#it just makes your failing and aging body that much more painful for you

[magdeleinas]

pls someone ask me about my alien fic/book-I-want-to-write-and-then-sell-to-the-alien-people plsssss I'm beggingggg

[thetriumphantpanda]

new religion | joel miller

Summary | Joel's never much been a religious man, but if he were, he'd ask the Lord what he'd ever done to deserve you.

Pairing | Jackson!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word Count | 1.5k

Warnings | Explicit. Religious imagery, basically porn without plot, oral (f receiving), unprotected PiV sex, cumshot, dirty talk, Joel worshipping you like you deserve, nothing bad happens to him ever and he dies peacefully in his sleep at age 101, no use of y/n. Written and edited on phone so please excuse any mistakes.

Authors Note | God bless hbo for that teaser am I right? I just want Jackson Joel to always find peace. Also thanks to All Time Low and their song New Religion for the Inspo. I hope you enjoy!

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi 

Divider by the ever wonderful @saradika

I found God and we found heaven, On the bedroom floor.

Joel Miller isn’t sure how he got here. Knees creaking and painful, a dull ache in his back that never goes away, and years behind him that have led him to right now.

Years of being closed off, scared to open up to anyone in case he failed them as well. Years of using his anger at himself to reign terror on others. Years with Tommy that were strained, years with Tess that were less so, even good sometimes, and now years with Ellie, good, bad and everything in between. The relative safety of Jackson was unsettling, after years of fighting to survive and barely making it, scars on his body testimony to that, the normality was unsettling.

He’s getting used to it though, slowly but surely, and he thinks that along with his brother and Ellie, it has something to do with you.

You, stood in front of him, backlit by the setting sun, nude and waiting, whilst he kneels in front of you. Pained be damned, he’s going to worship you like the goddess you are.

Tommy has spent the past year absolutely rinsing his older brother for this. When Joel and Ellie had arrived back, he’d made it his mission to set Joel up with one of the many fawning ladies available. There was Esther, who was nice enough, and Lindsey who had been far too forthcoming, and others that Joel would rather not remember, telling Tommy that he didn’t need anyone, didn’t want anyone, was more than happy on his own.

Then he’d met you, sunshine to his clouds, sharp, quick-witted and funny. A take-no-shit kind of gal that had gotten under his skin more than he cared to admit. The first few times it was quick, fumbles in the alley behind the tipsy bison, or hurried moments bent over the dusty couch at the lookout on patrol, convincing himself that once again this was nothing but stress relief.

Then things changed, you started making him laugh, started sitting on his porch with him, laying on his couch whilst he played his guitar, and then he started spreading you out on his bed, started taking his time, learning what made you respond best, how you liked it, how you clenched so tight around him when he clasped your fingers in his and pounded you into the mattress.

Joel has never been much of a religious man, not since the end of the world, but he thinks, right here on your bedroom floor, that he’s found God. When you walk towards him and run your hands through his greying hair, tilt his chin up so he’s looking at you, hands on your hips like you’re his altar.

He brings his face closer to you, tongue licking through your folds as you stand before him. Your fingers tighten in his hair when the tip of his tongue finds your clit, your own head tipping back, face to the real Lord if he exists, muttering his name over and over in your own twisted prayer.

His jeans are tightening as he licks at you, the sounds you make doing what they always do, shooting straight to his cock. It’s why he can’t quit this, even if in the back of his mind he knows he probably should. You’re younger than him, though not scandalously, and he can feel that the years of his prime are fading the more comfortable he gets here. He knows that wanting you as much as he does is a sin in itself, but walking away? That somehow seems worse to him. He finally wants to be selfish, to think of himself and his own happiness for once, and it’s the taste of you on his tongue when he drags it down to where you’re leaking for him that convinces him he has to stay.

“Oh, Joel,” You whimper, knees shaking, “Keep going.”

“Ain’t plannin’ on goin’ anywhere, pretty girl.” He groans into your pussy, his big hands holding your hips in place to keep you upright as his tongue drags back up from your fluttering hole to your clit.

You widen your stance a little, spreading the lips of your cunt for him so he can fuse his mouth over your clit, suckling at it whilst his tongue works against the swollen bud in the way that he knows will have you tipped over the edge in no time.

He loves when you come for him. A reminder that he’s still got it, that he can learn your ins and outs and keep you satisfied, even at his age. He has to press his fingers into your hips a little tighter when you do come for him, keeping you upright before you knees can buckle underneath you as you cry his name out into the darkening room. Pulling his mouth away from you before you start whimpering that it’s too much.

Normally he’d pull you over to the bed, but there’s something in him tonight that means he can’t wait the extra seconds, so he’s pulling you down onto the floor with him, cradling the back of your head with one of his hands so you don’t hit in on the wood as he crawls on top of you, legs spread wide for his thighs as he pops the buttons of his jeans and drags the zipper down.

He’s in too much of a rush to undress properly, pulling his jeans and underwear down just enough to free his cock. You’re reaching down, taking his length in your hand, dragging it up and down as he pulls his shirt over his head.

There are tiny droplets of sweat across your forehead, the open window and the breeze no match for the heat in the room, and he doesn’t know why he does it, but as he leans down, your hand guiding his cock to your soaked cunt, he lets his lips kiss across your forehead, like it’s holy water and he’s being reborn as he slips into your tight heat.

He doesn’t think he’s heard a sweeter sound than the ones he hears from you as he drags his cock in and out of your pussy. Gasps and whines and whimpers, never too loud, like they’re just for him. No-one else needs to know how good he makes you feel, just him. He presses his mouth to yours as he grips your wrists, pinning them to floor, swallowing your sounds as he fucks you.

Joel knows that it takes him a little longer these days, knows from the way you’re squirming that the ache in your hips is setting in. He knows that your body aches the same as his does, that your back aches and your knees hurt after a long patrol, but you’re being so good for him.

“Such a good girl,” He coos into your ear, “Y’can take it, can’t you?”

You arch your body up into him at his praise, “It’s so good,” You moan, your hands reaching behind him to sink your nails into the meat of his ass, “Harder, please.”

He can never deny you, so he pushes himself up, takes your knees in his hands and presses them down towards your chest, hooking his arms there to keep you spread open as he guides his cock back into you. He can feel his own sweat appearing across his skin as he does exactly what you asked for, he fucks you harder, as hard as he can, listening to the squeals you make as he bottoms out inside you and the slapping of his skin against yours.

“M’close,” He moans at you, “M’gonna come, baby.”

“Please,” You groan back, squirming underneath him, “Come for me Joel, please.”

And he does, pulling out at the very last minute, letting go of your legs to pump his cock with his fist before he comes, splashing his spend across your belly as he tips his head back and praises the Lord for you.

He knows he will pay for it tomorrow, but he collapses onto the floor next to you, pulling you into his chest. He can feel the sticky cum mixing with the hair across his stomach, but he doesn’t much care, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you settle together on the cool ground. His fingers trail up and down your spine as you lie together in the quiet of the early evening, finding peace with it all for once. After years and years of being on his own, of being scared to open up and let someone in, he finds he doesn’t much mind the thought of it anymore.

And above all, whether he makes it to the real thing or not when his time is up, that he’s found heaven, right here on your bedroom floor.

[tired-biscuit]

18+ MDNI, fem!reader // cw: implied age gap

divider credit: div1nepetal

i just know that logan says something along the lines of “nice and easy now” when you attempt to sit down on his cock cowgirl style for the first time ever.

you’re obviously eager to get to the good part, writhing and wiggling your hips with a sense of urgency as you hurry to lower yourself onto him, and he’s just this solid epitome of almost cocky assurance, body warm and firm and grounded wherever your grabby hands decide to touch it.

he’s not exactly patient about the entire thing — the animal within him just loves to claw its way out to the surface whenever he’s distracted by pleasure — but he definitely can hold out for longer than you can. he’s been around for far longer compared to you, after all; has indulged in his share of fun way more often despite being a self-proclaimed loner.

so he’s steady where you’re frantic, calm where you’re wild with need. he’s knowledgeable; he holds you by the hips with a firm grip and slows you down when you try to forcefully take all of him all at once. whispers crude praise into the side of your neck when he deems you’re finally able to open up enough to let him sink into you comfortably. calls you sweetheart and other sugary pet names as he inhales the scent of your sweat then, the scent of ‘i’m trying my damn hardest to impress you, mister logan sir’ that laces it, the foolishly youthful desperation behind it.

he fucks you slowly at first. nice and deep, fingers idly tracing your spine, your sides, the small of your back every so often. caressing, appreciating. he takes his time with stretching you and splitting you open, relishing the way your pussy squeezes around his dick in answer each time he bumps that precious little sweet spot inside you. it even makes your thighs quiver.

then it builds up — so effortlessly that you can’t possibly pinpoint the moment that switch flicks inside his head. his calloused hand moves up to the back of your neck as he smoothly picks up the pace, squeezing it surprisingly harsher than you expected, making you tense up and let out a little gasp of startlement. his teeth drag over your naked skin and your walls get hotter with friction and thrill. wetter. he angles your head back as you moan, yanking you by the hair just to get you to be louder.

the bite he gives you hurts in the best way possible. he’s rougher. greedier. primal.

you may be on top of him, but you’ve failed to notice that he is still the one that’s in charge as he times his thrusts in whichever way he thinks best. and you don’t know how it happened but now he’s literally pounding into you, making you bounce on his fat cock, ignorant to the little squeals and mewls you’re letting out in response. forcing you to cling onto him uselessly, arms wrapped around his neck, grabbing handfuls of his shirt because you simply don’t know what else to do.

and you’re drooling, you’re fucking drooling onto his shoulder when you cum from sheer overstimulation. trembling all over, with your toes curled to the brink of pain.

so much for taking it nice and easy.

[i-cant-sing]

Yandere Batfam x reader who cant feel pain

HEhehehe i just remembered a disease and I just had to write about a reader with it x yandere batfam.

Have you guys heard of CIPA? Its "Congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis" which is basically a genetic condition when a patient cant feel pain to any noxious stimulus and can also not sweat, and yall are probably like "but SNoWWW, that doesnt like a diSEase. More like a superpower!!!" um no. You need to be able to feel pain or else you wont know what part of your body has been injured and get help before its too late. You could have thumbtack plunged in your foot and u wouldnt know unless it got infected and u probably saw ur foot changing color.

And now yall are like "but SNoWw, the anhidrosis part, where u cant sweat, sounds nice! who would to look like a sweaty pig in this age????" NO! Sweating is a necessary physiologic phenomenon because it lets your body cool down as it releases heat. If you dont sweat, you'd overheat and DIE!

Okay now that we've covered the basic info, lets get into it:

So, Batfam finds out about reader when she's just running into danger with little to no care for self preservation, and they dismiss it as you being just another dumb teen wanting to be hero and "change the world". Time passes by and Bruce is impressed by your passion and decides to take you under his wing.

It isnt until months later that Bruce discovers something odd about your behaviour. You were standing in the kitchen with the rest of the batkids, laughing and having a good time when he saw Dick had pulled out a hot pan of cookies from the oven and placed it on the aisle. The pan slipped, and without thinking, you had grabbed the hot pan with your bare hands very calmly and placed it back on the aisle, without so much as a hiss of pain or even a sweat.

And now that he thinks about it, Bruce has never seen you sweat. Not during training, not during summer, not even when after you ran laps around the mansion.

With a quick search on the Internet, he finds out about the disease and of course its Dick who he confides in first about his suspicions. Soon, the rest of the batfam has heard the rumours and now they're all watching you keenly to see if its true.

But Jason is the one who tests out the theory quickly by spilling some hot tea on your hand when you were busy talking to Tim about the importance of sleep. The room goes dead silent as they watch your hand turn red, yet you fail to react. It took you a few seconds to realise that they're all looking at you, and when you follow their gaze, it takes you a few seconds to react.

Or fake a reaction.

You shriek, pulling your reddening hand as you run to the sink and run it under cold water, your mind trying to come up with an excuse. But you know its too late when Bruce's hand comes to clasp your shoulder, pulling you away from the sink as his eyes examine your injured hand and... you.

"Bruce I-"

"I know, Y/n." He gives you assuring nod, carefully bandaging your hand as you sat in his office. "You have CIPA, hm?"

You looked down. Why bother lying? He's Batman, he'll find out anyways.

Bruce lifted your head and smiled gently at you. "Its okay. I'm not disappointed in you. I just... you could've told me." You shook your head. "If I did, you would've treated me differently... like a freak."

He sighed. "You are different, but I would've never treated you like a freak. You're not a freak. If anything, between us, I'm more of a freak than you." He was talking about being a hero, but you giggled at the thought of him referring to being a rich dude who cosplays in spandex.

Bruce cupped your cheek and smiled. "I promise, no one will treat you like a freak. But we will have to take some precautions for your safety."

-

He lied. You've never felt more like a freak than you do now.

Every single day would start off with Dick waking you up and sticking a thermometer in your mouth because he needs to make sure that you're not overheating, even though Bruce has set a thermostat in your room that he controls and he's programmed it to turn your room temperature change by the hour.

Then Dick would start checking you all over for any bruises or injuries, even a scratch, that you may have caused yourself in your sleep. Originally, Damian was the one who had a whole checklist as he examined your body, but that all ended the moment you smacked him when he asked you to lift your shirt. Dick would just have you go and check yourself in the bathroom and trust you when you said you're all good. Also, you're much nicer to Dick than you are to the rest of the brothers (its his puppy dog eyes and that sweet voice that compels you to do as he asks. He's just too nice.)

Dick would then lead you to down for breakfast with the family, where Alfred already has your glucometer out because of course, they must check your blood sugar level every day, lest they find out you're diabetic or something. Only then would you be served your meal, which is a highly nutritous, perfeclty seasoned, balanced dish because they want to make sure you dont have any vitamin deficiencies (because how would they know???? you dont feel pain). But you cant eat just yet. No no, whichever brother is closer, most often Jason, will first taste your food to make sure its not too hot to consume (because you dont realise you've burned the roof of your mouth that one time when Tim ate a slice of pizza that was fresh out of the oven and huppahhuffpuhh the morsel out). Jason would then give you the go to eat and you finally do. You make sure to finish the whole plate (because otherwise Bruce will make note of it and then interrogate you "medically" why you didnt feel like eating all of it?)

After breakfast, while the rest of the batkids get to go to school and work, you dont (because Bruce thinks that your immune system could be weak and he cant risk you catching any diseases from the outside.) No, you get a special trip to the infirmary where Bruce and Alfred do a more thorough medical check up, taking your vitals, JOTTING IT DOWN, while Alfred hooks you up to an IV drip of vitamins. And even though they go to such extents to ensure that you're healthy, they still take you to a skilled doctor once a week for regular check ups. Bruce wanted to keep the doctor in the house to do daily check ups, but you talked him out of it that you dont want to feel like a lab rat who has her blood taken every day. Once a week is fine, Bruce.

Once the medical check up is done, Bruce would then take you with him, either to Wayne enterprises where you sit in his office as he imparts you "business education that no school can teach you." which you believe because... well he has managed to triple the Wayne wealth even after his parents death. If he's working from home, then he'll let you accompany him in his home office where you can either read a book he chose for you (because Bruce prefers to homseschool you himself) or do a puzzle/case he created specifically for you. If he's working in the batcave, then he'll let you tag along but you can only work here by brainstorming or doing some computer research, but in no way are you allowed to ever go on field and fight. No, not since your last incident.

Just 2 months ago, you were patrolling with Jason (because Bruce refused to let you go alone now. He just wont risk it) and you encountered some bad guys who were a little more well equipped than you two had expected. A fight broke out, and in the process you got hurt badly. Of course, you didnt realise it because you didnt feel any of the punches or the bone fracturing. Jason could only look at you in dread as you smashed your head against the villain's head until the guy passed out, all while your nose bled, you were covered in bruises from top to bottom, AND you had a bone sticking out of your arm.

"Jay? I think I'm hurt?" You asked as blood coated your teeth.

After that, Bruce forbid you from going out on the field altogether because you just dont know when to stop. If it werent for bones sticking out or blood dripping down your face, you wouldnt know that you've been injured.

Anyways, at lunch, almost everyone has returned from work/school and you get yet another balanced meal (temperature tested by another brother). You're now scheduled for some exercises, usually conducted by Damian (under Dick's supervision because otherwise, you'd just be smacking that devil's spawn.) You guys use the gym in the basement, where Damian makes you run on the treadmill for some time, during which he does not take his eyes off you once because he needs to know when he should stop you, especially since you dont sweat or are even huff. If he didnt keep time, you could probably run for a long time and not realise that your legs or lungs are begging you to stop and take a break. As you hop off the machine, he's immediately taking your temperature. He does it after every exercise he makes you do.

After that is done, you spend time with Tim who likes to have you try on little gadgets that should "help you feel pain", but so far, he hasnt had any luck (but he doesn seem to be doing good in disguising trackers in your daily wear things). Oh and Damian loves to join in because he gets to sneak up on you and prick you with needles to help Tim see if your sensory pathways work. They dont, but you dont need your pain receptors to detect Damian coming up behind you as you smack him when he tries to prick you.

Then dinner is served, and then you're ushered straight to bed where Dick, or more often- Bruce has you do a self check like the one Dick does in the morning, but Bruce also makes sure to check your eyes to see if you "accidentally scratched your cornea" or whatever, tucks you in, tells you that he's so proud of you for how youre handling this and that you can come to him anytime, for anything. He kisses your forehead, wishes you goodnight, and leaves.

Half an hour later, Jason sneaks into your room with the goodies- junk food and video games. You two have the strongest bond because Jason is the one who treats you the most normal, and Jason does it partly to piss off Bruce but partly because he cares about your mental health. He knows it cant be good for you to be cooped up in the mansion under supervision like a bird in a gilded cage.

So sometimes, he sneaks you out of the mansion and takes you out on late night rides on his bike. You can even watch him fight villains, but you're sat far away and can never interferre.

Unfortunately for you two, this sneaking out will have to end because Bruce had recently decided to set up some cameras in your room because he wanted to make sure you slept well without any abnormal breathing patterns. Bruce hopes he doesnt have to use restraints on you, because he's not blind. He knows you're uncomfortable with this intricate routine and knowing your impulsive self, you'd probably break your own bones to get out of these restraints. And then he'll be forced to use sedatives and he really doesnt wanna rely on drugs... he likes your company when you're not droopy.

And as Bruce had anticipated, you broke down. You finally tried to leave, and he could see the color draining your face as you realised that there is no leaving.

"Why isnt the door opening?" You asked Bruce, as his four sons slowly surrounded you.

"You dont have to run away, Y/n-" He tried to calm you down but you flinched away, eyes wide as you looked at him like he was going to harm you.

"Bruce, why isnt the fucking door opening?" Your voice trembled, shooting him teary glare before focusing your eyes back on the boys who were closing in on you.

"You're meant to stay here, inside, where its safe." He answered, heart aching at the alarmed stance you took, your fight-or-flight was going to kick in. He took another step towards you, hands raised in surrender. "We can keep you safe-" thats all it took for you to bolt as the boys began chasing you. Realistically, you knew you couldnt escape them but something about their intensely concerned calls for your name had you jumping out of the window.

Glass shattered and sharp shards embedded themselves in your skin and feet, but you didnt react to them. No, your brain wasnt screaming in pain, it was screaming for you to get out!

Adrenaline pumped you to run into the dark woods surrounding the mansion, but you were soon knocked to the ground by Dick, who cushioned your fall by placing you on top of him as his hands wrapped around your form like a cage. "Y/n, calm down and listen-"

You began thrashing in his arms, screaming in agony. "Let ME GO! YOU'RE HURTING ME-!" Dick's arms loosened instinctively and you took that as a chance to elbow him in the throat and run, thanking some deity for letting Dick forget that you cant feel pain.

But your relief is short lived as Damian catches you and pushes you to the ground harshly. "Damian! Be careful! She could break a bone-"

"Bones can heal, Drake." Damian barked back, pulling you up before he pushed you against tree. "Let me go, you maniac-" Damian's hand clamped around your throat, making you shut up. "You're the one who's a maniac. Look at you! You've fucking hurt yourself because if your astounding stupidity!"

You whimpered, clawing at his hand wrapped around your throat. "Dami- p-please let go- you're hurting me!" You cried out, but your eyes went wide as he squeezed your throat and bared his teeth at you. "Not falling for it, dumbass." So... fooling Damian wasnt as easy a feat as it was fooling Dick.

You stopped the act and looked at him dead serious. "Let me go, Damian, or-"

"Or what?"

Or what? Or what? Did he think you were out of options? Out of escape plans?

You dont know why, but that triggered something inside you.

Damian and Tim could only watch as you suddenly slammed the back of your head against the tree. "Y/n-" He gasped in horror as you leaned your head forward before slamming it back against the hard rough surface. This time, Damian's hand that was wrapped around your neck felt your blood around his fingers.

"Its my life and I get to decide how I should live it." You sneered before raising your head again to bash it, but Damian's hand quickly slipped from your neck to the back of your head, cushioning it when you smacked it back, the skin on the back of his hand breaking as it made contact with the bark.

You pushed him away and tried to make a run for it, but Tim grabbed your wrist. You tried to pull away, but he had a death grip on it. "Y/n, stop! You need to listen-"

"Oh is that so? I think I need this." You used your other hand to punch yourself in the face (because Tim would've dodged it if you punched him), making your nose bleed. But you didnt feel any pain, and now you were acting like a super soldier zombie that has no concept of self preservation who is going through fucked up lengths to prove her point.

Your eyes caught the sight of a glass shard poking out of your thigh. "Wanna see something cool?" You pulled out the shard, not paying mind to the blood oozing out. "Y/n, stop-" Tim begged, and you saw Damian froze in the back as you raised the shard.

They didnt know what your next target was- slashing your wrists, slitting your throat, or stabbing your stomach, but fortunately, they didnt have to find out as Jason came up behind you and injected you with a tranquilliser.

Sadly, you never felt the prick or sensed the hero sneaking up behind you.

thoughts? also, what other diseases would u guys like me to write for. i just adore these cool medical abnormalities lol

[in-som-niyah]

GirlDad!Jason who supports you all throughout your pregnancy; holding your hair when you get sick, rubbing your sore feet and ankles, holding you through cramps/braxton hicks, buying you everything you craved etc.

GirlDad!Jason who cried for hours after she was born. His little girl, just as beautiful as you, all bundled up in soft blankets. He never believed he could love someone so much, it was like his entire body was burning with love and compassion for this little bean in his arms. For once, the world stopped, just for him.

GirlDad!Jason drives the most carefully he ever has in his life when coming back from the hospital. Despite your incessant giggling about how you've never seen him so scared, he drove like a damn senior citizen. He was carrying the most precious cargo, could you blame him?

GirlDad!Jason who changes diapers, feeds, bathes and plays with your daughter. He never leaves her for more than 5 minutes, and is involved to the point of mild annoyance. You would put your daughter down for 5 seconds and return to her gone, and in his arms. It's the most adorable thing though, you wouldn't trade it for the world.

GirlDad!Jason who can't stand to see your daughter upset. It's a trait he developed when she got to the toddler age, always fussing about everything she can't have and Jason giving in. Every time.

GirlDad!Jason who cries on her first day of kindergarten. Would never admit it though, but he hates seeing her grow up. He dreaded the day she learned how to tie her shoes and zip up her coat independently. It makes him feel like she doesn't need him anymore :(

GirlDad!Jason who will, without fail, play princesses, hair salon, tea party and barbies with his daughter. It doesn't matter if the world needs saving or if Bruce is up his ass, his daughter comes second to nothing. Even if it's to kiss a minor booboo she got while running around the house.

GirlDad!Jason who always brings back little trinkets and toys for his daughter. Her bedroom will be cluttered with stuffed animals and shiny things that caught his eye or reminded him of her. She would anticipate his key in the door which meant daddy brought home something for her. No matter how old she gets, he won't stop.

GirlDad!Jason who absolutely fucks up bullies. Be it in kindergarten or in college, Jason will make sure she and her friends are never bothered again. I cannot disclose his methods for legal reasons.

GirlDad!Jason who doesn't freak out about periods. He's so loving and supportive and doesn't ever make her feel ashamed about it. He'll bring her tea, hot chocolate, hot water bottles, painkillers, heating pads and rub her back if she's in a lot of pain. He'll take the day off to stay with her, and never force her to go to school on those days.

GirlDad!Jason who absolutely spoils his daughter shamelessly. Mom said no more sweets? Well dad sure isn't going to place a bag of candy under her pillow the next day. She wants a car for her 16th birthday? His baby gets a pink Porsche with a bow on top. She's obsessed with X artist? All the merch in the world miraculously ends up in her room.

GirlDad!Jason who will tower menacingly over her first partner. It doesn't matter how much you or your daughter like them, Jason's imagining a thousand ways to hide their dismembered body.

GirlDad!Jason who needs to be talked down from killing said partner when he finds his daughter balled up in a crying mess on her bed when they break up. Nobody makes his precious girl sad. He'll definitely egg their house without your knowledge. He buys her everything she could ever ask for to make her feel better, no matter how stupidly expensive.

GirlDad!Jason who's always up to a conversation. No matter how embarrassing or personal, he'll listen and give honest advice. Because he's so open, your daughter almost never hides anything from him.

GirlDad!Jason who bawls after dropping her off at university. Again, would never admit it, but sleeps on the floor of her bedroom for the first month she's away. He can't help but miss his little (adult) girl. He also flips through pictures and videos on his phone of when your daughter was little and sheds a few tears. Honestly it only makes you love him more.

GirlDad!Jason who still doesn't like your daughter's college partner. He's better this time around, but still. Don't put murder past him. Yet.

GirlDad!Jason who cries when your daughter shows him her shiny new engagement ring. He's so excited yet terrified. His baby girl is all grown up now.

GirlDad!Jason who walks your daughter down the isle with the brightest smile on his face. He slowly comes around to liking her fiancé(é) and honestly wishes them well.

GirlDad!Jason who meets your daughter at the hospital, ready to meet his new granddaughter for the first time. He holds her in his arms, just like he did his daughter, and gleams knowing the cycle is repeating itself. He couldn't be more excited.

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a/n: sequel to this post i guess??? i needed something cute with jason and his daughter bc..... well..... we don't talk about my own father :D

night night guys

[crushedbyhyperbole]

Whiskey on the Tongue

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: You are the forbidden fruit Dean had always wanted to taste, and when you steal his whiskey the way you do, he is powerless to resist.

Words: 2.2k

A/N: This is my first ever Supernatural fic after having started watching the show just before Christmas. I know I'm late to the game but is it ever really too late to start loving a fandom? I've tried to make the reader generic in every way other than being cis-female, and Dean finding her hot.

It's been an absolute age since I wrote anything and probably longer since I posted anything here on Tumblr but I'm getting back into it now. Hopefully this finds its way to people in the Supernatural fandom who love a bit of Dean smut.

I hope you enjoy and, as always, I value your comments and feedback.

Warnings: Smut, explicit smut, alcohol consumption, mentions of people who have passed away, profanity as standard with pretty much everything I write.

*** Minors do not read or interact - 18+ content ***

Dean let his head fall back against the headboard, clenching his fists to try to distract himself from the deep ache in his left leg.  It had been falling asleep for well over an hour now, but he didn’t want to move and disturb you.

