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zvdvdlvr · 26 days

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Could you please write an imagine based on the episode where Greg House gives a lecture about the three cases and he's one of them (where we first see Stacy).

Reader is one of the students there, gives the correct answers, therefore grabs his attention and he offers a job and they end up dating

Thanks in advance!

chasing you ✩ gregory house

“What color is your pee?”

You watched House interrogate one of the few students that had been giving input on his three stories.

“Yellow,” she replied with a sharp tone.

“And what color is your blood?”

“Red.”

House nodded. “Yes. And what colors did I use to make this tea color?”

The female student stammers as she replies with “red, yellow, and brown.”

The man clicks his tongue. “And brown. How do we get the brown color?”

“Waste-“

“Thank means the kidneys are shutting down,” House cut in. “Why?”

“Could be damage done by the self injection. He has no history of trauma.

“Treatment?”

House’s rapidfire questions had rattled the woman, but she stiller answered. “Heat and rest-“

“Other possible causes?”

“Infection.”

House nodded. “Start him on antibiotics. What else?”

Silence filled the room. House looked around, expecting an answer. “Come on! What is it?”

“I-I don’t know,” the student admits. She looks away.

House sighs and walks down the steps. The paper with the tea color crumpled in his hand.

“You know, it’s hard to think with you in our faces,” starts the annoying student right up front.

“Yeah?” House scoffs. “You think it’s gonna be any easier with a real patient really dying?”

The guy looked down. Once again, silence reigned over the room as House prepared himself to speak. Until… you opened your mouth.

“The unknown factor would be muscle death.”

House looks up. Near the back of the auditorium by the window on the far left. A student House originally thought was uninterested. Sure, House had seen you around the hospital- practically every wide-eyed intern or student had met the witty man but he had never spoken to you.

Which was odd considering he took a little joy in making the interns and students squirm- especially the pretty ones. House was surprised he’d never even caught your name.

When House’s mouth opened and closed twice, you resumed carefully. “The dying muscle leaks myoglobin which is toxic to the kidneys. There’s your brown, Doctor.”

“Brilliant,” House murmured. He eyed you carefully as he went on. “MRI the leg. See what’s killing it.”

The Heath Ledger dupe spoke up again. “Why is the girl getting the MRI?”

“Because the neck skan revealed nothing and her doctor’s way more obsessive than she thinks she is.”

Heath tilted his head. “But you said the guy needed the MRI.”

“Because the mysteriously smart girl over there said muscle death. Not one of you came up with that. Not one of this guy’s doctors came up with it either,” he replied harshly. “They gave him bed rest and antibiotics- just like you guys would’ve.”

“Does he get better?” The female student from before asked.

House clicks his tongue. “No.”

“How long-“

“Three days.” He looks around the room, stalling when he made eye contact with you. “It is in the nature of medicine that you’re going to screw up. You are going to kill someone. If you can’t handle that reality, pick a new profession. Or finish medical school and teach.”

The female student from before spoke up. “It took three days for them to figure out about the muscle death?”

House shook his head. After heaving a sigh he answers “No, it took three days for the patient to suggest muscle death.”

“What caused the muscle pain?” You asked. “Was it- was it a clot?”

House nodded. “Don’t steal my thunder, young padawan. But… yes. A clotted aneurysm lead to an infarction in the patient’s leg.”

You nodded as House examined you intently as he went on. “After the surgery to remove the clot, the patient went in to wide complex tachycardia… The patient was technically dead for over a minute.”

“Do you think he was dead? Do you think those experiences were real?”

Every head in the room turned to the back. There stood James Wilson, leaning on the door. He looked knowingly at House, like he knew something everyone didn’t.

“Define real,” House shot back. “They were re experiences… What they meant- personally, I choose to believe that the white light people sometimes see, visions this patient saw… They’re all just chemical reactions that happen when the brain shuts down.”

“You ‘choose’ to believe that?” You ask curiously.

House’s eyes dart back over to you. “There’s no conclusive science. My choice has no practical relevance to my life,” he replies. As he starts to pace slowly around the front of the room, he proceeds. “I choose the outcome I find more comforting.”

“You find it comforting to believe that this is it?” Wilson asks accusingly.

House blinks. “I find it more comforting to believe that this isn’t simply a test.”

Everyone sat, listening closely to House’s every word. No other sounds could be heard despite House’s cane movement. He explained how, once the patient was put into a medically induced coma, his trusted proxy had made the decision to remove the dead muscle from his leg.

“Because of the extent of the muscle removed, the utility of the patient’s leg was severely compromised,” he told everyone slowly. “Because of the time delay in making the diagnosis, the patient continues to suffer chronic pain.” He tilted his head up to look at the crowd in front of him and then dropped his head to look at his hands.

“She had no right to do that,” piped up a different female student.

Heath Ledger look-alike scoffed. “She had the proxy.”

The woman argued back, “She knew he didn’t want the surgery!”

“Well, she saved his life,” Heath Ledger responded.

“We don’t know that,” the guy in the front row cut in. “Maybe he would’ve been fine.”

“Still, it’s the patient’s call!”

Heath Ledger shrugged. “Patient’s an idiot.”

“They usually are,” House agreed. “Do you have a buzzer? What time does this class end?”

This time, a mew voice answered House’s question. “20 minutes ago.”

For a moment, House looked at Cuddy with an unreadable expression. Then he clicked his tongue and stood up. “I’m not doing this again,” he informed Cuddy. “And this guy is not the world’s greatest dad- not even ranked. Who the hell let’s their kids play with lead based paint? That’s why he’s always sick. Find him some plastic cups and the class is all his again,” he told Cuddy, placing the yellow hand-painted mug in her hands. He started to walk out, but paused and hobbled back to point his cane directly at you. “Except you. Come with me.”

With haste, you gathered you books and writing utensils and shoved them into your bag. As you followed the limping man out of the classroom, you felt everyone’s eyes on you.

“I have a job for you if you want it,” House tell you finally, stopping in front of a door. “It’s tough, people lie to you every day, and we don’t even have decent coffee.”

You look from him to the door that reads ‘Gregory House M.D. - Head of Diagnostic Medicine’. “I have literally spoken to you three times. How do you know I won’t accept the job, wait until you trust me, and then steal all your money and leave?”

House paused. “Good question. Will you accept the job, wait until I trust you, and then steal all my money and leave?”

“Probably not,” you reply.

“Great!” House exclaims. “You’re hired.”

Over the course of the next few month, you had clicked immediately with Chase. You spoke passionately about different types of literature with Cameron, and joked with Foreman about anything and everything.

Your relationship with House was complicated to say the least. During your first official case, House insisted he followed you everywhere. You more than understood his hesitance to let you do tests completely on your own. But when he limped around, tracking you like a damn dog… you wondered why he still hadn’t trusted you enough.

To your fortune, Wilson had cornered you in the cafeteria as you were getting lunch. “We need to talk,” he had said before plopping down next to you.

You paused, looking up from your cafeteria spaghetti. “About what?”

“House.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

Wilson looked at you with an expectant expression. “Because I want to know what you said. Duh.”

“I think I’m missing something,” you told him. “What was I supposed to say to him? What was he supposed to say to me?”

Wilson dropped his silverware. “Are you serious? He didn’t- You don’t- What?”

“I’m lost here, Wilson,” you tell him.

Wilson looks around suspiciously before licking his lips. “So… you know how the medical gala is coming up?”

Nodding, you shove a forkful of noodles in your mouth. “Chase won’t shut up about seeing ‘all the hot babes in tight dresses’ or something,” you inform Wilson.

After guffawing over your imitation of Chase’s accent, he gets serious. “It’s in a week. Are you sure he hasn’t talked to you?”

You throw your hands up and sigh. “Just spit it out already, Wilson. I feel like a high schooler trying to get my friends tell me who they have a cute little crush on. Tell me or I’m gonna pop a blood vessel!”

Wilson looks away. “I can’t. I’m scared of House.”

With that, he picks up his tray and goes to leave.

“Bye bye, Willie!” You call.

James turns and glares at you before walking out of the room. You chuckle and attempt to finish your meal before your beeper will inevitably go off.

You just start chowing down on the garlic bread (read: bread with butter and garlic) when you hear the dreaded beeping. You bite off a large chunk of the bread and dump your tray before reading the ‘MY OFFICE- EMERGENCY’ that was from House.

When you finally pushed open the door, you saw House facing the window outside.

“Is our patient with the living?” You ask, taking a step towards House.

House doesn’t turn around. “I need you to go to the winter gala thing with me.”

You stiffen up. Throughout your whole body, your muscles tighten as your freeze midstep. Your face drains of blood and your heart feels like it just dropped into your stomach and was dissolved by the acid. Bile had just started rising up your esophagus when House turns.

“Don’t look so excited,” he insists sarcastically. “But seriously. Why are you looking at me like I have a tumor growing out of my eyeball?”

“No,” you mutter raspily. “Take Cameron.”

House’s eyebrows furrow as you turn on your heel and start to leave.

“Why won’t you go with me?”

You gnaw deeply at your lip as you turn. To your surprise, House was standing- watching you leave without his cane in his hand. “Go with Cameron,” you say again. “I don’t- I’m- No. Just no.”

“Y/n, why-“

You practically run out the door before Greg can even say your name. He stands by his desk, staring intently at the ground where you just stood. “Hm,” he hums. He sighs and thinks about what to say to you next.

The next three days consist of House trying and failing to speak to you. To his own surprise, you have completely stopped talking about personal matters with him and have withdrawn any of your own opinions except for facts having to do with the patient.

House had just finished off another bottle of pills when Foreman barged into the room. “What did you say?”

House blinks. “Uhh… to who? Where? When?”

“To y/n, House. What did you say to y/n?”

“I told her that I needed her to go to the winter gala with me,” House answered truthfully. “Why? Has she said anything to you?”

Foreman flops down in the chair facing House. “Do you like her?”

“Well, I hired her, didn’t I?”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it, House,” Foreman snaps. “Answer me. Do you like her?”

A moment of silence fills the air. House thinks back to the first time he interacted with you- how confidently you completely the puzzle that certified doctor’s couldn’t figure out. How you had matched House’s wit on your very first day. How you- despite being babysat- had completed every test and blood swab and every challenge House had put in your way. How your face often spoke before you did, how House unconsciously searched for you in a crowd, how House looked for your input after almost anything is said, how House wants your company.

“No,” he answers. “Yes. Maybe. Why?”

Foreman looks at House like he’s stupid. “Because she likes you! How have you not figured that out?!”

“Uh, maybe because of the fact that she seemed to want to projectile vomit all over me and then sprinted out of the room? Sorry, I was too focused on the horror in her eyes to consider the fact that y/n really wants that enemies to lovers trope in real life,” House rambled.

“She thinks you’re gonna make a fool out of her, House, and I think you are too,” Foreman answers. He stares at House, searching for information he won’t get. “But… you’re less abrasive when she’s around.”

“You’re acting like she’s your precious little baby sister about to be wed to an evil ogre in the woods,” Greg mutters.

Nodding, Foreman quirked his eyebrows. “I feel like I am.”

House looks at Foreman for a long moment. “Why did you come here to tell me this?”

Eric heaves out a sigh heavy enough to know down an elephant. “Because she wants you to mean it. Y/n wants you to want her. To show her that you want her.”

“I see.”

Foreman nodded. “Don’t tell her I conversed with the enemy.”

Greg scoffed. “As if she’d voluntarily talk to me.”

Eric’s face turned sympathetic. “Just talk to her. Show her this isn’t some whim to- I don’t know, win a bet against Cuddy. Show her you feel the same.”

It was the day of the gala when House found you testing a patient’s blood. You whispered lyrics to a song Greg didn’t know as he stealthily approached you.

“Y/n.”

Your breath caught in your throat in a weird choking noise as you leapt back. “Christ, House!”

“Sorry,” House said with a very unapologetic tone. “I want to talk to you.”

