#sad part is none of there men know how pretty they are

[charlenefrl]

Part 5: Grave

In which Philippos' smallest brother is cute and Philippos visits the usurper's grave.

Philippos is busy grooming his bay gelding when the child appears. Black curls like his own, the same eyes, of a blue as sad as a stormy evening. They are big, nervous and hopeful, and Philippos answers this cautious stare with a friendly smile.

“Menelaos!”

The child slips into the stable, staying clear of the horse to avoid dirtying his pretty clothes.

“You’ve grown,” Philippos tells him fondly. The boy was six when he last saw him; he’s still baby faced, with round cheeks and long, dark eyelashes.

“You’re gigantic,” Menelaos responds, nose up, right before an embrace that’s going to put horse hairs all over his pretty chiton. “I am happy you’re home.”

Philippos cannot pretend he agrees, so he pulls his half-brother a bit closer, ruffles his hair and accepts the moment. Life is utter crap, but it’s been utter crap for a long while now – better to focus on the small rays of light, the bits that turn the whole mess into a bearable ordeal. He’s with his horse, his big, beautiful, well-trained horse, breathing in all the good scents of hay, animal sweat and manure. The stable birds are singing close to the roof, grooms are chatting in a faraway corner.

Life is, for a long string of heartbeats, beautiful enough.

“I’m going to the necropolis,” Philippos says. “It’s not far, if you can come with me.”

“Why?”

“I want to see the usurper’s grave.”

Ptolemaios – the man who was too many things at once. His bastard half-brother, the killer of his brother, his stepfather, his legal tutor, the man who was supposed to kill him.

And now… one more thing. Or several things. Philippos’ victim, perhaps. The specter who haunts him, for sure.

Menealos gives his older brother a long look. He is grave beyond his years. Then he nods and declares he will have his pony readied for the ride. Philippos’ decision doesn’t agree with their guards, but they got no order to keep him confined to the palace – so soon, they are mounted and going down the road from the palace to the city, and then to the space below the walls were the silent tombs wait for the livings. The boys have no other relatives than Ptolemaios inhumed there: their clan rests in Aigai, the old capital; that Perdikkas had Ptolemaios hastily buried in this place is a testimony of the illegitimacy of his former regent.

That, and perhaps of something else.

Philippos asks, as the guards lead him to the tomb, how Ptolemaios of Aloros died. The men exchange uneasy glances before one of them tells him how it happened.

It started with the house slaves. The regent had been ill ever since his son, who was a hostage in Thebai with Philippos, died of a summer fever. At first the illness came and went; but one day the lad who took care of the regent’s chamber pot said there were maggots in there – the kind of maggots that grows on the corpses of dead animals. From there it was long and slow. After a while Ptolemaios also retched maggots, and was served by foreign slaves who didn’t know better, because those who knew did not want to catch his curse. Friends disappeared to their estates, others flocked to Perdikkas.

Then, one night, the king decided to have him executed for the murder of his predecessor, king Alexandros. The guards didn’t say so, but Philippos can read the truth in their eyes: Ptolemaios was already dead in the eyes of everyone living in the palace. Did Perdikkas kill him to look stronger? Hoping, perhaps, that claiming revenge for Alexandros may give him credibility as a king? Or did his hatred finally outweigh his fear of the man?

Riding beside them, Menealos is pale as milk. He knows all of this; like the others, he makes signs for luck, hoping to protect himself against what caused the demise of the regent.

“You can stay here, if you want,” Philippos offers after they dismount, close the beautiful grave of a hetaira and the wild roses growing around it.

The child nods. None of the guards follow; walking alone now, Philippos feels like all the sounds die around him. He would retch and run if he were a boy… but Philippos is a man, now, who had his boar, and so he must face this.

Eaten by maggots.

He stops right in front of the unmarked place where Perdikkas buried their half-brother. Grass is already growing there; by next year there will be nothing left to remember Ptolemaios. He has no son left after Philippos killed the child. It was a mistake, that’s what he told himself, when he couldn’t convince himself the boy had just died of a random fever. Two years after the deed, now, he can’t lie to himself anymore.

Eaten by maggots.

“I am not sorry you died,” Philippos whispers. “You were an awful man and for the sake of my mother alone I am happy that you are gone.”

Still.

“But when I asked Her for your sorrow and your death, I did not mean for your son to perish. And… I did not hope that you would really be eaten alive by maggots. I… I should have been more careful with my words. That wasn’t well done, I suppose.”

No, no, it wasn’t. And now Philippos almost feels them crawling on his skin, the worms. He, too, is devoured by them – he hated Ptolemaios for so long, with a black, blinding form of hate, that he is left almost hollow by his passing.

It is because he was too cruel. Eaten alive by worms, until even slaves will rather suffer the whip than serve you. Poison may be a woman’s weapon, it is still better than what Philippos unleashed on his tutor. The shame of it is suffocating whatever satisfaction, whatever relief may help him. I did this, he thinks, I asked Her to do this, and she did. People do not die this way.

No, that wasn’t well done. Not in a way that can free Philippos of his cursed family.

“I suppose you are angry that I did this to you,” he breathes. “I brought no offerings to appease your shade, Ptolemaios. You deserved everything you got, you must know that, surely you do? You never deserved anything except my hatred. Go, go and leave me alone, you have seen what I can do when angered, haven’t you?”

There is, of course, no answer but the stillness of the air. 

And, when Philippos returns to his horse, the sound of flies haunting him.

Worms

The start of a new novella I'm working on, because work as been difficult lately, I'm too tired to focus properly on my main novel and Philippos wanted to be a dramatic 16yo playing with fire and too much wine. I don't know how fast I'll be writing this because I also have work to do for my publisher, so this piece and The teeth of the lamb will probably be there for fun when I don't feel like working on the big stuffs.

Summary: Philippos, prince of Makedonia, spent three years in Thebai wondering when the usurper, Ptolemaios of Aloros, would murder him for the throne. Now Ptolemaios is dead, killed by Philippos' elder brother Perdikkas, and the nightmare should be over.

Except it's not, and Philippos isn't the easy prey Perdikkas expected.

Part 1 under the cut!

"I hate your beard, and I think you should shave."

King Perdikkas' cheeks are soft, his expression is sour. At eighteen, he looks like the kind of lads Philippos, his younger brother, can break with a single hand in the palestra.

They are sitting in the king's office. The last time Philippos stood here, he was a child, utterly terrified by the man behind the huge desk. Ptolemaios of Aloros was a bastard half-brother, the killer of the king, the usurper who wed by force the new child-king's mother. He was eating lamb; the memory is etched so deep Philippos can recall every detail, no matter how meaningless.

Now, Perdikkas looks small. He doesn't have Ptolemaios' presence, the easy disdain that made the usurper look like even the gods' anger couldn't touch him. Perdikkas is just a boy behind a king's desk. A boy with a mousy face, shifty eyes and no smile for his younger brother, despite the three years Philippos spent as a hostage in foreign country.

"I hate your beard, and I think you should shave," Perdikkas says. "It really doesn't look good on you, like you are playing at being a man."

"I killed my first boar last month," Philippos informs him. "After we heard of Ptolemaios' death."

His tutor believed it was safe, then, to allow him this rite of manhood. If they hadn't waited, the usurper would have seen the young prince as too much of a threat, especially with Perdikkas growing older. So they had delayed, delayed, delayed. Do not provoke him until we are ready. He needs only to succeed once, if he means to murder you.

Maybe it would have been safer to keep delaying. The look on Perdikkas' face is clear enough: since Ptolemaios died, he either didn't go after his boar or failed his hunt. He's a king, and still not a man; he's a king, and his younger brother is already a man.

Philippos clears his throat, offers a smile. Ptolemaios was only a half-brother, much older than they are now, not even the son of a proper wife. Perdikkas is his full brother and their mother is still alive – surely, they can find a way to exist in the same country, can't they?

"I am glad to be back," Philippos says, understanding already that he's lying. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Perdikkas returns a smile of his own. It shows no teeth; his fingers drum nervously against the top of the desk; he catches himself and stills.

"You must be tired from your trip," the king decides. "Take some time to rest. Do you remember where your old room was? I assigned a few slaves to you. And some guards." Perdikkas' smile widens, oddly stiff. "It's a dangerous place, Pella. Too many people died here."

"Well, shall I be on my way, then?"

His brother and king allows him with a gesture; Philippos can feel his glare between his shoulders long after he leaves. The guards follow him as he heads toward the women’s quarters. Philippos knows the way: Perdikkas' office was their older brother's office before he was murdered, and their father's before that. Everything looked enormous when he was little. Now the palace just feels stifling and sad, as if a cloud of misery hung over the servants, and no one will spare him a glance.

He pushes away the homesickness for his house in Thebai. His mother, she'll be happy enough to get him back alive and well – she used to have a soft spot for him, because he was the runt of the litter. His older brothers always picked on him, and she liked to protect him… but in Thebai, Philippos could never trust her letters: who knows who opened them? If Ptolemaios of Aloros could murder a king and force marriage upon the lady Eurydike, he could take whatever her son sent to her. So Philippos kept all his secrets, all the pains and hopes a growing child would want to share with his parents.

No more. He is back now and she, she will not have forgotten their bond.

He finds her rooms much like he left them: smelling of lavender and beeswax, overlooking the women's garden, full of girls weaving, full of his mother's regal presence. She looks much smaller than the lady of his memories; her raven hair turned to salt during those three years.

"My boy!"

She sends her girls away with a gesture; then she is all over him, touching his face and kissing his cheeks. It's odd that Philippos must bow for her to reach him, for when he left, she could still hug him whole.

"You are so tall! Is that my son? How are you so grown up, at sixteen?"

"Pammenes fed me well," he replies, his hands on her shoulders. He needs to touch her, just to feel that this is real... that she is alive, that they both survived to see the usurper dead and buried. "And I've been working hard at the palestra. I've studied well – you'll be pleased with my handwriting now, and Epameinondas even managed to push some basic music skills in here," Philippos concludes, pointing at his head.

A childish spark ignites in his chest, an echo of the boy who wanted his mother to be proud and failed so often – Philippos wasn’t a good student, always lagging behind smart Perdikkas, with an atrocious lack of talent for music and a charmless face. But now, at least...

"What else," his mother asks, "has Epameinondas been teaching you?"

The spark dies out, snuffled by the coldness of her tone.

"Stuffs," Philippos answers vaguely. "Philosophy."

"And war?"