The door to his room in the bunker was closed.  Locked, in fact, though he did not remember doing it.  You didn’t comment or so much as move when Sam brayed on the door and tried the handle, calling out for Dean to return his book.  The very book that was in your hands right now.

“I need that book back, Dean.”  Sam grumbled.

“Not now, Sammy!”  Dean called back, hoping his little brother would just go away.

“I’m researching Nephilim to help Cas with the Kelly situation, Dean.  It’s important.”  Sam became more insistent.

“I said NOT NOW, SAM!”  Dean hollered with a kind of finality that even Sam wouldn’t argue with.

Outside the door, Sam huffed and stalked away.  Dean looked down to see you looking up at him from your position, lay on his bed.  Your head was resting on his left calf, his leg bent with his foot tucked under his right knee.  You had your knees up with your foot tapping along to his banging playlist, your jeans tight around your thighs and with your head tilted back he could see all the way down the deep V of your t-shirt.

He was going to hell.  Straight there.  Do not pass go.  Do not collect two hundred dollars.  And he probably deserved it.

He snapped his eyes up towards the ceiling but it was too late, he could feel himself stirring uncomfortably in his jeans.  If Bobby was alive he would have skinned him raw just for having you in his room.  Bobby was always protective of you, his niece.  You were only a couple of years younger than Sam but Bobby had made himself very clear that you were off limits.

“If you touch one single hair on her body, I’ll make you regret the day your balls dropped.  Do you hear me, boy?”

Bobby Singer.  That man did not mince his words.  And to this day, Dean had taken that threat as gospel.  Even now that Bobby was up there with the Angels, that son of a bitch would find a way to keep his word.

You shifted, causing a painful twang to shoot up his leg.  The reflexive grunt he failed to stifle made you look back up at him, giving him that glorious view again.

Dean decided he could die like this.  If having a dead leg was a legitimate threat to his life, he would go out happy with the view of your rack in that lacy black bra he could see within the V-shaped window of that too-tight t-shirt.

He raised his eyes, once again to heaven, asking Bobby to forgive him or give him strength or something because – god help him – he wanted to take you right then and there.

It wasn’t unusual for you to seek him out after a case when you didn’t want to be alone, but you didn’t want to talk.  You would just sit while he drank, reading or working on spells.  You said he quieted the noise in your head.  Hell, he wasn’t going to argue, you were a sight for sore eyes every time he came home.  You were wicked hot and sexy in a non-slutty way.  Not that slutty was bad.  Dean liked slutty.  But that wasn’t you, you were different.

A drink.  That’s what was missing.  Dean needed a damn drink, especially if you were going to torture him by laying on him all evening.

He reached over to his bedside unit, for the bottle he kept in there for special occasions.  A bottle of twenty-five-year-old Speyside single malt that he liberated from the British Men of Letters on his last interaction with Ketch.

The pour made you stir again but it wasn’t until he raised the cut crystal tumbler to his lips did you move.  Your hand came up and claimed the glass from underneath, twisting it as you sat up so as not to spill any.

“Where’s yours?”

The cheeky glint in your eye had him pursing his lips in mild annoyance.

“Don’t pout.”  You lifted the glass, turning it until the mark left by his lips touched yours and you sipped, looking him straight in the eye.

Dean’s jaw went slack.  The glisten of the whiskey on your lips and the satisfied hum you made when you swallowed – he swallowed unconsciously when you did – made his mouth go dry.  He had never seen you like this.

You moved to kneel on the bed and walked your way slowly closer, giving his leg a tap; an instruction to move it aside.  He did, causing pins and needles to infest his nerves like ants swarming on a log to escape a flood.

Knelt between his spread legs, you brought the glass to your lips again, sipping at the amber liquid.  You leaned in.

Dean watched you, breathing shallow, attention rapt.  You hadn’t so much as touched him, yet every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire in the best possible way.  The closer you got the shallower he breathed until he was almost holding his breath, looking down his nose at how close your lips were.  His eyelashes looked to flutter against his cheeks just as yours did when you brushed your whiskey dappled lips against his.

He refused to lick where you had been.  He couldn’t.  As soon as he tasted, he would pounce, and…

“Don’t.”  He croaked out when you moved to lay your lips on him once more.

You looked confused but at least you didn’t look hurt.  He couldn’t bear it if you looked hurt because of him.

“Bobby…”  Was all he could say through his constricting throat.

You smiled then, full of amusement, lips brushing against his, you whispered “he’ll understand.”

Dean tried not to respond to you but you coaxed his lips apart and teased your tongue to meet his, short circuiting his brain.  The taste of the scotch and the sweetness of your mouth made him groan.  He had fantasised about having you for years, but never did he think it would be you seducing him.

His hands on your hips guided you roughly to straddle him, the bulge in his jeans pushing up against you as you settled.  He took the glass from your hands and downed the contents, his eyes on yours as he dropped the glass carelessly on the bedside unit.

Your lips met his again but this time you devoured each other, tongues stroking together, moans stifled by each other’s mouths.  He trailed his hands up your body, dragging your t-shirt along with them.  Finally, he could see what he had been having glimpses of this whole evening.  Plush breasts cupped in scant lace that was completely impractical for a hunt, Dean realised, like you had meant to come here like this.  You had intended this from the beginning.

He tore at the lace, dragging it under your breasts to free them, shoulder straps slipped down.  Pawing at them like he had never touched a tittie before, all he wanted to do was suck and nip and nibble.

Your breathy sigh was divine, and the moan that followed was filthy.  You cupped the back of his head as he took your nipple into his mouth and sucked hard, pressing him further, asking for more.

While he worked on your breasts you undid his belt and fly, reaching into the front of his shorts to release him from the awkward angle at which he was trapped.  You stroked him, firm but slow, feeling him for the first time.  You had always wondered what he had going on down there that every woman he had ever been with would come back for more at the drop of a hat.  You weren’t disappointed.

Dean lifted his hips, you thought to allow you to push his jeans down but instead he flipped you, making you squeal.  Once under him, he ravished your breasts anew, pinching one nipple hard while licking and sucking the other.  Soon you were a mewling mess, hips writhing, begging for something he hadn’t given you yet.  Excited that he had taken control away from you, you watched him sit up and yank your jeans down, lifting your legs until they were bare.  Your knickers followed and he spread your legs without preamble, lowering himself between your thighs until his hair and eyes were all you could see above your mound.

“Jesus Christ of Nazareth!”

You groaned as he suckled against your sensitive spot.  Fuck, he was good with his tongue.  Everything about him was good except his image.  Bad boy Dean Winchester.  He was every woman’s wet dream.  He had been your wet dream since you were seventeen.  But now you were plenty old enough and finally getting what you wanted.

Bobby had told you to stay away from him when you were a kid.  Dean had a reputation as a ladies man even then, but he respected your uncle Bobby enough to keep his distance… until now.

Dean dipped two fingers inside, creating pressure in exactly the right spot.  You gasped and gripped his hair as your pleasure began to crest, tugging on it for dear life.  He looked up at you then, to see your eyes closed against the intensity of it, neck and face flushed red with your oncoming orgasm.  When it came, the pulsing of your core was his sign to slow down.  He left off his suckling and stroked you through the pleasure, watching you all the while.  You were a beautiful mess.

“That’s my girl.”  He praised you in that deep rough tone you adored, helping prolong your climax until you took his hand away yourself.  “Are you ready for me?”

You nodded, allowing him to lift your knees up and stroke the weeping tip of his cock over your swollen clit.

From the front pocket of the jeans he still wore, he pulled a foil packet with Trojan embossed on it.  He was swift with its application, aiming his tip just so.

When he slid home, your eyes rolled back and you reached to grip his forearms.  It was something Dean would never get tired of seeing but it felt that much different with you.  You were the forbidden thing he had always wanted but could never have.  Even now he didn’t know whether he would come to regret this.  God, he hoped not.

Balls deep in you, he leaned forward to kiss you, wrapping your legs around his hips.  His instinct was to fold you in half and pound the living shit out of you, but you were already overwhelmed and he wanted to make this soft for you.

“Tell me what you need.”  He spoke softly as he nuzzled your neck.

“Just you, like this.”  You sighed.  Who knew Dean Winchester was a considerate lover.

His slow, measured thrusts brought you closer to the edge, your core fluttering each time, he could feel it.  It surprised him how quickly is climax built at this pace, but the added connection you both shared seemed to turn him on.  He would never give up Busty Asian Babe porn but he could get used to this with you.

You didn’t close your eyes against the pleasure this time, you watched him come undone above you, gasping as his orgasm made his legs and arms shake, muscles clenched tight to keep his weight from collapsing on you.  When he swelled you dug your fingers into his hips to pull him deeper with each stroke, and when he spilled you also came, eyes fluttering shut finally.

Dean knelt up, slipping the rubber off as soon as he was clear of you and, tying a knot in the end, tossed it in the direction of the trash can.

“Shot.”  You said with a smile as the sticky bundle went straight in the can.

He quirked and eyebrow and give you a slightly smug lopsided smirk that said:  What can I say?  I don’t miss.

When you moved to sit, he stopped you.

“Here, lemme get that.”

“Thanks.”

He stripped his t-shirt off and used it to clean up the wetness between your legs.  Though none of it was his, it would still dribble when you moved.  Afterwards he tucked it under your ass and flopped down on the bed at your side, moving his arm behind your head so you could rest it on his chest.  You were both content.  Both had goofy grins on your faces.  Both disbelieving that you had finally gotten what you wanted.

A loud knock at the door started you.

“Are you done?”  Sam said.  “I need that book.”

“NO!”  You and Dean shouted back in unison, laughing afterwards.

“Bobby’s gonna kill you.”  Sam called back through the door.

“I KNOW!”  Dean yelled gruffly, pulling you closer.

There might be a time in the future where the ghost of Bobby Singer came to make him regret the day his balls dropped and, if it happened, Dean would be happy to see him again.  In the meantime, you and he could work on a whole bunch of reasons to make the cranky old bastard come down from up high for a visit.

Dean pulled the sheets over both of your heads, nibbling at your neck until you moaned his name.  Aside from the roar of Baby’s engine, he had found his new favourite sound.

[zorostitties]

Aurora; 11 (m)

⤕ Your existence had been an endless night, where shadows whispered long forgotten secrets. Trapped in a golden cage, your fragile mind and shattered memories were chains that kept you from dreaming of freedom. Then, he appeared with the first light of dawn, like a gentle sun warming your cold skin. In his gaze, the promise of a new beginning; in his presence, the sunrise your soul had longed for.

In which Alucard saves you from Erzsebet.

pairing: alucard (castlevania) x (f) reader

genre: angst, romance, slow burn, eventual smut

warnings: violence/blood, explicit language, mental health issues, grief, physical abuse.

rating: 18+

word count: 9k

A/N: HELLO WORLD!!! This one came a bit late but here it is!! Honestly this chapter was the trickiest to write bc I didn't know how to still make most of it entertaining. I'm proud of myself for DESTROYING this writer's block with my own hands, though. 😈 With this chapter, we reach the mid point of our story!! Not literally, though, because I don't know how many chapters we still have ahead of us lol BUT we're def in the middle. ANYWAY! Feedback as usual is VERY MUCH appreciated! If you've been reading this fic up until now and never commented, please send me a hi or anything. I'll love to know how you like the story. DON'T BE SHY AROUND ME BABYGIRL 😈 Enjoy <3

⤕  Masterlist  ⤕ Also on AO3 ⤕ Playlist

Caution was the rule that dominated Olrox’s life.

He had learned from a young age that in order to survive in this world, you have to be cautious about everything. The people you let into your life, your enemies, the alliances you make; before speaking, you should listen. Before forming an opinion, you should take as much information as you could find. Before taking action, you should think about it – plan it, revise it, think about it again and again and again.

Caution was what kept Olrox alive while his city and his people burned. Caution was the reason why Olrox was still alive to this day despite all odds being against him. And caution was what told him he had to leave the Old World soon.

Olrox knew when a war was lost; he had tried to turn the tables in the past, and it led to nothing but pain. He knew better now. Sometimes, retreating is the best course of action.

Erzsebet had retrieved the second half of Sekhmet’s soul. Olrox tried to intervene by giving Alucard an advantage in the run after the mummy; the son of Dracula had failed to take it. There was nothing he could do anymore, not now that Europe became Sekhmet’s territory.

Olrox had to be cautious for the sake of his inner voice – even more than usual. Erzsebet was still no goddess, but she had managed to summon the soul of one back to the land of the living… and that was a clear commandment for him to stay away.

Which is why Olrox was shocked at himself when he left the docks and flew towards Paris.

Every instinct in him was yelling at him to turn back. Her stench was worse than ever; he could feel her power from miles and miles away. It made the tiny hairs in his arms raise, made him feel genuine repulse. He shouldn’t be anywhere near her. That wasn’t fear or cowardice as he knew Mizrak had assumed. That wasn’t even just his caution.

No… that was something that ran deep within Olrox – in his body, his spirit and his soul.

It was a law he shouldn’t break.

Preys shouldn’t sleep around predators. Earth shouldn’t stop spinning. Rain shouldn’t go upwards. Fish shouldn’t be out of the water.

A god shouldn’t be anywhere near another god.

That is why Olrox had been so cautious ever since the night Tenochtitlan burned. He had to take care for something other than his life – his inner voice.

But Olrox was marching towards Paris anyway, and even though he knew the rules better than anyone else, he couldn’t stop himself.

Perhaps because a part of him never got to terms with what happened to his people, all these centuries ago. Perhaps because, although he promised himself to never join any cause that wouldn’t benefit him only, he never got over the fact that he had failed more than once to fight for justice.

Or perhaps because Mizrak’s saddened brown eyes didn’t leave his mind for a second.

And spend a lifetime running from her? No.

This was Mizrak’s response to Olrox’s invite to come to the New World with him. Not because he didn’t want to go; but because he didn’t want to live a life hiding from Erzsebet.

And perhaps that was enough of a reason for Olrox to want to defeat her.

The closer he got to Paris, the more his heart tightened. He felt his limbs get weaker, a strange ill sensation set in his guts. He’d never felt the presence of another god so strongly like that; before, Erzsebet was just feeding off Sekhmet’s power. Now that she had settled another half of the deity’s soul, things got entirely different. Much more complicated.

The greater force overwhelms the weakest. Erzsebet-Sekhmet had claimed territory over the entirety of Paris, even if she did it unknowingly. It made things even harder to navigate.

But Olrox remembered that Mizrak, a simple human being, was somewhere down there fighting, so he shouldn’t make excuses.

Even so – he had to be careful. Facing Erzsebet directly would be unwise.

Then, he decided to focus on Drolta.

He never liked her. She reminded him of the Spanish Christians too much. Her obsession disgusted him. But he had to admit that she was strong – much more now in this horrendous form.

So Olrox wouldn’t be able to face her in his usual form, too.

The transformation was longer than he expected, took too much energy from him; even in this form, he wouldn’t be able to give his all. Sekhmet’s presence overwhelmed him. But Olrox pushed forward anyway until he no longer resembled a man, but a giant, glorious winged snake in the night sky.

He came in time to save Alucard from a certain strike.

Purple lightnings of pure power slashed the sky.

Drolta knew what she was dealing with immediately.

She groaned, wrapping her arm around her own stomach for a moment – the exact spot where the power jolt hit her – before taking flight once again. She narrowed her eyes and took a defensive position.

“Quetzalcoatl,” She hissed in a mix of surprise, anger and pain. “I should’ve known you were just a snake!”

Olrox attacked again.

The sky got brightened up in eerie purple flashes as their battle unraveled above the ceilings of Paris. Drolta was strong – much stronger than a regular night creature, but her previous fight with Alucard had taken a toll on her. Meanwhile, Olrox was fighting with half of his usual strength; being in Sekhmet’s territory weakened him deeply. In fact, transmuting into the Quetzalcoatl form was something he shouldn’t even be doing, but fighting in his normal form against her would be suicide.

The scales were evenly balanced in this fight.

Drolta slashed his body with her sharp nails – so strong that they could pierce even through his usually impenetrable scale armor, making him snarl in pain. Olrox sent more and more lightnings in her direction. She flew in zigzag, trying to avoid being hit, and every time one missed, it destroyed entire chunks of buildings; any time it hit, Drolta yelled in agony.

Olrox understood Alucard’s strategy: by keeping Erzsebet and Drolta apart, they’d have double chances to defeat them. He knew some magicians – including the Belmont boy – were somewhere down there fighting Sekhmet’s vessel. All he had to do was keep her busy while they worked, even though Olrox didn’t know how much longer he could take…

His inner voice was unsettled; he could feel His discomfort, how it tugged at the corners of his consciousness, making him lose focus for a second. Back away, He ordered Olrox; Go away. Take distance. You must not be near them. You must not.

Yes, Olrox knew that; he knew what he was doing was foolish and Olrox didn’t like to be foolish–

Wait.

Near... them?

But Sekhmet was the only deity there–

His eyes passed rapidly by the city’s cathedral, meters and meters away from where he was. There… there was a figure laid in front of its central doors.

And at that moment, the world stopped.

Nothing else mattered. His inner voice. Drolta or Erzsebet or Sekhmet. His caution.

None of that mattered anymore because it was Mizrak and he was bleeding to death.

A desperate snarl erupted from his throat as Olrox flew in his direction, leaving an injured and tired Drolta behind. He crossed the streets at an unnerving pace, way too fast for a creature so big, making humans down there gasp and run, not knowing if this was another enemy.

Olrox didn’t care about any of them. He got close to the ground, his dragon form dissolving in a black cloud until what resurfaced was a desperate man running towards Notre Dame.

As soon as he got a good look at Mizrak, his heart dropped.

The black haired monk bled from the stomach – he had been pierced. He was laying on the floor, his fist tightened against the wound; his breathing was shallow, his lips already had a nauseating blue color. Olrox knelt down by his side and immediately took him in his arms. Mizrak was getting cold.

This can’t be happening. It can’t be.

Mizrak, who was nothing but fair and virtuous and kind; Mizrak, who weeped at the death of unknown people and put his life on the line for them, even if he was just a fragile human. Mizrak, who made Olrox remember the best mankind had to offer.

And he was dying.

Olrox ripped some of Mizrak’s cape and pressed it against the wound to stanch the bleeding; he gently tapped his face, called his name a few times. To his relief, Mizrak opened his eyes – but there wasn’t much strength to him. His olive skin was sickeningly pale.

Mizrak looked confused, as if his sight was out of focus. Then, Olrox saw the moment his pupils dilated almost imperceptibly.

“Ol...rox?” He managed to speak somehow – his voice was but a ragged, painful breath.

“Shhh. Don’t speak.” The vampire shushed him softly before, with the utmost care, helping him to sit. Mizrak groaned in pain. Cold fear crept up Olrox’s body; he had already lost way too much blood. Medicine wouldn’t save him, and as far as Olrox knew, there weren’t any healers powerful enough to help in France…

It was then that Olrox realized that the cold he felt had nothing to do with fear.

His eyes widened.

The air smelled of coal and sulfur.

He looked behind his shoulder in time to see the tall shadow approaching.

Olrox brought Mizrak closer to him protectively. The entity grinned at them, trembling in what could be interpreted as excitement. At that moment, Olrox damned that fucking Abbot for the hundredth time for dragging Mizrak into all this.

“Old Man Coyote,” Olrox hissed. “He’s not for you.”

His inner voice got agitated, which surprised Olrox. He has been in the presence of this demon before, and He didn’t show much of a reaction… what had changed?

The shadow laughed mockingly – it was like multiple voices overlapping – before disappearing once again.

He had to take Mizrak out of there as soon as possible.

His original plan was to just teleport both of them out of there, but fuck – Olrox had exhausted himself with Drolta; the little strength he still had was being suppressed by Sekhmet’s presence. Olrox helped the monk get to his feet, putting Mizrak’s arm over his own shoulders. Olrox didn’t know how damaged his organs were, so he had to be delicate. Slowly, Olrox started to walk out of there.

“We’re not far from a safe place,” Olrox explained. “Hold on a little longer.”

Mizrak whimpered in response. His head was hanging low, he panted with difficulty. It just made Olrox feel even more desperate.

Then, out of nowhere, the monk raised his head.

A new emotion clouded his face.

“Olrox…” he called in a weak voice again. The vampire shushed him.

“Save it. Everything will be okay.” He didn’t know if he was trying to convince Mizrak or himself. The monk, however, got more and more agitated.

“No… Olrox… y-you have to…”

“Don’t exhaust yourself.”

Mizrak groaned again – but this time, it sounded more like frustration.

He looked over his shoulder; his eyes widened.

Using the little strength he still had, Mizrak put the entire weight of his body on Olrox’s side – making him lose his balance and stumble closer to the sidewalk.

“What–?” Olrox tried to say.

He had no time.

Mizrak got away from Olrox’s grip in a surprisingly swift movement and pushed him into an alley on their left.

The vampire fell on the cobblestones, completely confused; why did he do that? Did he not want to be saved? Was he disgusted of him–?

Light.

It came out of nowhere. It was blinding. It brightened up the whole sky.

Olrox watched with widened eyes as the avenue he was standing in a second ago was completely engulfed in light. He thought it was an explosion at first, but no boom or shockwave came. He felt his stomach drop, his fingertips shake.

Mizrak stood under the light with closed eyes.

Then, Olrox started to hear the screams.

They came from all directions, screams of the purest agony. Screams of death.

Things slowly made sense in his mind.

Olrox approached the corner of the alley. Hesitantly, he stretched his arm towards that light. His fingertips burned. He immediately flinched away.

That was sunlight, even though the sun itself was still hidden behind the eclipse.

He retreated and gazed at Mizrak in pure shock.

Mizrak… somehow, he knew that was going to happen. At the last minute, he pushed Olrox into that alley; it was between two tall buildings, reigned by shadows. Sunlight wouldn’t reach it from the position it was coming from.

That fragile human was on the verge of death himself, and even so, he saved Olrox’s life.

His heart tightened.

After no more than two minutes, the light diminished. Olrox didn’t care to learn where that came from, who caused it, and why it made his stomach drop like that. All he cared about was taking Mizrak in his arms again before he could fall. All he cared about was bringing Mizrak closer to him, cradling him, caressing his face.

Weakly, the monk put his gloved hand over Olrox’s.

He was visibly in so much pain. Even so, Mizrak’s half lidded eyes were full of determination and… care.

He took a deep, difficult breath before speaking.

“F-Fight.” Mizrak whispered. “For m-me.”

Olrox’s heart tightened even more.

The vampire never expected he’d find someone like this in the Old World. He never expected that this painful sweetness would take control of his actions again, of his sanity, overwhelming everything else – his usual caution, his selfishness, even his inner voice.

Mizrak represented everything Olrox loved about humanity.

So, if this fragile human asked him to fight – he would.

Olrox brought their faces closer to each other’s. He pressed his lips over Mizrak’s softly; his hand caressed the monk’s face gently. It was a chaste kiss – much different from all the kisses filled with passion and heat and anger they had shared. And yet, that simple press of lips ignited fire through Olrox’s soul much more than anything they’d done to each other before.

He could feel that something was happening not far from there. An explosion of red power that made him feel even more ill. That didn’t matter. Olrox just wanted keep closer to Mizrak for a second more.

Finally, he delicately laid Mizrak on the floor and got up. If he wanted to save the monk, he’d have to act fast; each wasted minute could cost Mizrak’s life.

Olrox was weakened. Olrox’s inner voice kept telling him to run away. He ignored all that and marched towards battle once more.

That day, Mizrak would lose his mortal life. And yet – he got something far more precious, far more powerful in return.

That day, Mizrak gained the heart of a god.

Drolta was tired.

Tired of the incompetence around her. Tired of these humans. Tired of waiting. She had waited for over a thousand years to awaken her goddess; century after century, she had roamed the Earth after a suitable vessel. Her only goal was to bring Sekhmet back. Everything she did was to comply with her duty as a High Priestess.

And she was tired of Erzsebet.

She took care of this woman for almost two centuries; fed her with her goddess’ holy blood, trained her, pampered her. Drolta killed thousands for Erzsebet’s sake. Drolta made a pact with a demon for Erzsebet’s sake.

And now that she had finally retrieved Sekhmet’s Ba after centuries of searching, how did Erzsebet repay her?

By being humiliated by a bunch of humans.

Drolta was tired.

So when she finally bit Erzsebet’s neck and sucked her blood, she felt nothing. There was a time when maybe, maybe, Drolta felt some sort of affection for her. Not anymore. Not now that she had ashamed and failed her.

This power belonged to her, after all. It had always belonged to her.

Drolta felt a wave of pure power penetrate her skin, her bones, her muscles, every centimeter of her body. It hurt like she was being pierced by a million needles, like she was being chewed by the biggest crocodiles of the Nile. An animalistic growl erupted from her throat; red energy revolved her, cloistered her, pierced her, clacking the air. The air got hotter than the midday sun in the Sahara. Her leathery skin smoked.

Pure agony was what her body felt; her mind, however, was enlightened – as if such excruciating pain broke the boundaries of consciousness.

So much power. It was as if she could see and hear everything at the same time, but all made sense; she could feel the weight of a spirit much, much higher than her permeate her mind. A spirit filled with anger and hate and blood thirst.

It almost felt like an inner voice, commanding her to attack.

Sekhmet, the Goddess of War; She Who Mauls.

Maniacal laughter escaped past her lips. The Belmont boy, knelt on the floor whilst holding the woman that carried a whisp of Sekhmet’s soul, looked at her with widened eyes. Yes; feel scared, be frightened, for I have returned. She was tired of him, too. Drolta had faced Belmonts in the past and she hated all of them throughout history. It was time for that clan to end.

But most of all – that girl he was holding had to die. Who did she think she was to get anywhere near Sekhmet’s Akh? How dare she disturb her goddess’ soul like that? She didn’t know what Sekhmet needed, what she represented. She had no right to be anywhere near her.

After these two, she’d go after that snake. Drolta never trusted Olrox enough, but she didn’t think he’d have the guts to actually face her… and most of all – she didn’t know what lied within him. You must destroy them, her inner voice growled in a wrathful female tone that did not belong to her.

The son of Dracula was next in line. She was also sick of him. He had killed her once, and she’d have her revenge. Drolta would not give him another chance to escape.

And lastly…

Ruby.

She had to die.

It was all Erzsebet’s incompetence, Drolta knew; all she had to do was keep that girl locked and away from the world, but she obviously failed. Drolta spent so long breaking into her, making her submissive – and it all went to waste in less than a week. Now, things were out of control. Ruby had obliterated most of her army. Ruby was remembering, and she shouldn’t remember anything.

But Erzsebet was dead and Drolta had retrieved Sekhmet’s power, so there was no use in keeping her alive anymore. It was time to fulfill her part on the pact and finally get freed of it.

Yes. Everything was within reach. Everything. There was nothing she couldn’t do; there was nothing she couldn’t achieve; there was no one powerful enough to stop her. I am Sekhmet, Goddess of War, her inner voice growled. And I want my revenge against the humans who have wronged me.

Drolta would be the harbinger of this revenge.