“About what?” You ask plainly, looking through the low power lens of the microscope.

House leans on the table as you adjust the stage. “About… the dance. Tonight.”

You adjust the fine adjustment knob slowly, clicking your tongue unconciously. “What do you have to tell me?”

Greg looks around the lab awkwardly. He silently tried to encourage himself, mentally recalling the nights before, thinking about what to say to you. “I want to formally ask you to go to the gala with me.”

You stand at full height, facing him directly. House held his breath. He was so close to you, he thought he felt your breath on his face. “I don’t want to go. With you, Cameron, Chase, or Foreman. I don’t want to go.”

“Why?” House asked immediately.

You shake your head. “I’m-These things never go well for me House. Besides, you could just go with Cameron. I know she’s dying to go with you.”

House watches you watch him. “I don’t want to go to Cameron. I want to go with you,” he admits lowly.

“And why do you want to go with me?”

House pauses to see your eyes flicker from his eyes to his lips- so fast that he almost didn’t notice. “Because I don’t like her the way I like you.’’

You swallow. “How do you like me, House?”

“Like this,” he tells you before dropping his cane and grabbing your waist. Hearing no complaints from you, Greg pulls you close to him and brings his face close to yours. At this point, House swears his vision is blurred by how fast his heart his pumping. House’s hold on your waist is possessive, protective. He hesitates, hoping you won’t reject him now.

You- thankfully- understand the words House is trying to tell you through his eyes. You carefully let your hand cup the nape of House’s neck and pull his lips down to yours. A breathless moan escapes your lips as Greg pulls you flush against him.

House’s head- for once- is silent. And his leg doesn’t seem to hurt quite so bad with your hands on his body: feeling him like he’s only dreamt about before.

And then- when you do pull back- House keeps his grip on your waist as he looks you in the eyes. “I want to go to the gala with you. If you don’t have a dress, then we can just go home.”

Your flushed lips pull into a dazed smile. “How much cleavage do you want to see?”

House groans and lets his head fall back as his eyes close. “As long as I can take it off tonight and any other day I don’t care.”

“Is that- Are you- Are you hinting at commitment? Who are you and what have you done with Gregory House?”

House guffaws sarcastically. “Careful, there. I could get you fired.”

You just laugh. “Yeah, and have the others bicker like siblings and let patients almost die thrice before diagnosing them? I don’t think so.”

“You know, you have a pretty big ego for someone who hasn’t worked here for a full year, yet,” House chides.

Scoffing, you attempt to return to the blood you were looking at before House interrupted you. “First of all, you would know about egos. Second of all, I’m good. Cuddy has spoken to me… about other positions,” you tell him vaguely.

House is taken so off guard, his arms go limp. “What?”

“Nothing I accepted,” you answer, turning back to the microscope.

House just hums. “Good.”

You murmur a quiet ‘good’ in reply. “I know how to cure this guy,” you breathe quietly. With a growing smile, you take the slide off the stage and turn off the microscope before discarding the bio-waste.

House struggled to keep up with how fast you were walking, but your kiss had definitely left him chasing you- literally and figuratively.

#x reader #female reader #jules writes 📓🖊#gregory house md #gregory house x reader #gregory house #house x reader #house x you #house x wilson #house x cuddy #gregory house fluff #gregory house angst #greg #greg house #greg house x you #greg house x reader #house fluff

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socksracoon10 · 8 months

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Being an Elf and falling in love with Thorin

Headcanons below the cut!

When Gandalf had first summoned you, it wasn't a very easy decision to make.

Being a Sindar elf yourself, the choice of having to derail from your own beliefs bruised your ego... especially since you were entrusted with overseeing Thorin and his company.

"My dear (Y/N)," Gandalf sighed, "I can not trust any other elf with such an arduous task. I know you are capable of setting aside your prejudices and aiding these dwarves."

"You saved my life once from the Uruk-hais. I am indebted to you for that, Gandalf. But I believe that this will be the one time I shall repay you for your kindness in this manner. Do not expect more from me." You muttered with a bitter tone.

"I do not plan on it." Gandalf reassured you.

When you first met the company under Bilbo's roof, there was silence. An eerie amount of silence.

The hobbit before you seemed enchanted by your presence.

You learned his name was Bilbo; he was the most sensible out of the bunch at the moment.

Your eyes traveled across the room and landed on Thorin, who had a nasty scowl on his face.

He wasn't expecting you to actually show up. He had hoped that for once that elvish pride would've saved him from having to face another individual of the same kind that had betrayed him years ago.

The silence continued, and you made your presence known. You were here to help the dwarves, nothing more and nothing less. You would accompany them to The Misty Mountains, but you would not step foot into their sacred lair. Not out of respect, but out of the sheer disgust you had for the dwarves.

Not even Eru could force you to enter their dwelling; it seemed as if death was the better option.

The journey there was not an easy one.

And Thorin didn't make it any easier.

He'd pass sly remarks every so often about you, try to demean you in front of everyone. He was constantly fighting a battle to ensure that you were beneath him in every aspect, despite being one of the most skilled elves to traverse Middle-Earth.

"Ah, it's best not to anger (Y/N), Thorin," Gandalf would quip from the background, wanting to ease the tension.

It did nothing.

There was an instance where you had left the group to gain more ground and a safer pathway for the dwarves through the forests.

Yeah, biggest mistake ever and Thorin wouldn't stop nagging you about it.

Those stupid trolls had gotten to them and Bilbo had managed to stall them long enough before Gandalf used the sunlight as a weapon.

"I left for one day... forgive me, I was merely trying to secure a safe path," You hissed at Thorin as he shoved past you.

"A safe path will only do if the company itself is safe first, elf," He spat, glancing over his shoulder. You so desperately wanted to spear your blade through his heart.

The rest of the trip resumed its unsteady silence. You glared at the other dwarves, not wishing to say anything to them. Occasionally, you'd offer a helping hand to Bilbo.

That didn't go unnoticed by Thorin. He didn't really like Bilbo as much, but compared to you? Bilbo was far better, and the stupid burglar was mingling with the wrong person.

However, his concerns of Bilbo shifted to his two nephews - Fili and Kili.

While they still harbored some resentment towards you for being a Sindar Elf, they were still young. They were naive, they did not experience that devastating day when Thranduil's forces abandoned Thorin's desperate cries for help.

And so what did they do?

They talked. Talked, and talked. Especially, Kili. Fili would add a joke once or twice, but if he ever caught Thorin's watchful eye, he'd gulp his words and nudge Kili to quit.

And then slowly, one by one... the dwarves were opening up to you.

Balin was more sympathetic, he was a very kind and wise dwarf. You actually enjoyed his presence.

Bofur was a bit reluctant to talk to you at first, but slowly came around. You noticed this when he asked you if you needed more food on your plate when you were dining in Rivendell. That was enough to tell you that perhaps there could be friendships between the dwarves and the elves.

You saved their asses a couple times, especially with the Goblins. Killed some orcs led by Azog. And then watched Azog brutally wound Thorin.

And then something switched in you. For a moment, you felt your breath hitch at the sight of him, dazed and unconscious. Something began to stir inside of you, and you couldn't place your finger on it. It almost felt... unworldly.

And that feeling continued... even when you ended up facing Thranduil, who was so puzzled at the fact that one of his own kind was helping those dwarves...

"I am repaying a debt that I owe to Gandalf," You explained, your head jutted up high into the air.

"What a terrible way to repay it, (Y/N)." Thranduil grimaced, "If you wanted an opportunity to keep yourself occupied, you could've turned to Legolas and he would've found you a wonderful position among my kingdom. We could use elves such as yourself, you know."

"Ah, but I could not say the same for you," You bit back, noticing the way his eyes widened at your audacity.

Word of your defiance quickly spread to the dwarves as the elves guarding them gossiped about it with such eager interest.

It fell onto Thorin's ears.

He almost thought they were lying to him. He couldn't believe it.

And as you passed Thorin's cell to enter your own, much farther away from the dwarves, you noticed something different about him.

He was smiling at you, a twinkle in his eyes. He seemed... proud? Ecstatic?

When the company and you had escaped via the barrels, you had almost hit a rock down the river. It was surreal to see the way Thorin's hands stretched out to warn you.

It seemed as if he cared.

You took a daring risk to climb off the barrel to kill some orcs, almost slipping across the branch in the process as you jumped back into your barrel.

"Be careful, elf!" Thorin cried out, "You could've gotten yourself killed!"

"And what does it matter to you?" You snapped, furrowing your brows.

He did not respond.

He did not need to.

Because you sort of knew the answer by the way he glanced back at you with a soft smile.

You mattered to him.

More than reclaiming the Mountains? The answer was obviously no.

But when you climbed up and watched him excitedly open the hidden entrance to the inside of the Lonely Mountains, his eyes flashed towards you for a split second.

As if he was waiting to see your reaction as well.

And when you gave in and smiled.

With or without the gold, the Arkenstone or the throne,

He felt as if he was the richest dwarf to ever live.

You mattered to him.

He mattered to you.

And thus began, the love between an elf and a dwarf.

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bunnysbrainrot · 5 months

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Unspoken Rules

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟹 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 '𝚃𝚘𝚘 𝚂𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝' 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚢𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙷𝚘𝚣𝚒𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐.

Relationship: Joel Miller x f!Reader, Jackson!AU

Content: Angst, protective Joel, kissing, sexual themes, make out session, size kink (kind of?)

Summary: The day after the town dance, Joel doesn't seem so sentimental for your time together. The emotional rollercoaster leaves you confused. Something is off about him now, and it's taking everything in you to not leave yourself to blame. Finally, Joel tries setting a boundary, but will he hold to it?

[ A/N: For this series, I invite the reader to make up their own backstory for how they end up in Jackson. I'll keep descriptions in the chapters vague, as I didn't want to assign a backstory when it's something people can have such fun with! ]

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep

The gentle chirping of your watch pulls you from sleep, but not without some protest. You groan softly at a headache taking form and begin to regret last night's decisions. Prying an eye open, a green 6:31 AM shines back at you, though the sun hardly shows it through your curtains. A dim lavender sky peeks through instead.

What a nice start to the day, you think to yourself, sighing loudly as you shift to sit up; the rush of movement swells your pesky headache, making you squeeze your eyes shut.

"Shit," you grumble, rubbing your eyes, "fuckin' mead, man... never again."

And especially never before patrol day.

The thought of riding your horse through rough Wyoming terrain doesn't excite you. Instead, you get the gift of an unsettled stomach, but pull yourself out of bed nonetheless.

••••

"Good morning!"

Your neighbor's cheerful greeting rings in your head, but you know she means well. She'd been at the dance last night, too, but you didn't get a chance to talk, from what you remember, at least. Giving her a small wave, you force a smile you hope is genuine enough to sell the 'I'm not hungover' act.

The food stall is desolate, to your relief, save for the man running it. You seem him every time you stop by, though neither of you have exchanged names, but he has memorized your order already. His eyes shine genuinely when he hands you your food.

"It's good to see you again," the man says, "welcome to Jackson."

You smile appreciatively and take the sandwich, giving him a brief thanks before heading off. He provides breakfast for the patrol groups, but never wants anything in return. Maybe you could repay him, somehow, you think. Mulling it over, you tear into the sandwich while you make your way to the stables. The thick, earthy smell of hay wafts past, and the sputtering of horses sounds ahead.

Rounding the corner reveals today's patrol group - it's evidently much smaller than last time.

Joel doesn't turn when your footsteps approach. You spot the beautiful mare you'd ridden last patrol, Belle, occupied with a bucket of hay. She huffs loudly when you meet her, angling her head to look at you, before resuming her breakfast. Joel silently adjusts a hefty saddle onto his horse nearby. Clinking of metal clasps fills the silence before Joel breaks it.

"How's the hangover?"

There's a terseness in his tone, as if forcing a conversation he doesn't want to have. He doesn't turn to you when he asks the question.