"Sometimes." He buries down the sudden urge to bite into his upper lip. Strange how the old habits lurk, now that he’s back; he reminds himself he’s a man now and straightens his back. Whatever wrong they did in Thebai, whatever wrong his mother is hinting at, it was an honest mistake. “I know Ptolemaios spread rumors about me. What did he tell you?”

Eurydike retreats; just a step, but enough to slip away. The autumn air suddenly feels cold against Philippos’ palms, where his skin was touching hers.

“Did they want you to become King of Makedonia?” she asks bluntly. “This is what he said about you. What his spies brought back. His and mine.”

“They did,” he admits. Lies will do no good there. “Because all of them, Epameinondas, Pammenes, Pelopidas, they believed Perdikkas stood no chance against Ptolemaios. When we heard he had murdered the usurper, we were…”

“Disappointed?”

“Stunned,” Philippos corrects. “They are good men, Mother. Do you think I wanted Ptolemaios to kill Perdikkas? He is my brother.”

“You never got along”, she breathes. “So it is easy to believe…”

“That I came back to overthrow him? With what? Two Theban slaves, a guard of honor of five hoplites and one exile? It’s absurd.”

She sighs, turns, retreats further to sit on a couch. There are new lines on her face and, for one fleeting moment, a look of utter exhaustion, almost a look of despair; and then she makes a gesture with her hands, something that may acknowledge the irrationality and the cruelty of their situation.

“Forgive me, my boy. We are afraid of our own shadows, in this sorry place.”

“And Perdikkas fears me.”

“Yes.” She closes her eyes, as if the mere sight of her last son were too much for her. “And I wish you didn’t look like this.”

“Because Perdikkas would fear me less if I were still an ugly child? He wants me to shave. Why? Because he can’t grow a beard? What should I do next? Cut my legs, right below the knee?”

She looks alarmed now. So much for his joke! Wasn’t it a good one?

Maybe Philippos should also shave his sense of humor.

“It is just a beard,” she whispers.

“Not, it’s not.” It’s Philippos’ fucking face. For the first time since his birth, he’s somewhat pleased by his appearance – and now he’s going to look stupid again, with his weak chin and thick eyebrows balanced by nothing, and he’ll have to stare at his pimples scars every morning, because Philippos isn’t going to let a slave get a blade that close to his throat, not if Perdikkas turned crazy while he was away. “But my beloved brother is my king, so I will obey and hope he comes back to his senses. I can help him, I will help him, if he lets me – yes, Epameinondas and his friends taught me how they wage war. Don’t you think this knowledge can be of use? There are so many changes I could…”

“Philippos,” Eurydike cuts him, using her most regal voice, the one that feels like the bite of a winter wind. “You will do no such things. No one wants to listen to you. Be quiet, find yourself harmless ways to entertain yourself... In time, when Perdikkas understands you are no threat… He will warm up to you.”

The curve of Eurydike’s shoulders betrays that she wishes things were different – but things are as they always were. Alexandros, the eldest, was the most beautiful of them, the heir, the one with the brightest future; Perdikkas was the smartest, quiet and collected, and the brain behind their cruel jokes.

Philippos was the royal piece of luggage that had enough worth to be sent away, time and time again, while being worthless enough that no one would truly care if he was never returned.

“I am happy that you are home,” she breathes. “Come and kiss me, my boy.”

I am not a boy anymore, he thinks, except he will have to be just that now, until he finds a way to convince Perdikkas he’s safe or until the gods cut his brother’s life thread. So Philippos kisses her, because she is still his mother and will always be his mother, even if, leaving her to search for his old room, he can’t help but think about the kind Theban woman who fed him honey cakes whenever the littlest thing scratched his heart.

[only-one-brain-cell]

My taste in fictional characters is just ✨depressed and traumatized pretty men.✨

[yellowharrington]

wildflower and barley -- joel miller x reader

pairing + fandom: joel miller x reader, the last of us (hbo)

word count: 5k+ oops

warnings/notes: smut smut smut!!! minors DNI, 18+!!! no outbreak!au. age gap (it's implied reader is in her 20s while joel is 45) and mentions of joel being kinda perverted and liking it lol. drinking (both reader and joel, not excessive), use of a dating app like tinder but not specified, unprotected PIV w creampie and oral (m+f receiving), do not fuck your tinder hookups without protection i'm just horny and gross. excessive use of darlin' as a nickname. implied that reader likes men. she/her pronouns used, afab!reader (with mentions of body parts), no use of y/n. if i missed anything lmk!

a/n: heavily inspired by this post by @yesttoheaven about joel's tinder profile!! it has been rotting my brain since i saw it which literally inspired me to write my first fic in the tlou fandom ever so please be gentle with me. i imagined show!joel because i've never played the game so do with that what you will. please reblog and leave comments if u enjoy it <3333

divider by @cafekitsune

summary: after deciding to change your age range on a dating app in hope of a change of scenery, you stumble across joel miller.

No one likes using dating apps.

Swiping left, left, left mindlessly at troves of men holding fish, showing off their trucks, or with deer heads mounted to the walls behind their selfies holding guns.

This was Texas, after all.

Having just moved here, it was a little shocking, to say the least. But you were getting used to the “eligible” bachelors that were your age generally looking and acting the same. When you did end up finding someone of interest, you were usually turned off pretty quickly by whatever shitty pick-up line they had chosen. Or, your personal favourite, “wanna fuck?”

No thanks.

It was an idyllic summer evening, the hot stuffy air of Austin flowing in through your windows. You laid in bed, propped up on the pillows against your headboard and sorting through the faces that adorned your screen. No one particularly interesting, as usual, and every profile was starting to melt together to look the same.

You sighed, looking into your settings, adjusting and increasing different metrics to hopefully change the pool just enough for there to be someone new or interesting. 

Age range: 25-30

Your eyebrow cocked as you looked onto the screen, pulling the slider more to the right experimentally. No one was here to see you, and even though it was slightly embarassing to be interested in older men, you’d be lying if you said it didn’t pique your interest to imagine it. Even just to try, and see, if they ever really did grow up. You imagined it was wishful thinking, but increased the range anyways.

Age range: 35-45

Feeling the need to throw your phone across the room after doing that, you placed it face down under your pillow and slid out of bed. No use in swiping through them now, and you were getting tired of looking. A pint of Ben and Jerry’s and a new episode of your favourite show was waiting for you downstairs.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

Joel Miller does not use dating apps.

He barely knows how to send a text on his phone, let alone navigate the world of online women. Not to say he didn’t explore the options, so to speak, but they usually were not ones that were single, his age, and in his area. Unless the ads on those sites were real, that is.

“It’s starting to get sad,” Sarah had remarked at breakfast, when they got on the topic, and Joel feigned hurt. Hand over his heart, he dropped his fork onto the plate. “It’s not sad, Jesus. I’m just busy, is all.”

“Busy not gettin’ busy,” Sarah remarked, and Joel’s eyes widened. “Hey now! None of that.”

A blush spread up his cheeks and ears as they continued to eat breakfast in slightly awkward silence, before Joel took his plate to the sink. “Okay, off to school, you. And no more conversations about my dating life. Ever.”

Sarah laughed as she finished off the last of the juice in her glass. “I’m just saying, dad. You can if you want to. Might be nice for you.”

Joel planted a soft kiss to her head before she bounded out the door, rolling his eyes and calling out a ‘love you’ before she closed the door swiftly behind her. Joel stared at his cell phone on the table. Maybe it would be nice.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

The following evening, you were a little too excited to see the dating app specimens you had acquired. Not sure what to expect, really, and you went in with no expectations. It’s not like they’d magically all be tall, dark, and handsome, but some variety never killed anybody.

Paul, 41

Daddy, but not yours. No libs allowed. 6’ because that matters.

You sighed deeply. Some things never change. 

After swiping through much of what you were used to, a profile managed to catch your eye among the sea of disappointment.

Joel, 45

Just a Southern gentleman trying this out for the first time. Contractor of over 10 years. I love my daughter, BBQ, strong coffee, and sleeping in. 

Now that was the most interesting thing you’d seen in a while.

He didn’t look a day over 40. His eyes creased at the corners when he smiled wide in his photos. He looked tan, a product of the Texas heat and his job, you thought. His features were accompanied by salt-and-pepper facial hair and messy curls that looked soft and pliable. His photos showed off his physique incredibly, tight wash-worn t-shirts pulling over his arms and shoulders, looking big, broad. He was no doubt the most handsome man you’d seen on an app, maybe ever.

When you swiped right before you could think too hard, you were surprised to see the green “Match!” Flash across your screen.

Your fingers ghosted over the keyboard on your phone, thinking of a witty thing to say, probably for too long.

Your phone buzzed as you saw a notification pop up.

Joel has sent you a message.

Hey, darlin’. How are ya?

You felt your face warm at the sweet message, when was the last time someone had called you darlin’? Ever?

Hey cowboy. I’m great, how are you?

He was certainly an eager responder, taking only a few seconds to reply. You found yourself smiling down at your phone screen.

Cowboy… I like that. I’m better now that I’m talking to you.

Oh, Joel, who told you to say that? 😂

No good?

Not bad. 6/10. 

Only 6/10? I’ll work on it. I like to think I’m better in person. 

I would love to find out. 

You found yourself emboldened by how easy the conversation was flowing. Joel was certainly easy to talk to, easier than the other matches you had going for you, and infinitely more handsome.

Oh, would you? Alright. I’d love to take you to dinner sometime. If you don’t mind being seen with an old man such as myself in public. Or meeting a stranger from the internet.

He’s a very handsome stranger. I would love to go to dinner with you. Know any good spots? I’m new around here.

There’s a great barbecue spot in downtown Austin. If you’d prefer something fancier, let me know.

I love bbq. Just tell me where and when, cowboy.

Tomorrow, 7pm ok?

You sent him your phone number in the message. Fuck it.

Sounds great. Text me the address, I’ll be there. :)

Joel’s reply didn’t come. Instead, a text appeared at the top of your screen with an unknown number. 

It’s Joel. This the right number?

Yup. You found me.

Great. Talk tomorrow sweetheart. Looking forward to it. :)

He texted you the address of the restaurant, right before you opened the contact card, saving his name as “cowboy ♡”.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

Cowboy. Cowboy. Cowboy. It was playing over in his head like a broken fuckin’ record. 

Joel was positively freaking out about this date.

Sarah had managed to secure a sleepover at her friend’s place, so the house would be empty for the night. He had been busying himself with cleaning the entirety of the house, even taking the time to mow the grass before work and vacuum the family room. He can’t remember the last time he vacuumed anywhere.