She raised her right arm, ready to slash the Belmont boy with her sharp nails–

And it was stopped midway.

It couldn’t be. Not him again.

Alucard stood between the couple and her, halting her attack with his long sword. That… that half-breed bastard was putting himself in the way again. She couldn’t stand looking at his face anymore, she’d took her time to kill him and she’d make it as painful as possible–

Drolta felt a shiver run down her spine.

A shiver?!

No. That couldn’t be possible… she was the Goddess of War and Revenge. She was more powerful than anyone on Earth. Nothing should be able to make her shiver.

Alucard let a raspy, angry scream. It was the first time he let any sort of extreme reaction in all the times they fought. The air around him became different. Drolta… Drolta could see things she couldn’t before. There was a red aura growing around him as rapidly as flames on hay.

His sclera got red.

And at that moment, Drolta knew why she felt a shiver.

His power and his aura and his eyes made her body remember the most powerful creature who had walked this Earth, the only man who ever made her feel real fear, the only man who ever made her obey.

Drolta shouldn’t have forgotten – but that was the son of Dracula.

He didn’t get turned into a vampire, he was born as one. The Vampire King’s masterpiece; the perfect alchemical aberration.

And Drolta realized with anger that during all of their fights until that moment, Alucard wasn’t giving his all.

She growled back at him and tried to attack with her left arm. Alucard deflected it and pushed her back with his sword. No. No one should be able to push her back. She was… she was stronger than anyone else, wasn’t she?!

Drolta launched herself towards him again – this time, he wouldn’t escape. Alucard’s face was distorted in a scowl of anger now. He pulled his cape to cover his body and teleported in a beam of yellow light – only to appear behind her.

She had time to turn back and see as Alucard summoned a giant ball of pure fire and lava in her direction.

Drolta stopped it with her bare hands, but that thing kept pushing and pushing and pushing with the force of thousands of tons; she grunted with the effort, felt the ground beneath her crack, the air get so hot that it boiled the skin of her palms. No, she wouldn’t be defeated. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t.

Drolta yelled when she finally managed to kick that thing away in the Belmont boy’s direction. Unfortunately, he deflected it somehow.

For the first time, she focused her gaze on him again.

The Belmont boy walked towards her, took his whip in his hands; a serious, stone hard expression covered his features. She could see it, too – the blue aura growing around him, invisible to the human eye. He’d never transpired as much power as in that moment. Shouldn’t he be at least tired after fighting against Erzsebet?

The girl behind him, the one that carried a whisp of Sekhmet’s soul…

Mortals work better when they are in their best feelings.

Love is extremely powerful in magical terms.

Drolta found all that pathetic.

Another maniacal laughter erupted from her throat as both men got ready to fight her: Alucard’s sword embedded in red fire, the Belmont boy’s whip embedded in blue. Pathetic is what both of them were. All of them were pathetic – these humans soldiers, the weak vampires that died in battle, Erzsebet, this disgusting city. They all would soon be trembling under her feet; it’s where every living creature deserved to be. Fear is what would unite this world. Fear would be her crown.

They attacked.

Drolta used her hair tentacles to deflect them. Each tentacle had an extremely sharp blade on their tips; they were able to cut through concrete and cobblestones with ease as they whipped around violently. Perhaps Alucard would be able to heal from such injuries, but the human boy wouldn’t – so she focused mostly on him.

Both men immediately understood her tactic.

They fought in synchronicity as if they were connected somehow, attacking while protecting each other. The Belmont snapped his whip around him, twirled mid air to create a field of protection around his body while pushing her tentacles away; whenever one got too dangerously close, Alucard cut them. Drolta was able to regenerate the tentacles fast with her new powers, but it still burned whenever one of them were able to slash her.

That wasn’t going how she wanted it.

Drolta used her nails to try to cut them, her legs to try to kick them, her tentacles to try to strangle them; they always somehow got away. The Belmont summoned fire and ice and lightning against her, somehow piercing through her thick skin; the red flames of Alucard’s sword burned her and his sheer swordsmanship confused her, forced her to be on her toes the entire time. The vampire made sure to tank her heaviest blows so the Belmont could attack with his magic freely.

Alucard jiggled from side to side in the blink of an eye – so fast that even her sharp senses failed to follow. Drolta couldn’t expect where his next attack would come from; his sword twirled in the air creating arches of death, trying to reach for her neck before falling in the hands of its owner again. He was even faster now compared to their previous fights, even more brutal, his precision heightened to two hundred percent.

Excruciating pain.

Drota widened her eyes. Blood spilled from her right shoulder and hair tentacles.

She was so focused on Alucard that she didn’t see when the Belmont sent a sharp ice shuriken wrapped in electricity her way.

Alucard didn’t give her time to recover.

He pushed her up towards the sky – up, up, up, each push more and more violent; his attacks came from all sides, his sword slashing and piercing her leathery skin, each cut deeper than the other. Alucard’s strikes were so fast and so intense and so disorienting and so painful that Drolta couldn’t help but stop for a moment to try to protect her body with her arms and tentacles; he didn’t give her any opening.

Enough!

Drolta screamed in both anger and pain. She whipped all of her tentacles towards him at the same time, finally managing to push him; Alucard fell many meters away back to the ground, creating a crater where he hit.

She smiled. There’s no way he didn’t get slashed by her tentacles this time–

The whip tangled around her neck.

Drolta didn’t have time to prepare for the kick on her face the Belmont struck, propelled by his fire magic. He kicked again, punched her head, kicked again; Drolta growled, feeling rage fill her more and more. That human scum had the audacity to hit her with his bare hands?!

She clasped her hands together and hammered him down to the ground. The boy hit the cobblestones on his back, blood spilled from his lips. Drolta grinned at his immobile figure; she made her nails grow until they were as long as a blade before flapping her wings and flying down on a beeline towards him. Oh, she’d pierce through his chest. She’d take pleasure in ripping his heart out with him still alive.

Her nails were centimeters away from his body…

And then, she couldn’t feel her left hand anymore.

Drolta had forgotten about the ice shuriken he made earlier.

It cut her entire hand off.

She yelled in agonizing pain and stumbled away, holding the severed arm close to her chest. He… he cut her hand off. That fucking human boy cut her hand off.

Anger as red as the sky above her rose from her heart.

Her body got once again wrapped in energy. Crimson electricity clacked around her; her tentacles moved around frenetically like angry snakes. No. That couldn’t be happening. She had achieved the power she sought for over a thousand years. These two couldn’t be offering her enough of a challenge… that didn’t make sense.

Her inner voice growled.

Will you continue playing around with my power like this?

Drolta was tired.

She turned to face them at the exact moment they would attack together.

Time stopped.

Drolta gazed at both men. They were frozen in the air centimeters away from her. They had painful expressions. She could see them struggling to break away from her spell.

The woman laughed and straightened her posture. She lifted her severed arm. After focusing a bit more energy there, it regenerated in the blink of an eye; bone, muscle, veins, flesh and skin rebuilding a new hand in seconds, much faster than Ruby’s healing. Her inner voice was right. She’d already given these two insects enough time to play around. She’d been fighting with what she knew; using her body and strength. But… that was only the surface of what a goddess could do.

Drolta focused on this new power, letting her heightened consciousness travel through it. The larger spirit that now inhabited her body had an infinite reservoir of power. So, so much power; so much energy. The possibilities of what she could do were infinite. They went much beyond just making her skin thicker, her muscles bigger or her tentacles sharper.

It didn’t matter that her opponents were the son of Dracula and this Belmont. Alucard wasn’t Dracula himself, he only had a fraction of his father’s power. And the Belmont… he was just a human magician.

Her newly grown hand got wrapped in pure energy.

She grinned and pointed her hand towards Alucard.

He had to go first. Not only because she despised him, but because he was hindering her attacks the most, confusing her, getting in the way and acting as a shield for the human boy.

Drolta unleashed a wave of red energy his way.

It blew on his face. Alucard groaned in pain as he was sent flying back meters and meters away, hitting a building on his way – destroying half of it – before hitting the floor the same way he did to her earlier at the Notre Dame.

And then – it was just her and the Belmont boy, frozen in time in front of her.

Drolta chuckled with cruelty again. He didn’t have his vampire shield anymore. That wave of energy would tear him to pieces.

Slowly, she aimed her hand at him.

For every suffering, a wisdom is gained, she thought. Maybe if this fight hadn’t happened, Drolta wouldn’t have realized the true extension of her new powers. For that, she was grateful. A goddess shouldn’t fight like a mortal. Now, she knew how to obliterate this city with a flick of fingers. After the Belmont boy was done – and after she beheaded Alucard; she knew that wasn’t enough to kill him – she would have no enemies powerful enough to face her anymore…

Her thoughts got interrupted by a punch.

Drolta got dizzy for a moment.

What?!

The Belmont boy – he broke away from her freezing spell and landed his fiery fist on her face.

Love is extremely powerful in magical terms.

Drolta growled. She hated him. She hated him. She HATED him! He had to die. He was going to die right now. She raised her hand wrapped in power again to annihilate him – there was no way this human boy would survive her next attack–

The next second – all her power was gone.

That girl the Belmont put his life on the line to protect… she was floating in front of Drolta, holding her wrist with her much smaller hand.

And yet, when she squeezed Drolta’s wrist, she yelled in pain and fell to her knees.

Drolta looked deep within that girl’s eyes. They were golden, her irises were vertical like a feline’s. Her grip was hotter than Alucard’s lava ball; her expression was ferocious like a lioness’.

At that moment, Drolta finally understood.

That girl wasn’t stealing her goddess’ power. That girl… somehow she did what not even Erzsebet was able to do.

She became an avatar.

Drolta wasn’t looking at a human girl. Drolta was looking straight into the eyes of Sekhmet.

She shivered.

A part of Drolta wanted to smile, wanted to bow. Finally… after a thousand years, after uncountable nights of prayers, after sweat and blood and tears dropped, she stood in front of her goddess. The one she always fought for. The one who possessed her utmost loyalty and adoration. The one whom Drolta went to the ends of the world for; the one whom Drolta went as far as making a pact with a demon for her sake.

Drolta had fantasized of this moment many times before… the day she’d finally have Sekhmet walk on Earth again; and, if she died trying, the moment her goddess would meet her with open arms at the duat, after Anubis had weighed her heart as righteous and deserving of eternal rest.

But that was not how Sekhmet was looking at her at that moment.

Her golden eyes were clouded by rage and disapproval.

And, for the first time since her mortal days, Drolta felt shame.

“I am Sekhmet!” Her goddess growled as a golden aura grew around her like flames. “Guardian of the Dawn, Child of the Sun, Mistress of Healing!”

Drolta’s entire body shook in pain.

“I did this for you!” Drolta claimed. “All of this! I did it for you!”

“Made yourself into this unclean thing!” Sekhmet vociferated – and, as she spoke, Drolta realized that her inner voice was repeating the same words in unison; she felt as the soul within her and Sekhmet in front of her connected their consciousnesses into a single one. “Filled my temple with atrocities! Fed my soul to a disgusting walking corpse!”

Tears welled up Drolta’s eyes. Her chin trembled.

“So that you could live again!” She tried again; her goddess had to understand, she had to… “I-I thought it was what you wanted! I thought it was what you wanted!”

“It is time to balance the scales!” Sekhmet declared.

At that moment, reality hit Drolta.

Her beloved goddess. The one she had worshiped and served her entire life, from her mortal days to her vampire days to her reborn form…

Sekhmet was disappointed at her.

No. It was more than that.

Sekhmet despised her.

Tears dripped down Drolta’s cheeks.

“I thought it was what you wanted…” she whispered one last time. Pain much stronger than any physical attack slashed through her soul.

In less than a minute, Drolta’s determination was gone.

Her existence was pointless.

She did not fight as Sekhmet started to pull her power – her souls – back from Drolta’s body. She yelled in pain until her throat ached. She yelled for all the years gone to waste. She yelled as she felt her heart breaking into a million pieces.

Drolta weeped for the only real love she ever had as it turned its back on her, forever.

Alucard hadn’t completely healed the wound in his chest when Annette– Sekhmet intervened in the fight.

He almost sighed in relief when she did. He barely made it out alive of Drolta’s last attack; Richter wouldn’t have stood a chance. He stayed knelt on the floor holding his chest. Surprisingly, her attack made a lot of internal damage, but his skin wasn’t pierced – which didn’t mean he didn’t get hurt or wasn’t in pain.

But that pain could wait for now.

Because Richter was trying to reach Annette’s body as Sekhmet pulled her souls back.

Both of them – Annette and Drolta – were involved in a gigantic golden aura, as bright and as hot as the sun. Her power was jarring, he could feel it with every centimeter of his body. Richter made his way towards Annette with difficulty; he covered his arms with a layer of ice to try to lessen the burns before hugging her from behind.

A part of Alucard – the methodical part – was annoyed that this boy was intervening in the process. That was their only chance of putting Sekhmet’s souls where they belonged: out of anyone’s reach.

But Alucard’s mortal heart spoke much, much louder this time.

Because Richter was just a boy. Much stronger than the average human, carrying the heavy Belmont crest on his back with the responsibilities it possessed, one of the few mortals on Earth who could actually be a threat to a goddess.

But he was still just a boy in the end.

And like all Belmonts, he carried a heart too big, too sincere. It was a burden and a blessing at the same time. His heart made him experience the world in more intense ways than any other human Alucard ever met.

Richter was a Belmont. Like Juste, like his grandfather, his great-grandfather… like Simon. Like Trevor.

And on top of that, Richter was in love – and Annette could die at that moment, be consumed by Sekhmet’s power. This boy with a heart too big wouldn’t know what to do if he lost the one he loved the most.

So Alucard had to step in before he’d do something he would regret.

“Richter. My friend.” He called softly, resting his hand on the boy’s back, right over the Belmont crest.

Richter looked at Alucard with round blue eyes – scared blue eyes. I don’t care if we live in eternal fucking darkness, just leave Annette alone!, are the words that had just left Richter’s mouth. Alucard knew Richter didn’t process the true gravity of these statements, but at the heat of the moment, anything could become true.

He needed someone to be the voice of reason.

Alucard looked at him with empathy and quiet sadness.

“You know that’s not what she’d want.”

Richter gulped.

He tightened his eyes for a moment before finally – hesitantly – letting go of Annette.

Both men stepped back.

The golden aura between Annette and Drolta got stronger, more volatile. Tears of blood dripped down Annette’s eyes; Drolta screamed in pain like a hurt animal. The light got so strong that they had to protect their eyes.

Finally, with a last agonizing yell, that volatile aura exploded.

A shockwave hit them. Annette let go of Drolta’s wrist, each falling in a different direction; Richter rushed to catch her body before she could hit the floor.

Sekhmet’s presence was in this world no more.

Alucard would’ve sighed in relief if Annette weren’t in such a critical condition.

Richter was knelt on the floor while holding the girl in his arms. She was unresponsive. Richter called her over and over again, on the verge of tears; the scene made Alucard feel as if a cold hand gripped his heart.

He stood at some distance to give them space. In moments like this, Alucard wished he’d be fit to summon healing – it was one of the rarest forms of magic in existence. Healing someone else takes an absurd amount of energy… and this form of magic is not part of a vampire’s existence.

So there was nothing he could do at that moment but watch.

Richter was so young... he shouldn’t have to experience this type of loss so soon, especially when he didn’t even have the chance to confess his true (obvious) feelings.

You said you’d be here; make her feel it’s true. That she can always come back to you.

These were the words Alucard told him.

So, with a weak, trembling voice, Richter started his whispered confession.

His blue eyes were drowning in tears, but he still tried to sound firm as he described quietly the moment they first met. It even felt wrong for Alucard to witness this moment of fragility; he’d rather not be there at that moment, but he couldn’t walk away when they weren’t sure if their enemies were really gone. So Alucard chose to stand away from his field of view, but still protectively close. Richter held her gently.

“I can’t imagine the world without you, Annette. Any of it,” his voice was but a hopeful whisper. “Not hearing your voice, not seeing you roll your eyes at me, not waking up to know that whatever happens, somewhere, you are there. Please… don’t leave me. Please.”

Alucard tightened his lips. He felt genuine sadness at the boy’s heartfelt words.

...Something changed.

Annette’s body started to shine. Richter widened his eyes, startled.

But that shine was very brief this time. When it disappeared, Annette was herself again; her usual clothes were back, her hair was short again.

Alucard held his breath in anticipation.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. They were no longer soulless, her pupils weren’t vertical anymore… just her usual brown and round eyes.

“...You smell of burning,” she said in a weak, raspy voice.

Richter gasped. Fear immediately left his gaze, being replaced by utmost relief and joy. He chuckled and sighed. “Y-Yeah, that would be you… you’re like holding burning coals.”

Alucard watched with a small, serene smile while they hugged each other and cried.

He knew that feeling very well. Being so deeply in love with someone that your heart aches for them. Caring so much about someone that being apart brings genuine suffering. Sharing their sadness, their happiness, wanting to support them at every moment, knowing them intimately – and receiving this same intensity back.

Alucard had fallen in love countless times during his life… but it’s been a long time since he let himself feel it to the fullest. He decided to shroud his heart after so much pain, so much longing. At the slightest sign that he was beginning to develop feelings for someone, he’d immediately distance himself. He couldn’t bear going through anything like that anymore.

But at that moment, he realized something.

He’d been running away from pain and longing for so long that he had forgotten how love can be… sweet.

Was… was Alucard ready to feel it at its full intensity one more time?

Would his heart be strong enough to bear this again?

Did he even have the right to feel it, especially considering who this involved? What if the other end was too fragile to take him? Would Alucard take the pain of allowing himself to feel something like this again, only to have it ripped away from him like so many times in the past?

Would it be fair for him and for her?

Alucard didn’t know.

And his thoughts came to a halt when an anguished scream slashed the air.

Drolta.

She held her head, her breathing was irregular… for a second, she looked absolutely lost – almost like a child throwing a tantrum.

Drolta gazed at a confused Annette with pure hatred.

Then – Alucard saw the exact second she realized something.

Her eyes widened. Her back stiffened.

Alucard saw everything that unraveled in the next few seconds in slow motion.

Drolta turned her head to the northeast. At first, the vampire thought she wanted to flee – she was obviously weakened now; she had no power source, no army and no chances of winning. Of course, he would never let her go; his hand already gripped the hilt of the sword.

But then, Alucard saw her expression. The aggressiveness. The hurry in her gaze.

Those were not the eyes of someone planning to run away; they didn’t reflect defeat. That was not the gaze of a desperate woman wanting to go down fighting.

That was the gaze of a woman who had a plan.

And when she extended her giant wings and took flight, Alucard realized.

Notre Dame was at northeast.

He unsheathed his sword and flew.

Alucard hadn’t healed his wound completely; his brusque movement sent jolts of pain through his body. But at that moment, that didn’t matter – nothing else mattered, his mind went completely blank. Because even though Erzsebet was dead and Drolta was weakened and most certainly defeated, she still wanted to retrieve Ruby.

He would never let that happen.

They clashed mid air.

Drolta’s reflexes were slower now. Though she already sensed Alucard behind her, she couldn’t defend herself when he threw a heavy blow against her – sending her straight to the ground again not far from where they stood initially. A crater opened where her body hit, rising a cloud of smoke and debris.

She didn’t even have time to recover. Alucard was already upon her.

Both of them were slower, their limbs heavier, their powers weakened – but none of them wanted to lose. Alucard noticed that by Drolta’s fighting style, she was more worried in brushing him away than actually killing him. Her movements showed urgency. In fact, she looked almost desperate. Alucard was in a hurry, too; he didn’t know if Richter could still fight, considering the amount of blows he took, and Annette didn’t look like she could fight at that moment.

What was her plan? Why did she still want to get to Ruby? Sekhmet had completely vanished, the eclipse was still up in the sky – so what use would Ruby have? That couldn’t be just revenge. Drolta might’ve been defeated, but she would never lash out uselessly like this.

These answers would stay unanswered because Alucard needed to kill her.

He was tired of that woman, of the destruction she had caused, of the pain she inflicted. He’d been tracking her for five years – he needed to finish her right then and right there, he needed to end this chapter of his life. If Drolta staying alive meant Ruby would still be in danger, then there were no questions to be asked. She had to go – and she had to go now.

But Drolta was as determined as him.

She elbowed his chin in a blow that left him dazed; she gripped the hilt the sword and grabbed it from his hands. Then, she kicked his chest–

Right where the internal wound still hadn’t healed.

Alucard lost his senses for a second and fell on his back. He felt the taste of his own blood, his vision got blurred, extreme pain radiated from that spot in his chest to the rest of his body. As if she knew that was where the wound was, Drolta pressed her hoof right there to keep him on the ground. Alucard groaned in pain, trying to push her away–

His eyes widened when he looked up and realized what she was about to do.

Alucard had time to put his forearm in front of his body for some protection before Drolta impaled him with his own sword.

He screamed. The blade pierced through his forearm directly into his shoulder – if Alucard hadn’t moved a few centimeters up, she would’ve pierced his heart. With an angry growl, Drolta hammered the hilt of the sword with her fist with such strength that the blade sank into him, piercing the ground below.

Alucard spat blood. The pain was so extreme that he couldn’t think for a moment. Shit, I need to get up. I need to keep fighting. Get up!

His vision was still blurred when he saw Drolta being whipped from behind.

The woman let another yell of anger and pain before stumbling away from Alucard and turning around; Richter was, somehow, still standing. He had rushed to retrieve his whip which was already soaked in blue flames. His flames were visibly weakened now, showing the true state of his physical condition. Richter’s eyes, however, didn’t looked weakened; he sent a fast worried glimpse towards Alucard before gazing at Drolta with determination.

Alucard could hear the sounds of the fight happening beside him, but he didn’t look; he was too focused in trying to get his sword off him. He gripped it with his right hand and started to push it up. Every centimeter it moved send jolts of more pain throught his body. The internal wound and the wound Drolta had just inflicted hurt, his body was weak, his senses were slow – none of that mattered. He had to get up. He had to get up. Richter wouldn’t be able to fight for much longer. Get the fuck up!

With a last groan of pain, Alucard finally managed to take out the sword, holding it by the blade; it was completely soaked with his own blood. He looked towards Richter’s direction and his stomach dropped.

The Belmont boy was about to get hit with no defense.

“Richter!” Alucard managed to scream…

But a new sound completely engulfed his voice.

A purple lightning slashed the air.

Both Richter and Alucard looked above with shocked expressions as a giant winged snake floated near them.

Olrox hit Drolta on the chest with his electric attack; she screamed in agonizing pain, her whole body had spasms. Alucard didn’t expect that Olrox would come back, especially not to save Richter. The Belmont boy himself seemed shocked, though his eyes had anger and resentment in them.

Alucard took these small moments of distraction to stand up and hold the hilt of his sword again. He’d let himself feel pain and tiredness later.

With his last breath of strength, he ignited his sword in red fire once more.

Richter got the message.

As soon as Olrox’s attack ceased, Richter snapped his whip; it entangled around Drolta’s neck. She was too disoriented to resist. Richter pulled the whip, forcing her to bend on her back.

Alucard jumped in the air.

The sword was ready to come down on her neck.

Unexpectedly, Olrox sent another of his attacks – but this time, he aimed the lightning at Alucard’s blade, wrapping it in purple electricity which mixed with Alucard’s red fire.

Time slowed down once more.

Alucard could see everything with clarity: the air clacking with purple sparks around him. Richter’s blue fire burning Drolta’s neck. The reflection of his red fire on her face. Her widened eyes in an expression Alucard knew very well: the gaze of someone realizing they have nowhere else to go. The gaze of someone finally understanding they are about to die.

With the way Richter forced Drolta to bend, the ruby necklace came to rest directly over her neck. It was time to fullfill the promise Alucard made to Ruby and to himself.

The blade came down on Drolta’s neck.

A sanctified silver sword. The purple magic of a god. The red fire of a dhampir.

Nothing could withstand that.

The ruby stone was shattered to pieces.

Drolta’s thick skin offered no resistance.

And then – an explosion.

The three of them were sent flying back. The explosion was red; it had a strange cold feeling, it smelled of sulfur. Alucard had time to see an incredible amount of energy being released from the jewel when he broke it apart. The destruction of the ruby caused the explosion, which made Alucard realize in shock that that was never a regular necklace.

The explosion rumbled the entire city of Paris.

Then… silence.

Alucard got up with difficulty again. Richter too, a few meters away from him. Olrox’s dragon form floated above them. Drolta’s lifeless body stayed in the middle.

The air seemed lighter. The city was eerily quiet.

Alucard looked up.

The shadow that covered the sun… it was slowly disappearing.

It… it was over.

Alucard gripped the wound on his left shoulder. It still bled. Now, his whole body was in pain, but he still stood – because something else could unravel in front of him.

Richter and Olrox stood face to face. A giant winged greature and a Belmont. Richter’s whip was still ignited.

Alucard watched them with anxiety. He knew what had happened to Richter’s mother… and he also knew that neither him or Richter were in condition to fight anymore.

But Richter closed his eyes for a moment.

“...I will kill you, Olrox. One day.” Finally, the blue flames of his whip went out. “But not today.”

He opened his eyes.

They gave each other a last meaningful gaze before Olrox retreated in a shadow of pitch black smoke.

Alucard almost sighed in relief.

The red color of the sky was slowly being replaced by its original blue. The vampire closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself feel relief. He could hear the sounds of the city again… citizens realizing the eclipse was over… people walking on the streets…

Five years of searching for Sekhmet’s mummy, of planning a strategy against them, of finding ways to defeat their troops…

It was finally over.

Alucard opened his eyes once more. Richter was limping his way towards Annette. He saw Juste and Maria, many meters away from where they were, waking up. It’s a miracle that all of them ended up alive…

But he caught something with the corner of his eye – and it immediately made him freeze.

Alucard whipped his head towards Drolta’s body.

She was still laying there. Beheaded. No signs of life at all.

But the shadows below her were moving.

They were getting thicker. The shadows of the entire square seemed to be getting pulled towards Drolta’s body; they twirled under her like a whirpool of pitch black. Alucard gripped his sword. Richter took his whip again. Annette stumbled back. The temperature seemed to drop at least ten degrees.

The air smelled of coal and sulfur.

A black figure rose from within the shadows. It grinned down at Drolta; something that sounded like mocking laughter hovered in the air.

They watched in shock as the shadows engulfed Drolta’s body – and then, both of them were gone.

You were… confused.

You could hear and see. You knew there was something violent happening somewhere in the city; colorful explosions, shockwaves and earthquakes, thunders and the sounds of destruction. You could hear Henri’s and Charle’s nervous chatter somewhere beside you. And yet – it’s like you weren’t really there. As if your mind and body were disconnected somehow. As if… you couldn’t react to anything.

You felt strangely at peace.

You knew that the sky started to get clear at some point. You heard the boys celebrating behind you. But… you couldn’t really move from that spot on the balcony of the north bell tower. You didn’t want to stand up.

A familiar touch on your back.

“Ruby?”

You turned your head to the side slowly. That was… that was Alucard. Yes. Alucard. You knew him. He had knelt on the ground beside you.

“...Hello.” You heard a voice say from a distance… your voice. You said that.