You pause for a beat, "Kicking my ass a little."

Joel nods once, "Been there."

This Joel isn't the same man you danced with last night, this version doesn't remember, or simply doesn't care. Nothing from last night was special enough to hold onto today. Shame starts to sink in your uneasy stomach. So he really did mean it, when he called himself a fool for dancing with you.

"Where are we meeting up with the rest of the group?"

A casual tone masks the pain blooming in your chest, and the tears that prick your eyes. You wouldn't dare let them fall in front of Joel. He shouldn't know how much last night meant to you, even if he wouldn't bat an eye at your tears. It seems like last night's biggest mistake was thinking that he, somehow, was true to his actions. When his lips were brushing against your neck, hovering over your ear, before his tone had gone seductively darker.

"Just us today. Smaller groups help cover more ground."

It feels like an invisible string is pulled between you when he speaks, growing more taught with each bated breath and expressionless comment. You come to notice that Belle is already donning her saddle and gear, a task you hadn't done yourself.

Glancing at Joel, you hesitate, "Thank you for getting Belle ready."

Finally, he turns from his horse's saddle and shifts attention to you. A steely look in his eyes reprimands you without words. It didn't seem like a favor. He'd done your work for you.

"Saddling up is the boring part. Not as tricky as it looks, though. I'll ask Maria to show you how," he offers dismissively.

It’s a nice gesture, but the Maria part begins to register. He won’t show you, or doesn't want to spend time alone with you after what transpired last night. Confusion lingers in the back of your mind - Joel invited you to dance, and now it's as if you've never held a conversation before.

You nod, "Sounds good to me."

Even though it was not, in fact, good at all. Maybe last night really was some drunken mistake, but it wouldn't make sense of Joel's demeanor now.

Why did he look like he had something else to say?

••••

"Pretty day today," Joel states.

Sunlight streaks between distant mountain peaks, painting the morning fog with a breathtaking display of orange and yellow. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see how it casts a golden halo around Joel's salt and pepper hair, highlighting its warmer browns. He turns to his saddle bag, giving you a glimpse of his face; the sunlight works wonders. He's warmer and brighter... there's more life to him.

Joel gestures to one of the peaks ahead, "See that mountain over there? The shorter one to the right - we stop at the base of it. On the way out there, we're on lookout, gettin' rid of any stragglers. At the turn-around point we'll rest, and the trip back is supply pickup, in case we find anything."

You clear your throat, carrying on, "Got it... Must be a long route, hm?"

"At an average pace, 'bout two hours or so. If you're bookin' it, you could do it in less than one."

The talking is helpful when it's useful information, but anything else reminds you of last night, of that version of Joel. When he was in such stark contrast to this gruff personality, and if you were being honest, it had intrigued you. Pulled you in deeper.

In fact, from the moment you saw him, he caught your eye. On that chilly morning, where you stood timid and anxious amidst the crowd, something clicked in place when he'd briefly turned to you.

A certain roughness in his look told you that something, many things, has roughed him around the edges over the years. You couldn't tell his age, but you could assume that he witnessed the fall of everything. Back then, the world crumbled with the rise of the infection, its haunting mortality rate, and there was no hope of it being stopped after it had begun. You wondered what Joel's life had been before he ended up in Jackson - how his 'regular life' was, back when the world made more sense.

His accent is distinctly and seductively Southern, one you could listen to for hours. Clearly he isn't from around here - any kind of travel across so much terrain isn't an easy task, and it would take months at a steady pace.

So how the hell did he wind up in Jackson?

Joel reaches for a canteen of water, unscrewing the top and tossing his head back, taking in a few deep gulps. His jaw twitches as he drinks greedily, and follows it with a low, satisfied sigh when he's finished. The sound casts you into a void of unholy thoughts. Something tightens in your core, a feeling that, you now realize, you haven't had in months. Years, maybe.

Effortlessly, Joel shines light on an emotion you hadn't addressed to even yourself: a primal need for something.

••••

With the exception of picking off the straggling infected, the patrol is continuing quite smoothly. The sun is slowly inching its way across the sky, keeping you comfortably warm in a gentle breeze that relieves your dull headache. Now, Joel leads you down a path veering toward an open stretch of pasture at the base of the mountain. Peering ahead, you see the trail reach its end at the start of the field, and beyond spans into a sea of rolling hills that takes your breath away.

"How you doin' back there?" Joel asks.

"Still good," you reassure him.

He nods his head toward a fence far off in the pasture, "We go to the edge of the perimeter, then we loop around. We'll take a breather first, though."

You follow in his stead until he reaches the old wooden fence, dismounting his horse, and carefully tying its reigns to a nearby fence post. Dismounting Belle gives your hips and thighs a wave of relief to get some blood flowing again. You head to the fence on unsteady legs, leaning against the weathered wood as another gust of wind rushes by. The cool wind across your skin makes you turn to face its source, tossing your head back to invite its presence at your neck. Your eyes flutter shut, and the world melts away for a while.

He wishes he could burn this image in his mind. You throwing your head back as the wind blows, entangling itself through your hair, your clothes. That soft smile tugging at your lips has him completely distracted before you let out a happy sigh. A soft, breathy sound that makes his imagination wander, against his better judgement.

After all, last night was a mistake.

The moment Cara had called for your attention, inviting you to join his group, Joel knew the night would end differently than he expected. You wore a shirt that accentuated every area his eyes shouldn't have wandered to, but they did. Across the lot, he'd watched you dance for hours, spinning and twirling and laughing and really, truly, living. He could see a light in you, a fire that couldn't be put out.

But if you're a fire, Joel is gasoline.

"Listen," he starts. He already knows where this is heading, that he's ruined this moment, and that there will be nothing in his power to make it any better.

But he can't let you fall into a delusion. This idea that you want him, yet you have no idea of what's underneath. He can't have you focused on him when there's a whole community to serve. He's doing a service by telling you now, he assures himself.

Nipping it in the bud.

You turn to face him quickly, knowingly. He can tell by your fidgeting hands that you might know what's coming. And he can see it in your wide-eyed expression, still somewhat hopeful. He braced himself to see that face fall.

"What happened last night... ain't my best moment. I didn't hold myself back when I shoulda have, and I..." he straightens, "it can't happen again."

The words come out meaninglessly. Joel speaks, but can't hear himself, his words come from some far-off mental script he'd prepared when he'd gotten home last night. He can see it hit you - the realization, the way your body goes completely still. Your bottom lip trembles slightly, yet you hold a solid smile despite the hurt he sees in your eyes. Your hands have frozen in place, knuckles growing white from gripping them together so tightly.

"I-I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have gotten so carried away," you explain.

Your apology is a blow to his gut. Have you been blaming yourself this whole time? As if you could even be at fault. Joel asked you to dance. You were about to go home, and he asked you to stay out of his own selfishness.

He needed that light, that fire. A brightness that only you've possessed, and it had him hooked from the first time you'd spoken, at last patrol. You had strayed away from your position in the party and had wound up next to him. It hadn't registered who had joined him, and before he had the chance to issue a harsh 'stay back', there you were, in complete awe.

Joel remembers it clearly: the way your eyes shone with delight, an infectious smile that for a moment, lifted his spirits. Every patrol was the same. Same people, same routes, over and over and over again with exhausting mundanity. Until you came along.

There was a light about you he could not touch.

In every way you are his opposite. On one hand, Joel is harsh, serious, and doesn't care much about his impact on others, let alone their feelings. You, on the other hand, represent everything Joel could've had for himself - kind, flexible, and you naturally cared for others.

Joel can't seem to remember when he lost that side of himself. He doesn't understand your capacity for kindness in a world this dark.

"You shouldn't be apologizing for anything," he says.

You pause and look toward the ground, wringing your hands again, "I should've just gone home."

If you had, you wouldn't be on the verge of tears right now.

A surge of regret fills his chest. Someone as kind as you doesn't deserve the pain of rejection; you should have someone who cherishes you, who can appreciate your softness without tainting it.

"Why'd you stay?"

There was no use for excuses now.

It's harder to meet his eyes this time, but you want to see his reaction to your answer.

"Because you asked me to dance."

Confusion knits Joel's eyebrows together when he asks, "And that was so special?"

"Yes. Was it not that way for you?"

He opens his mouth to answer, yet he hesitates. The long pause doesn't much to help your confusion, you truly want to know, to hear it from him first. If it wasn't important, it'd be easier to forget it happened in the first place.

It would certainly be easier than an unrequited love. Anything is easier.

"That's not what I said."

"It's implied," you state. Joel averts his gaze to the fence, idly picking at a loose piece of wood. "It's alright if it wasn't, I just... I need to know."

Another beat passes before he gives his answer, at long last. Joel matches your pose from earlier and leans with his back against the fence.

"It was. Special, that is," he says gently. That softness in his voice was greatly missed, and it's a breath of fresh air to hear it once more. "It's just... you're still new here. I don't want you getting distracted-"

"Are you calling yourself a distraction?"

Joel's eyes dart to you, "Am I not?"

You press your lips into a thin line, making his question ultimately rhetorical. He nods once, then turns his head to you. The intensity of his stare demands it to be met, so you meet his eyes and find a playfulness there, a hint of the Joel from last night.

"Am I one?"

"Telling you would just give you ideas," he teases.

You smirk, "So I am."

"The worst kind."

Shifting your weight on your feet reminds you of the soreness in your legs, so you lift your arms, and push yourself onto the top of the fence, dangling your legs over the side. The silence between you now isn't as uncomfortable as earlier. No, this is the silence of anticipation, wondering what or who will give a resolution.

"What about me is so distracting?" You ask.

In place of words, Joel makes his way to you, positioning himself in front of your swinging legs, which now shook a little more than you'd like to admit. He closes the gap with hands on either side of you, gripping the wood beneath his rough fingers.

There's no way to place his expression when he looks at you again.

He replies, voice low and strained, "Everything."

You can't miss it when his eyes wander to your lips, hovering there a moment longer than he needed to. Taking the opportunity you look at his as well - you knew they were soft, but hadn't felt much of them. Need and hunger are all you can feel as you stare.

When his lips meet yours, there's something that tells you that maybe this situation was inevitable. One look at him, and you knew how you felt, and exactly how willing you'd be to take your time with him.

But today, Joel doesn't need time. He knows what he wants.

He groans into your mouth when you move your lips against his - the sound of a starved animal finally getting their fill. It draws a moan from you, matching him in a sweet harmony. There's a gap between you still, that simply isn't enough.

You reach forward in search of the waistband of his jeans, hook your fingers through his belt loops, and tug Joel forward. His mouth crashes into yours once again, skirting his tongue across your bottom lip, begging for entry. One at a time, you wrap your legs around Joel's waist and secure yourself tightly against him, gripping at his shoulders with a ferocity you didn't recognize.

It's not as slow as you would've liked him to go, but it's the pace you need. For how long it felt to wait, for how impatient you'd been.

And he knows how to deliver it.

His hands roam carefully around your waist, squeezing and fondling with an avarice that shows he's been waiting just as impatiently. Every caress sets you alight, erupting goosebumps along your arms and neck, which Joel is slowly shifting his attention to.

"Joel," you pant, but it's all you can muster. There's more to the sentence, but his lips stop you. They play at the soft skin below your jaw, suckling gently before his tongue slides along your supple flesh, bringing himself to your ear.

He catches your earlobe between his teeth and bites playfully. Another moan falls past your lips, another breathy utterance of his name. Joel plants a kiss below your ear. You card your fingers through his hair, tugging at the soft strands.

"Careful, pretty girl," says Joel, reaching upward to support your head as it's thrown back in pleasure. He weaves his fingers into your hair for a comfortable grip, and pulls your head back further.

The constriction chokes you, but you smile anyway at the dull pain from where he holds you. With his strength, he has you exactly where he wants you, and can keep you there. The high-pitched moan you sing next has Joel losing his composure, his actions growing sloppier as you continue.