Would she even make it back here? How does this work? Will she want to sleep over or hang out on the couch or should he be making a dessert for after?

His mind was brought out of it’s craze by Sarah jumping down the stairs. She plopped her bag down on the freshly wiped countertop.

“Careful,” he warned, putting a hand up. “I just cleaned that off.”

“I can tell. It smells like the cleaning aisle threw up in here.”

He smirked before patting her head with his hand, as she aggressively smoothed out her hair. “Dad! Don’t!”

“When do you wanna go to Ellie’s?” He asked, more gaging how long he has left to get ready than actually asking.

“Probably soon. Why? Tryna get rid of me?” she poked her dad in the side, but when she flinched away instead, a large smile spread across her face. He was tense.

“What’s your deal?” Joel hated the way she knew him so well sometimes.

“Nothing.“

“Are you going on a date?”

Silence fell over the kitchen between the two of them, as Joel’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “How did you know?”

“Oh my god, you actually took my advice,” Sarah laughed, watching her dad’s face burn red with embarrassment. “Just don’t do anything weird on communal surfaces, please.”

Joel shook his head at her suggestion, already becoming annoyed with the whole prospect. He was so nervous, about what to wear, how to act, what the expectation was… let alone, what would happen if they made it back to his place at all. 

Although, when he was able to shake his nerves for a second, he was just really fucking excited.

“Wear those dark jeans, and that green shirt you wore to Tommy’s last week. Looks good on you.” Sarah smiled as she put her arms around Joel’s middle, while his worries melted away with her touch. “She’ll love you, I promise.”

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

It had been such a long time since you’d been on a proper date, you were starting to lose your mind at the simple process of deciding what to wear.

Clothes were strewn across every surface of your apartment, shoes matching with jeans that matched with cardigans, tops that matched with belts and jackets.

It’s 87 degrees at 5 o’clock, idiot. You’re not wearing a jacket. Relax.

Exhausted of picking out outfits and making decisions, you collapsed on your couch and took a look at your options. You landed on an easy sundress, putting the rest of your clothes back in their respective drawers, and pulling out all of the products you were expecting to use to get ready.

You scrolled through your phone aimlessly as a notification bubble popped up on the screen.

We still on for tonight darlin’? Or did you change your mind?

No worries if you did. I respect that.

You let out a cackle at the message, thinking about how he must look right now. Was he nervous? Scared? Was he just looking for a controversially young fuck?

You weren’t… completely against that.

Didn’t change my mind, wouldn’t in a million years :)

Meet you there. Can’t wait to see you.

His eagerness to meet up would’ve been a red flag if it were any other run of the mill guy, but something about Joel felt special. There didn’t seem to be any funny business with him; too sincere to try anything other than just a good old fashioned date.

You too, cowboy.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

When Joel showed up at the restaurant, he clenched a small bouquet of pink peonies in his right hand and checked his watch obsessively. The minutes ticked away, as he kept a high alert for anyone who could be his potential date. He knew what you looked like, of course, but this being his first time doing anything of this sort is making him hyperaware of anything going awry.

When he does lay eyes on you, his whole gaze softens. A pink sundress, hair pristinely styled and a bounce in your step that reminded him of summer. You looked like an angel, the sunset behind you painting the sky tangerine, which reflected off of the shine against your supple skin. So young, beautiful, it was taking his breath away.

“Joel?”

Your voice matched your sweet demeanour, and he was taken out of his waking daydream.

“Hi,” is all he can say, letting his breath out as he relaxed. “Yes, hi, sorry. I’m Joel.”

“Hi,” you laugh back, eyes darting to the flowers in his hand. They matched your dress.

“These are for you,” he gets the hint, extending his arm out, and you can see the veins bulging in his forearm. He looked so much stronger in person, it was making your knees go weak.

“Thank you, wow,” you held them up to your nose to smell the sweet aroma. “I love peonies.”

“Me too,” he smiled, showing off a string of pearly white teeth, that contrasted with the pink of his lips and the even tan of his skin.

“Shall we?” He extended his arm to you for you to grab onto, and you got to feel the warmth of his skin for yourself. Your hand wrapped around his forearm as he opened the door of the restaurant for you, leading you inside and catching a glimpse of the backs of your thighs as you walked in front of him.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

When you were finally sitting, the conversation flowed easily. He was truly a Southern gentleman, like he had said. It wasn’t normal for you to open up so quickly, but Joel was so easy going and smart, he asked the right questions and knew when to listen. He knew how to listen, a warm gaze and a nod along, asking follow up questions to your answers and easily getting to know you.

You asked about his daughter, his family, his work. He was happy to tell you. 

“So, what’s a man like you doing being single in this city?” You take a sip of the wine in the glass in front of you, burgundy staining your bottom lip. 

He takes a bite of the food in front of him, a napkin pressing to his lips quickly after. “Been busy,” he started to say, honey brown eyes meeting yours for a second. His gaze sent an electrifying pulse down your spine.

“And, well, when Sarah’s mom left there was a ton to do,” he says it nonchalantly, as if that should be something normal to happen. “House, work, school, she keeps my hands full. Hasn’t been a lot of time.” His syrupy drawl is pulling you in, you’re enticed by the way he speaks to you. So easy, warm, soft. You wonder what his hands feel like on your body, lips pressed to your neck, torso pressed against yours.

“Sorry, that’s a lot of information for a first date,” he laughs to cover the awkwardness, and quietly curses himself for going into so much detail about his precarious family situation and basically admitting to you that he hasn’t fucked anything other than his hand in the last 5 or so years.

“No, it’s okay,” you slide your hand across the table, palm up, urging him to slot his hand into it. He takes it, easily, enveloping yours. His fingers find the pulse point on your wrist. You let your eyes drift up to his, drinking in the way his chest fills out the shirt he chose.

“What’s your story?” He asks earnestly, giving your hand a squeeze. “Can’t imagine there isn’t a long line of people outside waiting to take my place, darlin’.”

You blush furiously at the nickname, and let your eyes meet his once again. “You have no idea the… mess that is out there,” the wine is calling your name to take another sip at the mere thought, but you refrain. “Certainly not too many I am interested in.”

“So, is that why you’re on a date with an old man on a beautiful summer night in Austin?”

You could tell Joel, in a twisted way, liked that you were younger than him. It made him feel younger by admission, that you’d want to spend time with him. 

“You’re not that much older,” you laugh, not even believing it yourself as the words left your lips. “And I like to try new things. Don’t you like trying new things, sometimes?”

It was his turn to let his face go red at your insinuation. If only you knew how ‘new’ this really was for him, how much he was pushed out of his comfort zone right now.

You didn’t notice. 

A little more polite small talk and exchanging of stories was all you could take before the tension was becoming too much. After another glass of wine and a shared plate of sky-high chocolate cake for dessert, you were enjoying his company and could tell he was enjoying yours all the same. When you met his gaze again, hands still intertwined, you could tell there was a question on the tip of his tongue.

“Would you want to…“ - a nervous pause, with a halo of lust - “come back to mine for a nightcap? I’ve got an empty house this evening.”

You couldn’t help but smirk, knowing in your heart that Joel must’ve made arrangements for his family not to be home in anticipation. He had to have planned for you, known in his heart you’d say yes.

“I’d love that.”

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

Joel’s home is unmistakably him. It smells like a pine candle that sits near the front door and a faint aroma of laundry detergent. There’s photos everywhere, him and his daughter, his brother’s family. Big windows were letting in the twinkling lights of the city outside, the inky sky making them look brighter against its canvas.

“You have a beautiful home,” you say, although it seems a little formal for the situation. What else do you say to a grown-up in their house?

“Thank you,” he takes a bottle of whiskey from the bar cart and pours two rock glasses, handing you one. He flicks on a lamp, ambient light filling the room and painting his skin amber orange, as he joins your side by his kitchen table.

“I did a lot of the construction myself, the decorations are my daughter.” He points lazily to the trinkets on the shelves and photos on the wall. “I don’t really have a good eye for that type of stuff.” 

You take a sip from the drink and it coats your throat, burning down as you suppress a cough at the taste. You nod along as he explains the design choices he made in the home, and you play along, knowing it’s likely out of anxiety.

“What about upstairs?”

Your eyes are innocent as they meet his, although you understand the implication you’re making whole-heartedly. He puts his glass down on the kitchen table and you follow his lead, his strong hand around your wrist as he leads you up the stairs wordlessly.

“It’s not anything,” - he clears his throat - “special,” he shows you around the second floor, finishing at the door of his bedroom that has been left slightly ajar. 

You step in quietly, leading him inside as you take in the bedroom. Neatly folded clothes, a made bed that looks well loved. Blue sheets and fluffy pillows, big bay windows that let the moonlight in.

“I think it’s nice,” you say simply, letting yourself turn around to meet his broad frame. He looks down at you slightly, eyes meeting yours as your hand drops from his grasp and snakes around his neck. His hands come up the sides of your dress, pulling it up slightly, but landing on your waist.

“Is this okay?” He asks tentatively in the dark of the room, his lips so close to yours already you can practically taste the whiskey on his lips for yourself. You answer him by pressing your tentative lips to his, slotting them together easily.

Joel’s grip on your waist tightens momentarily as he takes you in, pulling you as close as he possibly can. He can smell the perfume on your neck and the wine on your lips from earlier, and it’s making his need for you increase tenfold. 

You pull him into you as you stumble back to let your knees hit his mattress, sitting down and letting your hands come to his belt buckle. Your hands came to undo it as he pulled his t-shirt off to throw onto the floor beside him, bending down to help you pull the dress over your shoulders to meet his t-shirt.

You made quick work of his jeans, pushing them to the ground and looking up at him with a keen glance. You could see the breath making his belly rise and fall, anticipating your touch on him any second.

When your hand wrapped around the base of his cock, his breath hitched and his head rolled back. He was already half-hard only from kissing you, so a few pumps made him easily ready for your mouth.

“You’re so big,” is all you can think to say, head spinning from the sheer size of him right in front of your face. Your mouth watered at the way his hand palmed through your hair, pulling you in closer to him for some relief.

It was intoxicating to him, the way your mouth fit around his cock. Such a beautiful sight to see, your head licking and sucking at his tip, gathering spit there to lubricate him. His knees were going weak as he watched intently, no thought able to cross his mind, other than maybe how long it had been since he’d had anyone to do this with. He was going to have to pace himself if it was all like this.