Alucard had a worried expression in his face. His hair was gloriously disheveled, the strong winds at the top of Notre Dame played with it. The fair skin of his face was… dirty. He was all dirty, in fact.

You knew they were talking about you. “I… I think she’s not okay, Mr. Alucard,” Henri said in a hesitant and worried voice. “She’s not reacting to anything. It’s like she’s on some sort of trance,” Charles completed. Alucard placed his hand over your forehead – why was he doing that again? – his frown deepened. Heavens, he was so beautiful. So, so beautiful. Even with the disheveled hair and all the dirt. You coudn’t do anything but look at him; you didn’t bother when Alucard instructed the boys – “You should take care of the wound on your shoulder, son,” he told Henri. “There are nurses out there. Get medical aid. I’ll take care of her.”

You knew the two boys were walking out of the tower towards the stairs. A part of you wanted to stop them to properly say thank you, but your body didn’t want to move. So you just gazed at Alucard instead.

He held your arm softly. “Ruby, are you listening to me?” he asked in a worried voice.

His eyes widened in surprise when you touched his cheek.

“You’re hurt,” you heard your voice say from afar again.

If you were fully conscious, you’d never be brave enough to touch him like that. But it’s like you weren’t even there, so nothing felt real. You brushed some strands of hair away from his face and cupped his cheek delicately.

“You’re tired,” your voice said again. Your eyes dropped below – and for the first time, you noticed a gash in his jacket, right over his right shoulder… “You’re bleeding.”

Alucard rested his hand over yours, which made you look up again. He had a tiny smile on his lips, though his brows were still slightly furrowed. He gazed at you with… affection. It made your body feel warm on the inside. His hand was bigger than yours. Even through the leather glove, you could feel his warmth.

“I’ll heal anyway. Don’t worry about me.” You knew he was just light-heartedly repeating what you already told him over and over again. “Are you hurt?”

You frowned and looked down again.

“No. But I feel strange.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know. I’m… distant. And I’m tired.” You looked at him again. Alucard didn’t move to take your hand away from his face. His own still rested above yours, his thumb caressing your fingers slowly. “You’re hurt.”

“You already said that.” Alucard chuckled lightly before a bit of seriousness covered his expression once more. Finally, he wrapped his hand around yours and took it away from his face; he didn’t let go of it, however, resting both of them over your lap. He looked hesitant before speaking.

“Ruby… Drolta and Erzsebet are dead.”

You stared at him in silence for long seconds.

“Are… they?” Alucard nodded slowly. “Are you sure?”

Alucard hesitated for a second. You saw a glimpse of something you couldn’t understand cross his gaze.

But he nodded again in the end. “Yes. No mistakes this time.”

You lowered your head and… smiled.

Where did that smile come from? Why were you smiling in the first place? You had no idea.

Erzsebet and Drolta are dead.

The mere mention of their names made you feel… closer to your body, somehow. As if things were starting to get real again.

The sun was shining once more. You should’ve understood what that meant. The eclipse had vanished… and so had the Vampire Messiah.

Erzsebet and Drolta are dead. They are dead.

You didn’t know where the tears came from.

They came spontaneously, unannounced. You covered your mouth, trying to swallow a sob; your body was shaking. What were you crying for? Happiness? Relief? Sadness? Grief? Hatred? Pain? You had no idea. But you couldn’t stop, you didn’t know how. When was the last time you let yourself cry freely like that, without trying to be silent, without muffling any sob?

Drolta didn’t like the sound of you crying… so probably never.

But she was dead now.

Maybe if you were in your right mind, you wouldn’t have wrapped your arms around Alucard’s neck, embracing him in a tight hug. Maybe you wouldn’t have hid your face in his shoulder. No, you wouldn’t have the courage. But nothing felt much real at that moment, so you didn’t really care.

Alucard hugged you back immediately, offering no resistance, no hesitance. He kept you close, kept you tight. Tighter than your previous hug. Maybe if you were in your right mind, you would’ve shivered when he hid his face on your neck, too. Maybe your legs would’ve lost all of their strength when you felt his hot breath there, the touch of his soft cheek on your skin. All you could do was cry in a way you never did before.

At some point, you heard your voice stuttering a strangled thank you.

Alucard sighed deeply.

The morning sun kissed you both. The city down there was still in chaos – too many losses, too much damage, too many questions to be answered. You and him were still in he eye of the hurricane. But at that moment, nothing felt too real, so you didn’t care.

Nothing but him felt real. Him, and the fact that those who hurt you were gone from this world definitely. Him, his embrace and the way he warmed you up.

The voice of that unknown woman whispered in your ears once more – and, for some reason, it brought even more tears to your eyes.

...Love doesn’t burn.

Love warms up.

It was over.

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 25

The suffering of Bruce will continue for maybe 2 more chapters and then we're back on the timeline- Alien Rubicon was... painful. But it did make me finish ch26 so- enjoy-

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 25 >>next

You’ve gotten too used to the chaos, to something always happening- maybe that paranoia will be your downfall, maybe it was just your mind telling you your life wasn’t meant to know of peace and serenity. You did thrive on the adrenaline fights provided, no matter how much you dream of living quietly, painting and just existing in a better world.

Sadly, that wasn’t a reality that could be, not for you. So, while the sun was still yet to rise, you basked in the night, letting the shadows provide warmth and letting them speak to you- you haven’t done that in a while. “You’ve neglected us.” Maybe John was right for once- even if you initially laughed at the idea, meditating won’t hurt you now.

Well… you weren’t one to stay still for long, so despite letting your mind fly, eyes closed softly, you let your body twitch, shift, move as it wished. You let your thoughts and worries pass through you- let the thoughts that you were failing Debbie, or your brothers, come and go, you let the guilt that kept you awake go with them- even if it all still lingered. The shadow’s whispered nonsense became clearer the more time you spent like this, body resting on the recliner, warm blanket over you- “Open your eyes, darling.”

The clear voice made you flinch awake, and yet, as you looked around, it was clear you were dreaming, your body sat upright in a void of complete darkness. “It’s nice to finally meet you, daughter.” The voice accompanied by a warm hand made you gasp as you turned around, your eyes immediately meeting a woman’s, a woman you’ve never met before, and yet you knew her-

“You-you’re Death herself.” Your statement was met with a gentle caress and a loving smile as she confirmed her identity. Death has been written to be this cold, awful thing- ripping and painful- and maybe it was to others, but all you saw was love and melancholy. You saw the love of a sister and the sadness of loss only a mother could hold. “Did meditating kill me?” At your whispered words She could only laugh, a melodic thing that filled you with warmth, and you definitely understood why the Dacians referred to Her as they did. She was a sister guiding you, a mother to welcome you on a lonely road to whatever afterlife you believed in, the warmth needed to face mortality… but- “It’ll never be your turn. We both know that.”

“I would have caught you in your realm, but you move so fast, you could rival the speedsters. It won’t kill you to take it slow sometimes, but then again, Morpheus couldn’t understand that either.” She teases, and your cheeks flush. You felt like a child being scolded for drawing on the walls. “I have eternity and beyond at my disposal to take it slow-“

“You do. But do you understand what that means?” You knew. It’s another reason why you’ve been unable to sleep sometimes. Immortality- it’s a dream, especially when it comes with the powers gifted to you. “It’ll be lonely. I won’t age, but everyone- Mark, Oliver, dad, mom-“ your voice shook. “They will eventually have to walk by your side. While I’ll have to keep moving the other way.” It wasn’t natural for you to speak so freely about things so personal. But you couldn’t bring yourself to lie or do your usual avoidance tricks.

“You’re still holding back.” She said softly, with so much understanding that it made your lip tremble and your eyes tear up. “I appreciate it- I really do- I don’t want to give this up. This opens so many possibilities- I can learn every language, can learn any skill, and see so many things I wouldn’t have had the time to, but it still hurts so much to think about how everyone I know will eventually meet the same fate-“ She let you sob into her shoulder, her hands running soothingly over your back. “Yes. But what’s life without love and hurt? I know you think the one thing that makes humans human is hate, but I’m a romantic at heart-“  Her soft palm raised your head and wiped off your tears. “I think it’s love, and I’ve never seen love like you humans hold for each other, platonic or otherwise.”

“You came to tell me to be a lover?” You sniffle as you chuckle. “No. I’m just being selfish and wanted to see you.” Death nudges you. “But it won’t kill you. You’ll see, the fates have already sewn your threads. It’s just a matter of which one you decide to walk.” You didn’t move away from her, but you did wipe away your remaining tears. “Sounds like the illusion of choice.”

She just smiles. “You have choices. Plenty. And all will work out in the end. You’ll see.” Her hands came to cup your cheeks again. “Oh, you’ve grown so much- still tripping on stairs, but you’ve come so far in life.” You whined as she teased and pinched your cheeks. She truly was a mother in the end. “We’ll have eternity to know each other, but sadly, I can’t stay anymore. You make sure to visit Gotham too, she misses you-“

And just like that, you woke up before you could say your goodbyes, hand reaching for someone long gone. Your eyes barely opened, your relaxed expression turning into a frown as your eyes caught an imposing and dark figure flying just a few paces over you, its figure obstructed by the shadows in a familiar manner. “…Dad?” You groan as you raise a bit, your hands trying to rub the sleep from your face. “No.” The unfamiliar voice immediately woke you up fully, your body tensing.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Debbie has been sleeping in today, granted everyone did, so by the time they were supposed to eat, it was already lunch. Everyone was slugging, still tired from moving, packing, and unpacking, but Nolan’s and Debbie’s eyes moved over the present people, counting heads, before the mother locked eyes with her son. “Mark, is your sister still sleeping?”

The young adult shrugs, hair disheveled as he gets up. “I’ll go check, we stayed up quite late-“ A scream cut him off, and before he could react, his father was already outside.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You’ve been staring at the balding Viltrumite for a while, and he’d been staring at you right back. “And he sent you to give me- this?” Your eyes went down to the- you weren’t sure how to describe it… It was a plant- that you were sure of. Similar to the carnivore Pamela had and yet it was very clearly alien. The colors of it are continuously changing, seemingly settling on a color when it feels strongly in one way- is it even sentient like that? “I offered.”

“You offered?” Your eyes went back up to him. “Yes. We’ve been watching you. We’ve seen you deal with Vidor with no hesitation, you’ve dealt with most enemies efficiently, put fear and doubt in quite a few of the younger ones, and stood up to Thragg with no fear whatsoever. You’re brutal and efficient. We two are similar to a point,”  you couldn’t help but trace your hairline at that, “we enjoy what we do. And yet people talk to you, they want to be your friend-“

“You Viltrumites have friends?” Your mouth moved faster than your brain could process, but your words only earned a dry laugh. “I guess we don’t, not in the sense you humans do-“ The man continued speaking, and the more he did, the more you felt bad for him and the Viltrumite way of living- even though a part of you felt like it was manipulation. “You can change all of that- but you haven’t, you’ve just accepted it as an absolute, unchanging fact.”

“If I go against the Empire everyone would be trying to eliminate me-“ You just huffed at his words. “They’re already against you. You’re so lonely most days you want to cry, they think you are unstable, you said that. If they think of you as a means to an end, what do you think will happen when they find someone better than you, whom they can control even more? You’re at rock bottom with nothing to lose, the only way is up.” You shrug. “Or just die in the ditch and cover yourself with the dirt you dug. You want change, you’ve gotta fight for it, grandpa. You’re giving incel ‘woe is me’ vibes right now.”

You looked back at the alien-plant thingy. “What even is this? How sentient is it?” Your eyebrows raised as the plant seemed to coo. “I can’t take care of a sentient thing that needs attention 24/7- I can barely keep up with taking care of myself-“ The plant stuck its- uh- tongue? Out and licked Conquest’s hand. “… Well… it likes you more.”

“I think it wants to eat me.” The deadpan way he delivered the line made you snort. “I- fair. I can’t keep a carnivorous plant around a baby, tho- so you can go back to Thragg and rip him to shreds-“ Conquest was quick to interrupt. “He wanted to give you the pelt of an intelligent and endangered alien species. Kregg and I insisted on the plant.”

“ ’aight- that makes both of you more intelligent because what-“ Your hands rubbed your face. “I’ll take the plant- just- no pelts of aliens, please.” You did as much, putting the little thing on the small accent table next to the chair. “… You’re still here.” You sigh. “I wanted to fight you.” You quickly answered that you weren’t going to fight him. “I’m on vacation- mom would kill me if she found out I went and picked a fight!” Conquest crosses his arms. “You’re afraid of your human mother?”

“Yes. Yes, and you should be too, a mother is a scary thing, and when she finally loses it, I know where I’ll stand.”  You floated up to his height just to poke his chest while at eye level with the Viltrumite. “Motherly instincts are an insane thing- that being said, I am bored.” You cross your arms. “…Have you ever heard of the game tag?”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You were ashamed of the scream that left your lips as Conquest grabbed your leg out of nowhere and turned you upside down, your body hanging limp as he laughed, boasting with glee that he won. You’ve had a good comment about it, but your focus was on the blur that crashed into the older Viltrumite making him let go of you. You kept your body floating on its side as you looked at Nolan ducking it out with the older Viltrumite, pouting as you realized this might be more complicated than it needed to be.

Keeping up with them was easy- making them slow down and listen wasn’t as easy. It did feel nice to know Nolan was so willing to fight for you, but alas, you had to bring out the big gun- Debbie. So with your mom in your arms and a very confused Mark, you let the woman tear into the two Viltrumites like they were little children, nodding along with her words. “And you-“ Your eyes widened as she turned her finger to point at you. “What were you thinking? Not only about interacting with him- but did you even sleep? Did you eat breakfast? You’re in your pajamas- it’s cold!”

“Grandpa Morgan isn’t that bad-“ You pouted. “Grandpa Morgan?” Everyone questioned, and you shrugged. “He said Conquest is more of a title than a name- He’s old and he sounds like Jeffrey Dean Morgan- so- Grandpa Morgan.” Debbie sighs and rubs her temple. “Wha- I can’t just keep calling him something he doesn’t want to be called-“ the oldest Viltrumite couldn’t stop himself from laughing, his shoulders shaking with the unhinged sound that escaped his throat.

“He’s laughing-“ You turned from Mark to Morgan. “You’re laughing at me?! I can just call you Jumbo, you old elephant-“ The balding man just laughed harder, making Nolan squirm with unease. “Mom!” You whined at the woman in your arms.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

As night came and your parents were getting ready for a party, you and Mark were feeding the alien plant thing to see what it liked- you were still pouting over Grandpa Morgan laughing at you. Alas, seeing the carnivorous thing favor eggs over mice or raw-cut meat was an interesting sight. Ivy’s plant was the opposite- but this may be because yours seems to still be a kid, she may need the calcium… You were getting too attached to the thing.

“Mark, what are you doing? Why aren’t you dressed?” Debbie’s voice brought both of your attention. Marked looked from you, dressed in a plain black dress with a set of pearl jewelry, back to his mom. “Well, I thought I could stay back and help April-“ Debbie crossed her arms. “If your sister has to come, so do you. Get dressed.” And Mark pouted, but did as told.

“Who’s throwing the party, and how were we invited anyway?” You ask as you put the eggs away. “Oliver Queen, I actually sold him a house about a year or two ago.” Your mother smiled as her fingers gently moved some of your stray hairs back in place. “Nice guy- a bit eccentric.”

“He’s a rich man. They all are. And he’s a hero, so…” You shrug. “Robin Hood, right?” Nolan’s voice came as he patted down his suit, making Mark snort as he too appeared. “Green Arrow, dad. But he does look like a Robin Hood movie fancast.”

“He’d make a great Robin, though Prince John would be more fitting, no?” You joke as you stick your thumb in your mouth and rub at your earlobe. Debbie, despite the twitch of her lip, swats at your hand. “Stop it. The man has done nothing wrong to us.” She tried to be stern, but the amusement was clear in her tone.

Your mom turned to April, but before she could speak the blonde woman was already going down the checklist. “-and I’ll make sure to keep an eye on the new family pet as well. Everything will be fine, Debbie. Enjoy the party.” Debbie sighs, but her shoulders relax. April was right- she was supposed to be relaxing on the family vacation… She felt it in her bones that the vacation wouldn’t be as relaxing as the average, normal family vacation.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Nolan didn’t like parties, and he sure as hell hated all the heroes present at this one- Bruce included. Granted, he was glad that Mark and you stuck with Jason and his two red-headed friends. He squinted at your animated form speaking with the Tamaranean. You were too happy to be talking to her. Maybe it was a terrible idea.

“Leave it.” Debbie swatted at his chest. “They’re just talking.” Nolan pouts. “They’re too close, that other man too. Not to mention the other bats and their friends are trying to get close as well- I can just feel it.” Debbie raised an eyebrow while calling him paranoid, yet as her eyes drifted over a few of the heroes she recognized, she couldn’t help but feel the same.

You, on the other hand, were yapping Kory’s ears off with questions about her, mostly- Jason could only watch with amusement as your eyes sparkled at the tall woman. He knew you two would be immediate friends. His eyes drifted back to Roy who was talking with Mark, both complaining about shitty fathers. He couldn’t help but nod- this felt much more like a family, annoying little siblings and all.

Sadly, Jason never could get much peace these days- the sight of Slade with his crotch demons made his eyebrow twitch- wait… his- “Slade? Since when do your kids hang around you?” You asked before Jason could. “Are you really blackmailing them?” Your eyes moved to the three young adults behind the man. “Is he blackmailing you? Holding you hostage?” The three all seemed to smirk with amusement at the annoyance on their sperm donor as they all affirmed your line of questioning.

Slade just huffed, pouting as he turned to face you. “I’m not holding them hostage-“ The young woman commented something along the lines of him being too old to be holding anything up, which Slade ignored- “-but the media may have gone a bit crazy, and they wanted to meet you.”

“Is this about the prank? Because it was a one-and-done, old man.” Jason jumped in, and while Kory was still on edge, Roy and Mark immediately recognized what he meant. “Oh-yeah, Jason just wanted to mess with the bats- your father and Lex aren’t actually dating my sister- I’m uh- Mark, by the way. Nice to meet you.” Mark held his hand out and you did the same, introducing yourself and smiling once you could put names to their faces. “We were worried he had you under mind-control or something.” At Jericho’s amused voice humming through your heads, Slade sighs with defeat while you snort with amusement. “I fear I’m too thick-headed for that.”

“You call it thick-headed, I call it paranoid- not even John has as many protection spells set up, and I honestly think he needs them more than you.” Mark teases you. “There’s never too much protection-“ As you and Mark got into a friendly conversation with Slade’s kids, pulling a reluctant Roy and Kory in too, Jason’s eyes stayed on Slade's face. The annoyance on the man’s mug slowly turned to a softness the crime lord didn’t trust- it made Jason all kinds of twitchy.

The presence of Slade and his kids distracted Jason from the reason he brought Kory and Roy along to a party he otherwise would have avoided, Bruce. The man was inching his way closer and closer with each minute that passed- he was sure it’d be okay, despite what his kids said- You danced with Diana, let Oliver and Dinah twirl you around until all three of you got sick, you must be in a good mood.

However, he was making the same mistake over and over again, much like a crazy person, expecting a different outcome. He was approaching with his Brucie persona instead of the true face you knew him as. So, when his sickly-sweet voice called out your name with a familiarity he wasn’t deserving of, everyone around you noticed how you immediately tensed up. Slade’s hoard seemingly to be the first to crowd you and Mark as the man approached. Jason was right by them once the oldest Wayne was face to face with you.

Your eyes narrowed at the man. “Great. You’re here.” Bruce decides to brush off the annoyance and clear nervousness he brought you. “I was invited- but it’s nice to see my daughter while at it too.” Mark, the usually chill kid Jason knew him as, scoffed as he muttered under his breath about the man’s audacity. “Your mug is pissing me off.” Rose snorted at your bluntness, and Bruce’s smile twitched. To him, it was Jason all over again- but at least with him, he was sure he could fix it one way or another. He wasn’t even sure where or how to begin. “I just want to talk- actually talk-“

“Talk? You’ve had years to talk to me, just because now you feel guilty or some bullshit like that-“ Strike two for Bruce was interrupting you. “I know. But I’m still your father,” strike three, “and I have a right to see and speak to my daughter-“ And he’s out- quite literally. With one punch, he was out, passed out with his back flat on the floor, and Jason’s screech that turned into a boisterous laugh drew everyone's attention to your little group.

While Slade and Mark made quick work of grabbing you and pushing you away before you could start beating on the unconscious man, Tim sighed and pulled out a tablet, opened an Excel sheet titled “forgiveness chart” and started updating it. Steph looked over his shoulder, her eyes tracing over it. “What’s up with the numbers on Damian’s thing?” She asked, and Tim’s eyes followed what she was referring to. “54 72 79 20 74 6f 20 73 61 62 6f 74 61 67 65 2e” Tim looked at the blonde with a blank expression. “Must have been a glitch.” Stephanie gave him an unimpressed look. “Tim. Nobody believes that.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Kon-El kept replaying the punch one reporter caught as he tried not to laugh like Jason, who, if it weren’t for Roy, would be rolling on the floor. It was family night at the Kents, specifically “Make fun of what the rich wear” family night. “What did Bruce do to that poor girl? This is like the third time he gets hit by her.” Martha asked Clark, who was slumped, almost falling off the couch, as he rubbed at his face. He only groaned. “She seems like the type of woman who’d like to still work after marriage… I’d make a great house husband-“ Kon’s comment went ignored by everyone but his grandpa who started complaining about the economy and how he should keep working.

Jon’s eyes remained on the clip as it carried on playing when Kon stopped rewinding it. “It’s… a long story.” His mom sighed as she ate more of the popcorn they had around. “That man is getting more beat up than usual by his own kid-“ Grandpa Jonathan started with a huff. “We aren’t getting any younger, we have time.” Everyone’s attention was brought back to the TV as a reporter was quick to jump in front of you and your family, asking exactly what everyone wanted to know. And your angry glare and sadistic smile didn’t ease Clark’s worry. “I’m glad you asked- better be recording, because this is the only answer you’re getting to what my relationship with the fucker is-“

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The chart in question:

Tim doesn't know as much as he'd like to.

ch 26 Sneak peek

“It was a clean punch, good job.” Diana’s comment got a few reactions, mostly snickers and Hal almost choking on the coffee he was drinking, but her smile was due to the way you puffed out your chest. “Thank you- I’m glad someone can appreciate my skills.” Cecil huffed at the look you threw at him. “Anyway-“ He cleared his throat.

[movingthisblogcelestialtarot11]

Degree Theory in Charts and Observations 🤍

Moon/sun at 8 or 20 degrees can signify trauma, releasing your ego and patterns that have hurt you subconsciously. 8 degrees and 20 both signify scorpios energy, and when placed on the big 3, it can dampen your signs energy. You may be a Leo sun, but when it's at 8 degrees your passion, creativity, and aspects of yourself can largely remain private. You are passionate, only to those you trust. Introverts become extroverts around the right people.

Gemini degrees on your moon/venus/sun 3, 15, 27 can suggest being a logical thinker, preferring to analyze your emotions and think deeply. You may like hearing podcasts on philosophy, emotional processing, books informed on trauma, and be interested in dissecting religion, spirituality, and occult related topics. Or how different cultures overall approach mental health or spirituality as a whole.

Luigi Mangione has Venus at 3 degrees and early on he wrote an essay portraying how christianity benefitted by appealing to the lower classes of ancient Rome at 15. His words not only reach a few people but a mass global scale, sharing his pain with those who suffered at the hands of the medical system. To this day he is currently seen as smart, intelligent, and romanticized even. He openly speaks out about the failing health care system. It's possible he may go on to write books in prison detailing his experiences and exposing the truth.

Also, his Mars is at 15 degrees of gemini, and it's a theory that this degree is associated with assassinations or killings. With Mars here, he was motivated by his anguish to make a move that started change. His sun is conj mars, so, he already has a following of those who look up to him as a savior, activist, and an important person in social justice.

George Orwell has his moon at 8 degrees in the 8h in Gemini, and he went on to describe the dangers of totalitarianism rising in the west. He wrote 1984 as a warning to the US, and his scorpio degrees also made him incredibly adept to the rising dangers in our politics.

He was intelligent, a philosopher, a politician, and someone who feared humanities behavior much more than the government itself. His sun sits in the 8h, further conveying his desire for truth, honesty and revealing how dark politics are and can be. He not only described the governments regime, but how mind control worked to steer us away from facts.

His sun was in cancer at 2 degrees (taurus) signifying his need for stability in an unstable world, applying practicality to his reasoning and not just spewing words of anger. He was strong in his reasoning, yet flexible to agree with Huxley (another philosopher)

The 22 degree (Capricorn) is considered heavy, intense, challenging and even traumatic whether it's placed on your personal planets or Chiron. It's usually associated with ruthlessness, discipline, and rigidity in the native. It's why people see them as powerful, and intimidating. Capricorn is destructive here, but ultimately leads to a transformation.

Sun at 13 degrees can indicate leaving a legacy, popularity, fame over media. Depending on where the sun sits, this will tell you how it happens. For example JonBenét Ramsey’s had her sun in the 4h at 13 degrees, which is critical. She was thrust into a family related legacy, and was required to uphold it through beauty pageants.

She was a star, with Leo in the 4h. But Aries degree here suggests an infliction of Mars, and her sun was weak (opposing moon) its possible this critical degree conveys what happened behind the scenes of her family life. Surrounded by pressure, aggression, all that responsibility being put onto her at a young age. It’s possible having an afflicted sun had her Mars energy amplified even more, conveying the aggression and high standards in her home life.

Moon at 12 degrees can suggest an empathetic, intuitive and sensitive individual. Someone who can read the room, perceives body language well, but can suffer from anxiety, overstimulation and overthinking. This can dissolve boundaries as well, leading to codependent behaviors, a lack of commitment to one’s healing journey for the sake of being there for others. This native can prefer to be by water, either at a beach, stream, river, etc. anywhere where they can be around nature is best for them.

Extra

Thanks all for reading! Let me know if I should make a pt 2 of this <3

Paid readings 🤍

[queenshelby]

A Little Help (One Shot)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Virgin Reader

Warning: Smut

The summer sun beats down on the white sandy beach, a stark contrast to the cool, crisp air inside the beach house.

You sit on the plush sofa, legs tucked under your body, nursing a cold beer, trying to calm the storm brewing within.

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of emotions, and now, being here at Max's family beach house, away from the comfort of your own home, the tension between you and Max feels even more palpable.

              You'd been so excited for this trip, imagining romantic walks on the beach, cozy movie nights, and finally, the perfect opportunity to take your relationship with Max to the next level. But now, as you sip your drink, you can't help but feel a sense of dread. The memory of the previous night's failed attempt at intimacy still stings.

              Max had been eager, his hands exploring your body with a sense of urgency that left little room for your pleasure. He'd tried to push past your barriers, both physical and emotional, and when the pain became too much, he'd pulled away, frustration evident on his face. "It's not me, it's you," he'd said, his voice laced with accusation. "There must be something wrong with you."

              Those words had cut deep, and now, as you sit in the beach house, you can't shake the feeling of embarrassment and hurt. You knew Max's family well, having been friends with him for years, but this new dynamic between you and Max was uncharted territory.