But, to your surprise, he releases you first.

Joel pulls back with a final kiss pressed to your lips again, a deep and savoring one. The back of your head stings from the grip he held on it, though it gives you a rush of adrenaline you won't trade for anything.

The sigh he lets out is one you can recognize, because you're breathing the same one.

This complicates things.

Hi guys! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it took a long time to write, and I think it's because it's not smut, and it was very frustrating, so next chapter will have a LOT more (i'm already plotting)

#fanfiction #tlou fic #tlou2 #tlou fanfiction #joel tlou #joel miller #pedro pascal joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #smut #smut writing #bunny writes

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whousestypewriters · 4 months

Text

photos of you - grayson hawthorne x reader

pairing: grayson hawthorne x fem!reader

warnings: swearing [like one word] kissing + flufffffff

a/n: so grayson my pookie wookie is getting a fic hehe! should i write a synopsis at the begining of each fic? idk im too lazy to do it rn lol -also its kinda short so sorry

"grayson!" you shriek when you enter his bedroom.

its plain and simple - like grayson - except nothing like grayson because anyone who's met him knows that grayson hawthorne isn't plain or simple.

he's smart, cunning, always sharply dressed - and man does he look good in a suit. like seriously he's so toned and muscly - which you may or may not know after having snuck out to watch him swim once... or twice... okay you do it all the time - he's like a freaking greek god in the form of a human-

sorry what?

got off track there. oops.

anywayyyy

you storm into grayson's room absolutely livid, pacing back and forth in front of a slightly amused grayson.

"like seriously she was such a bitch!" you say swinging around to face him again. "she actually called me the sloppy immature freak. can you believe it? like seriously that girl wouldn't know hard work if it gave her a high five... in the face... with a chair!"

you spin around again resuming your pacing continuing on before he can say anything.

"and to come at me during work-" your eyes catch onto grayson's open computer. "hey, what's that?"

all but forgetting your rant about the bitchy co-worker of yours, you move over to grayson's desk and plop down into his chair, focusing on the laptop in front of you.

"are these from our date last saturday?" you ask when you feel his presence at your back.

"yeah, i took a few and then had the flower stall vendor take some as well," his rich voice reaches down to your ears.

you flick through the photos your heart melting with each one he took. most are photos of you not paying attention to him and looking around happily at the park you were at. pure happiness shines in your eyes and you lean back into grayson silently thanking him and complimenting him on his work.

"its all you," he whispers as if he read your mind.

you instantly pause when you reach a photo of you both. you're looking at the camera smiling at the kind vendor but grayson. grayson.

he's looking at you like you're his entire world. like he'd willingly give up everything just to see you happy. the pure love, adoration and devotion in his eyes almost brings you to tears.

god you loved him.

"i like this one," you squeak out, still

"why's that?"

"because you can see how much you love me," you smile getting up out of your seat and wrapping your arms around his neck. "you look at me like i'm your world, gray."

"you are," he whispers wrapping his arms around your waist, smiling softly. you love how he lets this, softer, calmer, less rigid side of himself be shown with you. grayson is all sharp edges and cutting looks to the outside world, so it always seems to warm your heart that you get to be apart of this piece of him.

"i love you," you smile sweetly up at him and press a soft kiss to his lips. "so much."

"i love you," grayson says quietly. "more than you know."

later on when you've left, grayson makes quick work of emailing the photos off to a printing store, wanting you to have copies as soon as possible and making his favourite photo - the one of you grinning at the camera, or more like the person behind the camera, him - his lockscreen.

he'll never admit it to anyone else but he has always had a photo of you as his lockscreen, always, even from the early stages of your relationship. he had felt like he was keeping a small piece of you with him, a small piece of your happiness that seeps into his cold harsh behaviour when he's working.

so its a habit to save those pictures to the album he has on his phone and computer. its a habit to have the photos printed out and sent to your flat along with a bouquet of flowers.

its a habit to be grinning for hours in his room after you left.

its a habit to go scrolling through the albums and albums of photos he has of you. because honestly? out of all the places grayson has been, all the different photos and emotions he's caught on camera, out of all them,

photos of you are his favourite.

[taglist] @nqds, @nuncscioquidsitamor-14, @lxvebelle, @reminiscentreader, @ [if you wanted to be added or removed lemme know!]

a/n pt2: lol i think it kinda deteriorated at the end there.

#grayson hawthorne #grayson hawthorne x y/n #grayson hawthorne x you #grayson hawthorne x reader #grayson x you #grayson x y/n #grayson x reader #the inheritance games #the brothers hawthorne #the final gambit #the hawthorne legacy #the grandest game #tig #grayson davenport hawthorne

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yorshie · 10 months

Note

11 & 10 with Raph, a sort of confession\first kiss type of deal please! I need my boy to discover being loved.

-justalotoffanfic ❤️

Oooooooooooooo. First kiss. I think you might like reading this if you haven't yet, But Also Thank You for Requesting on Blurb Day! Let's have Pining Soft Raph to fight off those Mikey Brooms for a bit, eh? (edit: uh..... I guess this turned out more pining Reader and hopeless kiss. oops) also, sorry i forgot to do this with the other side blog requests but @justalotoffanfiction

Being with Raph wasn't always....a straight line. The curve of progress sometimes doubled back on itself, or stalled for a bit before resuming at a glacial place.

It was easy enough to understand, you thought, watching him move purposefully through his workout, racking weights and eyeing the amount before he slotted himself underneath on the inclined bench. There were things you'd probably never know about, but the few big ticket items you had heard of left several things completely clear.

The Turtles had been hunted, and could be so again in the future. They weren't human, and people sometimes reacted badly to that. And the last thing, probably the root of your problem with Raph, was that there would always be someone 'better' for you, in his mind.

Someone that didn't live in the sewers, that didn't have a shell and a different amount of fingers, someone that didn't tower over you or place themselves in danger over and over again.

He was stubborn, you thought with an exhale, watching him knock off a weight from each side and slot himself under the bar once more, the suicide set causing his muscles to twitch under the exertion.

You watched the tensed line of a vein curling over his tricep, the little hollow below his elbow dipping in and out of existence with each flex. Your eyes followed the strain of his deltoid where it disappeared under his plastron-

"Whatcha thinking about, sweetheart?" His gruff voice called, words bitten short from exertion, and you blinked, pulled from your line of perusal.

"What?" You asked back, shifting in your seat, playing innocent even as you drank in his figure again.

"There's something rattling around in that pretty head of yours," He paused, knocked off another pair of weights, and you followed the beads of sweat running down the back of his elbow without conscious thought. "Gotta be something you're not telling me, isn't it?"

Your mouth pulled to the side, not quite a frown, not quite a smirk, and you finally stood when he paused once more, chest heaving as he re-racked the bar and glanced your way.

You could be stubborn, you reminded yourself, but another little voice echoed the words, sounding a lot more sure of itself than the immediate bravado. You could also push too hard.

"I just..." You trailed off, but Raph ducked a shoulder and leaned forward, resting his shell against the bar. He lifted one eye ridge towards you, clearly waiting.

When you still couldn't get the words out, he gestured you over with a jerk of his head, repeated the motion with more sass when you took too long.

When you finally stood in front of him, eyes taking in how his plastron swelled with each breath, the obvious way his arms had all but doubled from the exercise, you swallowed heavily.

Raph snorted at your ogling, one large hand coming up to tuck against your waist. "I uh," He tapped his fingers, slowly, against the back of your hip, obviously thinking, " I don't.... I really don't wanna end up doing the wrong thing here, sweetheart, but-"

He broke off, staring at your face, and you couldn't care less who moved first, just that you did-

And you were both stubborn idiots, it seemed, because you both bobbed when one should have weaved, and the first time you missed completely, lips nudging along cheeks instead of finding each other.

Your fingers found his jaw halfway through his eye roll, and his hand cupped the back of your head through exasperation more so than any tender feeling, but the tiny well of ire at how stubborn he was disappeared the second his lips landed true.

They were wide, and soft, and you could tell he was trying so hard to keep it sweet. After the third tentative scrub you finally lost your patience and opened your mouth to lick against his lower lip, and he pulled back with a grunt and a look in his eyes that promised retribution.

You grinned at him, feeling drunk, and a little bit stubborn yourself.

#blurb day #tmnt bayverse #tmnt raphael #bayverse raphael #bayverse raph x reader

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wolvesroampastelgalaxies · 2 months

Text

Edit: All chapters up on AO3 & Tumblr

It's over now, the music of the night. My OCD is crazy and I have never completed a multi chapter fic. I truly have no desire to delve deeper into the fandom. This has cured my depression over it. Time to resume my NSFW content. Me and my own younger brother have been trying to reconcile and right before I wrote this we had a falling out. Maybe thats why I'm putting too much into it. Thank you all for the kudos, comments, re-blogs, and the new followers I gained. Bless.

As always,

Second Star To The Right And Straight On Home ⭐️ (Part 2)

Dimmedelphia was rich in history, instrumental to the founding of the nation, a massive contemporary influence on modern culture, home to countless iconic monuments: and Timmy had just hurled all over one of its sidewalks.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, feeling the queasiness subside, “it’s been a minute.”

“Yeah, guess it’s harder to travel this way once you get older.” Peri says, looking away so he doesn’t throw up.

The human didn’t like the word ‘older,’ sure, it was true but instant relocation through supernatural means was hard on anyone. He doesn’t linger on the thought long when he notices the steps leading up to the brick apartment building before them. It should have been obvious they would not still be living in a fishbowl. This just seemed too normal for housing fairies.

“Mom and dad have been living as humans. Albeit not very well.” Peri rolls his eyes, “You should see them with the mail.”

Timmy reaches and pokes his crown out of place. “You’re one to talk, maybe try working on your own disguise.”

“Stalling, are you?” Peri says with a quirk of his brow, righting his crown.

“Totally stalling.”

The fairy can sympathize, it had been a total of 10 thousand years of time travel before he saw his parents again. He felt the same anxiety trying to avoid them. He had had all the time before then to prepare for the inevitable. Timmy has had maybe half an hour. But he won't let his brother face it alone.

“Well, common!” He offers an encouraging smile, mounting the stairs.

💫 💫 💫

“Coming! Totally average human putting on average human pants to answer the human door!”

Peri cringes, hiding his face in one hand. He peeks through his fingers, watching as what must be a hundred different memories cloud Timmy’s usually bright, blue eyes. He places a slim hand on his shoulder, lightly squeezing him into focus. It had taken him a moment to gather courage before pressing the doorbell.

“He - he sounds the same.” He says in disbelief.

Even Cosmo’s yelp of pain as he whacks himself in the head with the door is the perfect pitch he remembers. That’s why it’s so discombobulating to see his former godparent not look exactly as he remembers. Cosmo is definitely trying to look human, channeling an eccentric dad. Just like Peri however, the eyes haven’t changed, as dog, fish, or anything else and he’d know it was his fairy.

They aren’t yours anymore.

Timmy’s nerves bounce all throughout his body as they stare at each other. He chuckles somewhat manically.

“Hey Cosmo-

“TIMMY!”

He chokes on fairy dust and can’t manage to clear his throat of it with the death hold around his neck. But if he died this way then that'd be okay. He could easily push Cosmo off but instead hugs him back, feeling the now smaller fairy form. He and Peri had already admitted that more tears were to come so he lost little pride in feeling his eyes start to water. Cosmo does release him, but Timmy goes cross eyed with how close the green fairy is. Cosmo pushes and pulls at Timmy’s face, his already in a downpour. The iridescent wings go a million miles a minute creating a light buzzing noise.

“Timmy! It’s really you!” He sobs. And as if he just notices his son, he cries harder. “Look Peri! It’s Timmy! And he knows my na-na- naaaame!”

“I know dad, I’m the one that brought him here.”