Your mouth constrained around the length of him, taking him deeper and deeper with every bob of your head. Filthy sounds were filling the room now, of your eager mouth pulling him in as best you could. His hand stayed steady at the back of your head, not pushing, just softly pressed there for support. His other hand found your shoulder, pushing down your bra strap.

“God, darlin’,” was all he could choke out, using his hand to pull you off of him. Your hand lazily stroked him as you looked up at him, spit collecting at the corners of your mouth. “I’m not gonna last long if you keep doin’ that,” his laugh eased some of the tension in the room, as you took your other hand and wiped the spit away.

He leaned down, pressing a fervent kiss to your lips before using his own hands to unclasp your bra and let your breasts free. His lips traveled to the side of your neck, before he was kneeled down between your legs, sucking your nipple into his mouth. He lapped at you, all consuming, as his hand came up to grasp the other breast that wasn’t being serviced. He moaned at the noises you were making, lewd whines into the night air that only encouraged him. 

His lips made their way down your body to your clothed centre, your back against his soft sheets. You looked down at him intently, watching as he pulled your panties down your legs and immediately delved into your pussy with broad strokes of his tongue.

Your body jerked upwards at the contact, hand fisting the sheet beside you as he lapped at you, like a man starved. His expert tongue found your clit easily, sucking and licking at you for what felt like hours. You thought about his heavy cock between his legs, begging to be touched, hard as ever as he licked at you desperately.

“Joel,” you whined out, feeling your hand reach down to grab at his curls and push him deeper into you. That only made him moan, one hand lazily fisting his cock as the other came up to dip a finger into you, allowing you to see stars when you screwed your eyes shut.

His fingers were so large, pressed into your core as you fucked yourself on them and his tongue in tandem. He was groaning and grunting, and you hoped his neighbours couldn’t see into the window at the desperate filth that was going on in his bedroom.

“Fuck, Joel, please,” you begged, but he had no mercy, and your orgasm was creeping up on you. He was ready to watch you come undone, pushing a second finger into you and furiously sucking on your clit. His other hand left his own pleasure and wrapped around your breast, pressing and playing with the hard nub there, pinching to provide a little bit of sting to it. It was sending you into another dimension.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” and his voice is gravely and debauched, enough to send you into your first orgasm, chanting his name and pulling on his hair. He was happily licking at you, fingers still pressing in and out as to not mess up the rhythm, as you rode out your orgasm against his face. 

When you started to come down, he finally detached himself from you before standing up between your legs and pressing his broad palms to your thighs. He stayed there for a moment, cock still hard and heavy between his legs as you gazed up at him, out of breath from his work.

“You’re really good at that,” was all you could think to say, head clouded with arousal. You moved up on the bed a little, opening your legs and pressing your knees apart to show your pussy to him again.

“Please fuck me, Joel,” you breathe out, letting your hand find your own clit to rub it teasingly for him. It was still so sensitive, but the way he was looking down at you, eyes dark and stormy with need, you could almost come again just from that.

He put a knee down on the bed and crawled on top of you, his lips finding yours once again as your hands found his face. You held him there, savouring the kiss as his tongue crashed against yours, all warmth and spit and the taste of you. His hand found your breast and continued to play with your nipples, softly, coaxing more moans into his mouth from yours.

He leaned back and slipped his cock inside of you, filling you up immediately and making you gasp. He groaned into the side of your neck, tonguing the side of your ear and kissing you feverishly as he pumped in and out of you.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him impossibly close, your moans filling the room as he rocked in and out of you. He kissed your jaw and chest, before reaching down between your bodies and pressing his thick finger to your clit again, using the wetness there to draw circles around your sensitive nub.

“So pretty,” he smiles into your neck, your hand on the back of his, playing with the now-sweaty strands of hair on the nape. “So pretty for me, taking my cock,” the dirty talking is welcome as he continues to bring you closer to a second orgasm, your breath hitching once again.

“Come inside of me,” you say it like a whisper, a secret in the stillness of the room, and Joel is unsure he even heard you correctly.

“Are you sure?” He says it not accusingly, but in a way that conveys he feels like he just won the lottery.

“Yes, please, fill me up.”

You can see the way his eyes darken more, shifting so he’s on his knees and using your body to fuck himself on his thick cock. His hand continued to play with your clit, bringing you so close to your orgasm that tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. His cheeks were getting hot as he thrusted in and out furiously, and you could almost see the stress melt off of his face as he came close to his own undoing.

The white-hot feeling washes over you once again, eyes shutting before you’re back on your elbows and watching intently. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire as his thrusts become sloppy, your name pouring out of his lips like a prayer. You’re clenching around him and letting him ride out his high alongside you, slowing after his hot cum coats your walls and leaves you full of him.

He collapses on top of you, cock softening inside as you both catch your breath together. Your chests are sticky with sweat as you breathe, taking in the smell of him, and the feel of his warmth on your body.

He pulls himself from you and flops beside you, still taking a moment to admire you. You look over at him, a lazy smile on your face as your hand reaches out to caress the skin of his chest. He takes the time to run his fingertips up your arms and back as you lay there in silence together, just soaking in the moment in a post-sex glow.

“I guess I should get going,” you say after a few beats, sitting up to grab your dress off the floor. You cringe at the thought of throwing your underwear on and leaving, this being just another random hookup for you that never lead to anything. Joel was sweet.

A confused look spreads across his features and his brows knit together, before sitting up next to you at the edge of the bed.

“I mean, I don’t know how these things usually go,” he laughs, as his hand finds your lower back. “But you don’t gotta run outta here like a scared animal or somethin’.”

You look up at him again, unsure of what to do next. In your, albeit limited, experience with dating app hookups, you were expected to leave pretty much right after.

“Oh, um,” you look around the room at the soft worn-in sheets and the TV across from Joel’s bed. You take a look at him again, your eyes meeting his to match his gaze, where you can tell he’s mentally begging that you’ll stay the night.

“I mean, if you don’t mind, I’d be happy to stay.” Joel smiled lopsidedly and let his hand rub soothing circles at your lower back. 

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he laughs, stepping over to go into the bathroom and warm up a cloth for the mess spilling out from between your legs. “I wouldn’t mind wakin’ up and doing all that again tomorrow.”

You laugh and lay back onto his bed as he presses the warm cloth to your pussy, his lips once again finding yours to pull you in for a sweet kiss. 

You nod, sliding between the comfortable sheets as Joel runs downstairs to grab your abandoned drinks as well as a couple of bottles of ice cold water. He slips into the sheets next to you, not bothering to throw on any pajamas (not that you were complaining), and settling in beside you. After a few gulps of water, you nestled into his chest and let your hand find his tummy, resting on it as you listened to the even pattern of his breath.

“We should do this again. Like, after tomorrow morning.” you say quietly as you’re drifting in and out of sleep. His fingertips continues to slide across your arm and give you goosebumps as you snuggled closer into him, hearing a laugh exhale out of his nose and feeling a kiss press to the top of your head. 

In his sleepy, deep southern drawl, he replies. “Don’t have to ask me twice, darlin’.”

[ellieslittleslutt]

‘𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝑰’𝒎 𝒔𝒐 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒍𝒚

MEN AND MINORS DNI!!

part two!

cw: ellie gets in a small fight, kissing, gets close to smut but none really, my sad attempt to bring my motivation back.

a/n: highschool ellie is a massive loser prove me wrong i dare you.

wc - 1.6k

not proofread

──── ⋆⋅🍁⋅⋆ ────

it started with a punch. then another punch, and another, a boy pinned under ellie as she lands punches on him nose bloodied from him throwing the first punch. a teacher eventually got behind her pulling her off the poor kid while she kicked to get up. standing up she earns herself a firm tug on the wrist leaving a red mark and a hall pass to the principals office. scoffing she shoves it in her picket walking down the hall, tissue pressed to her nose she slumps down into the chair.

she was one of two people there the second being you. you were sitting back straight, hands in your lap looking around nervously. she didn’t know why you were here, you looked too nice to get in trouble.

she wiped some blood off her nose leaning forward “so what did you do?” she asked quietly so the principal won’t hear. you looked over at her a little shocked her was talking to you “me?” you ask caught off guard and she chuckles “no else here princess” she says leaning back. you nodded “was caught faking a signature to get out of PE… again.” she hums with a smile “well can’t say i haven’t ever tried to” she said.

you laughed softly with her before you get called in standing up you walk to the door and ellie gives you a thumbs up. rolling your eyes with a smile you push the door open sitting down in the chair.

after the principals long speak about, “faking signatures builds distrust” and blah blah blah. you weren’t listening you mainly were just picking at the laces on your shoes. you were finally excused getting up and leaving walking back out to her “you’re up.” you said patting her shoulder and she huffs out a laugh getting up “see you around” she grins disappearing behind the door.

──── ⋆⋅🍁⋅⋆ ────

you didn’t think you’d see her around anymore but one random tuesday in geography class, your teacher stood up letting a student in, one that’s too familiar. walking in was the girl from the hallway. making eye contact she smiles at you sending you a wink, “this is ellie she’s changing classes” huh, ellie.

the teacher gestures over to the seat beside you and she walks over to you a little to proud. plopoing down she looks over at you with that same grin “hey stranger, following me?” you ask with a smile tucking your hair back.

she shrugs folding her arms “possibly” she flashes you with that pretty smile again that made you wnat to melt. sitting through that class was torture, filled with sneaky glances and ellie checking you out when she thought you weren’t looking g (she’s all you could look at).

when the lunch bell rang you grabbed your bag getting up to go get lunch when ellie stops you grabbing your wrist “hey so, i think you’re pretty cool and if you would like you could come sit at lunch with me and my friends? they’re chill so don’t worry about them, it’s a pretty exclusive club” she smiles looking at you.

chuckling you tilt your head “yeah? only the coolest people can get i?” she nods giving you finger guns “you got it, but uh if you don’t have other people with sit with you can just come with me” she says holding out her arm bowing slightly. “laughing softly you hook your arm around hers letting her lead you to her friends “such a gentlemen” you tease.

──── ⋆⋅🍁⋅⋆ ────

walking out with her to the field she climbs up the bleachers to two other people. a tall black haired asian guy how looks just a bit older than you and had his arm wrapped around this other girl shorter and has a very sweet face.

trailing shaky behind ellie you smile at them politely when she introduces you. “be nice” she warns letting the girl walk up to you introducing herself as dina. she was very excited to meet you shaking your hand “it’s so nice to know that ellie is capable of making more friends” she laughs pulling you over to sit. “this is jesse my boyfriend don’t let his height intimidate you it’s so funny when he trips.”

you laugh and nod along with all she says not knowing how to reply before ellie comes back to you “alright d enough of stealing my friends” she says giving you a fake eye roll before sitting beside you.

you sat around with them laughing at all the stupid shit they did together and dina was right it was hilarious watching jesse’s lanky body trip on the field trying to run. the bell rings once more signaling the end of lunch and ellie looks back at you packing up.