              Just as you take another sip, trying to gather your thoughts, the sound of the front door opening startles you. It's Cillian, Max's dad, returning from his morning jog. His lean figure fills the doorway, and his bright blue eyes scan the room until they land on you.

              "Hey, there you are," he says, his voice warm and inviting. "I thought I heard someone in here. How’s everything going?"

              You manage a weak smile, setting your drink down. "Oh, hi, Cillian. I'm okay, I guess. Just enjoying the peace before everyone wakes up."

              Cillian steps into the room, closing the door behind him. "Peace is good," he says, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies your face. "But something tells me there's more to it. You've been a bit quiet since you arrived. Is everything alright between you and Max?"

              You feel your cheeks warm under his gaze. How could Cillian sense the tension so easily? You clear your throat, looking down at your hands. "It's just... things are a bit weird at the moment. Max and I... we had a bit of a disagreement."

              "A disagreement, huh?" Cillian sits beside you, his casual demeanour making it easy to forget the age gap between you. "About what, if you don't mind me asking? I'm not one to pry, but I can't help but notice something's off."

              You take a deep breath, the cool air filling your lungs. Here you were, about to confess your intimate struggles to Max's father. "It's... it's about sex," you blurt out, the words rushing out before you can stop them. You feel your face heat up, and you're certain your cheeks are now the colour of ripe tomatoes. You immediately regret what you had just said, and you have absolutely no intention to talk with your boyfriend’s father about intimacy.

Cillian, however, already knows about the problem. His son had mentioned something like this to him before and Cillian had given him a lecture to be more considerate,

              Thus, Cillian's eyebrows shoot up, but he remains composed. "Sex, huh? Well, that's... quite the topic,” he says, swallowing harshly before, reluctantly, adding  “I assume this is about your first time?"

              You nod, feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment as you confess. "It's just not working. I mean, we've tried, but it hurts. A lot. And Max, he gets frustrated, and he said it's my fault, that I must have some kind of problem."

              "Oh Y/N. I am sorry," Cillian says, his voice gentle. "That's not right. Max should know better. It's not your fault. First times can be tricky, and it's not uncommon for it to be a little uncomfortable. But it should never be painful."

              His words are like a soothing balm to your wounded pride. You find yourself wanting to tell him everything, to seek his guidance and understanding. "It's not just the first time. We've tried a few times now, and it's always the same. I can't relax, and it just won't fit. I've even tried by myself, but it's no use."

              Cillian's eyes widen slightly as he takes a seat next to you and leans back, considering your words. "Max needs to learn some patience, that's for sure. And he should be doing more to make sure you're ready. It's not just about him, you know."

              You nod, feeling a surge of validation. "That's what I thought, too. But he just gets so... frustrated. And I feel like I'm letting him down."

              "Nonsense," Cillian says firmly. "Max is just young, and he's got a lot to learn at that age, but that’s no excuse and you need to know that it is never your job to please him at the expense of your own comfort."

              His words resonate with you, and you feel a weight lift from your shoulders. Cillian's understanding and support are like a breath of fresh air.

              "I wish I could talk to Max like this," you say, a hint of frustration creeping into your voice. "He just doesn't seem to get it."

              Cillian chuckles, a deep, warm sound. "Max is a good kid, but he's still learning. And sometimes, we all need a little guidance. I'd be happy to have a chat with him, if you'd like. Set him straight on a few things."

              You consider his offer, the thought of Cillian talking to Max about sex both amusing and comforting. "Oh god no… I mean, it's a bit awkward, isn't it?”

              "Yeah, maybe," Cillian agrees before thinking about something else. “But, look, why don't we do this? I'll have a word with Max, without mentioning our little talk and see if I can get through to him. In the meantime, why don't we work on helping you relax and enjoy yourself? No pressure, just some friendly guidance."

              You look at Cillian, his eyes sparkling with kindness, and you feel a surge of trust. "You mean, you and me, uhm…trying?” you stammer and Cillian nods reluctantly.

“Sure, I mean, I do have some experience. But no pressure, alright?” he says, a warm smile spreading across his face. "I'd do anything to help my son's girlfriend, especially one as lovely as you. And besides, I remember what it was like when I was his age. A little guidance would've gone a long way."

              The idea of Cillian helping you sends a shiver down your spine, but it's not an unpleasant sensation. You trust him, and the thought of learning from him, of being guided by his experience, is strangely enticing.

              "Alright," you agree, a sense of determination building within you. "I'd like that. I want to enjoy this, and I want Max to understand. Maybe then we can really make this work."

"I think we will be able to, although this needs to stay our little  secret, right?" Cillian says, his voice low and reassuring. "I won't tell Max, and you won't either."

You nod, agreeing to his terms. "Okay, I can do that. I just want this to work and I want to enjoy it."

Cillian smiles, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Good, good. So how about this? I will meet you at the guestroom tonight, at around 11?"  Cillian asks, standing up and stretching his lean, muscular frame. The setting sun casts a warm glow over his short grey hair, making him look even more approachable and kind.

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. "Okay, that sounds good. I'll be ready."

Cillian smiles, a reassuring and gentle smile. "Great. And remember, no pressure. We'll take this at your pace. I just want you to feel comfortable and enjoy yourself."

You return his smile, feeling a sense of relief and anticipation. "Thank you, Cillian. I will see you tonight, " you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

You feel a mix of excitement and nervousness as you watch Cillian walk away, his shoulders and confident stride leaving you with a sense of security. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. You know that tonight is going to be different, and you're ready to take this step.

At 11 o'clock on the dot , you make your way to the guestroom, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum. The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows across the floor.

Cillian is already there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back straight and his eyes fixed on you as you enter. He's changed into a simple t-shirt and a pair of jeans that hug his muscular thighs. 

"Hey," he says, his voice low and gentle. "You ready for this?"

You nod, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I think so. I want to try, at least."

Cillian smiles encouragingly, patting the bed beside him. "Good. Come here, sit with me."

You walk over and sit down, your body tense and nervous. Cillian puts an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. His touch is warm and comforting, and you can feel your muscles begin to relax.

"First thing we need to do is get you comfortable," Cillian says, his voice low and soothing. "We're not going to rush anything, alright? We'll take this slow."

You nod, leaning into his touch.

His arm around you feels natural, and you can't help but feel safe with him. Cillian's fingers gently stroke your shoulder, sending shivers down your spine.

"That's it, just relax," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. "There's no rush. We've got all night."

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. Cillian's hand moves to your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His eyes are soft and reassuring, and you feel a flutter in your stomach. He leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle kiss. It's soft and tender, a stark contrast to the urgency you've felt with Max.

Cillian's kiss is patient, his lips moving gently against yours, coaxing a response from you. You part your lips slightly, and his tongue slips inside, exploring your mouth with a slow, deliberate pace. You can taste the faint hint of mint on his breath, and it's strangely comforting.

His hand moves from your chin to your neck, his fingers gently caressing the sensitive skin. You can feel your heart racing, your breath coming in short gasps as his touch sends waves of heat through your body. Cillian pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. When he finds none, he smiles softly and leans in again, this time deepening the kiss.

His tongue explores your mouth, dancing with yours in a slow, sensual rhythm. You can feel your body responding, your nipples hardening beneath your thin t-shirt. Cillian's hand moves from your neck to your breast, his thumb brushing against your hardened nipple through the fabric. You gasp into his mouth, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

"Is this okay?" he murmurs against your lips, his voice husky with desire. You nod, your voice barely a whisper.

"Yes, it's okay. It's more than okay," you whimper. 

Encouraged, Cillian's hand moves to the hem of your shirt, his fingers tracing the sensitive skin just above your waistband.

You shiver at his touch, your body aching for more. He pulls back slightly, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly lifts your shirt over your head, exposing your bare breasts to his hungry gaze.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Absolutely fucking stunning."

You feel a blush creep up your cheeks at his words, but the heat in his eyes makes you feel desired, wanted. Cillian leans in, his mouth capturing one of your nipples, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. You gasp, your back arching off the bed as pleasure courses through you.

Cillian's mouth is hot and wet, his tongue flicking against your nipple, sending jolts of electricity straight to your clit. He takes his time, lavishing attention on one breast before moving to the other, his fingers gently teasing and pinching your neglected nipple.

"That feels nice," you whisper, your voice barely audible, as you arch your back, pushing your breasts further into his mouth. He smiles against your skin, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine.

"Good, I am glad,"  he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Now why don't you lie down for me,"  he instructs, his tone gentle but firm. He wants you to be comfortable, and he wants to see you sprawled out in front of him.

You do as he says, your heart pounding in your chest as you lie back on the soft bed, your body tense with anticipation. Cillian's eyes roam over your body, taking in every curve and line, and you can feel his gaze like a physical touch, sending shivers down your spine.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "I want to taste every inch of you."

You shiver at his words, your body aching for his touch.

He leans down, his breath hot on your skin as he trails kisses down your stomach, his hands gently caressing your sides. You can feel his fingers tracing the waistband of your shorts, and you arch your back, silently begging for more.

Cillian hooks his fingers into your waistband, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly pulls them down, revealing your bare pussy to his hungry gaze. You can feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment, but the heat in his eyes makes you feel desired, wanted.

"You have no idea how fucking beautiful you are," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "And I really want to taste you."

"Taste me?" you whisper, your voice barely audible as you look at Cillian. "I... I've never done that before."

Cillian smiles reassuringly, his fingers gently tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. "It's okay. It will feel good. I promise." 

You nod, taking a deep breath as you try to relax. Cillian's touch is gentle yet firm, his fingers teasing your skin, sending waves of heat through your body.

"Now spread your legs for me, okay? Let me see that pretty little pussy of yours," he murmurs, his voice low and commanding.

You hesitate for a moment, feeling a rush of embarrassment, but the intensity in his eyes makes you feel safe. You slowly part your legs, exposing yourself to him fully. Cillian's gaze locks onto your most intimate area, and you can see the hunger in his eyes.

"Fuck, you’re gorgeous," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "I could look at you all day."

You blush at his words, but the heat in his eyes makes you feel beautiful, desired. He leans in, his breath hot on your inner thigh, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest, anticipation coursing through your veins.

He starts at your knee, his lips pressing soft, gentle kisses up your thigh, his stubble rough against your soft skin. You can feel your breath hitching in your throat, your body tensing with each kiss, each touch.

Cillian's lips are warm and wet, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He takes his time, exploring every inch of your inner thigh, his stubble rough against your soft skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

You can feel the heat building between your legs, your pussy aching with need. Cillian's eyes flick up to meet yours, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he sees the desire written all over your face. He leans in closer, his breath hot on your pussy, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest, anticipation coursing through your veins.

Cillian's eyes meet yours, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he sees the desire written all over your face. He leans in, his tongue flicking out to taste your clit, and you gasp, your back arching off the bed as pleasure courses through you.

"Ssh, it's okay , I got you" he murmurs, his voice low and husky. He takes his time, exploring every inch of your pussy, his tongue flicking against your clit, sending jolts of electricity straight to your core. You can feel your body responding, your hips bucking against his mouth as he eats you out. 

Cillian's fingers gently part your folds, his tongue delving deeper, tasting your wetness. He looks up at you, his eyes locked on yours as he slides one finger inside you, his tongue continuing to work its magic on your clit.

"Is that okay?" he asks as he slides it in slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. You nod, biting your lip as a soft moan escapes you. He adds another finger, stretching you gently, his tongue still working your clit in a relentless rhythm. You can feel your body responding, your hips bucking against his hand as he fingers you expertly.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "I love how your pussy tastes and you are so tight and warm. I could eat you out all night."

You moan, your body writhing beneath him as he continues to finger you, his tongue circling your clit with expert precision.

The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain that leaves you gasping for air. You can feel your orgasm building, your body tensing as Cillian's fingers curl inside you, hitting that sweet spot that sends waves of pleasure crashing through you.

"Cillian," you gasp, your voice barely recognizable as your own. "I'm close. I'm so close."

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "That's it, come for me, baby. Let me see that pretty little pussy come all over my fingers."

His words are filthy, obscene, and they send you spiralling over the edge.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash over you. Cillian's fingers are relentless, drawing out your orgasm until you're a trembling, gasping mess. He pulls his fingers out slowly, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he sucks them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

"That was fucking beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "But we're not done yet, are we?"

You shake your head, your body still trembling with the aftermath of your orgasm. "No, we're not," you whisper, your voice barely audible. You want more. You need more.

You need him. You need to feel him inside you, filling you, stretching you. You need to experience the raw, primal connection that you've been craving. 

"Alright," he says, his voice low and husky as he quickly undresses. "Let's take this slow, okay? I want to make sure you're comfortable every step of the way."

You nod, your breath coming in short gasps as you watch him, his cock springing free from his jeans. You can see the thick, hard length of him, the head glistening with a drop of pre-cum. Your eyes widen slightly, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through you. 

"I don't think it will fit. I have never been able to do it before" you say, your voice barely above a whisper. Cillian smiles softly, his eyes filled with reassurance.

"Trust me, we'll take it slow. I won't hurt you. I promise," he says. and you nod, taking a deep breath as you try to relax. 

"Are you on the pill ?" he asks, his voice low and husky as he climbs onto the bed, his body hovering over yours.

You nod again, your voice barely a whisper. "Yes, I am," you say, causing him to smile.

"Good, because it will feel nicer for you  that way, and I really want to feel your wet pussy around me.

Cillian reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. "I'm going to go slow, okay? If it hurts, you tell me, and we'll stop. No pressure, no rush."

You nod, feeling a sense of relief and trust. "Okay, I trust you."

Cillian leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tender kiss. His tongue gently probes your mouth, and you open for him, letting him explore at his leisure.

His body is warm and hard against yours, and you can feel the thick length of his cock pressing against your thigh, hot and insistent. You reach down, tentative fingers wrapping around his shaft, and Cillian groans into your mouth, his hips jerking slightly at your touch.

His cock is thick and hard, the skin soft and velvety, and you can feel the pulse of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. You stroke him gently, your hand moving from the base to the tip, spreading the bead of pre-cum that has gathered there. Cillian's breath hitches, and he pulls back slightly, his eyes dark with desire.

"Fuck, that feels good," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "But not as good as it's going to feel inside you."

You feel a rush of heat at his words, your body aching with need. You guide him towards your entrance, his cock hot and hard against your thigh. Cillian takes over, positioning himself at your entrance, his eyes locked on yours.

" Just relax, okay?" he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. "I promise I won't hurt you."

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves as you feel the head of his cock press against you. He's big, and the sensation is intense, but the look in his eyes is one of pure tenderness and patience.

He starts to push in slowly, his hips moving in a gentle, rhythmic motion. 

"Is  that okay?" he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Are you alright?" You can feel him stretching you as part of him slides in, and you gasp, your eyes widening slightly. He stops, his body tense, waiting for your response. You nod, your breath coming in short gasps.

He could feel your barrier now and he knew he had to be careful. He whispered, "You are so fucking tight, I don't want to hurt you." He pulls back slightly, his cock still poised at your entrance, and you feel a rush of disappointment. But he's not stopping; he's just giving you a moment to adjust before slowly pushing the tip back in.

You feel the pressure, the stretch, and you can't help but tense up. Cillian notices immediately. He leans down, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot on your face.

"Relax, baby. I promise, I won't hurt you. Just breathe. And if it gets too much, you tell me, okay?" he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm to your nerves.

You nod, taking a deep breath and trying to relax your body. Cillian begins to move again, his hips gently pushing forward, inch by inch. You can feel him stretching you, filling you in a way you've never experienced before.

He pushed against your hymen now , a thin layer of skin that would soon be gone. He was taking his time, though, and he was being so gentle with you, that you found yourself relaxing, and pushing your hips forward, wanting more of him, wanting the pain to be over and done with.

"Oh, fuck," you gasp, your voice barely recognizable as your own. "You're so big, Cillian. It feels... it feels like a lot."

He pauses, his body tensed, his cock poised at your entrance, and you can see the concern in his eyes. "Do you want me to stop?" he asks, his voice strained with restraint. "We can stop if you need to. I don't want to hurt you."

You shake your head, your voice barely a whisper. "No, don't stop. I... I want this. I want you. Just go slow, okay?"

Cillian nods, a determined look in his eyes. "I promise, I'll go slow. Just relax and let me do the work. And if it hurts, we stop, no questions asked. Okay?"

You nod, taking a deep breath as you try to relax.

Cillian begins to move again, his hips pushing forward with a gentle, steady pressure. You can feel the head of his cock stretching you, the sensation intense and overwhelming. He pauses, his eyes locked on yours, waiting for your reaction.

"You're doing so well, baby," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Just relax and let me in."

You take another deep breath, trying to relax your body, and he pushes a little further, the head of his cock slipping inside you. You gasp, the sensation of being filled so intensely sending a jolt of pain mixed with pleasure through your body.

"That's it," he whispers, his voice a soothing balm to your nerves as he slides in more until, finally, he pushed past your hymen, his cock now fully sheathed inside you. "Fuck, you feel so tight and warm, baby. So perfect."

You take a moment to adjust, your body tensing around him as you feel the full extent of his length and girth inside you. Cillian remains still, his eyes locked on yours, waiting for your signal to continue. You can feel the stretch, the burn, but there's also a deep, primal satisfaction in having him inside you, filling you completely.

"Okay," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "I'm ready. Go slow."

Cillian nods, a reassuring smile on his lips.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "I'm going to move now, okay? Just tell me if it's too much."

You nod, your breath hitching in your throat as you feel him begin to move. He starts with slow, gentle thrusts, his hips rolling in a steady rhythm. You can feel every inch of him sliding in and out of you, the sensation intense and overwhelming. His eyes are locked on yours, watching your every reaction, ensuring your comfort and pleasure.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," he groans, his voice strained with restraint as you dug your nails into his back. "So tight and wet. I could stay like this forever."

You gasp, your body tensing as he pulls out slightly before pushing back in, his cock stretching you, filling you completely. The sensation is intense, a mix of pleasure and pain that leaves you breathless.

"More," you whisper, your voice barely audible as you wrap your legs around his waist, urging him deeper. "I want more."

Cillian groans, his hips picking up speed, his cock sliding in and out of you with increasing intensity. You can feel every inch of him, the thick head of his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body.

Cillian's hips move with a steady, relentless rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease now that you're so wet and ready for him.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me," he groans, his voice low and husky. "I can feel your pussy gripping my cock like a vice. It's so fucking good."

You moan, your body writhing beneath him as he continues to pound into you. You can feel your orgasm building, your body tensing as he hits that spot over and over again.

He looks down at you, his eyes dark with desire, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "Let me feel that pretty little pussy come all over my cock," he says and his cock is relentless now until you come.

"Oh my god, yes!" you  cry out, your voice raw and desperate. "Don't stop, Cillian. Please, don't fucking stop."

Cillian's eyes flash with heat, his hips moving faster, his cock pounding into you with a force that steals your breath. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, a primal, obscene symphony that only serves to heighten your arousal.

Your orgasm hits you like  a tidal wave, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your inner muscles clench around Cillian's cock, milking him, urging him deeper until, finally, he too could not hold on any longer. 

He groans, a deep, primal sound that vibrates through his chest and into yours, as he begins to cum, his cock pulsing inside you, filling you with his hot, sticky seed. The sensation of him coming inside you sends you spiraling over the edge once more, your body convulsing as another orgasm tears through you.

"Fuck, yes," Cillian groans, his voice low and husky as he collapses onto you, his body slick with sweat, his cock still throbbing inside you. 

You can feel his heart pounding against your chest, his breath hot on your neck as he pants, trying to catch his breath.

His cock is still hard inside you, pulsing with the aftershocks of his orgasm, and you can feel his seed leaking out of you, coating your thighs. The sensation is filthy, obscene, and incredibly arousing.

"Fuck, that was... intense," Cillian murmurs, his voice low and husky as he finally pulls out of you, his cock glistening with your combined fluids. You feel a rush of emptiness, a longing for him to be back inside you, filling you completely.

He smiles down at you, his eyes soft and tender despite the raw, primal way he just took you. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice laced with concern.

You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips as you reach up to cup his cheek, feeling the rough stubble against your palm. "I'm more than okay. That was... amazing. Thank you, Cillian."

He leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tender kiss. "You're welcome, beautiful. I'm glad you enjoyed it. And I'm glad I could help you feel good."

Tags:

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[mermaidgirl30]

✨Saving What Was Lost Part 3: You Trust Me?✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: I’m so excited to bring you the next chapter! This has been one of my favorite series to write, and I have so much more in store for these two! Joel is so so soft for reader 🥹 Happy reading! I love nothing more than to read your comments on what you thought, so please consider leaving me comments and reblogs 💕

Chapter Summary: You’ve got so many reasons not to trust another man again in your life, but Joel seems to give you ten for why you should trust him. One of them being calming a panic attack in the middle of a parking lot.

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 9.7k

Chapter Tags: Mentions of being trafficked, flashbacks of being abused, angst, soft and protective Joel, PTSD, no use y/n, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Joel is late 40’s), pre-outbreak au, mentions of an acoustic guitar, panic attacks at the store

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The long days seem to dwindle by with your heart still lodged deep in your throat. It doesn’t seem to matter that the calming rain patters on your foggy window, doesn’t matter that fall used to be your favorite season. You feel hollow, torn apart piece by piece with every second that brushes past your icy skin. 

   You feel broken. You are broken. And you’re not sure anything will ever fix that. 

   Every day you find something new that’s too hard to manage to get your body to do. Brushing your teeth, getting yourself dressed, making yourself eat when all you can stomach is the empty feeling inside you. You’re just so tired of fighting, so very exhausted of trying to just get by. But your body screams at you to fight. 

   Fight for yourself. Win. Get out of bed, eat, make an effort to survive. So, you do. You try because that’s all you hear ringing in the back of your mind. You have to keep going. Don’t let Angela or any of the ones that dragged you down keep you from thriving. 

   Live. 

   Today is like all the other days you fight to not let your depression win. Except today marks two weeks that you’ve been here. Two weeks that you’ve survived. And as much as you feel like giving up every second of every day, you always seem to find one tiny reason to get out of bed. Joel seems to be that reason. 

   Joel… and his warm cups of coffee. The kind that he douses in creamer and sugar and caramel just for you. Because that’s how you like it. And it never fails. Every single morning your cup is there just waiting for you, including Joel’s warm smile and soft brown eyes…

   That’s your reason for getting out of bed. Joel. 

   You discovered that Joel reported you as found to the police department a few days ago. You should feel relieved that he did that, but it didn’t matter. There was no one looking for you, so it didn’t make a damn bit of a difference. No one was coming to get you… Nobody even tried reaching out which makes you feel that much worse.

   You battle with yourself, wrestling your way to slide on a pair of black leggings, along with a long cashmere sweater that falls clear down your thighs. You fight to comb the knots from your hair, clenching your teeth with every painful drag of the brush. 

   Fight. Win. Don’t let them control you.

   Flexing your trembling hands, you squeeze a generous amount of spearmint toothpaste onto your purple toothbrush and jam it into your mouth, scraping it back and forth until you don’t taste the bitter aftertaste of almost two years in captivity. 

   Your fingers tremble beneath you with every slide of the toothbrush, every clinking noise against your teeth making you gag at the memories of you being left alone with disgusting men in a tiny bathroom against your will. It’s too much, this is too much. So you rinse your mouth and scamper out of the bathroom, closing the door until you can’t feel the goosebumps rising on your skin anymore. 

   You’re safe. They’re not here. You’re free. But you don’t feel free because those painful memories are alive in your mind, painting vivid pictures that make you instantly want to vomit and recoil into bed. But you don’t let the monsters take you back down into the darkness. You flee to sunlight and hope. You make your way to something that makes you feel lighter, where you can breathe easier, to something that gives you hope. 

   And that something is Joel.

   You smell the fresh coffee brew in the air, inhaling the rich scent as if you can already taste it. When you turn the corner you see Joel’s broad back to you, busy with the coffee machine and the daily newspaper, his large hand brushing past the blur of small-print words. 

   Instead of stopping to say good morning to him, you decide to venture down the hall. You haven’t been brave enough to really take in the house and explore, but now? Maybe you could try. 

   The sunlight shines through the open glass windows, making the photographs and hanging art glitter like specks of gold surrounding the black frames. Your eyes skim the family photographs, taking in Joel’s big smile in each of them. One is of him and Tommy, arms clasped around each other’s backs with a little girl standing in front of them, who you suppose is Sarah. Her dark curls spiral to her shoulders while she wraps an arm around her dad. 

   They look so happy, like a normal family who has never been broken. You wish yours looked like that. But again, it never was. You were always surrounded by screaming parents, right on the brink of a divorce while you’d stay tucked in your room with your hands covering your ears, praying for the noise to just stop. 

   But it stopped alright. It stopped the moment they crashed their car on top of a mountain and left you to fend for yourself at your uncle’s house. An uncle that never loved you. An uncle that abandoned Washington the moment you moved out at just eighteen-years-old. And then he did too…

   You keep moving, holding your composure and tears in. Even though you feel like collapsing right in this spot, right under Joel’s family picture. A family that was still together to this day while yours was nonexistent. 

   You wish you still had a family, but you never really did in the first place. Did you? No. Mom was always too busy with looking perfect, constantly obsessing with lessening her wrinkles and getting plastic surgery. And dad? Well, he was always too busy working at the law firm and hooking up with his assistant behind mom’s back. You were always left to fend for yourself, so now isn’t any different than it’s ever been. 

   You’re alone. You’ve always been alone, always just survived. Ever since you were little, that’s all you’ve known — how to be independent and just make it. So what’s different now? Now you just have to swim through the trauma and hope you don’t drown in the process. Because this right now is too much to handle, even for you. 

   It’s too fucking much.

   Choking down the held back tears, you make your way down the long hallway, your body moving on autopilot just to escape the visions that blur into muted noise. The pristine white walls clash against the polished floors, painting you a picture of hope. Something you’ve never really had before. 

   Keep fighting. Live. Make a change. Break the cycle. 

   Holding on to new hope, you keep going until you turn the corner and find a large, open room that makes you audibly gasp. All memories of broken families and internal fears are suddenly forgotten, pushed aside to take in this glorious sight. 

   Holy shit. 

   Towering mahogany bookshelves sit stacked against the white walls, the cascading windows letting in enough sunlight to reflect off the broken-in spines of each book. Two plush ivory oversized chairs sit in the corner of the room, one opposite the other. An electric fireplace sits idle against one of the bookshelves, draped in vines from the tropical plant that splays atop the bookshelf nearest the fireplace. 

   This room is… magical. Exactly what you needed. An escape from reality. An escape from your mind. 

   You trace lines against the smooth covers of the various books, feeling the cracked spines and intricate cursive letters on some of the older books. There’s genres of everything you could ever imagine. Starting from ancient history and going all the way to popular fictional books that you’d see on New York’s best seller’s lists. This room has everything. 

   You could get lost in here.

   Forgetting where you are, your hand snaps back when you hear a deep chuckle behind you. “Thought I heard you come down this mornin’. See you found one of my favorite rooms.”

   When you turn around, you see him smiling over at you, the glow of the sun making his brown eyes sparkle an almond brown honey color. If you’re being honest with yourself, it makes you feel a little lighter because his eyes are so warm. 