Usually, he’s embarrassed by his father’s dramatic behavior, even if it is genuine, but now it’s becoming contagious. Peri is the only one to notice as a door opens and closes down the hall. He might be able to slip past suspicion by saying he’s wearing a costume, but there is no way to explain the 3 foot something, green guy with wings, having a meltdown in the doorway.

Alright, better move this inside.

He probably saves Timmy some added wrinkles by shoving them in the apartment, dislodging his dad. Besides, he can finally get back to his normal self as well.

💫 💫 💫

Wanda could have instantly whipped up a pie. The laborious task she took on was more on principle. She could practice being human and bake something with real food. They were going to have dinner with Hazel’s family tomorrow night once they got back from her father’s conference. She and her husband tried to put some distance between themselves and Mr. Wells. Their new god kid could handle a day without them. Unlike their last one, he needed constant supervision. Wanda had treated -

“TIMMY!”

Cherry syrup coated her face, it oozed its way down to her blouse, a single cherry sticking to her nose. She really thought the 3rd time was the charm. Her dear, stupid, sweet husband’s yelp shocked her and now she has no issue with using her wand to poof away the mess. Wanda isn’t too surprised at the content of the exclamation. Cosmo had frequent bouts like this. She was able to keep it together, even if it hurt just as much. With Peri being back home now, it was glaringly obvious of the missing piece.

“Cosmo, we talked about moving ‘crying over Timmy time’ to Tuesdays and it’s Sunday dear.” She calls from the kitchen, moving her way to the living room.

“I - I know, but he - he didn’t wait till Tuesday. He’s here nooow!” Cosmo wanted to stop crying, but it seemed so natural now that Timmy was back. He remembers he cried all the time back then. Mostly from fear at the situations they ended up in, but now he was crying over all the good times. He misses him every day. Sundays especially.

Wanda had been married for centuries but there were things Cosmo said that still needed clarifying. It became crystal, no, there was no need to be crystal clear. Not when there was nothing in the way of her kid and her husband clinging to his arm.

Oh no, no he’s not a kid. He’s-

Timmy did not have much time to recover from the last dusting before getting blasted with another. This time, a much gentler pair of hands cupped his cheeks to keep him still for the firing squad of kisses crossing his face. As suffocating as this was, he wanted to stay like this. The last time they had been this close was a sort of death. He wants a hello to replace the goodbye. What was years apart for the fairies had hit Timmy all in one day.

“Oh, look at you Sport!” Wanda coos, his old pet name sounding comforting. “You’ve almost grown into those teeth!”

The human shook his head and managed to create some space between them, Cosmo about needing the jaws of life to remove.

“‘Almost?’” His voice sounds in the midst of puberty. There is a forced, short laugh as he uses his work shirt to dry up his face for the umpteenth time today. The lipstick marks can stay for just a bit longer.

Wanda reaches for Cosmo’s hands, the glitter and tears making gemstones out of their eyes.

“You and Peri have grown into such handsome boys.” Wanda sniffles.

Peri thinks he’d been forgotten at that moment. Now his parents had literal hearts floating around their heads as they looked at him and Timmy.

The latter, who apparently hadn’t noticed Peri’s transformation, manages to sound snarky. “I’m not sure if he’s grown, but he does look older.”

“You know what? Mom might be right; your teeth still do look a bit too big.”

Cosmo beams at his wife, “Aww, aren’t they adorable arguing? They learned from the best.”

Their former god-kid, now with full use of his senses, took in the pastel, bubblegum interior. Most of the accent colors were pink and green. It was …. different from his bare minimum, bachelor box of an apartment. He obviously didn’t have a window to fairy world. Timmy looks out dumb struck, the clouds, glimmering buildings, and dazzling light create an avalanche of memories piling up in his mind.

Cosmo fly's over to his side, bracing his arm on Timmy’s shoulder. “Ahh, isn’t it pretty? Remember how many times you almost destroyed it?” He said dreamily, if it wasn’t Cosmo, it might have been taken as an accusation.

“I saved it just as many!”

Wanda was about to quip that he saved it from his own destruction, but she stops herself. How did Timmy remember? They were there when Jorgan cast the spell all god-kids are cursed too. As painful as it was to think about, even now with him standing here, they had been there till the end. Cosmo and Wanda had seen that look countless times and they knew when Timmy was lost to them.

“Hey Kiddo,” she tentatively says, “How do you remember…well everything??”

He had not considered that. What exactly caused this? The question compels him away from the view.

“I mean not everything. It - it’s been coming back in pieces.”

A pinched, worrying expression shadows her face, “That’s not what I mean.”

Peri is shifting in place, wings humming in a nervous way as he bites at a nail.

Did not expect this. Well, yeah you did, I just didn’t want to answer for it.

“I was at work, and this bird. It - I don’t know how, but I thought of you guys. I went to my old room and then Poo- Peri was there. Then, I remembered, I guess.”

All their gazes slide to the young fairy, hand caught in the cookie jar.

Even Cosmo starts to look tense, wringing his hands. “Per, what did you do?”

He’s never been good under pressure. “OkaysoImighthaveusedDevtomakeawishthatTimmywouldrememberhisgod-parentsandbeapartoourfamilyforever.”

Peri has never seen his mother truly mad at him. Disappointed or upset, sure. But everything pink turns to a scarlet red.

“You asked your god-kid to make YOU a wish?!”

“You have a god-kid?” Timmy blanches.

He raises his arms in self-defense, covering his head as he squirms under his mother's rage.

“Don’t be upset! I found a loophole! Like you said!”

“Oh Peri,” his father says, equally fearful of his wife, “that’s not a loophole. You broke the rules.”

Peri pales, “No, no. Then, how did it work?”

“Do you realize that you could lose your magic!” Wanda’s words aren’t scolding, they evaporate him.

“He’s got a point! If it wasn’t a loophole, then it shouldn’t have worked. And I obviously remember you guys.”

The silence balances on a tightrope tension between them all. Fortunately, Timmy is an expert at avoiding responsibility and consequences. He’ll admit that maybe he hadn’t grown into his teeth, but it adds a boyish charm, and he’ll need to lay it on thick to distract Wanda.

“You said you had a god-kid?” He says with growing awe and a grin.

Peri catches what he’s throwing, though he’s not as practiced. “O-oh yeah. Yeah, I do! He’s a total nightmare. The worst really.”

Cosmo’s blissful idiocy is the final sale as he laughs, “Ha, oh no! Timmy was the worst god-kid we ever had! Probably the worst god-kid anyone could ever have!”

Wanda knows exactly what the boys’ are up to, even if Cosmo doesn’t. Any anger dissipates watching Timmy’s face fall into devastation. It’s not like there’d be a resolution this very second anyway. Timmy flinches, expecting to be knocked on the head; instead, he feels Wanda’s warm palm on his cheek.”

“It’s because you made for a much better son.”

Timmy has no more tears to cry, his eyes just shine.

“Of course, what did you think I meant?”

Oh, her dear, stupid, sweet husband.

💫 💫💫

Magic is awesome. He really took it for granted as a kid, but as an adult he sees its true value. They don’t have to use a free trial on some streaming service, they can just watch Sleazy and Cheezy. Every. Single. Episode. All in a row. And they do.

There is no need to go to the store or wash dishes when you can conjure up spaghetti from thin air. Or fabric cleaner when you're busting at the seams from some nonsensical story your dad makes, and spill said spaghetti all over the couch. He didn’t even have to go out and buy a toothbrush! His little brother just waves his wand after teasing him on how he vomited. Timmy didn’t hold anything back about the use of his baby-rattle after that. They stay up most the night chattering like schoolgirls about Peri’s name change (it was babyish, but his god-parenting license said differently), reminiscing on past wishes and their (often horrible) outcomes, and on his first god-kid. Timmy could see why Dev would be difficult for Peri, having dismissive parents could make kids seem selfish and harsh: he would know.

Different as they are, fairies and humans alike need to sleep. Timmy passes out, stretched on the couch. If Peri could see himself curled under his brother’s arm, he’d deny it was actually him. Cosmo had no reservation clinging to Timmy’s leg.

Wanda was still awake, listening to the TV and how everyone of them had the unfortunate habit of snoring. She was deeply troubled about Peri’s ‘loophole.’ The wish he granted for Dev should not have worked. As a baby his magic had been powerful as any fairy infant but had also bent the rules. They were small discrepancies she and Cosmo had noticed: like when he was able to allow Timmy to cheat or enchant humans to do whatever his toddler heart desired. Peri’s wording of the wish was also concerning; to be a part of their family forever. Magic was fickle in its direction if not given clear instructions. It followed the true intentions of its user and forever could mean many things. She was certain that her younger son didn’t plan to lose his brother to old age. Of course, it would be Timmy Turner to upheaval the system and he had taught their little Poofiy very well on how to do it.

It did not matter at that moment watching her boys snuggled on the couch. Cosmo hardly stirred when she moved him up on the seat cushion and rested her head on his chest. Regardless of the implications of this wish or the events that would follow they’d face as they always did, with some magic and as a complete family.

#fairly odd parents a new wish #timmy turner #poof fairywinkle cosma #peri fairywinkle cosma #cosmo and wanda #family reunions #exessive crying #series completion

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blondeboyfriend · 2 years

Text

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] DIO x f!reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] This is for @cherrykamado's Scumbags Collab. Thank you so much for letting me join and giving me an excuse to write a morally reprehensible insert! I mean... she's not that bad. (Yes, this is a repost.) [ SYNOPSIS ] A strange man has an even stranger proposition. [ WORD COUNT ] 6.5k [ CONTENT ] Canon AU, y/n is a stand user, innocent people get killed, size kink (y/n is implied to be on the taller side though), fingering, finger sucking, oral sex (f receiving), rough sex, blood, knifeplay, creampie.

“I think we’re being followed,” your date said nervously.

It was just past midnight, a brisk night in your city. You had spent most of it languishing in various bars with some guy, one whose name you didn’t bother to remember. He was a momentary meal ticket, one to be tossed aside the second you were bored.

So far he had proven to be overwhelmingly uninteresting, talking mainly about his job as a security guard and being a single father to four children. Under any other circumstances you would have ditched his ass, but you were plagued with hunger. You planned on goading him into buying you some street food once he shut the fuck up.

“I think you’re tripping,” you replied, voice full of smug confidence.

There was no way you were being followed. Earlier that evening you deployed your stand, A Deal With God, to keep watch while you made your way through the city streets. The extra layer of security allowed you to relax in the absence of surprises. It was like having an extra set of eyes to see through… Sometimes even more than that, as your stand’s true form was a glowing cluster of iridescent black wings with three indigo eyes at the center.

“I’m serious. Some jacked blonde guy.”

“You sound insane,” you said as your palms began to sweat. “C’mon. Let’s go eat something.”

He shook his head. “I’m not hungry. Why don’t we go dancing?”

You frowned, but decided to play along. You stepped into a high-end nightclub, and immediately got assaulted by flashing lights and the indecipherable, mechanical squelches of some acid house remix.

“Oh my god, I love this song,” your date cheered.

You rolled your eyes and mumbled something about going to the bar. A complete lie as you were actually going to the bathroom to figure out a new game plan. You brushed past a few people before glancing out the window, spotting a tall, foreboding figure leering at you from the other side of the street.

You briefly glared and slipped away into the bathroom, shutting yourself away in a stall. You took a seat on the toilet and held your head in your hands.

“Head’s killing me. Just wanna eat,” you whined, snapping your fingers.

A Deal With God appeared in the cramped stall, its large eyes fixed on you. It looked about as weary as you did.

“Figure out if that weird guy in the street was actually following us. I don’t think he was but… fuck it. Might as well be sure. Not like you got anything better to do, right?”

“Veeerrrrry trrrruuuue,” it drawled after turning into a mirror image of you.

You very well could have sent your stand out in its true form, but you worried that one day you’d come across someone that could actually see them when they were a mass of wings and eyes.