“soo” she says her hand in her pockets “did we earn your time for lunch?” she says hopefully. slinging your bag over your shoulder you hummed “i think you three have” ellie’s face beams looking at you “so i’ll expect to see you tomorrow?” a smile plastered on her face and you need “until tomorrow williams.”

──── ⋆⋅🍁⋅⋆ ────

spending all your lunches with them you got closer with ellie. she would bring you a cookie everyday refusing to let you pay her back as her way of saying thank you for being friends with her.

today ellie suggested the idea of coming over to do homework for geography together, after some convincing and promises ellie will actually do her work you agree and she gave you her address.

walking up to her door it was a small house in a nice cozy neighborhood near some woods, you knock three times and you are greeted with a man standing in the door way. he had a frown on his face looking down at you. panicking internally thinking you had the wrong address you speak up “is ellie here?” you squeak and his face softens “oh you must be her new friend” she smiles and moves tit he side “i’m joel, she’s down in her room last door on the left, come to me if you need anything.” you nodded thanking him rushing to her room shutting her door looking at her wide eyed “you’d don’t tell me your dad is scary as fuck almost shit myself.”

rolling in her chair to look at you she corrects you “not my dad and he just has really bad resting bitch face” looking at her a bit confused when she corrects you about joel you shake it off “whatever just warn me next time” you huffed tossing your bag on her bed sitting down on it grabbing your books “go back to homework” you said pointing at her desk and she rolls her eyes “fine mom” “that’s right.”

looking around her room it fit her well, perfect amount of loser with space and music posters on her wall, vinyls displayed on her wall with her comics and action figures. it was cute seeing her in her natural habitat, fitting in so well with one room.

you two ended up on the floor snacking on some chips while doing homework you glanced up to find ellie already looking at you with soft eyes. blushing you look back down at you book “you’re staring” you mumbled writing down some formula.

humming she reaches forward to brush some of your hair back “so what if i am?” she asks resting her hand on your cheek “you promised we could get this done” you mumbled getting a bit flustered when she tilts your head up to look at her. she leans forward slightly “this is way more fun” she hums pressing her lips to yours. shutting your eyes you lean forward on your elbows to get closer and kiss her more liking the way it felt.

you’ve kissed people before but mainly in stupid middle school games of spin the bottle and only with boys when you were pressured. it never felt right, but this was so right. sitting up you move to sit by her kissing her deeper your hand on her cheek while she takes lead wrapping her arms around you pulling you closer moving to kiss your cheek listening to your soft gasp.

“is this okay?” she whispers kissing down your neck and you eagerly nod “please” you whispered lifting you arms to let her take off your shirt going back to latching to your neck kissing the soft part of your jaw that made you shiver eliciting a soft moan from you.

getting up onto her bed she gets up ontop of you your arms wrapping your arms around her waist nervously fiddling. noticing these small habits she pulls away to loom at you “you okay?” she whispers kissing the corner of your mouth and you nodded “it’s just… you’re like really pretty and i don’t wnat to mess this up” you mumbled looking away.

moving your face to look back at her, her eyes are soft and reassuring “i’m here for anything alright? joel’s probably gone now so don’t worry about that and if you need me to stop or slow down say the words okay? i don’t wnat to hurt you” she was cupping your cheek using the other arms to hold herself up and you nodded letting her go back to kiss you.

──── ⋆⋅🍁⋅⋆ ────

lying in bed the sheets covered your chest head on hers. she played with your hair other hand holding you close. looking up at her you smile softly “hey” you whispered “hi” she smiled back brushing the hair form your face kissing your forehead. “you were amazing” she said softly “i’m proud of you” cuddling closer to her you hummed shutting your eyes taking a deep breath “you’re warm” you mumbled sleepy “i’ll be your personal heater” she chuckled wrapping the blankets around you tighter.

“you get sleepy after sex” she teased poking your side and you shoved her arm away “shut uppp” you groan nuzzling your head deeper in her neck. laughing her pets your hair letting you rest “sleep now baby… you deserve it”

──── ⋆⋅🍁⋅⋆ ────

[igotanidea]

The great birthday mess up : Damian Wayne x Reader

Request: Yes! Reader planning a surprise party for Dami and him thining she's going to break up with him so he does it first.

Thank you anon! ;) made some changes to the requests hope you'll like it either way :)

***

„I don’t understand…” the words coming out of Damian’s mouth was the perfect example that hearing and getting were two completely different things.

“What’s there to not understand Y/N?. I’m breaking up with you. Sounds pretty simple even for your little brain.” He shrugged and turned to the window in their shared apartment so she wouldn’t see the strain on his face and clenched fists.

“But-“

“Please don’t go all whiny on me now. Just take my decision with dignity.

“I don’t understand—” she said again, as if that was the only sentence she could say in shock coursing in every cell in her body.

“Of course you don’t.” the tone he was giving her was ruthless, unlike the rapid beat of his heart calling her name with all the emotional power it could gather.

“Don’t you love me anymore?” as pathetic as it was, she almost downgraded herself to begging for an explanation with that sentence

“I’m just breaking up with you! Now will you leave me alone? I really do not want to see your face anymore.”

Well that was true, cause seeing her sad face was making his resolve crumble.

And It hurt. It hurt to tell her all those mean things.

Especially because Damian did not even wantto act like an asshole.

He did love her like a fool, he used to laugh at. If anything, he could just fall at her feet (as long as no one  saw) and beg to forgive him.

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t because she was the one who stopped loving him first.

***

Three weeks ago, “command center” at Wayne Manor.

“Ok, people, listen up! We’re on a mission of-“

“Is she for real?” Tim whispered turning to Dick who was holding back a laugh. If the boys knew that Y/N would take planning Damian’s 24th birthday in such a serious manner, almost putting on a war paint, one of them would bring a fancy camera to memorize it.

Instead it was only Jason taking photo after photo of the girl-in-command in her makeshift uniform and with indicator in hand.

“Get it off my face Todd!” she cried out trying to shove him off, but failing at dealing with the brick Jason was.

“Not a chance. You look ridiculous. And all that for the demon’s spawn? My god! He doesn’t deserve you.”

“Careful or I’ll think you’re telling me a compliment.”

“Compliment? No, no. It’s merely an observation of your poor choice in men. Both your boyfriend and those gathered here…”

“HEY!” Dick reacted almost immediately. No way he was going to let anyone, even his adoptive brother shit-talk him “I beg your pardon! I believe Y/N has an exquisite taste in men!”

“Just because you are here?” Jason mocked, giving Dick a smirk.

“Oh-my-god….” Y/N rolled her eyes throwing hands in the air “Could you please stop that…? I got a whole presentation about ideas for the party and –”

“A presentation?” While Dick and Jason did not give the girl any attention, at the mention of possible slides Tim became awfully animated. “What kind of slides? How many?”

“Oh-my-god…” She muttered again, this time covering face with hands gathering herself “God give me patience for those man-children.” One deep inhale and exhale on her part and she was ready to proceed. “SHUT UP!!” she yelled at the top of her lungs “SHUT UP ALL OF YOU!”

None of the men has ever seen her like that. Reddened on the face with fury in eyes and clenched fists. Clearly just a thought of Damian was making her spin out of control.

“Y/N--?”

“I’m about to tell you how it’s going to go from now on.” She hissed with an unobjectionable tone. “First, you’re going to sit on your pretty asses.” her gaze travelled to Dick knowing the attention in this particular moment will make him listen “Second, you’re going to stop throwing veiled insults.”

“But-“ Jason tried to chime in and object.

“I don’t fucking care if your inner Chandler Bing is coming to voice, you shut it or I will.”

“I’m not scared of you Y/N. You are just a –”

In a blink of an eye she was next to him, with one finger on his neck.

“You got about 100 vascular plexus in your body and so it happens I know how to put pressure on all of them.” She hissed before pulling back and taking on an innocent look “now, will you keep quiet, Jason?”

“I’m still not scared…” he muttered leaning on the doorframe with a frown and pout of a kicked puppy.

“Thank you very much. As for the plan, thirdly, you’ll stop asking me about my PowerPoint thing and actually watch it.”

“I’ve been dying to watch it the whole time!”

“ Shut up Tim!” came from three pair of mouths.

“Hey! Why am I being the only one yelled at by everyone? It’s harassment! Not fair!”

Y/N exhaled deeply, making a mental note to herself to never get those boys in men bodies in one room ever again and started explaining the details of her surprise party. Clearly, even despite knowing Damian’s family for a while she did not expect it would be this hard to get boys to cooperate.

However, per aspera ad astra, she managed to present her idea of a gift, the attractions and all the surprise party.

Obliging the boys under the  pain of sudden and unexpected death, or at least mutilation, to keep their mouths shut.  And since she was the girlfriend of a teenage assassin – this time no one dared to say a word.

***

Obviously the surprise party included working on it undercover. Therefore Y/N was spending more time with Jason, Dick and Tim to the detriment of her hours with Damian. Sneaking around. Dismissing or getting off lightly of answering his questions.

And he got suspicious, it was Damian Wayne Al-Ghul after all.

The young boy, spend hours and days fighting his natural urge to follow her when she was walking out the apartment with no explanation. Tie her to the chair, light the lamp in her face and force the information out of her.

But she was his girlfriend, not a villain.

So, getting too much into his head he came out to one plausible explanation – she was slowly letting him down. Not cutting the tie right away, because that was not who she was, but discouraging him.

“You’re going out again?” he asked, capably hiding the disappointment seeing her putting on shoes and jacket.  Quickly he put the bouquet of flowers he bought for her behind his back, almost crushing the innocent buds, while simultaneously wondering if calling off reservation at her fav restaurant for the fourth time this month would get him kicked out of the VIP list. “I thought we could have a night out and—“

“Sorry, babe.��� She smiled apologetically pecking his lips, grabbing the bag and already one foot out the door. “I gotta go do this thing that I told you about!”

“What thing---”

“Don’t wait for me, I’ll be back late. See you around buddy!”

Buddy?!

Did she just--? Holy fucking shit. Now Damian was sure, she stopped loving him.