   He’s warm. 

   “These are all yours?” you ask with a gasp as your finger continues to trail against the golden spine of an old history book. 

   “All mine. Well, a lot of ‘em I got for Sarah. You see, she’s a bit of a bookworm, and she might’ve got me into the classics. So, now I’m jus’ as bad as her,” he laughs as he leans against the bright wall, his smile light and easy like the relaxed state he’s in now. 

   “This place, it’s incredible,” you breathe out, continuing to skim over the spotless shelves, your fingertips clashing with leather and the feel of worn pages. It smells like freedom and escape, someplace where you could stay buried for days. 

   He runs his fingers through his slicked back curls, bicep flexing against his dark blue flannel, an easy smile hanging on his lips. This might be the most relaxed you’ve seen him since you came here. He looks almost… happy the way he’s looking at you all light and carefree, like he’s enjoying the view. Like he’s happy that you’ve found something else you lost. 

   “You like it?” he asks, his eyes caramel pools that you could almost sink into. 

   “I love it,” you reply enthusiastically, your voice almost unrecognizable. 

   A warm smile spreads on his mouth, making his brown eyes sparkle that much more in the dewy sunlight. “Then it’s yours, sweetheart. Borrow anything you want, read what you want.”

   “Really?” you ask with a raised brow, sliding a book back into its place on the second shelf.

   “Really,” he nods with a smile.

   “Joel, thank you. This is… this is perfect.”

   “Jus’ glad I found someone I can share my books with again.” 

   You stay just like that for the next minute — Joel on the other end of the room, looking back at you with the warmest smile you’ve ever seen. It makes your heart flutter, makes you want to smile back, but you just give him a tight-lipped smile and look back at the cream rug covering the floor, suddenly too shaky to say anything else.

   Your eyes snap to something hidden in the corner of the room, a ray of sunlight hitting at just the right angle to make out something you missed entirely when you walked in. You guess you were too enamored by the books to notice the acoustic guitar sitting neatly on a stand right by the sheer curtain hanging over the window. 

   “Is this yours?” you ask, pointing to the acoustic guitar.

   “Oh. Yeah, s’mine.” His eyes fall to the dark wood, the body glossy and sleek as it shines against the draped curtain. A splash of sunlight makes it shimmer for just a moment, until rain clouds cover the sun and cast the guitar back in shadows.

   “You play guitar?” you question curiously as he takes a long, slow stride across the room. 

   “I used to. A long time ago.”

   You watch him make his way over to the guitar. It’s like he’s tiptoeing across glass, careful in his steps to not trip and cut his tanned skin up. That’s how it seems when he hesitantly reaches out to glide his fingertips down the tight strings, skimming his thumb meticulously against the smooth surface of the polished neck as if he’s memorizing every single particle of the instrument. Like he’s reliving something he keeps hidden away from the rest of the world to see.

   He’s quiet as he analyzes the guitar, almost like he’s reliving memories that only he can see. Were they good or bad ones? Judging by his wary stance and slow movements, you wonder if maybe they’re fragile memories.

   “Used to?” you ask quietly, careful not to disturb whatever storm’s blowing through his mind. 

   “‘S’right. Haven’t played in quite some time,” he answers defeatedly as his thumb tracks along the outline of a carved moth. He lingers there for a moment, pinching his eyebrows together as if he’s trying to fight off whatever images are haunting his mind. 

   He looks… sad. Looks as if that guitar holds years of painful memories. 

   “Why’d you stop?” you push, afraid you’ve just struck a nerve by the way his back muscles tense and his jaw clenches up. 

   His hand wraps around the neck of the guitar, veins bulging in his neck as his eyes grow a shade darker. In the flit of sunshine that creeps through the window, you see a glimmer that looks a lot like a held back tear in the center of his right eye. That in itself sends a shot of pain through your chest. 

   He clears his throat and takes a step back, just enough to where he can only graze the edge of the guitar. His dark brown eyes are in a faraway place when he replies hesitantly. “It jus’—it… I guess it’s got a few memories attached to it that makes it hard to play now.”

   When he drops his hand to his side and looks up at you, you see a man who’s hurting deep inside. You can see it in his weathered stare, in the dark circles beneath his sad brown eyes, in the way his bottom lip twitches each time his gaze falls on that acoustic guitar. 

   There’s something he lost, too. You just don’t know what. 

   Before the room gets too stifling and stuffy, he shakes off his frown and nods toward the hallway. “C’mon, I’ve got your coffee waitin’ on the counter for you. Don’t want it to get cold now.”

   “Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

   He gives you a tight-lipped smile and exits the room, leaving you all alone once again. You find yourself looking back at the guitar, your eyes feeling heavy as you stare at the little moth ingrained into the smooth wood. There’s just something about it that makes your stomach drop. 

   This guitar was special to him, maybe it still is. You just wonder what can make a big, strong man like him crumble. You don’t want to see him turn to dust like you; you’ve got enough pain for the both of you. He doesn’t deserve pain. He’s too… good. And while he doesn’t technically wear his heart on his sleeve, you can see he keeps the pain hidden behind a mask. 

   Maybe one day he’ll show you his scars, too.

   When you make your way back to the kitchen, your warm cup of coffee is sitting right there on the quartz island, the steam billowing out as if he just poured it. As you slip into your chair, you notice his shoulders are more relaxed and the weathered stare he had back in that room is nearly gone. Whether he put on a mask or tucked his feelings deep inside his pockets to where you can’t see, you still notice the dark lines that edge beneath his brown eyes.

   Something hurt him, and it still haunts him to this day. 

   Slowly taking a sip of the sugary drink, your eyes snap up to him when you hear the deep timbre of his voice. “Used up the rest of the caramel this mornin’.” 

   You swallow the coffee down your throat and shift forward on the barstool. “Already?”

   He chuckles and nods his head your way. “Apparently someone who’s got a sweet tooth used it all. Can’t imagine who that was.” He winks at you, and you can feel the bright blush stain your cheeks the wider his smile gets. 

   Clearing your throat, you push a lock of hair behind your ear and try to stop the red tint from spreading any further. “Looks like you found the culprit.”

   “Looks like it,” he smiles, his lips tugging at his tanned skin, making a deep dimple press into the middle of his cheek. You can’t help yourself, so you give him a shy smile back in return. It seems to make his brown eyes sparkle that much brighter as he stares at you. 

   You take a few more sips of the caramel drink, enjoying every single drop like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Joel sets down his glass cup and bites his bottom lip, chewing nervously as he glances over at you. “I need to go pick up some things at the grocery store today. Shouldn’t take long at all, but I was wonderin’ if you wanted to come along with me?”

   You choke on a sip of coffee and struggle to find your words. You haven’t been out in the real world in a very long time. You don’t even know how to even interact, nonetheless see strangers passing by you. 

   Tapping your nails nervously against the glass cup, you fight to get the words out. “Oh. You… want me to go to the store with you?”

   “Only if you want. Figured you’d wanna pick some things out.” 

   “Umm. Okay. Sure. I can go with you,” you breathe out nervously, pushing all your fears down as you swallow back the answer you really wanted to say.

   “Alright. Well, how’s ‘bout you finish up breakfast, and we can go after you get ready?” His thumb brushes over the curve of his coffee cup, and your eyes track his movements as he slowly brings the edge to his lips. 

   And then you’re swallowing back fears again and dropping your eyes to the floor, awaiting the panic that’ll surely flood your system when you get to the store. 

   You can do this. Fight the fear. 

   Biting the bullet, you look up and give him a slight nod. “Okay, after breakfast.”

   Joel grins and turns back to the refrigerator, away from your now wide eyes. You’re suddenly regretting your choice, but you have to go through with it. You have to be brave. For yourself. 

   You can do this. 

   Light rain patters on the passenger window, sending water droplets splashing along the side mirror. It’s only sprinkling, but the thunder in the near distance makes it seem like it might pour down at any second. 

   The engine hums as the wheels roll on the pavement, green trees blurring as Joel drives along the long, straight road. An old country song seeps through the speakers as Joel’s thumb taps along to the catchy tune. It’s oddly peaceful, driving with him in his truck. It almost makes you forget the nerves crawling up your spine. 

   “Does it always rain this much in Texas? I thought it was supposed to be like a desert here,” you ask, your eyes tracking the sea of trees outside your window.

   “Usually is. Hell, we’re usually in a drought. But for some reason, we’ve been gettin’ a record amount this year. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” he says as he continues driving through the mist.

   “That’s strange.” You trace the condensation on the window and draw little lines, hoping you’ll forget you’re about to go out in public. 

   “You must’ve brought some rain from Washington.” He smiles over at you and continues tapping his thumb along to the rhythm of the upbeat song. 

   “Guess I did,” you laugh under your breath as you finish off your window art of a blooming flower.

   The music goes silent as Joel turns down the radio with the pad of his index finger. When you turn to look at him with questions in your eyes, he clears his throat and looks warily over at you. “Do you… do you miss it?”

   “Miss what?” you whisper, letting your fingers pull against the edge of your warm sweater. 

   “Washington,” he responds back, eyes flicking between you and the road ahead.

   You take a moment to envision the forest green trees, the frigid air by the edge of the sea, the cliffsides you used to hang over to stare into the deep blue ocean. And that’s when you feel a sharp pain jab inside your chest. “Sometimes… I miss the waterfalls, the salty breeze of the ocean, the beautiful nature. I’ve never seen a state as gorgeous as Washington. And how green it is? Yeah, I guess I do miss it…”

   The front of the truck grows quiet as Joel takes in your answer. His palm rakes against his dark beard slowly, brushing across his mouth like he’s thinking really hard about your answer. And just when you think he’ll drop the conversation, he says something that leaves you speechless.

   “I’ll take you back.”

   Your eyes blow wide as you repeat the sentence in your head. I’ll take you back. Why would he do that…

   “What?” you ask, jaw dropped like you just got slapped in the face. 

   He gives you a small smile and looks over at you with the softest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. “When you’re ready, that is. And only if you want to go back. I could help you get your feet back on the ground, find you a nice place where you’ll be comfortable. If that’s what you want.”

   You stare at him dumbstruck, your words lodged deep in your throat with every second that ticks by. He’ll take you back. But why would he do that for you? Why would he do what no one else would? Why does he care what happens to you…

   “Joel, that’s—that’s too much. I can’t ask you to do that,” you protest, shaking your head like what he just said is impossible.

   He shakes his head, making a sandy lock of hair fall against the side of his forehead. “It’s not too much, and I’d do it in a heartbeat. S’no trouble,” he says adamantly, like he won’t hear anything else about it. It’s settled for him.

   “Thank you…” you whisper out, your voice barely audible above the hum of the engine. 

   He arches an eyebrow and looks over at you, tugging his lips into an easy smile. “Ya know, gonna have to get you your own car, too.”

   “Joel,” you warn through clenched teeth. He is not getting you a car. Absolutely no way.

   “What?” he shrugs. “You can’t get around without a car.”

   You shake your head unbelievably and open your mouth wide. “I can’t pay for a car.”

   “‘M not askin’ you to. I’ve got money.”

   And again, you can’t believe how insistent and easy-going he’s taking this. “Joel. I can’t ask you for a car. Absolutely not. And besides, I’m not ready to drive yet.”

   He flashes you a smile and gives you a nod of encouragement. “S’alright, sweetheart. You’ll get there in time. And when you do, you’ll have a car.”

   You lick your bottom lip, frustrated slightly that he’s being so kind to you. No one has ever been this nice in your entire life. Not even your parents… Why is he treating you like you’re important? You’ve never been important. So why does he act like you’re the only thing that currently matters? 

   “There’s no stopping you, is there?” you give up, your back flush to the warm seat as you stare into deep brown eyes that belong to the kindest man you’ve ever met. 

   He thinks you’re important. 

   “Not a chance,” he chuckles, his airy laugh floating through the cabin of the truck, striking another nerve in your heart. 

   He’s so kind, more than that. He genuinely wants you to thrive, to live. That takes a little weight off your heavy chest.

   It’s quiet for a moment, only the light wind and patter of raindrops taking up the space. But then he shifts uncomfortably and flicks his wandering eyes back over at you. There’s a deep crease between his thick eyebrows, and that look has you back on the edge of your seat. “Can I ask you somethin’?” he asks delicately.

   You swallow back nerves and nod your head in response. “Umm, okay. Sure.”

   “What, umm. What happened to your parents, if you don’t mind me askin’?”

   The question makes you tilt a little off your axis, throws you off just enough to where your right hand is discreetly clenched so tight around the side of the seat that you swear it turns pale white. You weren’t prepared for that question. You’re never prepared. But, you might as well just spill it. What else do you have to lose? 

   “They—they died when I was fifteen… Crashed their car on the side of a mountain, and they ended up rolling off the edge. On the very same day they were driving to get a divorce…”

   His eyes blow wide for a second and in the next he’s dragging a heavy hand over his mouth. “Oh, sweetheart. ‘M so sorry. That’s… traumatic.”

   You can’t help but to puff out a pathetic laugh from that. Your life has been nothing but traumatic; you just learn to live through it. 

   You silently nod and continue on. “After I found out, the judge decided I’d go live with my uncle. An uncle who barely talked to me. He didn’t even want me there, but I had no other options. So, I left as soon as I turned eighteen and moved into a dorm when I went to college.”

   “Is he still…”

   “He moved out of Washington as soon as I left. Last I heard, he died from a heart attack. So I’ve just kinda been on my own since I was eighteen. But really, I’ve been alone for much longer than that.”

   The inside of the truck goes completely silent, except the quiet hum of the purring engine. You don’t exactly like talking about your family drama and your awful past, but it’s easier when you already feel dead inside. Maybe if you talk enough Joel will decide to drop you off on the side of the street and leave you with a good luck wave. 

   He wouldn’t do that, though. That’s just your unhinged mind spiraling like your entire life is.  

   “That’s… fuck. No one should ever be put through that. What you did, what you had to do. M’so sorry.”

   You shrug it off and act like you’re just fine, but really you just don’t want to cry. You don’t want to show him how weak and pathetic you truly are. You used to be stronger than this… 

   Holding in a sob, you play it off like it’s nothing. “It’s alright. I mean, I’ve been through a lot worse since then. I guess I’m good at being alone…”

   It gets quiet again, only light breathing and shifting uncomfortably in your seat, trying to hide the pain that’s serenading through your body. Joel’s eyes keep flicking over to you, a pained expression masking his tanned face. He’s clenching his jaw, running his fingers through his dark locks, fisting the steering wheel until his knuckles are white. 

   His head turns to you when he’s stopped at a red light, and his eyes turn a lighter honey color, and those soft eyes nearly shatter you in your seat. “You don’t have to be. Alone. You don’t have to be alone anymore...”

   You swallow back the tears building in your eyes while your mouth drops open in awe. Before you even get the chance to say anything, he’s stepping on the gas and looking back into the fog of the rainy day. 

   You don’t have to be alone anymore. 

   The rest of the ride is silent as you contemplate his words and their meaning. You don’t have to be alone. He means you don’t have to be alone because he’s here now. He won’t let you be alone. Joel is the one person who isn't giving up on you. 

   He’s so patient, so generous, so good. He’s too good for you but here he is, wading through the rough waters to make sure your head’s above the waves. He won’t let you drown. Not today, maybe not ever…

   After a few more minutes, the truck is abruptly stopping, and Joel is cutting the engine. Your head lurches up, and you stare vacantly at the semi-busy parking lot. 

   The parking lot…

   It looks just like the one you got taken from… Rows of parked cars sit along the damp cement, empty carts are scattered ahead in the little blue cart holder, people rush to and from the store back to their cars. And then you see a man exit his white Sedan with a black baseball cap backwards on his head. The sight has you flinching, your nails digging into the leather of the seat when he turns his head and looks directly at you. It’s only for a second, but you feel those black pits searing into your skull just like that day they took you…

   “Well, here we are. A little more crowded than I thought it’d be for a Wednesday afternoon. We can jus’—.”Joel’s hand clasps the side of the driver’s door as he steps out, looking back at you with worried brown eyes. “Hey, you okay?”

   It’s like your voice is lurched deep in your throat as water consumes your entire vocal cords. You can’t swallow, can’t speak, can barely even blink as you watch the shady man cross the road, taking one look back at you until he disappears behind the clear sliding doors of the store. And it still feels like he’s watching you, planning his next move to where he can get you alone. 

   You remember that day all over again, just like it was yesterday. And now, all you can think of to do is panic.

   “N… no. I—.” You can’t even finish your sentence, only able to throw your seatbelt off and claw at the door handle, feeling like you’re suffocating on thick air that nearly strangles you to death. 

   You need to flee, run until your lungs collapse, but you have nowhere to go. 

   Tears well in your eyes as you fight to push out the images of the day you were taken, but they only push back harder, igniting your memories into fresh ones. You’re hyperventilating, holding your chest so tightly that you feel your heart skyrocket as you shake in your seat while your feet are planted on the wet cement of the parking lot. 

   Joel hurries around the side of the truck and throws your door open, trying his best to calm you down. “Hey, hey. It’s alright, sweetheart. You’re alright. Breathe for me.”

   “Joel… I…”

   “Breathe,” he coaxes in a soothing bravado voice. He kneels down in front of you to where he’s looking right up at you, and he’s got those soft brown eyes — the ones that always seem to calm you down. And when you have enough courage to lift your eyes, there they are. Warm, brown, soft, soothing. He’s soothing. 

   “That’s it. Take a nice deep breath for me. Jus’ like that. Attagirl,” he praises, keeping his honey-colored eyes right on you. 

   “I—I was…” you start but like always, you can’t finish. 

   You’re pathetic.

   “S’alright, sweetheart. M’right here. Jus’ breathe for me. And when you’re ready, tell me what’s wrong.” His hand brushes past your feet, close enough to touch your exposed ankle, but he never does. Because he knows better. He knows it’ll just set off a string of catastrophic events that’ll only lead you into a deeper black hole than you already are. 

   But yet, you can’t help but want it. Because you feel how warm he is. Just like that night he carried you to the bathroom. You remember how warm and comforting you felt with your face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, remember his woodsy cologne drowning out your fight or flight panic, remember how gentle he was with you…

   You slowly lift your eyes up and push away the screaming voices in your mind. They seem to come to a jarring halt when you meet those soft brown eyes and a face you swear has an angelic glow about it. His fingers flex against the floorboard, just enough to where you can feel the warmth from his tanned skin, and just that motion causes your heart to still for just a beat. 

   Warm. He’s so warm. 

   After a few more seconds of steady breaths and his heavy gaze honing in on you, you get enough courage to shakily let your words out. “I was—I was taken in a parking lot just like this. In the middle of the day. And I—I guess I wasn’t quite ready to see another one.”

   He falls silent, and his face drops like he’s just seen a ghost. His eyes glaze over as a heavy hand rakes down his clipped beard, slowly dragging it over his lips as he takes in your words. “Oh. Christ, m’so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t even think ‘bout that before I brought you here. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

   Shaking your head back and forth, you swallow and grimace. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t tell you. I didn’t—I didn’t think I’d freak out. But then the memories hit me and I—I… it’s my fault. It’s all my—.”

   He leans into the side of the truck, careful not to touch you, but still close enough to where you can almost taste his woodsy breath. “Shh. Don’t for a second think of apologizin’, sweetheart. None of this is your fault. Not one fuckin’ bit of it.”

   He looks at you so intensely, so cautiously that you can clearly see the amber flecks that swirl under the cloudy skies, his jaw flexing back and forth as he searches for more to say, but he doesn’t have to say anything. You feel what he’s feeling. Regret, rage, sorrow. He wishes it never happened to you.

   You take a shaky breath and glance up behind him, right as an older couple with two kids clinging to their arms passes peacefully by. A car door slams shut across the way, and it makes you jump in place, remembering that very moment you were corralled into a black van as the door slammed shut behind you, warning you that you were trapped.

   As you cringe in your seat and feel your knuckles go white, you whisper, “I’m scared, Joel. I can’t—I can’t...”

   “Hey. Can you look up at me?” he asks gently, slightly brushing the pad of his thumb against the side of your shoe. When you look up with watery eyes, he gives you an encouraging nod. “There ya go.”

   Your body is trembling with every swift movement and every screeching halt of tires in the parking lot. You start to drift back into a panic, but Joel sees right through you and pulls you right back out with his chocolate brown eyes.

   “Keep your eyes on me. Right on me. That’s it. Such a brave girl,” he coos; his voice sounding like a melodic tune that vanishes all your dark thoughts from wrapping their tangled vines completely around your stirred mind. 

   As you continue to stare at those beautiful caramel eyes, you get lost in the sound of his Southern drawl. “I want you to focus on one thing. It can be anything. A scent, a color, whatever brings you comfort. And I want you to focus on that one thing until your mind starts to quiet down.”

   You look around the truck, searching the fresh leather, letting your eyes wander to a nearby green tree, focusing on some drifting stormy clouds that cover the sun. But none of that makes you feel good or even remotely calm, so you let your eyes wander to the rugged, Southern gentleman who’s kneeling right in front of you, begging with those soft brown eyes for you to get even just a semblance of a second of peace. 

   Warm. He’s so warm.

   You get lost in his cinnamon, woodsy scent, fade into his coffee-colored eyes and feel like you’re crashing right into him. You can’t seem to stop staring, almost like you’re under a lovesick spell, but really it’s just your body telling you he is what brings you comfort. Joel Miller, the man who saved you from your impending doom. 

   So, that’s what you focus on. Him and his warm brown eyes.

   “Okay,” you finally whisper out, never dropping your eyes from his.

   He looks at you a second and tilts his head, making sure he heard you right. “You got it?”

   “Mhm,” you hum back.

   A faint smile appears on his mouth and then his hand is skimming the brim of the floor, close enough for you to feel the electricity from his touch zapping your leggings. But still, he doesn’t dare touch you. He’d never do it without your permission. You know this now. 

   “Now, close your eyes and picture that one thing that’s gonna drown out everything else,” he says through the light rain pattering on the tips of his broad shoulders, right onto his soft blue flannel. 

   “Joel…” you reply back leery. 

   “You trust me?” he asks with knit together eyebrows.

   You chew your bottom lip for a second before you answer, throwing the question back and forth between your brain. “I—yes.”

   He gives you a smile and nods. “Close ‘em for me then. Jus’ for a second.” You do exactly as he says.

   When your eyes are fully shut, his Southern drawl floats through your ears. “Focus on my voice, sweetheart. Focus on how still it is; make your heart that same rhythm. Slow it down, jus’ like my words.”

   You focus on every breath he breathes, every sound of the shift of his shoulders, every whisk of the wind sweeping through his tousled curls. For this moment, every single other restless sound outside the truck is silent. For the first time, all you hear is him.

   You center your mind on him and him alone. And when that whiff of cedar trees and mahogany swirl all around you, you relax and breathe him in like he’s the last thing you’ll ever smell.

   “Now, open your eyes,” he says after you lose track of time. 

   You slowly lift your eyelids and look out beneath your lashes as those bright brown eyes send you into a cloud of serenity. And in that moment, you really do feel like you’re home. 

   “There ya go, nice and slow. Feel that? Things are a bit quieter now,” he says gently, giving you a soft smile that makes you choke back tears. 

   Nodding, you reply, “Yeah, it actually is quieter.”

   It’s quiet for a beat as you sit there, your palms on your thighs, fingers digging into your leggings, but his presence right in front of you is oddly calming. Just like taking a deep breath of Washington air in the mountains. You swear you almost smell those pine trees like you’re there, but it’s Joel you smell.

   “You feel a little better?” he asks, scratching his fingers down his greying scruff, brown eyes flicking up at you like you’re the most important thing in the room.

   “Yes,” you nod, still trying to wrap your mind around how quickly Joel was able to calm you down. 

   “See? Knew you could do it.” His smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and it makes you give him a shy smile in return. 

   When’s the last time someone was able to get you to smile? You can’t even remember. 

   “I did it because you helped me,” you confirm, wanting to make sure he knows he was the reason you had the courage to break through your panic attack.

   “That’s right, sweetheart. I helped you, but you were the one that broke the panic attack. You’re so very brave, and I hope you know that.”

   You’re so brave. He called you brave.

   The way he’s looking at you makes your heart skip a beat. All soft and gentle and warm. You’ve never been around a man like Joel. Never once knew how good a man could be. But Joel, he’s like an angel sent from Heaven’s gates just for you. Or so it seems. 

   You swore to never trust a man again, but you can trust him. 

   “Now, you think you can make it in the store?” He tilts his head in the direction of the sliding doors, just as a young couple walks in with an empty grocery basket.

   Gulping some courage down, you nod. “I—I think so.”

   “Attagirl. Now, c’mon.” He holds the door open for you and calls your name softly, giving you that jolt you need to exit the truck. “It’s alright. Nobody’s gonna hurt ya. Not while I’m here.”

   “You promise?” you ask when your feet hit the concrete, your voice shaky like you don’t quite believe him, but you do.

   “Promise,” he nods, his crow’s feet pulling at the corners of his bright eyes. It’s enough to get your legs moving.

   “Okay,” you whisper.

   You follow closely on his heels, your fingertips grazing the bottom of his flannel, close enough to grab on if you need to. Your heart is galloping a thousand miles an hour with every step you take, but his woodsy scent is just enough to quiet down the yelling in your head.

   When you get to the edge of the sliding doors, you freeze when they open to a busy grocery store. The loud noises of rustling bags and screeching wheels of carts is enough to make you want to run the opposite way.

   Joel must sense your worry because he brushes his arm next to yours and looks down at you with knitted eyebrows. “S’alright. I’m gonna be right by your side every step of the way. You can do this.”

   You can do this. 

   Looking up into his syrupy brown eyes gives you that little bit of strength to get you moving again. And when he grabs a shopping cart and beckons you to follow him, you do.

   “Thanks for believing in me, Joel,” you say graciously.

   “Always.”

   You keep right by his side, the fluorescent lights feeling like spotlights shining down on you. It’s like every single person shifts their eyes toward you, faces distorted and smiling like they’re laughing at your fear. The music that filters out of the speakers makes your ears ring. Children run rampant around a restless mother, a tall man with a backwards baseball cap reaches across a barrel full of pineapples, and it’s as if he’s reaching for your wrist. 

   Without thinking, you grab on to the end of Joel’s flannel and tug it toward you, digging your fingers into the soft cotton as if it’s a safety blanket. The smell of fresh firewood and green grass envelops your senses and for the moment, everything becomes a little more still. 

   “You keep tuggin’ on my flannel and you’re gonna pull it right off,” Joel chuckles, giving you a small smile as he looks back at you. 

   “Oh, sorry,” you apologize, dropping your fingers as if you just upset him. 

   “Don’t gotta apologize. You jus’ hang on if that’s what you need right now.”

   You slowly reach back up and flex your fingers around the blue material, peeking up hesitantly beneath your lashes. 

   “Your flannel, it smells like the forest. Reminds me of the mountains in Washington. It umm… it calms me down.”

   “Well then, it’s yours, sweetheart.” Those pools of honey liquid melt you on the spot; his warm smile takes the edge of fear off your chest for just that moment. And when that whiff of autumn from his white t-shirt floats through the air, it’s like he saved you all over again. 