A Deal With God turned around and kicked the bathroom stall door open, and marched back out into the club. You carefully shut the door and resumed your previous position, trying to relax. You thought about your empty fridge and bare cupboards, cursing yourself for not going grocery shopping earlier that week. Paying for your own food was always an option, but you preferred to spend your money on things that lasted, that were more tangible.

You groaned. “Fuck it. I’ll go buy my own damn—”

Before you could even finish your sentence A Deal With God kicked the stall door in, making it fly off its hinges. The door hit you square in the nose.

“What the fuck?!” You said, wiping away the stream of crimson blood dripping from your nostril.

“Th—there—I—I saw.”

“You saw what?!”

“Th—th–the man.” You could barely understand a word it was saying as its teeth chattered away. “He found me. One second he was outside, the next h—he was behind me.”

The poor thing dropped its human facade before simply disappearing into the ether.

“Shit,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Shit!”

You stumbled out of the stall and scanned the crowd for your date and the strange man. They were nowhere in sight and you made a beeline for the exit. You ran down the street, still pinching your nose even though it didn’t help in the least. The cold breeze stung your skin and heightened your anxiety. Everything around you felt like a threat.

The vast nature of the street made you uneasy so you sought refuge in a more sequestered area, ultimately settling on an alley. Your eyes darted around, checking for any unwanted presences, before slipping into the darkness.

“How did he sneak up on me?” You asked no one in particular.

You snapped your fingers and A Deal With God appeared before you. Its numerous eyes looked terrified and wet.

“Stop being scared,” you said, knowing full well your stand’s demeanor was your own doing.

But what could you do? You were utterly spooked. You didn’t have a lot of enemies, but you weren’t exactly a magnet for pleasant people. There was no way the man following you held good intentions. And the more you thought about it, the less safe you felt in a poorly lit alley. Who would’ve thought?

A Deal With God fluttered about before peering out into the street. It turned to you and used one of its wings to gesture towards a nearby nightclub. It seemed like a decent enough place to disappear.

You tore across the street as fast as you could and barrelled through the club’s entrance. You were surrounded by a thick haze of tobacco and cloves, and you could feel the rumbling bass emanating from the large speakers positioned throughout the space. It wasn’t nearly as abrasive as the first one.

Before you could even sigh in relief you spotted the strange man across the room. Initially you felt paralyzed with fear, like your legs were going to give out from under you. Every hair was standing on end. Your stomach was eating itself, churning away into nothing.

The man smirked.

Of course he was positioned by the only exit, essentially cornering you inside the club. You found it in you to move and bolted up the stairs, hoping you could lose yourself in the crowd and make your way out a window.

You were disappointed to see the upper floor wasn’t nearly as populated as the other. Suddenly you felt a chill climb your spine and a pair of large, cold hands on your shoulders.

“There’s no point in running from me,” the man whispered in your ear.

His hushed tone was like a siren’s song, dragging you out to sea.

“I just want to talk. That’s all.”

He spoke to you like you were a child, though considering how scared you were it wasn’t a bad course of action.

He whispered. “You seem smart. You’re capable of having a little talk, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” you said shakily. “What do you want to talk about?”

Your words were stilted and it left you feeling powerless.

“I’m interested in your special ability.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He dug his talon-like nails into the flesh of your shoulders. “I’m certain you do.”

“And what if I don’t want to talk about my special ability?”

“Trust me. You will.”

His tone was threatening. Your eyes darted around, hoping someone was showing some form of concern for you and your current situation. But not a soul seemed to care. You swallowed hard, it was like a rock had wedged itself in your throat.

“I wanna talk here. I’m not letting you drag me off somewhere.”

If you weren’t so scared, you might have laughed at your remark. Depending on his intentions you would not have minded if the beautiful stranger dragged you off into the night.

He released you from his grasp and walked ahead of you towards the corner of the room furthest from the stairs. You followed after, staring at his statuesque shoulders, muscles barely contained by his cropped black shirt made of indeterminate mesh material.

“Okay, what?” You asked, desperately trying to hide your nerves.

The man leaned against the wall. “Tell me about it.”

“Can you give me, like, a prompt? A question? Some direction? What do you want to know?” You sneered, putting your hands on your hips.

The man was growing frustrated with your attitude. You could tell and you weren’t sure if you wanted to maintain your faux bravado. Was rousing the weird man for your own sick pleasure worth potentially dying by his hand? You didn’t know what he was capable of. And it’s not as if you were having much fun.

“Why are you being so hostile? It’s unbecoming.”

You exploded. “You were following me around like a fuckin’ creep! Tell me you wouldn’t be a little on edge if you were following yourself around!”

He raised an eyebrow in amusement. “I suppose you have a point.” He stood closer to you effectively boxing you in. “Funny you mention that considering you’re capable of following yourself around.”

You backed up, bumping into the wall. The man seemed to have no concept of personal space. Though you had to admit it wasn’t completely unwelcomed. The longer you looked at him, the more you felt yourself craving his touch.

His golden blonde hair seemed to move on its own, ebbing on incomprehensible breezes. You noticed not a window was open nor was any fan blowing the hot air around the room. There was no way what you were seeing was real.

“Yeah, and?” You asked, trying to shove your racing thoughts out of your mind.

“How long have you—”

“Ever since I was a kid. Can I ask why you care?”

He brushed a few errant strands of hair from your face, his fingers were soft and the color of fresh cream.

You felt like his red eyes were staring right through you. “Go ahead.”

You smacked his hand away. “Why do you care?!”

“I already told you.”

“I don’t remember.”

“How could you not remember? I literally just told you.”

“I don’t know. You’re not very memorable,” you lied.

He narrowed his eyes and exhaled. “I said I was interested in your special ability. I could use someone like you.”

“For what? Something fucked up?” You taunted, anticipating some disgusting act. “You gonna force me into depravity?”

His annoyance was palpable, filling the room and drowning you in it.

“If that was my intention, I wouldn’t have wasted my time talking to you.”

You felt like a coyote with its paw rotting in a trap.

“Good point. M—may I ask what you need me for?” You asked, forcing a smile.

“I’d rather not discuss that here. Come with me to my suite.”

He spoke so plainly and with such confidence. He annihilated any defense mechanism you had, rendering them useless. If any other person dared to be so bold, you would have kicked them in the taint. But he was different, otherworldly even. The longer you looked at him, the more you felt compelled to stick around. You had never encountered someone so alluring, someone capable of bewitching you with ease.

“I promise I won’t hurt you,” he said.

Apparently the trepidation in your face wasn’t something you could mask.

“Nah, like… I know.”

His lips curled into a foreboding smile.

“Let’s go,” he purred, placing his hand on your back and guiding you out of the nightclub.

His hand was cold, the chill traveling through your jacket. Once outside you tried to get the attention of a cab driver with little luck. Much to your chagrin a drunkard positioned right next to you managed to hail one with a simple wave of his limp hand.

The blonde seemed to take personal offense and grabbed the man by the back of his collar and tossed him aside like he was a mere rag doll. The drunk’s limbs flailed as he was sent through the window of the nightclub. It all happened so fast and you nearly got lost in the chaos. If it weren’t for the blonde pulling you into the cab you likely would have stood there in shock, mouth agape, until the cops showed up.

“Whoa, whoa!” The frightened driver cried out. “What the actual fuck was that?”

You looked expectantly at the strange man, curious as to how he would explain away his behavior.

“Drive.”

“Wh—what? Dude! You can’t just do some shit like that and expect me to be okay with it!”

“Why not?” He laughed.

“Because it’s fucked up! You could've killed the guy,” the driver said, pointing at the bleeding body hanging halfway out the nightclub window.

“And? Was he important to you?”

“No. I don’t know him. But I don’t have to know someone to think what you pulled was rude!”

“It was more than rude,” you said matter-of-factly. “Not that I’m complaining. I’m just happy to be out of the cold.”

The blonde smirked and scooted closer to you, eschewing his seatbelt.

He redirected his attention to the terrified cab driver. “Drive or I’ll kill you.”

“Dude, can you at least tell me where?!”

The blonde clenched his fist. “... I guess.”

The drive was spent in relative silence. The nervous cab driver flapped his jaws on occasion, posing benign questions. He quickly clammed up after receiving a few glares from the strange man through the rear view mirror. Paying attention to their tension made your stomach hurt so you focused on the barren trees that lined the city streets, their leaves rotting in rusted gutters.

“I feel like fall came faster than usual,” you pondered aloud.

Neither of the men responded, too wrapped up in their own bullshit.

The barren trees ceased, soon replaced by evergreen ones unnatural to the concrete cityscape. You sighed, unsurprised by the fact your stalker was posted up in a ritzy area. However you were still wowed by the luxurious hotel and its sprawling design as the cab pulled up to the curb. The alabaster facade glimmered under the everpresent streetlights. You contemplated getting the strange man drunk and robbing him once he passed out in a haze of whiskey.

“That’ll be forty bucks,” the cab driver said, craning his neck around to look at the two of you.

Rather than pay the driver, the blonde jammed two of his slender fingers into the man’s neck and sucked the life out of him. You stared wide-eyed and mentally begged your body to move, to jump out of the car and run back to your boring date.

“Let’s go,” the blonde murmured, exiting the cab.

You stepped out and whined as the autumnal breeze chilled your bones. Despite the blonde’s apparent cruelty, he wrapped an arm around you. It didn’t do much considering his body was cold to the touch, but you appreciated that he hadn’t opted to kill you for shivering.

“Aren’t you cold?” You asked.

“Not really,” he responded, not bothering to look at you.

He led you inside the hotel and into a gilded elevator. The interior was mirrored, forcing you to confront your situation. You looked positively miniscule next to the hulking blonde. You weren’t a tiny person by any means, but the strange man was just that big.

“You never told me your name.”

“I didn’t, did I?” He said coolly.

“Yeah. It feels, um, weird not knowing it.”

“There’s a subset of people that delight in lacking that kind of information.”

You gazed up at him and grimaced. His red eyes met yours. The elevator pinged, alerting you of your arrival, and the doors slid open.

“It’s Dio.”

The suite was beautiful with floor-to-ceiling windows, giving a breathtaking view of the city. You only knew this because you peaked behind the thick, ornate curtains that shielded the room.

Everything was concealed in darkness, the only light coming from the world beyond the window through the little crack you created. Dio was quick to slink around, lighting candles, to give the suite a warmer touch.

“You got a migraine or something? A hangover?” You asked, coming out from behind the curtains.

“Sure.”

You inhaled the cloying scent of sandalwood. “Liar.”

He smirked and took a seat on a chaise-lounge, essentially draping himself over it like a fancy throw blanket. He beckoned you near. You sat on the very edge, keeping some distance.

“Do you know anything about Anubis?”

“That dog god guy?”

“In a sense.”

“Yeah, uh, I don’t know a damn thing about him.”

“Hmph. What about art theft?”

“... Again, not a damn thing.”

“Are you much of a reader?” He said, sitting up.

“Depends.”

He got up and returned with two books: Rogues in the Gallery: The Modern Plague of Art Thefts and Teach Yourself Egyptian Mythology.

He stood over you smugly. “Read these and we’ll talk once you’ve finished them.”

“You want me to read two books right now?”

He yawned and stretched his arms over his head. Your eyes lingered on his chiseled abdomen.

“You can do it,” he said, walking away. “I believe in you.”

His words did little to inspire you, especially because he punctuated them by closing the door to his bedroom. You felt shut out and vulnerable. How were you supposed to read two books come morning?

Lucky for you Dio slept through the day, giving you ample time. He traipsed out of his room as you scanned the final pages of the required reading. He was in a pair of burnt umber-colored silk shorts that left little to the imagination.

“You must have been tired,” you said as you closed the book about art theft. “This book was boring as shit, by the way.”

“I know. I didn’t even bother finishing it.”

“Then why have me read it?!”