And since he couldn’t watch her walk out his life like that, it was him, who was going to walk out of hers.

***

She run.

She run as fast as she could, hoping that if by some miracle she got into Flash’s speed the last fifteen minutes conversation with Damian would just turn out to be a dream. Or maybe she’ll find herself back in time, making sure it never happened in the first place.

What did she ever do to him to be treated like that?

Working her ass off to prepare a party? Using all her abilities to get people to help? Miraculously finding Damian’s friends from the past and even getting Jon to attend?

Fuck this shit! Fuck the life!

And out of all day’s in year he choose his own birthday to break up with her!

Fucking piece of shit, demon’s spawn, undeserving of a single second of the last 6 years she gave him.

Jason was fucking right as tragic as it sounded.

She burst into the Wayne Manor, where the boys were hanging the last decorations and immediately started ripping the garlands off and throwing tableware off the table.

“Y/N!!” Dick jumped off the ladder and rushed her direction, but it was Jason who reached her first. Almost tackling her to the floor, fighting against the rage of nails, teeth and screams coming out of her mouth.

“Stop it!”

“LET FUCKING GO OFF ME! THIS PARTY AIN;T HAPPENING UNLESS IT’S OVER MY DEAD BODY!”

“Better be careful with those words, cause in this family you get more than one chance at life.” Jason chuckled

“LET FUCKING GO!” she was struggling against his iron grip while Dick and Tim kneeled next to them

“No.” Jason responded calmly. “No, I’m not letting go off you.”

“None of us do, Y/N.” Tim added, moving a little bit closer, careful to not get a shoe in his face or something like that.

“What happened?” Dick asked calmly “come on, it can’t be that bad…”

“He broke up with me…” she sobbed. Not angry or furious anymore, but fully immersing in sadness. “Damian broke up with me…”

“HE WHAT?!” Dick yelled almost ready to start ripping off the decorations himself, successfully held back by Tim slapping him in the back of his head.

“She just told you. Can’t you see how shaken she is. And your making her say it again just for the sake of it? Get yourself together, Dick.”

“Sorry…”

“I don’t know what happened! I tried to talk and—”

“Talking to Damian about feelings, huh! Great idea Y/N.”

“GRAYSON!” Tim yelled slapping him again.

 “Sorry…”

“I hate to break it to you guys, but it seems like the man of the day has just arrived.” Tim moved to the window where he saw the reflection of the car lights.

“WHAT!?”

“Don’t yell at me! Bruce brought him! It was your plan Y/N!!”

“Oh so one time Bruce could be late he’s actually on time?!”

“Again-stop yelling at me!”

“He cannot see me here! Not like this! Not crying cause he’s going to think that I –“

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAMIAN!

“—care….”

The ending of the sentence was not supposed to escape her mouth, but not caring about her intentions it did. Maybe it was the shock of Bruce entering Wayne Manor with his youngest son, almost convinced the surprise party was already prepared and they could celebrate.

Instead the two were met with four people, caught like deer in the headlights, crying y/n, Jason on the floor holding her for comfort, enraged Dick and a little scared Tim without a plan.

As far away from their usual selves as possible.

“Are we too early or—” Bruce started, but before he could finish the sentence, the nearby ladder started to totter, hooking over the poorly hanged b-day banner and –

“NO!!” Dick yelled and rushed towards it, but tripping over Jason’s leg, fighting desperately to gain back balance and stepping on Y/N’s hand in the process. She yelled and it scared Tim who took a step back, crashing into Dick. Seeing all that Jason rushed to his feet trying to catch the material that was already falling down, dangerously close to the table and the candlestick. In the commotion no one noticed Alfred the cat, who obliviously entered the room, only to almost be flattened.

As the poor animal rushed to Y/N’s side, making her reach arms to give cat some resemblance of shelter, Dick finally managed to grab the banner.

“I got it! YES! Once more I am the one to save the day and--- AH!” he slipped on the floor cause clearly Alfred the cat left a remnants of his fear there, sliding all the way up to the table.

“NO!” Y/N yelled trying to save any of the dish that was already flying to her face.

“NO!” Jason cried out trying to snatch the decoration, getting tangled in it.

“NO!” Tim shrieked as the candled set the tablecloth on fire, that quickly spread to the leg of his trousers. And as the stimuli activated already downloaded plan in his brain, he reached for the extinguisher, profusely spraying everything (and everyone) with white powder.

Disaster.

Y/N, Dick, Jason and Tim were now all on the floor. Dirty, injured and/or humiliated, turned into giant, living, walking snowmen all on Bruce and Damian’s eyes.

“Not again….” Bruce whined.

“Happy birthday Damian!”

“SHUT UP GRAYSON!” the rest of three organizers yelled getting off the floor feeling worse than ever.

“What is all this?” Damian asked with a slight frown. “Or rather… what was all of this.”

“This is your—” Dick started

“AHHHHH!”

“Y/N, we know you are frustrated but please try to calm down—”

“This was supposed to be your stupid birthday party you idiot!” she yelled stumping towards Damian “Hear me?” he poke a finger into his chest. “Your. Stupid. Birthday. Party.”

“My- my what?” Damian stuttered grabbing her wrist only now realizing what day it was. Honestly after the morning break up with Y/N he couldn’t care less about the clock or calendar.

“Your—”

“Wait, wait. Hold back. Is this why you were acting so suspicious?”

“sus-suspicious? Is that what you thought?” her eyes grew wide once more and the steam to hit him blew off instantly

“You were just planning and preparing a party?” Damian asked realizing how much of an idiot he was.

“Yes”!

“So you didn’t stop loving me?” the hint of hope showed up in his eyes

“So you did not stop loving me?” Y/N repeated.

“How could I ever—”

She never gave him a chance to finish that sentence pressing her lips to his, not caring who was watching. And if anyone dared to tease, Damian’s katana would be used for something. And the knowledge of locations of nerve plexuses in the human body.

“Um….” Tim muttered feeling a little awkward in the situation. “Should we--?”

“Mhm. We should.” Dick agreed and noiselessly, like silently as befits a vigilante they fled the room.

***

Meanwhile, Damian and Y/n were sitting on the window sill amongst the mess of a b-day party.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out the way I planned—” she sighed.

“You kidding? It was the best thing ever.”

“Because you got the gift in clearing the misunderstanding between us?” she smiled and interlaced their fingers.

“no! because of watching my brothers making fools out of themselves.”

“Damian!” she patted his head.

“OUCH! Ok, fine! Fine! It was because I got you back!”

“This was forced, such confession doesn’t count!” she feigned offence.

“Well technically, we never really broke up, so I couldn’t get you back.”

“Well, technically-“ she tried to find a smart way of the situation, but he cut her off.

“Well, non-technically, you got cake in your hair. And on your face And in your lips. And I haven’t even tried that treat. So how about we stop talking so I could get a chance at it?”

He liked the cake.

A lot.

@keidylovestacos @nocturnal-onlooker - I'm taking the liberty of tagging you guys :)

[tiajk]

Amazon strawhat reader

Warnings; fem reader!, everyone crushing on reader if you squint, everyone loves themselves amazon reader, added robin brook franky and jimbei becuase why not even though i haven’t watched that far so if i get something wrong pls tell me, reader can do a lot of stuff

A/N: none!

masterlist. part 2

— luffy would actually love you without a single fucking doubt he was practically jumping up and down asking you to join his crew if you said no he would kidnap you but who could say no to him and his cute face

— luffy uses you as a climbing tool he wants to see something up high and can’t see his going to you asking for uppies and you gladly give them to him

— zoro didn’t want to admit but he liked you on the crew becuase your strong he wants to challenge you and he admires your strength but he’s lowkey scared of you if your taller than him

— let this man see your sword he will literally not want to let it go and he’ll be so honored that you let him even hold it if you let him use it in battle if he lost one of his he’ll be so fucking happy and blushy

— sanji swoons over every women ( and man) but a muscular tall woman that’s race is literally goddess warriors this man is on the floor for you at your every beck and call

— he gets carried by you a lot he tries to carry you but you just carry him and he gets all blushy

— nami thinks that’s your so fucking cool she would 100% want to sun bathe with you all the time

— she also wants to hear about how the stories that your people have made over the years

— ussop is shaking the first time he meets you

— when there’s a fight he hides behind you and says that your under his control when you go along with it makes him very happy that’s why your his favorite

— chopper thinks it’s so cool that your on the crew when you tell him about the animals that your mother told you when you where growing up it makes him feel less like a monster and he does his cute little dance thing

— if you ever in battle and seriously injured and don’t go to him because your stubborn best believe he’s shape shifting and throwing you over his shoulder so you can get treated correctly (you could overpower him but you’ll let him win this one)

— robin has definitely heard of amazons but never seen one before in real life

— you guys will have little reading dates and she loves when you give her books from your home because there so interesting and fascinating

— Franky thinks your SUPERRRR all the time you never understood his obsession with cola but when he had you drink some you were hooked

— he makes you gadgets all the time whether to improve your sword or shield he is always making stuff for you

— when brook saw you he wanted your panties but was kinda scared when you drew your sword at him then he remembered he was dead but it was still kind scary

— jimbei had definitely heard of amazons before but like robin had never seen one

— he’s like a really cool person to be around if you wanna learn about his people culture you would always go to his with no hesitation and he would gladly tell you

— the crew admires you a lot your like there personal bodyguard they love you

— the girls will always make sure that when you guys go shopping you all get matching stuff because why not

— i feel like luffy goes to you for everything he has a cut on his hand he’s going to you instead of chopper it just shows how much he trust you

— when you first join the crew and your kinda timid to the boys they understand because your people say that men are just nasty but they get kind sad because they wanna know you better but over time you learn to love them ask much as you do robin and nami

— tell them stories of your home they wanna hear about it all the time especially if simultaneously they all can’t sleep and want to hear your voice

— they know how stubborn you can be so when you go into battle and almost sacrifice yourself so they can live they can get pretty mad at you but they know it comes from a place of love and respect

— i know that amazon’s have super strength and so does the crew so when you guys them they get kinda scared because of your bone crushing hugs

— if you don’t understand why some people do certain things then they’ll explain it to you

— sanji love it when you tell him about food that you ate when you were a child he tried to recreate it with you helping him

— they know how passionate you can be one time you were telling them how much you love them and made them cry

— whenever zoro gets lost you always find him first or he finds you first becuase he can feel your passion 100 miles away

— luffy definitely flexes on law and kid that he has an amazing warrior on his crew and they don’t (they admire you just as much and are kind jealous)

— if someone were to ever catcall you or harass you before you can get a word at there all jumping the person making there life absolutely fucking miserable

— for your birthday they did the cutest thing they had the sunny decorated like your home island from what they could make out of the books and just made you fell right at home

— when they find out your a princess that doesn’t change a thing about they see you but they can tell that another place you get your passion from

— nami will probably ask you for some money and you give it to her becuase you love her so much and she never charges you because of it

— you love you nakamas and they love you

[cherryblossompink303]

Patience: ~Jungle Pool SOS!~

➼ pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Reader ➼ summary: when kyoya offers up his families yet to open resort no one could have guessed what would actually happen. ➼ what to expect: “I have a duty of care for you" ➼ warnings: none ➼ Part six | Part eight

Now considering this was technically considered a club activity you have to admit this was the most relaxed you had been in a while. The sun beaming down on you while you sun bathe, even the usual drama of host club antics get lost in the serenity of an empty resort.