   He drops his hands from the shopping cart and starts unbuttoning his flannel, carefully shrugging it off his broad shoulders as you stare blankly up at him. And then, he’s holding out the faded blue material to you.

   “No, I can’t. I’m fine. I—.” You take a step back and press a palm his way.

   “Here, put it on,” he insists, stretching his arm until you have no option but to take it.

   “Are you sure?” you squeak out, unsure of yourself.

   “Mhm. Want you to feel safe. And if this makes you feel a little calmer, want you to wear it.”

   Hesitating, you carefully pluck it from his reach and end up sliding your hand against the back of his, feeling a tingle of a spark from his worn, calloused skin.

   “Thanks, Joel,” you whisper above the monotone music playing over the store speakers.

   “Anytime, sweetheart. Anytime.” He nods his head toward the produce section and smiles. “C’mon.”

   You stay right beside him, almost flush to his hip with every wavering stride you take, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind. No, he just keeps his brown eyes flickering over to you every minute that ticks by, encouraging you with that kind smile of his, telling you with the curve of his lips that you’re doing so well. You can almost hear that Southern drawl sliding off his tongue. 

   I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Doin’ so good. Look at you, bein’ the bravest girl I know. 

   Even though he’s not verbally saying those things at this second, you can tell he’s thinking it with the way his doe eyes soften every time they look your way. You can tell by how warm and kind his essence is, how his smile seems to send a flicker of sunshine your way even behind a thick wall of grey clouds. 

   He’s just… safe. You feel so safe around him, and that’s something you’ve never felt in your entire life. You’ve never been safe. But with him, you just might be.

   The clicking of heels and the stare of curious eyes makes you physically cringe and tense your shoulders, thinking one of them will snatch you away yet again. You keep your mind busy by counting the threads of Joel’s blue flannel, training your eyes on his slicked back tan curls, meticulously staring at every single strand that’s wrapped in a silver glow. It seems to help, gives the impression that maybe you can do this. And you are. 

   At times when he strays too far, you reach for him unintentionally. It’s like your hand is magnetized to the feel of his cotton shirt, your fingers curling into the thick material. And again, he doesn’t seem to mind, only smiles and goes on with gathering groceries. 

   He doesn’t forget the caramel, doesn’t forget to grab a few bottles of vanilla creamer and extra sugar. In fact, those were the things he went for first. 

   He doesn’t forget things. Doesn’t forget what you wanted. And that in itself proves something. What, you’re not sure. But it proves he cares, that you do know.

   You follow him to the produce section and watch him shift his focus on picking the best meat, promising to get the best steak for dinner. You haven’t had steak in years, and you don’t doubt for one second that Joel can cook a mean one. 

   Averting your eyes from his pensive stare and flexed jaw, your gaze wanders over to the cereal aisle, and you suddenly have the biggest craving for a box of Cocoa Pebbles.  

   Saliva gathers in your mouth as you think of how sugary and good and delightful a mouthful of chocolatey goodness would taste right now. Without thinking, you pull on the end of his shirt, stretching the material mindlessly as your brain transfixes on the mountain of sugar just a few feet away. It’d be so easy to go grab a box, but your feet won’t move, your words won’t form because you’re terrified to be alone for even a second in a grocery store of all places.

   With one more slight tug on the edge of his t-shirt, he turns with a soft expression and questions, “What is it, sweetheart?” No anger or hint of annoyance in his Southern drawl, just pure warmth. 

   Your voice stays silent, your immense stare fixed on that aisle of sugar and thousands of calories you’d happily inhale. You’re sure your frail body would thank you, even if it was just junk. Joel’s eyes trace over yours, following to where yours end, and then a small chuckle leaves his lips. “You wanna go grab some?”

   “Yeah.”

   “Go on then. Why don’t you go pick some out?” He nods to the empty aisle, encouraging you on. But you stand there like your feet are cemented to the shiny floor, and you have no intention of moving. 

   Fear pulses through your blood, and anxiety is trickling down your spine. Joel takes a step forward and drawls in a low but soothing voice, “S’okay. I’ll be right here watchin’. You can do it, sweetheart.”

   You look up and see warm pools of honey staring down at you and a smile that makes your knees feel weak. He’s so fucking soft with you. 

   Nodding, you take a step forward and then another, dragging your feet toward the aisle of boxes of sugary goodness. The further you get away from him, the more anxious you get. 

   What if someone takes you, gets too close to your liking, grabs your arm and drags you away? Looking back toward Joel, he gives you a small nod, telling you it’s okay. You’re okay. 

   Turning back to your task at hand, you start scanning the shelves, your appetite suddenly stimulated as you scavenge for what you’re looking for. Saliva is coating the back of your tongue, your stomach rumbling. There’s too many choices, too many kinds you want. 

   When you finally spot a box of Cocoa Pebbles, you see two more kinds you want. Lucky Charms and Cinnamon Toast Crunch sit right next to each other, calling your name for you to take them. Gritting your teeth together, you make a choice. You want all three, so you dip into your impulses and grab them all up. Hopefully Joel doesn’t mind. 

   A middle-aged man passes you in the row, and your muscles tighten around you, making you squish the boxes together in your arms. You focus on deep breaths, telling yourself he’s not going to hurt you. Not every man is out to get you, but it certainly feels like that now. Maybe one day you’ll be able to break the cycle of thinking that. 

   Quickly passing the stranger, you prance up to Joel, all three cereal boxes shoved together in your arms, just like you’re a kid in a candy store. You hear him chuckling before you lift your eyes up to him, and then he lets out a belly-aching laugh. 

   “Look at you with three boxes. You really do have a sweet tooth, don’t ya?”

   You feel your cheeks grow warm as you set the boxes down in the cart. Nervous laughter filters out of your mouth. “I couldn’t quite decide what I wanted. I can put some back if…”

   “No. I’m jus’ teasin’, sweetheart. You get as many kinds as you want. Ain’t got a limit with me.” His wide grin and crow’s feet makes a small smile tug at the corner of your lips. 

   “Thanks,” you say shyly. “I guess it’s been a while since I’ve had any cereal, or really any kind of sugar. So, this is different. I’m not used to any of this.”

   Understanding hits his brown eyes and his jaw clenches as something tosses through his mind. “Well, we’re jus’ gonna have to change that, ain’t we?” 

   Pursing your lips, you nod. “Call me a work in progress.”

   He gives you a soft smile and wraps a large hand around the cart. “You’re doin’ jus’ fine, sweetheart. Makin’ plenty of progress jus’ by steppin’ foot in this store today. Proud of you.”

   He’s proud of you.

   “I wouldn’t have even made it into the store if it wasn’t for you…”

   He takes a long look at you and just stands there for a few seconds, searching for the right words to say. “It was all you, sweetheart. You jus’ needed a little push in the right direction and someone to be there for you.”

   “Thank you for being there when I needed someone, Joel…” you whisper, your eyes a little misty with emotions running rampant through your body. 

   It looks like he wants to reach out, but he just grips the handle of the shopping cart tighter and tips his head. “‘Course, sweetheart. Whenever you need me.”

   Whenever you need me. The words get stuck on repeat in your brain as you follow him through the rest of the grocery store. You think you’d follow him anywhere.

   When you’re all checked out and the bagged groceries are sitting inside the cart, you realize Joel’s flannel is still wrapped around you. You don’t want to take it off necessarily. It smells like him, and it’s so warm and cozy and basically drenched in forest air. But, it’s not yours. You slowly start to shed the warm layer, but he stops you before you can get it past your elbows. 

   “Keep it, sweetheart.” He presses a palm out, pausing you in your tracks.

   “Don’t you want it back?” you ask with knitted brows.

   “Nah, you go ahead and keep it,” he answers. Before you can walk out the door, he turns and smiles warmly at you. “Besides, it looks better on you.” And then he continues on, like he didn’t just give you a compliment. 

   It looks better on you. 

   You hug the blue flannel back against your body, breathing in the very essence of him that seems to calm every single nerve in your body. 

   He gave you his flannel.

   Once the groceries are all packed away in the back of the truck and both you and Joel are buckled up, he turns to you before driving out of the parking lot. “So, you wanna go get ice cream?” 

   “Ice cream?”

   “Mhm. Ice cream,” he confirms.

   “Whatever for?” you giggle.

   “Don’t you like ice cream?” he inquires, flicking his brown eyes over your way.

   “Well, yes. But…”

   “I think brave girls deserve ice cream. Don’t you?”

   You study him, looking for any sign of lies in the crow’s feet that pull tightly around the edges of his chocolate brown eyes, but you find none. He isn’t messing with you or your mind; he’s being completely sincere when he uses the word brave. “You think I’m a brave girl?”

   “The bravest.” He smiles, his eyes twinkling like golden orbs under the grey skies, and it just confirms how warm he is. 

   You gawk at him, your lips parting as you just stare and stare at him. He thinks you’re brave, and he wants to take you for ice cream? Who even is this man? 

   “What?” He catches you staring and probably wonders why you’re just marveling over him. He must not realize you’re completely mesmerized by every single thing he does. 

   No one’s ever treated you so human. Like you’re important and matter. Joel sees you. He really sees you. Your layers and all. Just like transparent glass.

   “You just surprise me, that's all,” you answer hesitantly, eyes still focused on his tanned skin and wrinkles that line like maps across his face. Something you could trace easily. “You’re not exactly what I expected, I guess.”

   “And what’d you expect?” He quirks an eyebrow up as the engine hums under your seat, his eyes making their way back to your face.

   “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think you’d be so… kind.”

   He curls his lips into a sideways smile while he taps his thumb against the leather steering wheel, eyes still focused directly on you. “I try my best, sweetheart.”

   “You don’t even have to. You just are. Just like that first night I saw you sitting there across the room. Your eyes seemed so… kind.”

   Everything seems to quiet down for a moment, only the sound of your heart, the slow motion of the tires hitting the wet pavement, the thick tension coursing through the air, and Joel’s clear brown eyes that are smothering your insides. They speak louder than tidal waves, those deep brown irises. And right now, they’re making your heart clench in your chest.

   He clears his throat and then the tension dissipates. “So, how ‘bout that ice cream?” He wraps his large palm around the steering wheel and smiles over, making you mirror one right back to him.

   “I’d love some ice cream.”

   “Attagirl. Let’s go get you sugared up, then.” As he pulls out of the shopping center and drives down the smooth road, you giggle silently and watch the trickles of raindrops drip down the side of the passenger window. 

   “Have you ever tried espresso ice cream?” you ask, shifting your weight so you can see the question roll over his brown eyes.

   “As a matter of fact, I haven’t.”

   “I think you’d like it,” you chirp.

   He turns his head and looks at you, pulling his lips into a smirk. “Reckon I would. That what you recommend?”

   “Mhm,” you hum. “Since you like coffee so much, might be your new favorite flavor.”

   He huffs out a laugh. “Well, looks like that’s what I’m gonna have to get. Let’s see what other recommendations you have for me.”

   As you lean against the window, you place the back of your hand over your mouth to cover the blush that's building in your cheeks. Who knew this is where you’d be in the middle of Wednesday afternoon this time of year? In a truck, wearing Joel’s flannel, getting ice cream, being free of your captors… And all you can smell is the fresh woodsy scent of him surrounding you.

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[sawyerslvt]

His Pretty Girl | Johnny Slaughter (TCM)

Summary: You and Johnny spend some alone time together at the slaughterhouse while the whole family is away. You get to have both sweet, fluffy moments but also rough sex :) Word Count: 3,584 Warnings: MDNI, smut, sex, fluffy Johnny, overstimulation, age gap

‘There you go… just like that pretty girl’

His rough and calloused hands travel the sides of your waist as you unbutton your blouse. You're surprised by the soft and gentle touch he’s able to provide, considering the state of his hands. Cuts and scars scattered all around, covering his big hands. 

You don't break his eye contact as you slowly reveal your plump breasts, button for button, making him hitch his breath in anticipation. His eyes are glued to you as you slowly undress yourself. They travel all over. From your eyes, to your breast, your waist, your swollen lips… oh, especially those lips. Johnny can never get enough of those. He had spent a long time sucking on them earlier. Kissing has never been as good as it is with Johnny. He takes his time, it's not something he does in passing. Kissing has its own full sessions, deep, wet, sloppy and passionate. It never fails to leave you in a pool of your soaking wet mess. Your pussy begging to be filled with his thick and experienced fingers.

You make sure to make slow work of your undressing. This part was usually something Johnny would take care of but he’s letting you go at your own pace. The patience the man has managed to build with a woman like you is unbelievable. The way he snaps and barks at any- one or thing, no one would ever believe you if you told them how smitten he is, when the topic is you. Still you see the pain behind his eyes as he clenches his hands around your waist trying to keep his cool. This slow shit you’re pulling has got to be the cruelest form of torture that this slaughterhouse has seen. And that says a lot considering this was the slaughterhouse belonging to the Slaughter family. 

‘you’re killing me darlin, please pretty baby. let me do it’ You smile. An annoyingly, adorable smug expression that tugs at Johnny’s heartstrings. God, you're too much, you're lucky he’s managed to build that patience with you, but lord knows, it's about to crumble down with the way you are looking at him right now. 

‘mmh mmh’ You shake your head as you deny his request. You don't finish unbuttoning all the way, just enough to have your soft upper breast be visible, enough to drive any man wild. You get close to his face, conning him into thinking you're gonna crash your lips into his, but instead you place your small and delicate hands on his hard chest and push him down on the worn down mattress. Your breast recoils as you land on top of him, while his back crashes into the soft surface below you. His hands are quick to find their way to your ass, cupping it as your barely clothed body lay over his bare torso. You let out something between a giggle and a moan. Johnny bucks his hips under you, making you aware of his growing erection under his tight jeans. 

‘you feel that my love? Do you understand what you do to me huh? Let me see…’ He glances at the blouse you're wearing. ‘take this off for me and i’ll take care of the rest little one.’ His voice is that low and deep one you’ve learned means don’t fight me. That's the same tone he uses to carefully make you realize that your games are done for, and it's time to listen to your Johnny. 

‘uh… s-so i was thinking… that… m-maybe I could be in charge this time?’ Johnny smirks and raises an eyebrow at the lack of confidence in the voice of someone wanting to take charge. He lets out a small chuckle and you can't help but look down and blush at him making fun of you. ’How could I possibly resist that sweet face, doll?’ He moves around under you to get more comfortable, his cock trying desperately to pierce through the thick fabric to kiss your pussy with his tip. He places both his hands behind his head and gives you a cocky smirk. ‘Give it your best shot princess.’

You didn't expect him to fold so easily. That's all you had to do? Just ask? Not that you had any complaints regarding how he dealt with you before but sometimes it's nice to feel like you're in control. You shuffle around in his crotch, digging your aching pussy deeper into his big bulge. You make sure to drag your hands over his chest as you slowly make your way closer to his face. This time, actually placing your soft lips on his. You moan slightly as you come in contact with his lips, he grunts in response. The man was a natural, you've never met someone that had the rhythm Johnny possessed. He’s truly one of a kind. You cup his face with both hands as you deepen the kiss. It's already so desperate and you haven't even gotten started yet. 

You break the kiss to unbutton your blouse the rest of the way. This time, not in a slow fashion at all. You're suddenly impatient to feel Johnny's rough hands caress your bare skin. He knows you well enough to already have his hands touch and travel your belly and breasts before you even finish taking the blouse off. Once it's off, his hands find their way to your bra clasp and in one swift motion, it unclips and your breasts jiggle as they get let loose. He lets out a low and desperate grunt at the view presented to him, you sitting on his now pulsing and aching cock, topless, and ready to be fucked dumb. 

You swing your leg over and get off his crotch and sit with your hands laid on your knees. He watches you curiously and honestly… you've never really been in charge before, you're not sure what to do next. Johnny goes from having his hands behind his head, to now leaning on his elbows. He gets that you've already hit a fat wall at the ‘taking charge’ thing you made a fuss about. He gives you a quick nod of the head, pointing at his bulge. A quiet ‘oh’ escapes your lips at the realization. You smile to yourself, a little embarrassed you couldn't figure that much out. 

You fidget with his zipper with your mouth slightly agape, preparing for his size. This is far from your first time doing this but somehow it suddenly feels like it. As soon as you manage to unzip and wiggle his beautifully tight wrangler jeans off his bulge, his cock springs out as if it was suffocating and finally comes up for air. You’ve been with Johnny for a long time now, he took a liking to you immediately and you got promoted from helpless victim- to plaything- to wife in the blink of an eye. You've seen his cock more times that you can count but it will forever shock you like it's the first time. It’s massive, you didn't even know they come in this size. You swear, you see his hard cock pulsing. His veins look like they're about to burst. You quickly bring both your hands to wrap around his girth like you're protecting him from exploding.

‘yes just like that darlin, you're doing so good.’ His voice is so smooth and it makes your hands automatically rub his length to make him praise you more, his pride for you is addictive. Up and down, slowly, up and down as you make sure to hold a fairly tight grip of his sensitive cock. You watch as you see the tight skin of his circumcised penis move with your hands. You stroke a finger over his tip and feel his pre-cum leaking out, wet and sticky for you.

You tap it and pull away to see it create a string of cum between your finger and his sore tip. ‘fuckkk.’ He lets his head fall behind him and as he does, you bring your lips to his swollen peak. He quickly brings his head back once he realizes what you've done. You suck to build pressure and then circle your tongue around his tip. Playing with it, teasing and tasting his cum. You let out a quiet moan before you let your lips sink deeper down his shaft. You hear him gasp as he positions himself to only lean on one elbow to use his other hand to grab the back of your head. His hand is so big, it almost engulfs your whole head as it follows the movement of your head. Up and down, as your mouth slowly fills with more and more saliva to lube it up and make it easier to slide. ‘fuckkk you're being such a good girl for me princess.’

He continues watching you with his head tilted, you look back at him with your glossy doe eyes, having gone a little too far down, making your eyes water. ‘my sweet angel, am I too much for you?’ You shake your head, with his cock still filling your entire mouth. You manage to let out a small ‘nuh uh’ to emphasize how you wouldn't have it any other way… though it just comes out as a moan anyways. ‘good, I wouldn't want to hurt that pretty little mouth of yours.’ 

Your pussy is so wet… too wet to not do something about it. And as you've been put in charge, you decide to do something about it. You slowly and tightly come off Johnny's massive tip, making a quiet pop sound as your lips disconnect. ‘don’t take this the wrong way, sweet thing.’ Johnny quickly gets up and before you know it, he has his hand wrapped around your throat, pinning you down on the mattress. He pushes your throat into it, making your whole body sink into the soft cushion. You're wearing a skirt with cute pink lace panties beneath. His big and toned body casts a dark shadow over you as he slides your panties down your legs.

He licks his fingers and brings them to slide between your folds, assessing how wet you are. You are very much ready for him. ‘you were doing such a good job little one.’ He pushes two fingers into your sore hole. ‘but you were taking too long. Now I might have to get disrespectful’ He slides in and out of you and you arch your back and gasp. ‘stay still for me.’ He increases his speed and forces his fingers harder into you. It was already difficult to stay still a second ago, now, it's impossible. You feel his hand tighten around your throat, a warning for disobeying his command. You use all your power to stay still and you miraculously manage to stay still. ‘thats my good girl. you like that?’ his voice is so deep, you feel yourself drowning in it. ‘y-yes… johnny… m-more.’ He smirks as he looks down at you. ‘you want more? what’s the magic word sweetheart?’ He has a massive grin but his eyes are narrowed, you wonder if his victims get that same expression, you can't help but feel a small wave of jealousy wash over you. ‘p-please Johnny. I want more of you.’

He lets go of your throat and pulls his fingers out of your pussy. He licks them clean as he looks you in the eyes. You’re breathless from just watching him, causing you to bite your lips. His dick is still wet from your saliva as it hangs outside of his jeans. They’re still partially on so he pulls them completely off, leaving him fully naked. It's the perfect time of evening for the sunset to find his scar scattered body through the windows and kiss his soft skin. It's like the gods did that just for you and you send a quick thank you prayer back for providing you this perfect view. He looks so majestic in the warm sunlight. His toned body creating shadows in every crease, making his abs stand out more, his chest and his V-line pointing to his erect cock, reminding you of why you're laying there in the first place. 

He starts stroking his dick, its making wonderful sloppy sounds as his hands use your saliva to rub himself. ‘you’re all mine, aren't you?’ He starts placing himself closer to you. He slides his soft and plump tip through your folds, and over your red and swollen clit. ‘yes johnny, I'm all yours.’ He puts more pressure over your clit with his tip, pushing harder and harder. ‘oh yeah?.’ His eyes are laser focusing on how your pussy lips unfold and open up for him and he pushes himself on your clit. 'I'm all yours.’ You repeat, god, you're so weak and impatient to feel him fill you up already. 

Without any warning he pushes his cock deep inside you. You let out a loud moan, bordering on a scream as you feel how his thick cock presses up on the walls surrounding it. Johnny's dick fits you like a glove, tighter even. You were already so wet but he’s so big that it's still difficult to adjust to his size. He stays still inside you and gets closer to you with his face, placing a gentle kiss on the side of your ribs. ‘are you my princess?’ He slowly makes his way up your body. He places another kiss on top of your breast. ‘my doll?’ Another one on your collar bone. ‘my pretty girl?’ and one last one on your lips. ‘my love?’

He starts moving around inside you. Slowly sliding in and out. It starts off very subtle but the wetter you get, the more drastic his movements get. He lets out the most wonderful groan as he feels how wet you get. ‘fuckkk, you're being such a good girl, you’re taking me so well.’ He’s now pounding into you, deep but careful. His movements getting more and more erratic as you clenching around his cock is too much for him to stay gentle, which he had originally planned. Loving, gentle and passionate sex is something he cherishes a lot, especially and only with you. But the ‘Johnny’ in him loves it rough, disrespectful and intense. He pulls out briefly to place your knees over his shoulders. He gives you a quick peck on the lips as a pre-apology for how he’s gonna destroy your pussy in the coming minutes. 

He pushes his length back in and lets out a loud and animalistic grunt. This time he doesn't bother starting gently. He looks into your eyes and it's the pure hunger of a hunter. He’s the wolf and you're the helpless little bunny being in the wrong place at the wrong time, except you’re far from in the ‘wrong place’. You couldn't dream of being in a more right place. He’s drilling into you, hard and deep. It's so intense, you feel how his balls slap your ass with every deep thrust and the tip of his cock piercing your womb with every push. You feel so full of him, your heart, body, mind and soul is so full of him. You can hardly call them yours. You mean it when you say that you belong to Johnny. You really do, and you forever will. 

You moan and gasp with every thrust. The deeper pounds deserving of loud screams. Johnny does the same. His deep voice producing the sexiest noises a man could possibly make. His groans and grunts sound even better, knowing that they’re for your ears only. And that you're the one causing them. You're lucky the whole family is away and that the slaughterhouse is located in the middle of nowhere. You're convinced your screams could be heard from miles away.

‘i know baby, i know.’ But he makes no attempt at slowing down. ‘fucckk darlin. the things you do to me.’ He gets close to your face and gives you a sloppy kiss. His tongue explores the inside of your mouth and you can hardly kiss him back. Only being able to give him whines.

‘j-johnny… i-m gonna c-cum pl-please.’ You feel how you’ve been fucked all the way dumb, you can barely speak and your ability to think was gone long ago. ‘hold it for me pretty girl, just a little longer.’ He speaks with such sweetness, you wouldn't think he was inside of you, rearranging your guts, almost killing you with the force of every thrust he pushes into you. 

It's impossible to ask that of you, to ‘hold it a little while longer’. You cum on his cock but you try hiding it behind your expression and suppress your moans as much as you can.

‘did you cum?’ Johnny immediately knows and you wonder if he's a wizard. ‘...no.’ You lie, decently convincing if you say so yourself. ‘silly girl, I feel how you’re pulsating and clenching around my cock right now.’ He stays still inside you but is looking deep in your eyes waiting for a response. ‘i-i’m sorry johnny. I couldn't do it.’ You look up at him with the biggest and sweetest puppy eyes you can possibly give. They usually work… usually. By the look he’s giving you right now, you know this isn't one of those usual times. 

‘of course you could do it, if you needed help, you should've told me. what have I said about us using our words?’ His voice is so deep and masculine, it makes your whole body shiver to be on the receiving end of his scolding. ‘i-i know johnny, im s-sorry.’ Your voice is weak, partially because of how he’s scolding you, and partially cause he’s fully fucked your brains out so that your whole body is just jelly. ‘that's not enough sweet thing. I'm gonna have to teach you a thing or two.’ 

He shoves his dick back into your pussy and the overstimulation feels like it could actually kill you. You just came and everything is sore and sensitive. From your walls, to your clit, your entire hole. Your poor tight and abused little pussy. It's too much. ‘j-johnny!!!’ You scream as loud as you can with the limited amount of oxygen in your lungs. ‘shhh my love, it’s almost over. Remember this feeling next time you try being slick.’ He somehow increases his speed and force, you thought he was already at his peak but the man is a tank, there is always more to come. ‘fucckkk princess, you want me to cum in this tight little pussy? hmm?’ He’s breathless from fucking you so hard. ‘do you sweetheart?’ You can tell he’s only seconds away, and fuck, you can’t wait. ‘y-yes johnny. please cum inside me.’ Right as you finish your sentence, you feel his hot cum fill you up. It shoots far and deep inside of you. His pretty and white cum mixing with yours and spilling out of your abused cunt.

You shake and flinch as he pulls out. Johnny takes notice of your sudden movements and brings his right hand to cup your face, making a U shape with his hand. ‘my sweet angel… did mean ol’ johnny go to far?’ He has a sweet but mocking tone in his voice. You slowly nod your head… he didn't go too far, he could never. He’s insanely good at reading you but you would be a liar if you said it wasn't intense and overstimulating. ‘come here sweetheart. Show me where it hurts and I'll make it go away.’ He grabs your hand and singles out your index finger to hold it in front of you. You bring your hand to your pussy to point at it. He chuckles and you see his dick jerk a little. ‘alright pretty girl.’ 

He spreads your legs and places his face between them. You gasp and you fear what he’s about to do next. He's actually gonna be the death of you. Tonight, right now, right here. You flinch when you feel cool air being blown on your wet cunt. He’s blowing at the entire area around your abused pussy and as much as it feels different, there is actually a very relieving feeling. Your Johnny always knows how to make everything better. He spreads your lips and continues blowing. It feels way cooler and more intense this way. This time, you also feel it on your clit, everything cooling down and a big wave of relief hits you. Before he comes back up, he gives your pussy a little kiss as a sorry for what he put her through. If she could talk, all she would say is thank you, for everything, all of it. 

He comes back up and gives you a kiss on the forehead. 'Better?' He asks curiously. 'Better.' You answer confidently. He lays down next to you and pulls you in for a hug. He holds you in his big embrace. His arms, big and strong, not a thing in the world could hurt you when Johnny is around. You love him so much it hurts. He gives you more kisses, covering your forehead as he holds you, letting his hands travel all over your body. You feel whole… safe and loved as you drift into a deep sleep in Johnny’s arms. 