Dio’s expression practically screamed, Because I fucking could. He smiled and resumed his place next to you on the chaise.

“Hush,” he said, holding a finger to your lips. You thought about biting it off. “I’m trying to steal a shamshir.”

“A what?”

“It’s a type of sword.”

“Should have made me read about swords then,” you muttered.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Is it like… your swor–I mean, shamshir?”

“Absolutely not, but it should be,” he said, his voice sickly sweet. “I’ve heard a great power is bound to it.”

“I see.”

“And I’d like to possess that.”

“Uh-huh.”

You were barely paying attention to his words. All you could focus on was your throbbing clit and the wet spot blooming in your underwear. Everything about him exuded sensuality. The simplest movements, things that were not inherently sexy, sent you spiraling. You wanted to please him, to crawl into his arms and melt into him. You were completely at his will and you hoped he didn’t realize that.

“And I find it to be aesthetically pleasing.”

“An aesthetically pleasing shamshir for an aesthetically pleasing man. How quaint.”

“Oh, you find me to be aesthetically pleasing?”

“Why else would I come over?”

“How naive of me to think you came because you wanted to help me.”

“I never said I wouldn’t help.”

“So you are helping me,” he seemed to command.

Dio dragged his fingertips down his chest and along his abs before slipping them underneath his shorts.

“I also never said I’d do it for free.”

“Hmph.”

Dio stared into your eyes.

“You have,” he lazily held up two of his elegant fingers, “two options. I either pay you or I fuck you.”

“What about both?”

“No. It’s one or the other.”

“Are you really that good in bed?”

He gave a coquettish pout. “I’ll never tell. You’ll just have to take a chance, won’t you?”

Money was a fleeting notion in your life, more of a concept than something tangible. You usually kept yourself afloat by living off of eager to please boyfriends and rich women that thought you had a nice ass. A steady job was out of the question; you could never allow yourself to be tied down. Nothing could beat the high of being free. It came at a price though. Your rootless life wasn’t stable and frequently left you out in the cold.

You knew taking the money was the right decision, the smart one, the good one.

But you were never one to make good decisions, sound ones doused in logic. No, you were a idiotic hedonist deep down in your black hole of a soul. You sought out ecstasy in the shadows, always looking for an opportunity to submerge yourself in murky waters of desire.

Dio interrupted your minor moral dilemma. “Usually when they take this long it’s because they want to fuck me.”

He briefly tugged down his shorts, revealing a few wisps of dark pubic hair at the base of his cock.

“There’s no need to be shy,” he said, pulling you into his lap.

He had one hand on the small of your back and the other gripping your nape. He brought his face close to yours, his gaze hungry and expectant. Your stomach was fluttering; no one had made you feel like this before. You could barely form a coherent thought, too distracted by his touch. His hand slid down your back before settling on the crest of your ass.

Your eyes were trained on his lips as he spoke. “Why don’t I give you more time to think about it, hm?”

Words tried to fight their way out of your mouth, ones that begged him to act now. But you were silent, only giving Dio a slight nod.

He abruptly stood up, causing your body to collide with the floor. Your limbs a mere jumbled heap at his feet.

“We’ll break in tonight,” he said, staring down at you. “I’ll pay you once Anubis is in my hands.”

Dio’s suite wasn’t far from the museum. It was a short walk, a few blocks at most. There was little fanfare which left you vaguely disappointed. You had hoped it’d be a bit more exciting, more sexy. In your mind robbing a museum seemed like the sexiest crime, but the experience thus far was… pedestrian.

Even your inconspicuous outfits were yawn-worthy. You thought a man with such luxe taste would have more flourish, but no. He wore black 501s with a tasteful hole in the left knee and a tight black turtleneck. A ski mask rested on the crown of his head like a beanie. You had to admit it was practical and he wore it well.

“We’re close. Pull your balaclava down.”

You quickly yanked yours down, obscuring everything but your eyes. It smelled like Dio. You borrowed one from him along with a chunky black cashmere sweater that looked more like a dress on you. You had the sleeves folded up countless times so you could actually use your hands freely.

He pulled his down and let out a little sneeze as the fabric covered his nose.

“Bless you,” you giggled.

“... Thank you.”

The two of you took shelter behind a tree and scope out the employee entrance which sat at the back of the drab building.

“Kinda unimpressive. I didn’t even know this was a place, and I was born and raised here.”

“They don’t have anything of much importance.”

“Except that funky sword you want.”

He sighed. “Yes.”

The plan was to slip in through the back of the building. You would be going in alone, but only far enough to have Anubis’s location within your stand’s range. Dio didn’t mention where he would be exactly, but you assumed he’d be skulking around the entrance and keeping watch.

As the two you broached the museum’s parking lot a wave of nausea enveloped you.

“You’re not gonna leave me out to dry, if I get caught in there… Right?”

“You won’t get caught.”

His distinct lack of an answer did little to set you at ease. Your legs were shaking as he picked the shoddy lock. It was almost comical how easy everything seemed to be. The absurdity of it all wasn’t lost on you.

Once inside the situation didn’t feel as precarious. You deployed A Deal With God, letting your double stalk around the museum.

When seeing through your stand’s eyes you were rendered somewhat immobile, or at the very least distracted and sitting down. Invoking auto-pilot was an option, but standing around and doing nothing would have done nothing for your nerves. You decided to find a corner and take a seat.

The layout of the museum was a breeze to navigate. Dio hadn’t been lying when he reassured you how simple a task robbing the place would be. There wasn’t anything cool on display. Just poorly maintained antiquities and depressingly dusty tapestries that should have been under glass. The halls were dead quiet, disturbingly so. Every step you took felt like it carried the weight of the world.

“Oh thank fuck,” you whispered when you spotted a series of swords mounted on a wall.

You fast-walked to the display only to be greeted by the distinct lack of a shamshir.

“No.”

You stepped closer and carefully eyed each sword on the wall.

“C’mon…”

None of the blades were even slightly curved. You panicked and called off your stand, your consciousness returning to your physical body. You slowly pushed the door open and looked for any sign of Dio. Surely he would know what to do.

“Did that bitch leave me?” You whispered, unnerved by zero signs of the blonde.

But then you heard a familiar voice.

“Uh, sir, the museum is closed right now. I’m going to have to ask you to vacate the premises.”

Your eyes darted in the direction of the voice. You saw your date, the one from the night before, the father of four, lover of acid house, clad in a beige security uniform.

“Hey, wait. I’ve seen you bef—”

Before he could spit out his sentence Dio punched his jaw clean off. Your throat dried up, almost like you swallowed a bunch of cotton. You could barely remember how to breathe. You weren’t the biggest fan of your date, but he didn’t deserve to die.

A small squeak fought up your throat and alerted the blonde of your presence. He turned to you, red eyes seeming to glow from the slit in his balaclava. He cocked his head to the right, before asking, “What?” with a soft tone of voice. If he hadn’t done something so ghastly seconds before it would have been cute.

“Anubis isn’t there. It’s gone.”

“Oh,” he said. “Did you check the storage?”

You hated how casual he said it, how he made it sound like such an obvious thing to do even though you hadn’t discussed it previously.

“... No.”

He shooed you away and dragged your date's body out of view.

“What the fuck,” you whined as you shut yourself back inside the museum. “What the fuck am I doing.” You couldn’t even manage to say it like a question.

You resumed sitting in your previous spot and sent out your stand. The storage room was in the depths of the building down a spiral staircase. It was rusted and the metal squealed with every step. Once down you flipped a lightswitch and hoped there wasn’t a closed-circuit camera running somewhere.

You opened various cabinets and peered under plastic tarps covering poorly maintained sculptures. You felt a jolt of electricity when you finally came across Anubis. It was beautiful in its scabbard with its gold hilt and red jewels.

You sighed in relief and decided to let A Deal With God handle the rest, again returning your consciousness to your body. You could have cried when your stand presented the shamshir to you.

“Nice,” you said, admiring it.

You stood up and took it from your stand’s hands. You knew the right thing to do was to hand it right over to Dio, but you wanted to sneak a peek at the blade unsheathed. You pulled off the scabbard and marveled at its double-edge.

“... Is it ringing?”

You held the sword close to your ear and heard a distinct hum emanating from it. It didn’t take long for it to sound like it was calling out your name. You found yourself transfixed by your reflection in the blade.

I am the god of the stand Anubis, he who is upon his mountain. Lord of the sacred land. You have unsheathed me and now you will wield me.

You rubbed your forehead. There was no way the sword was talking to you.

You are now my body. In return I will make you a master swordsman.

Becoming a master of the sword never crossed your mind, but suddenly it felt like it had been a lifelong goal.

Not a soul will be stronger than you! Use me and kill!

You felt yourself swelling with pride, with validation, with incomprehensible joy. You felt like electricity was running through your veins, like you were unstoppable. You thought of your poor date and how Dio maimed his flesh without a care.

It enraged you, his entitlement. Why did he think he deserved to wield such power? He wasn’t fit to even gaze upon Anubis. Only you were worthy enough to slaughter with its exalted blade. To bathe in the blessed blood that would weep from your victims’ wounds.

You returned Anubis to its scabbard and set out to take down Dio. You found him outside, looking up at the sky. He turned his attention towards you.

“Ah, so you found it then?” Dio said, adjusting his balaclava.

You stared at him, eyes transfixed on his neck. You couldn’t wait to swing the blade through his skin and watch his pretty little head fall to the floor unceremoniously. You unsheathed Anubis and admired its blade.

Kill him. He is nothing in comparison to you. You’ll slice through his flesh like a hot knife through a pat of butter. Slaughter him! Do it now!

You raised the blade and went to slice Dio’s head off. However in a blink of an eye it was as if you were never holding Anubis in the first place.

“Tsk, tsk,” Dio said, returning the blade to its scabbard.

“Huh?” You said, looking down at your empty hands. “Wait…”

“I should have told you to keep it in its scabbard. My apologies.”

You tried to remember what had happened, why you felt a hint of vexation, but your mind was tabula rasa. “Di—did… Was I doing something?”

He placed his hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”

You were thankful Dio’s suite wasn’t far from the museum. The whole experience left you exhausted. Once inside the hotel he took it upon himself to carry you up to his suite. He laid you down on his bed, giving you permission to sleep beside him. You started to undress yourself as he reflected on the night’s events.

“I didn’t realize how formidable Anubis was at possessing people,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head.

You yawned. “Is that why I tried to kill you?”

He nodded and unzipped his jeans before kicking them off, revealing that he skipped wearing underwear.

“Damn.” You exhaled to regain composure. “Well, fuck. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize. It’s not like you would have been able to defeat me,” he teased, stroking his flaccid cock.

You looked up at him, his appearance like that of a god. He looked so handsome illuminated by candlelight.

It was true you stood no chance against him in a fight. He could crush your skull with his bare hands if he willed it. It left you a confusing mess of fear and passion. You wanted to be by his side even if it guaranteed you an early death or prison time. There was no need for self preservation so long as he remained ethereal.

He caught you staring at him and simpered. Your cheeks were hot with embarrassment. He leaned over you and left you shrinking in his shadow. He ran his thumb along your jaw, his cold touch a welcome sensation.

“You’re so cute.”

He rubbed your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb before forcing it into your mouth.

“Suck.”

You rolled your tongue along the underside of his thumb.

“Good girl,” he cooed while stroking his cock.

It was girthy and of considerable length. The skin was smooth and pale, almost as if it was made of porcelain. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, completely overwhelmed by its presence.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth and got on top of you. He rubbed your clit through your underwear. The muscles in your thighs contracted. A small whine fell from your lips. You could feel his erection brushing up against your body. His dominance lorded over you, engulfing you and holding you hostage. He pushed your underwear to the side and slid two fingers inside you. He curled them, pressing up against the walls of your cunt.

Dio pressed his lips against your ear and purred, “It’s like you were always meant to be beneath me.”