"I must admit Kyoya, when I joked a few years ago that the ootori group should create a holiday resort and label it as a form of therapy I didn't think you took it seriously" you muse, eyes closed as you bring in the sun rays.

Kyoya shrugs but quickly remembers that you can't actually see him "Believe it or not I don't completely disregard your ideas, expecially when they truly have merit, my father seemed to agree"

You hum knowingly at what he actually meant by that statement "I'm assuming that he doesn't know that it was my idea then" You tease, not really being that mad about the stolen idea, it wasn't like Kyoya was getting any direct monetary profit from the resort. "I did try crediting you but he had a hard time believing a fifteen year old girl came up with it by herself"

You weren't exactly surprised, you had met Kyoya's father after all, you knew what it was like by now. Luckily you were too relaxed to care at that moment.

There was a moment of silence, peace between the two of you. It was actually something you enjoyed when spending time with Kyoya, the two of you never forced conversation for the sake of it, which on it's own sounds sad but it makes any words that the two of you do exchange all the more important.

"If...you have any more ideas like that...tell me about them...I can at least appreciate a good idea when it comes from you" you laughed under your breath, "Well of course" lifting your sunglasses to rest against your head, sitting up to face him properly "You have taste"

"Why thank you my dear" he joked, taking a sip of his drink, watching chaoes unfold as Tamaki and the Twins argue over what Haruhi should wear. Typical.

“Haru-chan! Let’s play! You wanna go swimming in the current pool with me?” Honey tugs on Haruhi’s arm with a pink float decorated with bunnies clinging to his waist.

“Nah. I’m not gonna swim today. Hold on. You know how to swim; you still need that float?”

Honey shakes his head, “Mm-mm. Just looks cuter this way, you know?” Honey spins on his heel to go prancing in the other direction toward the current pool.

“Mm, he’s right. Those bunnies are pretty cute.”

“He’s so innocent.” The twins materialize on either side of your chair despite the umbrella above them.

You sigh, leaning back in your sun lounger basking in the controlled chaos you are used to.

“No way! You’ve got it all wrong!”

You start, awakened by a powerful rumbling in the ground and echoing voice.

“Is that Renge?” Haruhi turns her head to the offending sound.

A cabana splits in half, and the trees part to make way for her infamous contraption, the rumbling sound now accompanied by her shrill laugh.

“How does she do that? It’s like the rig follows us.” Haruhi sweats.

you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose "One day, all i want is one day"

“That outfit’s pretty impressive,” Hikaru observes Renge’s two-piece bikini and a tattoo winding up her ribcage.

“What’s with the tattoo on your stomach?” Kaoru inquires.

“Oh, that? You don’t recognize it? I’m cosplaying.”

“Yeah, as who?”

“La-La~”

“LaLa? Like the manga magazine?” Kaoru grumbles.

“Her petite and slender frame, her blue eyes that light up young men’s faces, her singing voice! I am Quon Kisaragi!” Renge extolls.

“I wouldn’t have guessed.” Haruhi sneers.

“I had no idea who you were supposed to be.” Tamaki shrugs.

Once again, the twins and Tamaki are huddled in a circle as Renge poses for Haruhi, who watches, miffed.

“Hey, Boss, are you sure it’s okay for Renge to be dressed-”

“-like that?” They point to the girl in question.

“Well, yeah. That’s okay.” Tamaki shrugs indifferently.

“And why is that?”

“Because it’s cosplay? I guess.”

“Listen up, boys! You obviously need help understanding Haninozuka’s hidden motives. Look!” Renge notes, pointing over to Honey and Mori.

“Takashi!” Honey calls, landing in the current pool and letting the current sweep him gently away as Mori watches fondly.

“What are you talking about?” Tamaki implores.

“Think about what he said to you earlier.”

“Just looks cuter this way, you know?”

“He’s not being as sweet and innocent as you think.”

From the chair next to you, Kyoya shoves his glasses up his nose, “I agree. Try putting the word 'I’ at the beginning of that sentence.”

“I just look cuter this way, you know?”

“I look cute!”

“He planned that?!”

“That’s Haninozuka for you. In the last part, he felt threatened by another loli-boy type, so he’s taken steps to keep his rank. I should give him more credit. He’s a lot smarter than I thought.” Renge descends into the ground and disappears.

“Hey! Look at this, everybody!” Honey draws everyone’s attention to him and Mori.

Mori swims diligently against the current with Honey on his back.

“Check it out! Look! Even though we’re swimming really fast, we never go any farther than we are now!” He waves excitedly.

“So, what’s up with him?” Tamaki groans.

“Could he really be that smart?” Haruhi interjects.

Hikaru cocks his super-soaker water gun; the squeaking draws Tamaki’s attention to them before he’s blasted in the face with a stream of water.

“I got ya!” Hikaru winks handsomely, resting his weapon of choice on his shoulder.

“C'mon, Boss, let’s go! Let’s have a water gun fight.”

“It’ll be me and Kaoru against you. If you get it in the face, you lose. What do you say?” Hikaru implores, hand on his hip.

“Forget it.” Tamaki dries his face, “Why would I want to subject myself to a childish game like that?”

An idea forms in each of the twins’ minds.

All of a sudden, you’re grabbed by your wrist and pulled from your nap with an exclamation of surprise.

“y/n, I think it’s time that we got married! Then we’ll honeymoon in Atami!”

You quickly break from their hold, sitting back down on the lounger really not wanting to get involved. "Considering if y/n was going to marry anyone it would be me you clearly haven't thought through your plan very well" Kyoya spoke up, glaring at the twins before nodding towards haruhi.

The twins quickly pick up what he's putting down "Good point Kyoya, we were thinking about this all wrong, Haruhi clearly is the better option SHE should marry us"

"gee thanks" you mutter but its clear that it did the job of pissing off Tamaki, breaking out a waterfight between the three of them.

“I’ll get you guys! Sideways-leaping shot!” Tamaki launches himself sideways, but the twins shield themselves with two comically large tiki masks.

“That’s cheating!” When Tamaki lands, his foot catches on the previously discarded banana peel, and he tumbles noisily into a totem pole, head first.

You wince and suck in a breath through clenched teeth, “Oh- that didn’t sound good.”

One by one, the animals on the totem pole’s eyes glow an intimidating red until the final animal at the top is shining.

You remove your sunglasses from your eyes and place them on your head, “That… doesn’t sound good either.”

As if he senses something is amiss, Mori drops his glass at your feet, attention diverting to Honey in the current pool, still carelessly kicking his feet.

Something underneath the water rumbles, and a wave develops until it’s practically a tsunami. With wide eyes, Honey watches as it heads straight towards him.

“Wah~!” It crashes over him, and his bunny float is sent soaring into the air- but without him inside as he’s flushed in the wave.

“Honey-Senpai!” You lurch from your chair, and your sunglasses fall discarded to the ground.

“Mitsukuni!”

Both you and Mori hurry to see if you have enough time to save him, but Mori slips on the same banana peel and falls harshly to the unforgiving concrete.

“Mori-Senpai,” You call in concern.

Tamaki jabs a heroic finger in the air, “Gentlemen, we’re going after Honey-Senpai! That pool looks like the quickest way!” he announces, referring to the pool Honey was treading water in before he was washed away.

“Charge!” Haruhi, Mori, and the twins follow Tamaki’s lead as they sprint haphazardly in a random direction.

As you see that Kyoya’s stayed put, you decide that it might be best to stay put as well. His family did build this resort, after all.

“Wait! I wouldn’t go-”

It’s already too late; the club has come across the alligators in that direction. “There are alligators in there!” They flee as quickly as they can.

Tamaki jabs another heroic finger in the air, “Okay. So we can’t use that pool, then let’s try this way next!”

But where Tamaki has pointed, several more alligators appear, snapping their jaws in a warning.

“They’re here too!”

“And here!”

With his more petite, brown leather portable notebook, Kyoya’s glasses glint off the sun as he explains your current situation.

“Those alligators belong to the park’s tropical animals exhibit. I guess it is kind of dangerous to let them run wild.”

“And yet i'm supposedly the one with bad ideas?” You huff in frustration, peering at Kyoya from your crouched position on your nap chair.

“Though, the cause of our present situation seems to be the location of the switch for the current pool. I’ll have to have a little chat with our designers.” He snaps the notebook shut.

“Thanks a lot, you guys. I got some great data today.”

“You what?!” The club exclaims.

“Ok I'll admit that is a little smart" You shrug.

“This is a map of the Tropical Aqua Garden. This is our current location. We need to get here- I have a feeling that’s where Honey-Senpai probably ended up. It might be tough, because to get there, we’ll have to make it this jungle area in the southern block.”

Kyoya drags his pen along the map to indicate your path, “Distance-wise, we’re talking about 800 meters.”

“It looks like there’s a lot of undeveloped areas. And idea what might be lurking in those parts of the jungle?” Haruhi cautiously inquires.

“Since they’re still being developed, I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“Yeah, someone’s going to have to carry me.” You lift your arms high and glance around for any takers.

None. Yet. You’re going to have to work on your skills.

“Whatever’s out there could be even more dangerous-”

“-than alligators.”

“Alright. Now, this is a mission of survival! I know we can make it through the treacherous jungle in one piece… It is our sworn duty to save Honey-Senpai!”

♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡

In the dense plant life and humidity of the inner workings of the jungle, the sunlight is much more filtered than it was out in the open.

“Wow, this place is just like a real jungle, huh?”

If you couldn’t see the glass dome and someone had dropped you off in the middle of this theme park with no knowledge as to how you got there, you might have believed you were in the jungle.