♡link♡

credit for dividers: @anitalenia @v6que <3

[captain039]

PART 7 LAST PART Unconventional Alpha

Alpha!Viktor x omega!reader

Warnings: Heats, suppressants, AOB, light swearing, Viktor’s not dying but still disabled, reader has chronic pain, plus size reader, nesting, Older Viktor, Professor Viktor, artistic reader, age gap reader is in their 20s +, smut?, oral f receiving

Previous part <-

It’s a routine eventually, he gets up, makes you breakfast of simple toast and butter, brings you your meds before lying back down in your nest. He simply holds you during these times, his fingers gently detangling your hair his other hand resting on your hip or waist. He sleeps with you at night, his long lean body wrapped around your bigger frame. Your heat isn’t as bad now, probably having an alpha close pretty much 24/7 has done its trick. By the seventh day you feel better, you don’t sweat as much, the need goes to a simmer and your flare up goes down. You shower properly, feel better about yourself and even do some art out in your small lounge area of your dorm room. Viktor goes back to his work once he sees you up and about, catching up assignments and whatever else professors do no doubt. By the tenth day you’re fine, your heat is gone, you feel different though, calmer with Viktor around like he was always meant to be there. Being off your suppressants too makes you feel more like yourself, rather than suppressing your omega nature. Viktor goes back to class on the eleventh day as do you, you hope to avoid any rumours or anything but highly doubt that nobody didn’t talk. So you keep a low profile, not that your profile wasn’t low anyway, you just make it extra low. You go back to the doctors and Dr Marion confirms you’re in the clear and able to take your suppressants again as long as you don’t double dose again, which you will not. You sit in the cafeteria around lunch, earphones in as you listen to some music. You notice a small band approaching though and frown a bit hoping their walking past with no such luck. You take your earphones out.

“Hi?” You say.

“What’s it like to fuck a professor?” You almost joke on your food at the blunt question and feel your embarrassment rise up.

“I didn’t- do that” you say, who even was this woman?

“That’s why Professor Viktor was in your dorm for eleven days huh? You smell fresh out of heat too” she crosses her arms over her chest.

“I-“ you didn’t think this far ahead.

“You should leave before I decide to make you all fail my class” You tense up a bit at the sound of Professor Talis behind you and glance back to him briefly. The students walk off though and you sigh.

“Y/n? Right?” He gives you a smile.

“Yeah” you answer.

“Can I sit?” He asks and you nod. Great now two Professors that aren’t yours are suddenly talking to you in the cafeteria.

“How you feeling?” He asks and you tense up at the question.

“I just meant your overall well being I wasn’t-“ You watch as Professor Talis stammers over his words and goes a shade of red over his tan skin.

“I’m ok” you nod and he sighs in relief nodding.

“That’s good” he smiles.

“Viktor’s caught up in some meetings for the day” he explains as he starts to eat his lunch.

“Oh, thanks for letting me know” you say nodding picking at your food feeling awkward.

“I’m making you uncomfortable” he says.

“No- it’s ok” you say.

“No, it’s not, two professors that aren’t yours talking to you in cafeteria puts a target on your back for rumours” he smiles gently and you nod not sure how to answer.

“In all honesty I’m an admirer of your art too, I’ve seen it in the academy gallery” he says and you perk up.

“Really?” You ask and he nods smiling.

“Yeah it’s amazing, and the one in the council room? I could never paint like that” he chuckles and you feel a smile on your lips.

“Just practice” you shrug.

“No, you’re hell of an artist, like seriously talented” he says and you feel warm at the praise. It’s been hard to accept praises from people about your art, always looking at it and finding mistakes in tiny details.

“Well you’re a seriously talented inventor” you chuckle and he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly with a cute smile.

“Only sometimes” he grins. You feel at ease as you talk more, Professor Talis going on about your art work like a fan boy it makes you smile having only seen him as this super smart tough inventor who invented a hextech hammer and gauntlets. You loose track of time before his watch buzzes.

“Shit” he says standing up abruptly.

“Sorry, I gotta go I’m late to my own damn class” he says and you laugh waving him goodbye as he rushes.

You return to your own art class for the day lost in the strokes of the brush before you realise it’s late. Your stomach grumbles for food as you stand and you glance to the clock before heading to the cafeteria. Your heart rate increases a bit seeing a familiar figure there sitting down at your table. You grab a tray of food before walking over.

“Can I sit?” You ask watching the alpha lift his head a small smile on his face as he nods.

“Was starting to think you weren’t coming” he says as you sit down.

“And miss dinner? Who do you take me for?” You tease and he chuckled softly.

“Of course” he says. You look at him for a bit before you look at your food and start eating it.

“Professor Talis sat with me at lunch today” you say.

“Jayce did?” Viktor says frowning a bit and you nod.

“Had a rather blunt rumour of me uh fucking a professor and Professor Talis said he’d fail them all if they didn’t leave” Viktor’s frown narrows.

“I didn’t say anything - if you’re wondering I haven’t-“ you trail off stuttering a bit.

“I know you didn’t, I’m just-” he sighs.

“You’d think in a place such as the academy silly rumours would be a thing of the past where people used their damned brains for once” he sneers a bit and you smile.

“Damned brains huh?” You say and he looks to you his frown softening.

“Indeed” he smiles.

“I’m sorry if I caused any problems” you say poking your food with your fork.

“Look at me” he says and you do.

“I don’t care what anyone says, they want to talk let them, you needed me in a vulnerable time and I’m happy you trusted me, any alpha would’ve been privileged to-“ he frowns a bit suddenly.

“What?” You ask quietly.

“Would you like to go on a date?” He says his eyes staring into yours and you forget how to breathe.

“A date?” You ask and he nods.

“Like a date, date? Outside the academy?” You continue.

“Yes” he says.

“You want to go on a date with me?” I smiled a bit and leans forward.

“Yes Miss Y/n Y/l/n I would like to go on a date with you” he says softly.

“Why?” You blurt stupidly.

“Because the thought of you finding another alpha makes me want to use my cane for violence than aid” he says seriously and you burst out laughing at the sudden imagery of him attacking someone with his cane.

“And I do enjoy seeing you laugh” he says more softly and you feel your cheeks warm.

“I also do love enjoying being the one who makes those pretty cheeks of yours go red” he says voice dropping lower making you warmer.

“I could go on, however….” he trails off and smirks and you see the cockiness in it making you glare at him.

“I want to be the only one buried between those gorgeous thighs of yours” he whispers and he’s right you’re no doubt red as a tomato. You reach over and slap him and he smiles taking your hand in his instead, his fingers gently running over your hand.

“But I am serious, the thought of another alpha with you, staying with you in that time made me realise I want you, and I’m hoping you want me too” he says his voice soft as he gently caresses your hand.

“So, will you go out on a date with me?” He repeats and you nod. He smiles brightly, full teethed and natural, you see his slightly crooked teeth as he lifts your hand to his mouth and he kisses your knuckles.

Taglist:

I hope you enjoyed this story!

@imithicwolf

@donnie-is-here

@justmoniesworld

@sseleniaa

@charliepoopyfart

@fuckisthatahotghost

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Immortality

A random thought about immortality being viewed as a curse and blessing caused this fic to be born.

Summary: You decide to tell Astarion about your immortality (immortal!Tav x Astarion)

Immortality has always been a curse for you. Watching the ones you love grow old and die for countless years has long since taken its toll on you, and to top it all off your body refuses to die. You know there's a difference between immortality and invulnerability, but with the years comes the skill of staying alive, a skill your body has honed all too well. You're not invulnerable, but you're not easily killed either, and that hasn't been working in your favour, not when you're so tired of living.

Others never suspected a thing, not when you charged into the fray, unafraid of dying. They commend you on your valour, reward you for your bravery while you curse your inability to die. It would be easy, yes, to just roll over and die or do one of those 'self-sacrifice' ploys but something within you just refused to do so.

As time went on, you built wall after wall around you, afraid of the pain that losing loved ones brings until you no longer remember what it's like to care about someone. You're fine with it, apathy makes it easier to go through life and the years past by in a blur until one day, you're taken by mind flayers and a tadpole is inserted into your eye.

It's been a while since you escaped the mind flayer ship. You've gained companions for the journey, others who too have a tadpole in their eye and seek to be rid of it and you know they've grown closer to one another, whether they want to admit it or not. You, meanwhile, have continued to maintain your distance, quickly shutting down any talk of your past and changing the subject. The others back off easily, but not a certain vampire spawn, who insists on uncovering more about you.

"Will you quit it?" You snap, downing yet another bottle of wine.

"There's something you're not telling us, and I'd quite like to know what we're dealing with," he frowns, snatching the bottle out of your hands before you can get yourself drunker.

"Says the one who refused to tell anyone that they are a vampire," you spit back, trying and failing to grab the bottle.

"I had my reasons!"

"So do I!"

Astarion sighs, finishing the bottle of wine much to your dismay and tosses the bottle behind him. "I know that look in your eyes all too well, I've seen it many times before. You want to die, don't you?"

You freeze, gaze narrowing at the vampire. "What did you say?"

"Whatever you've been through, it makes you want to die but you can't. I…know the feeling all too well."

"Shut up." You hate how you're not immune to the vampire's charm, no matter how hard you try. You've journeyed with him, grown fond of him against all odds, and he's been chipping away at your walls. The night after the encounter with Araj had been the last straw and he had let you into his heart, displaying his vulnerability before you. In turn, you had let him in a little more, wondering if it would be alright to tell another immortal your greatest secret.

Astarion wouldn't leave you like all the other had, would he? He was immortal too, being a vampire spawn, so there wasn't the fear of losing him to old age, but there was still that fear of being left behind, left alone.

"Darling I —"

"I said, shut up!" You whirl around, spit flying from your mouth. "I don't want to talk about it, and don't presume yourself so high and mighty that you can tell me what to do!"

"I didn't tell you what to do!" He shouts back, confused at the fire your words had lit in him. "You're not the only one who wonders why they have to live a life of suffering, you're not the only one who's wondered why they continue to live while everyone else dies! So stop thinking yourself special!"

Shocked at his outburst, you take a step towards him, and then realise your hand is raised, ready to hit him. His hands are covering his face, peering at you between the gaps in fear. Quickly, you lower your hand, turning away.

"Sorry," you mumble, face turning hot from shame. You'd nearly hit him, the one you'd let into your walls, the one you'd promised to keep safe.

Astarion forces himself to take a step towards you, despite his instincts screaming at him to back away, to cower in fear, and places a shaky hand in yours.

"You should leave." Your voice is quiet, barely a whisper. "We should break up, before I hurt you further."

"You haven't hurt me, and I trust you not to." He gives your hand a squeeze. "I pushed you too far, I'm sorry."

Letting out a deep sigh, you let him continue to hold your hand and turn to face him. "Star, there's something I need to tell you. I…I'm immortal."

There. It's out now. All that's left is to see his reaction.

His silence causes your heart to plummet and you remove your hand from his, heading in the direction of the camp. You shouldn't have said anything. Of course he'd abandon you after finding out your secret, everyone else did too. Now it's just a question of when he'd betray you.

"Wait, darling!" He lurches forward, grabbing your arm before you can take another step. "I — thank you, for trusting me with this secret. Knowing, well, what you are doesn't change a thing, just like how finding out I'm a vampire spawn didn't change anything between us. It would be hypocritical of me to do otherwise."

He laughs nervously, struggling to find the right words to say. Damn his inability to say something genuine without being sarcastic.

"You…still want me? Despite this curse of immortality I have?" You ask breathlessly, confused and relieved.

"Of course! Us immortals have to stick together, you know. I — I'm relieved, honestly, to learn that you're immortal. I was worried about the lifespan difference between us but now," he laughs, "now I don't have to worry about it anymore. I'm delighted, really!"

You give him a small smile, a victory in his eyes, before gripping his hand tightly. "I'm glad you feel that way. I was afraid you'd…leave me, or worse, betray me like so many did before. To know that you're willing to remain by my side and continue whatever it is we have, I…I'm grateful."

Astarion smiles back, pulling you into a hug which you return, burying your face into his shoulder. You let your walls drop fully, just for tonight in the privacy of the moment and lay your heart bare before him. He cradles you in his arms, enveloping you in his embrace and the two of you remain like that for a while, holding each other's broken pieces together until you drift off, tired from the day's events.

"I'm never leaving your side, Y/N. I promise. I'll kill anyone who tries to betray you, anyone who dares to hurt you. I'll protect you, be there for you until you no longer see immortality as a curse, and then I'll continue to be by your side for all eternity." He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against yours.

"I'm yours, forever."

[tightjeansjavi]

knead

A/N: so after rewatching Narcos all weekend and staring at the screen with big ole heart eyes for the infamous Javier Peña, I decided that he, like Joel, deserves nice things 🤍

~word count: 1.2k~

Summary: Javier Peña desperately needs a fucking break and to be kinder to himself <3

Pairing | Javier Peña x f!reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of guns, cigarettes, implied death(s) due to an unsuccessful raid, established relationship, fluff, hurt and comfort, Javi is incredibly hard on himself, takes place during season 3 of Narcos, both Javi and the reader speak Spanish, reader has no physical descriptions, no age gap, +18 minors dni!

Lo entiendo, hermano. - I understand, brother.

No lo entiendes, hermano. Nadie lo entiende - You don’t understand, brother. No one does.

No tienes que esperarme despierta todas las noches, querida. Tu sueño es importante también, cariño. - You don’t have to wait up for me every night, querida. Your sleep is important too, baby.

Jav, yo quiero asegurarme de que has llegado bien a casa. - Jav, I always want to make sure you’re home safe

Javi, No tienes que disculparte por nada. Por favor, mi amor. - Javi, please don’t apologize for this. Please, my love.

Siempre tan bueno conmigo - Always good to me

Te quiero con todo lo que pueda ofrecerte, cariño - I love you with everything that I have to offer, cariño

Te quiero más a ti, Jav - I love you most, Jav.

When he comes home, he’s still in his olive green tac vest. His hair is strewn about in a sweaty mess across his face. He reeks of gunpowder, stale tobacco, and disappointment. It drips from his pores and lands in a puddle at his shoes, once shiny, now dull, scuffed and speckled in blood. A failed raid. Innocence lost, and disappointment. So much fucking dissapointment that swallows Javier Peña alive.

An anonymous tip leading to more fucking bloodshed. So much for things being done differently this time around.

A hero? Hardly.

Javier doesn’t feel like a hero. Not when all he’s done is failed over, and over again.

We’ll get them next time, Javier.

Will we?

Of course. You know the Cali Cartel like it’s the back of your hand, Peña. We’re this much closer to bringing them to justice.

Justice? He laughs. If there was any justice in this world, I would be in fucking jail right now.

Lo entiendo, hermano.

Javier laughs, voice rasped in bitterness. He swings his keys around on his pointer finger, jaw ticked, muscles aching beneath the sweat stained fabric of his shirt.

No lo entiendes, hermano. Nadie lo entiende. Javier responds coldly and unlocks his car door before climbing into the driver seat.

He thinks hard on his failure the entire drive home. He doesn’t listen to the radio. He sits in silence, puffing away on a stress cigarette even though he swore he was trying to quit.

In the lowlight from the hallway, Javier is able to make out your sleeping mass under the colorful patterned quilt on his couch. He swings the door shut softly behind him and quietly locks it.

His back and shoulders are tense, aching with each step he takes. Another jab and painful reminder of his failure tonight.

Despite Javier’s protests, you always wait for him to return home. He appreciates this more than you realize. It’s his one sense of comfort that he feels he’s undeserving of.

No tienes que esperarme despierta todas las noches, querida. Tu sueño es importante también, corazón.

Jav, yo quiero asegurarme de que has llegado bien a casa.

The worn couch cushions gradually press down from the weight of his body as he slowly sits down in the unoccupied space between your covered feet. He winces when he feels that annoying pinch in his lower back and brings his hands over his face, dragging them down over his alquine nose with a heavy sigh. He pulls out his gun, badge, cigarettes, and lighter. He tosses them onto the coffee table and leans back just as you begin to stir awake from the sound.

“Jav?” You murmur softly and subconsciously reach for him over the blanket.

“Its me, cariño.” He rasps. His hand reaches towards you in the dark, finding you soon after. He laces his fingers through yours.

“Are you okay?” You ask softly, sitting up and facing him.

“No. I’m not okay.” He admits.

“What happened?”

He looks over at you through the darkness and shrugs his shoulders. “What didn’t happen.” He clarifies. His thumb skates across the back of your hand gently.

“Do you want to talk about it?..”

“No. I just..I’m tired, querida. I’m tired of failing all the fucking time.” He sounds exhausted. You know just how much his job truly weighs on him.

“Javier, my love, you are not failing all the time. You aren’t. No one thinks that you are a failure, Jav.”

He makes a snuffling sound through his nose that comes across more like a scoff. His movements cease when he feels your freehand grasp his jaw and pull him in close. Even in the dark, your eyes are soft, gentle, and laced with concern.

“Everyone tells me that I’m a hero, cariño. I’m not a hero. I’ve never been a hero.”

“Javi, you don’t have to be a hero. People mean well with their words. I know they do, but you have to try and not let it get to you this much. Okay? Javier, you have one of the toughest jobs out there. No one but yourself is going to understand how you feel. Whatever happened tonight, does not make you a terrible person, or a failure. You’re doing everything you can to take down the Cali Cartel.” You reassure him.

“I feel like I have to be the hero. Javier Peña, the dashing DEA agent that took down Pablo Escobar.” He laughed. “Cariño, I was told that this time things would be different, but they were wrong. Everytime I try to ensure that innocent lives won’t be lost, someone gets caught in a crossfire. A civilian. A child. An unsuspecting bystander. It weighs on me. It fucking weighs on me more than I’m willing to admit.” He said in an exasperated tone.

You saw the tears begin to brew along his waterline before he even realized he was crying. You detected the strain in his voice, and sprung into action. Your hand dropped from his face only to then pull him into a hug with your hand gently cradling the back of his head and your fingers slipping through his hair, nails scratching his scalp gently in hopes to soothe him.

His arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his lap so he could be closer to you. His warm palms slid under the thin fabric of your shirt along your lower back and he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry.” He sniffled. “I don’t want you to see me like this, cariño.”

“Javi, No tienes que disculparte por nada. Por favor, mi amor.”

“You’re so good to me.” He kisses the exposed skin on your neck, the tips of his mustache tickles you as you hug him tightly, rubbing your hands up and down his back and shoulders in a soothing motion.

“And you’re good to me, Javier. Siempre tan bueno conmigo.”

He nuzzles you affectionately, wishing he could crawl inside of you and live there forever. “Cariño, can you do something for me?” He asks softly, dragging his lips across your skin once more.

“Anything, Jav.”

“My back and shoulders are fucking killing me. Can you—” you cut him off before he even has a chance to finish his sentence.

“Of course I can.”

He breathes a sigh of relief through his nose “Gracias, cariño”

He slowly drops his arms from around your waist so he can remove his shirt. He undos each button with meticulous precision and slowly slides the fabric down from his forearms. He lays his shirt along the side of the couch while you slide into the space behind him, with your thighs wrapping around his torso. He leans back into your touch, lashes fluttering shut when your hands work their way up from his lower back, kneading the tender strained muscles there.

You work your way upwards and pay close attention to the areas where he’s feeling the most pain. He murmurs praises in both Spanish and English under his breath when you slowly and delicately work through a particular nasty knot between his shoulder blades.

Your gentle, yet firm touch sends the DEA agent into a state of bliss, and he’s putty in your hands in no time.

Your chin comes to rest along the crook of his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss along his jawline. He hums and tilts his head to the side, finding your lips in a gentle kiss. A thank you. An I love you, and an I appreciate you can be tasted through the kiss. He rests his hands along your thighs that are wrapped around him, gently kneading the soft flesh with his strong, yet gentle hands.

“Te quiero con todo lo que pueda ofrecerte, cariño”

You smile against his lips, kissing him deeper while your fingers gently brush through the wispy tendrils of hair along his forehead.

“Te quiero yo más, Jav.”

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[furiouskettle]

random Look Outside character headcanons/opinions

(may be incorrect cause ive just been watching playthroughs. going off of the info i got from that which may be missing some parts.)

body horror talk, spoilers from all over the game and ending under the cut.

Sam

I love sam. hes just nice (potentially a pushover) and a dork. HES JUST A GUY!!!! i love that the game gives him time to show you how he’s processing his/your actions?

Really funny to me that him being unemployed is part of the reason he’s the protagonist. Can’t become a monster if you don’t have to go outside.

Am curious why he isn't working at the grocery store (if he did work there). did he leave or get fired?

OW losing an arm has GOTTA HURT. i cast pain upon this man.

his hair is just Like That no matter what he does

Joel

mY SWEET BABY BOYYYY i want to see him grow up big and strong (not too big and strong considering the everything but you get the idea).

looks like he has some form of "vision" post-mutation?? he doesnt seem to have any issue playing video games so i opt that he can “see”, just not very well. it’s short range and fuzzy. might be more of a feeling of his surroundings than real vision? whatever it is, it's good enough to play super jump lad.

I also HC that he’d developed shortsightedness when he had eyes, just that nobody had noticed yet that he’s squinting at things more than he should…

I think his biting/devouring is involuntary when he’s agitated. thankfully it hasn’t come to him biting any friends so far!

get this boy some popsicle sticks to gnaw on. not even for tooth reasons. eight year olds just love chewing on popsicle sticks. (preferably after popsicle has been consumed)

Apart from not fully understanding everything going on due to his age, he seems a bit dazed from the mutation and probably has brain fog for a few days after, which is Definitely not helping sam with the Oh My God this kid doesnt know his parents are dead. OH GOD I KILLED THIS KID'S PARENTS AND I HAVE STOLEN HIM AWAY

oddly chill with losing teeth. has taken some of his baby teeth out by himself! gives joel my childhood trait of oh hey my tooth is wobbling! lemme get rid of that real quick. twist twist twist

Jeanne

i dont have much to say on her atm but she’s lovely and really doesnt deserve what happens to her. on the bright side the worst seems to be over for her?? if she’s still growing does that mean that she’s gonna have to be like “oop a new head’s budding. gotta get someone to lop that off for me before it becomes a problem.”

Lyle

FIRST OF ALL i LOVE how his design kind of references how old cameras had to be covered with fabric so the photo wouldn't fail.

i think he wore glasses when he was human! …the lenses got absorbed into his face. the camera he was holding did too. I think he didn’t own as many cameras as he ended up with. That big one he has seems specific enough that maybe that was the one he was using to snap a sky pic??? idk if he touched any other cameras after that but THAT one has gotta be the one he was holding.

idk if he finds spiders GROSS but he is definitely the kind of person to be afraid to be in the same room as one.

I think most of his legs are telescopic to some degree! he just doesnt see the need to make himself any taller than he already is, except for photography reasons.

reiterating from one of my doodle posts, i like to think his eye lenses shed over time. if you took off the lens early on an eye (via injury) it would have weak vision. built-in glasses!

I hope the soul photo thing is like a special attack thing for him that he has to set up intentionally? it feels mean to have all the photos he takes with his built in cameras be the soul-stealing kind. he does take photos by accident/involuntarily a lot but the one he takes after the kiss with sam is totally on purpose and he absolutely still has that one. concerning.

idk if he gets out of his apartment much during the Visit, but it could be that HE hasnt seen any mutations worse than his/doesnt know that sam has totally seen worse. Hence why he's trying to hide so hard from Sam (not to mention the guy is crushing HARD, he's not gonna wanna be vulnerable in front of him).

....also hideous monster or not hes naked under there. i dont blame him for wanting to stay cloaked

Xaria & Monty

oh god theyre art students. that explains SO much.

very funny to me that xaria heard a voice in her head compelling her to check out the window and decided she’s gonna be contrarian about it.

I imagine a lot of Monty’s projects are setting something on fire. shows up to class with a pile of plastic baby heads. sets them ablaze. the most important part of being an art student is the time honored tradition of bullshitting some sort of meaning that’s gonna satisfy the lecturer.

Probably decent at life drawings but he keeps burning his works. (not to mention realism doesnt appear to be his kind of style)

Xaria feels like she’d stick to slightly more traditional mediums (painting, sculpture)? a lot of surrealism, mixed media, themes of nonconformity and violence. has totally used blood in a project before. More intentional about the meaning of her art- the intention being that she wants to make people uncomfortable.

i think it’d be hilarious if they’d been binging horror movies the night before. funniest options are The Thing and Tetsuo the iron man.

Since Sam mutates into something regardless of what you do up on the roof, i’m guessing the same goes for these two if you bring them up there. cool/nasty idea for their mutation is they fuse into one being... not necessarily an idea im running with atm but fun to think abt anyway

Sybil

AGH, sybil….. i love her. she's just really nice...

I think she’s in some sort of schrödinger’s cat situation - dead and alive until observed. or maybe like a quark (particle that cannot be observed but you can see the effects of it).

it’s unclear if someone ever was next door to you, but if I recall the astronomers tell you there’s no way she’s there? (cant recall if its bc she was “dead” by then or if its the totally wrong floor.)

the game says it was a mystery what happened to sybil, but a potential course of events could be your Real Neighbour just got sucked outta their window same as what happens to you if you look and sybil THINKS shes next door to you.

I’m pretty sure she’s in all of the walls? some of her text implies that, even tho she doesnt seem to be really aware of it.

far as she knows, she's in her apartment. what's her apartment like? well, it's an apartment. it's got walls. she can see out the peephole. there's.... furniture. What else do you want?

(man. between her, the pipe lady, the water pump guy, and the boiler room the walls are CROWDED. no wonder the roaches decide to move to your place.)

The Visitor

what do i even say about it? it is, in the most direct meaning of the word, awesome. it’s unfathomably immense. it's beautiful. it's horrifying. I love that in a single eye out of infinite eyes, it sees a miniscule creature who just wants to live. Sam becomes a smaller reflection of the Visitor, and the visitor gains a fraction of what makes sam human…

I wonder, did the visitor even “exist” until witnessed? same as sybil, maybe it could have some quantum thing going on. i can’t speculate on this any more than the astronomers have.

Sam (ritual-denial)

while it’s the nicest ending possible, i still feel kinda bad for sam :( he can never be truly alone anymore, but at the same time isn’t becoming a giant god-creature kind of isolating? sure, he must grow used to it over time but MAN. WHAT AN ADJUSTMENT.

regardless, it’s nice that he decides to use his new form to take care of the world, and sounds like he probably gets some extra brain capacity to be able to do all the stuff he does. (probably a few extra mini-brains to control the different arm nodes)

I hope he gets to take time for himself too, sometimes. probably sleeps like a dolphin (switch off half the brain for a power nap)

I don't think he can do verbal communication (at least, it's gonna take him a WHILE to figure out how to talk with his feelers) but at least there's keyboards.

also its funny how he gains like a gajillion arms after potentially losing one of two.

also i love the cafe patrons and the mutants at the camp. theyre all so fun. AND MANUEL FUNKY LITTLE DUDE WITH THE JAMS.

i need to find more about the lady with the slasher mask i just know she exists.

@mtgc858 @deafeningfestivalpaper @kasprawn39 @contract-crawdad @goawaypopup @eyessss come get yer headcanons

anyway uhhhhhhh hope you found my rambling fun to read byee