets?" i grin, intertwining our fingers. "promise me you'll be honest about your feelings from now on, sexual or not."

"promise." xavier nodded, hugging me with his arm that was around me. "no more secrets."