You laughed nervously. “I guess.”

He let out a pleased hum and kissed your neck.

“There’s no need to be nervous,” he said as he sat up.

Dio licked his fingers clean before pulling off your underwear. He stared down at your aching cunt with pity. He lowered himself and positioned his face in between your legs. With a single swipe of his tongue you were utterly mesmerized. He gave your clit slow licks with a soft tongue. You felt like your heart was pounding against your chest.

You watched as he arched his back while he ran his tongue between your folds. His ass was magnificent.

You threaded your fingers through his blonde hair and rubbed his head, letting your hand rest on the base of his skull.

“Feels good,” you babbled.

He looked up at you, gaze radiating warmth. It was the first time he’d ever granted you such softness. It quelled your anxiety and you were able to let yourself relax, something you had not done since Dio came into your life.

You felt weightless, like you were floating above the clouds. The pleasure was insurmountable as he sucked on your clit, lapping up the sweetness of your arousal. He began to rut against the bed, driving his cock into the mattress. He moaned, his vocalizations vibrating against your cunt.

“Fuck,” you whimpered as he flicked the tip of his tongue against your throbbing clit.

Dio chuckled before giving your clit a kiss. He got back on top of you and grabbed ahold of your chin, forcing you to look him dead in the eye.

He smirked and asked, “Do you think you’re ready for me?”

“Yes,” you said in a rather pathetic tone of voice.

You were desperate and there was no hiding it.

He sank his cock down into your cunt. You wrapped your arms around him and held onto his upper back as he began to thrust. You could hardly catch your breath as he drove his cock deeper inside. Gone was the brief bout of tenderness, it was as if he couldn’t stop himself once his pleasure came into the picture.

“Ah—i—it’s too much,” you said, eyebrows knitted together.

“You can take it,” he grunted.

You clenched your jaw and tried to breath through the pain. It wasn’t that you didn’t like it, you just weren’t expecting it. No one had ever been so rough with you before. Most of your partners treated you like you were made of thin glass, but Dio manhandled you like you were made of diamonds.

He pulled down your bra revealing your breasts. He grabbed a hold of one, pinching your nipple between his fingers.

“Dio!”

He shushed you and began to suck on your neck, grazing it with his inhumanely sharp teeth. You yelped and all he did was chuckle. He started to fuck you harder, groaning as he bottomed out. You locked your legs around him, holding onto him like your life depended on it. You dug your nails into his back as his thrusts became more urgent. You gazed up at him, falling apart at the seams. He stared at you, almost as if he was plotting something.

Dio groaned. “Hold on,” he said, pulling his cock out of you.

He reached for something under the bed. You couldn’t imagine what he was searching for. Maybe a vibrator. Maybe a last minute condom. You really didn’t care. You were so close to coming all you wanted was him to be fucking your limp body into the mattress.

You were shocked when he pulled out a dagger. His eyes held a devilish gleam. You swallowed hard, trying to come to terms with your impending demise. You must have looked terrified because Dio started explaining himself.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I’m going to cut you.”

“Th—that sounds like it’ll hurt.”

He slid his cock back inside you. “You won’t feel a thing, my pet. It’ll be quick. I just need you to bleed for me.”

You nodded and focused on the sensation of his cock kissing your cervix. He bit down on the inside of his bottom lip and slashed you across the chest with the knife, leaving behind a superficial cut. Warm blood beaded out from the thin cut, sitting on your chest like tiny jewels. He let the knife drop to the floor.

Dio lapped up the blood flowing from the cut, moaning as he savored the taste. He was right. You felt no pain. It wasn’t anything close to that. It was ecstasy; you couldn’t register it as anything but delight.

You held his head close to your body as he continued to drive his cock into your glistening cunt. You felt like every cell in your body was singing, screaming out in euphoria. Your breathing grew laborious, and you caught yourself almost laughing as you ascended further and further into the heavens.

When you finally came you couldn’t help but think every moment in your life led up to this very one, that this pleasure, this rapture, was the end of it all. Nothing would top this, no one would ever make you feel this incredible again.

Dio gave your wound one last lick. “You’re mine now, you realize that don’t you?”

He tossed his head back as he filled your cunt with his cum. He collapsed on top of you and buried his face into the crook of your neck.

“You’re coming with me to Cairo. You’ll be of great use to me there.”

“What will I get out of it?”

“Me,” he replied proudly. “All you’ll ever need is me.”

Egypt didn’t sound so bad. You didn’t have any friends or family around. Nothing tied you to this place; you couldn’t even think of a single reason why you stuck around so long. You would have been lost without Dio. You never would have realized your power. Through his greatness you saw your own.

“All I’ll ever need is you,” you quietly repeated to yourself.

#dio brando x reader #dio x reader #jjba x reader #jjba smut #jojo's bizarre adventure smut #dio brando smut #dio smut #x reader #reader insert #.fics #.jjba #.dio

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wheels-of-despair · 8 months

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Can You Feel It? Pairing: Ex!Billy Hargrove x You x Unimportant Jock Event: A Very @corroded-hellfire Valentine's Day Summary: Billy fucked around. Now he's gonna find out. Contains: Heartbreak, spite, sex, Billy Hargrove Is His Own Warning. Song: You Oughta Know by Alanis Morissette Words: 1.4k

Minors and ageless blogs who interact with this fic will be blocked.

And every time I scratch my nails down someone else's back I hope you feel it Well, can you feel it?

You hate Billy Fucking Hargrove.

You hate his stupid hair and his dumb earring and his loud-ass car and you especially hate the fact that you found him with some skank's tongue down his throat at Tommy Hagan's party last weekend, just hours after he told you that he loved you.

You didn't make a scene. You didn't key his car or slash his tires or even let him know you'd decided to come after all.

You just went home and cried.

You cried until you got angry.

It boiled over Monday morning in the Hawkins High parking lot. You were separated by staff who threatened to call your parents and told you both to stay far away from each other. You were happy to comply. He was as good as dead to you.

For a few days.

The following Thursday in the cafeteria, when he winked at you while that slut sat in his lap, you rose up out of your chair to go murder them both... when Ashley M. stepped into your path and caught you off-guard by shoving a flyer in your hand.

You read it - keg party, this weekend, no parents - and a new plan began to form in your jilted brain.

You went all out. Teased your hair. Applied make-up that would make Cyndi Lauper proud. Wore that top that makes your tits look phenomenal and a tiny skirt that your parents didn't know you owned and the painful shoes that Billy called "Fuck-Me Heels."

Boys were drooling the minute you casually strolled into Ashley M's front door half an hour late.

You located him in seconds. He sat on the kitchen counter, staring. You'll give him something to fucking stare at.

You looked to the right and made eye contact with the first idiot who'd crowded around you, vying for your attention. According to his letterman jacket, his name was Spencer. He'd do.

It was almost too easy. One dazzling smile and a dance with a little too much touching, and he was practically dragging you down the hallway. Easy, Sparky, don't forget who's running this show.

He tries two doors before finding an empty room. A bathroom. Good enough.

He closes the door and locks it and shoves you against the back of it and tries to worm his tongue down your throat. No technique. Not at all like Billy.

Right. Billy. That's why you're here. You palm Sparky's comically small package with one hand and subtly reach behind you to unlock the door with the other. You push the meathead away, approach the sink on the opposite side of the room, and hop on. It faces the door. Perfect. You want to see the look on his face when he inevitably storms in and throws a fit.

Sparky sheds his jacket - stopping to hang it carefully on a towel hook, lest his precious jock gear get a wrinkle in it - and stands between your knees. He leans forward and begins to maul your neck. His hands find your tits and grab at them like it's his very first time. You distract him by peeling his shirt off, "accidentally" tangling it around his head to stall him. When he gets free and tries to resume his frantic fondling, you move his hands to your ass and watch the door boredly.

"You're so hot," Sparky moans, squeezing your ass with both hands. You roll your eyes. Hurry up, Hargrove.

You wait patiently until the bathroom door crashes open. It sends a jolt through your entire body, like you've been struck by lightning. Billy Hargrove stands in the doorway, eyes blazing and shoulders squared. The doorknob left a dent in the wall behind it. What did he do, kick it open? It wasn't locked, you fucking moron.

Sparky turns around at the sound. "Hey man, you mind? We're kinda busy here."

You grab Sparky by his bare shoulders and jerk him back to you. His face collides with the side of your neck, and he resumes his disgusting slurping like Billy isn't standing just a few feet away, ready to kill him. You stare coldly at the asshole in the doorway while you scratch your nails down Sparky's back. A move that was guaranteed to make Billy go feral, every fucking time.

Can you feel that, Hargrove?

"Ow! Shit!"

Sparky backs away from you and your claws, and Billy steps forward to catch him. Billy grabs him by the scruff of the neck and hauls him into the hallway, bouncing his face off the wall a few times before shoving him to the floor.

Now it's your turn.

Billy steps over Sparky's body and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He locks it, and before you can marvel at the fact that the lock mechanism still works, he's on you. Hand on your throat. Your head smacks against with the mirror behind you.

"What the fuck was that?"

"What's it to you? You don't want me anymore, remember?"

Fire blazes in his eyes, and his grip tightens.

You stare calmly into his furious face.

Why the fuck did you miss him? He made you mad almost every day. You fought all the time. He was moody, and difficult, and snarky, and let's not forget the fact that he's a liar and a cheater and an all-around dickhead who broke your fucking heart.

You'd give anything for him to love you the way you love him.

In the blink of an eye, Billy's hand moves from your throat to the back of your neck, and his mouth is on yours. Your brain quiets, and your body buzzes, and being close to him is the only thing that matters.

His massive hands drift down to your breasts, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure. You moan into his mouth, and his hands keep traveling south. You open your legs for him, and he doesn't waste any time slipping under your skirt and past your barely-there panties and dipping a finger into your center.

Feeling how wet you are brings him back to the reality of the situation. He extracts his hand, wipes it on your thigh, and glares.

"That douchebag get you this worked up?"

"That limp-dicked dumbass couldn't work a calculator."

Billy snorts, and you smile. God, you missed this.

"Who'd you wear those Fuck Me Heels for, then?"

"Who do you think, asshole?"

He smirks in a way that makes you want to smack it off his face. Instead, you hook your leg around him and pull him closer. Billy grabs your ass and jerks you to the edge of the counter, so you can feel his stiff member pressing into your heat. You need him so fucking bad.

His assault on your mouth begins again, and you wrap your arms around him and cling to his back. He rocks into you, and the friction from his jeans is almost enough to finish you off.

"Billy," you breathe. "Need you."

"I should make you beg," he taunts, slowly dragging the double-stitched denim of his fly upward and surprising you with a sudden jerk of his hips. You claw at his jacket and puff out a breath of air. You're not fucking begging. You try to grind your hips against him, but he reaches down to hold them still. You respond by lurching forward and biting his neck.

Billy responds with a slap to your ass. He pulls back, and you glare up at him, chest heaving. You're not fucking begging.

"Fuck it," he grumbles, reaching for his belt buckle. He unbuckles unzips, and slams into you in seconds.

Fuck, you missed this.

Billy begins to thrust hard and fast, eyes on yours. When you begin to approach your peak, you close your eyes and lean your head back. He grabs your jaw and makes you look at him. He wants to watch it happen. He needs to see what he does to you.

You come together, with grunts and moans, collapsing against each other in a panting heap. You fall back against the mirror, and he leans with you. His head rests on your shoulder. Breathing ragged. Bones weak. Brains foggy. Nobody makes you fall apart like he does.

"I love you," is what you want to tell him.

"I know," is probably what he would say before he smirked his dumb little smirk and zipped up those tight jeans that fit him just right and left your stupid ass in a puddle of your own tears again.

You wish you could hate Billy Fucking Hargrove.

#writings of despair #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x reader #corroded-hellfire's valentine's day playlist #alanis i'm sorry i love him :'(

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