“Yeah, and I keep hearing all of these really strange animal calls,” Haruhi grumbles.

“You don’t think that all of those animal sounds-”

“-could belong to the real thing, do you?”

Kyoya shrugs, “To be honest, I’m not sure, but I do know that my family always strives for authenticity whatever the cost.”

"There surely must be some kind of ethical issue if that is the case, wouldn't be a good healing facility if there is a serious alligator injury" you pointed out, suprised that Kyoya's family would put actually dangerous animals in an enclosed area.

Kyoya hummed "I suppose so but it also wouldn't surprise me if that was on purpose to drive more business to our hospitals" he muttered only loud enough for you to hear really. It didn't surprise you either really but you dreaded to think if that was actually the case.

As if on cue, Mori slips and falls behind the group. At the loud grunt and crash, you all turn to him. He lays unmoving with a banana peel on his face.

“Mori-Senpai is-”

“-acting as clumsy as you do, Boss.” Hikaru and Kaoru worry.

“Shut up!” Tamaki snarls as Mori sits up from his position on the ground.

Your accusations are correct- Mori is more worried than you can imagine.

The sunlight diminishes greatly, and you look overhead to see the beginnings of rainfall.

“Uh-oh, it’s about time for the squall,” Kyoya notes as he checks his wristwatch.

“Huh?”

The first few drops fall, then it turns into a downpour. You and the club take refuge in a nearby pavilion with a straw roof.

“Hey, Mori-Senpai. You seem to be really close with Honey-Senpai. Are the two of you like childhood friends?” Haruhi inquires from her seat in the pavilion beside the twins as Mori leans on the edge, watching the raindrops fall.

"You don't know?" hikaru asked "They're cousins" Kaoru added. You lean back against the wall of the shelter you are all in, sighing as you look out into the rain.

"Now this is the kind of rain that I remember" you mutter to yourself, the rain reminding you of europe. Kyoya also leans against the wall next to you "Hello? It's me. Well, we've had an incident that's caused some trouble"

you look up to see Kyoya on the phone, most likely to either his father or someone high up in his private police force. "No she's fine. yes she's unharmed" You raised an eyebrow, obvious that he was talking about you although you were confused on why whoever he was talking to was asking about you.

In the mean time Mori and Haruhi seem to wander off "Yes, at once, please" he finally put down the phone. "My family's private police force is going to send in a search and rescue team to help us, they're better equipped to find Honey-senpai than we are. so let's just go back to the gate and wait there"

The others weren't listening except for you, too busy arguing over Haruhi. "Hey, where are Mori and Haruhi?" he questioned as all of you left the shelter to head for the gate, but he shrugged it off, figuring they would show up at some point with a search and rescue team around.

The other boys rush ahead, still arguing "when you were on the phone before, you were talking about me? weren't you?" You ask kyoya, looking up at him as he looks ahead. "I was, why do you ask?"

You dead pan at him, head tilting at the side "You know why"

Kyoya sighs "you know I have a duty of care for you, as does my father, if I call up our police force when it is known that I am with you it is protocol to ask about your safety" he explains.

He pauses, stopping in his tracks "You know, I'm don't believe I mentioned to them that there are other visitors here. Huh. Oh well" He shrugs carrying on, hovering a hand over your back to urge you forward.

however instead of finding the gate you instead find a series of police officers on the floor with honey, Mori and Haruhi standing before them. We break out into a run at the sight of them "Haruhi!" Tamaki cries.

"Are you alright?" he adds, the five of you out of breath as you come to a halt "Hey its Tama-chan!" Honey says as if he hadn't just knocked out a dozen guards.

"You okay, senpai?" Hikaru asks. "Haruhi!!!" Tamaki leaps for her "I was so worried" the twins bend down to check on the guards "I'm not sure what happened here, but at least they're alive"

"It's pretty amazing that this is Honey sepai's work"

"He must have been really holding back" they continue to poke at the guards

"Huh?"

“What do you mean he was holding back?” Haruhi queries with innocent eyes, although Tamaki is in serious pain.

“So then-”

“-you don’t know about Senpai?” The twins seem bewildered by her lack of knowledge.

“The Haninozukas are famous for their martial arts. Not only have they helped train the police and SDF forces, but they’ve also worked with several overseas military forces.” Hikaru elaborates as they abandon their fascination with the grounded soldiers.

“Honey-Senpai, in particular, has been called the dreadnaught of the Haninozuka family. By the time he was in middle school, he’d become the national champion in both karate and judo.”

Honey turns when he feels he’s called, then giggles with closed eyes.

That’s the karate and judo champion for you.

“Mori-Senpai’s no slouch either. He won the national championship in kendo when he was just in middle school.”

Haruhi looks to her savior, and he turns when his name is mentioned.

“So how were you able to find us, Honey-Senpai?” the twins inquire as Honey has returned to his natural aura.

“It wasn’t hard. It didn’t take me long to reach the end of the current pool, so I decided to look for you guys.”

“We humbly apologize!” A different, more foreign voice pipes in, and the attention of the club directs to the soldiers, now reoriented from their initial shock and kneeling to the ground in a show of respect.

“I am a second-generation student of the Ishizuka Dojo!”

“I’m a student of the Todoroki Dojo!”

“And I’m from the Otakeh Dojo! We are in your debt!”

Honey’s eyes and posture display innocence and confusion, “Why? Is something wrong?” His voice can easily be mistaken for an eight-year-old boy’s.

“Yes, sir! We’re so sorry, sir! We were unaware that we were searching for Mitsukuni Haninozuka! We’ve committed a terrible offense here! I apologize for this confrontation. But my dojo will be so excited to hear that I’ve come face to face with the great Haninozuka! I cherish this moment!”

You snort, scooting closer to Kyoya, “I bet if he offered them an autograph, they’d pass out.” You snicker. You almost draw a smile from him, but rather he gives you a condescending look.

“What? I bet I’m not wrong.” You pout.

Honey takes Mori by the wrist and gently brings him down to his level, patting him gingerly on the forehead, “Takashi~ you did an amazing job of protecting Haru-chan.”

This patronizing show of affection elicits a smile from Kyoya as he adjusts his glasses.

“I bet you were pretty lonely without me around, huh?”

Mori’s eyes dart to the right where Haruhi is stood, “I don’t know if I’d say that.”

Honey smiles with a fond giggle.

♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡

With the sun setting, the clear, blue water now fades to an orange, coral color as it washes upon the shore. It has taken the rest of the day to walk back to where you’d begun this journey.

Despite his earlier resentment, you now ride on Kyoya’s back, limp arms slung around his neck and your cheek pressed to his back, eyes contently shut.

Back to your much deserved nap.

“You know, maybe we should go to the beach next.” The twins stride ahead with arms casually thrown behind their heads.

“Yeah, the beach would be nice.” Kaoru agrees.

Kyoya glances over his shoulder at your relaxed features and smiles fondly. He’ll have to keep you away from the water.

“You idiots, Haruhi’s not interested in anything like that.” Tamaki scoffs confidently.

Haruhi smiles gently, “Actually, I might like to go to the beach.” It stuns the club, each one stopping in their tracks to look at her.

“I may not be into this silly water park but I like the ocean. It would be nice to go the beach, and it’s so pretty.”

Completely recovered and acting like he hasn’t just opposed it, Tamaki glitters, “Yeah! Alright. Then that’s where we’ll go next time.”

“We’re all gonna go to the beach, Tama-chan?” Honey quips, perched on Mori’s shoulders.

He hums gently, “That’ll be fun, don’t you think?” His inquiry is directed to Mori below him.

Mori simpers fondly, “Yeah,” It’s not hard to pick up the genuine agreement in his tone.

Next time on patience 'The Sun, the sea, and the host club!'

Tag list (reply to be added): @skottch @cgmajor @rebirthbunbun @bbybubbles @blueberry19000

[nsharks]

pls give us some blurb😔 I'm so sad today😔😔😔

Here is my revised preview for the next part!

B

"Hold him close to your chest, or he'll jump out of your arms. Here—like this."

Blue gently cradles the rabbit against her chest, then carefully tucks him into Ari's arms, guiding his hands to scoop under Grim's fluffy rear. She can't help but find it amusing that the boy who had taken her riding on such a large animal yesterday looks so wary holding a harmless bunny. A giggle bubbles up, and she bites her lip to keep it in.

"He's so... squirmy."

Blue keeps her hand on Grim, reassuring both the rabbit and him. "He's just ready for his breakfast. Want to help me feed him?"

"Sure."

Blue leads Ari to the hutch where the other rabbits are. She explains her morning routine, showing him how to supply the rabbits with enough grass, leaves, and berries to keep them healthy and plump. Not long ago, she was explaining this to Twix—the very person she forgot to say good morning to in a rush to find Ari outside. This time around, she wonders if Ari is genuinely interested or just being polite. She finds herself stealing glances at his face, studying his expressions perhaps longer than she should. His almond-shaped eyes and dark pink lips catch her attention.

He's cute.

It's not the first time the thought has crossed her mind since these strangers appeared. Cute like the men in her magazines, though he's not quite a man. Not in the way Ghost is. But he's taller than her by a head and two years older, evident in the notch on his throat and the deeper timbre of his voice.

But it doesn't matter. They are only here for a few days.

Blue closes the hutch and rocks on the soles of her boots. "Well, that was probably boring, huh? We could, um, go hunting if you want. Or to the pond. It's fun to swim there. Or maybe—" She pauses, mentally sifting through the limited activities available, frustration creeping in as none of them seem particularly impressive.

"This wasn't boring," Ari says with a chuckle. "Now I know rabbits are just as friendly as horses."

"They are... except when Grim gets mad. Then he can be a bit of a jerk. Like if you accidentally step on his tail."

"I'd be pretty pissed if someone stepped on my tail, too."

"You don't have a tail."

"It's just a joke."

"Oh..." she fidgets with a strand of hair. "Right."

"The pond sounds good. It is fucking hot." Ari blows out a breath and swipes at the back of his neck.

"I know. So hot. Hot as balls."

Ari raises an amused brow. "Yeah, uh, hot as balls. Are you allowed to go by yourself, or do we need to ask your dad?"

"I get to do what I want," she lies easily with a shrug. "Buuuuut, we can ask Twix to go with us."

As long as Twix is with her, she suspects she can get away with not asking Ghost, who luckily is hunting with his old captain. It's not that he seems distrusting with these people as he did those first few months with Twix. Rather—she isn't thrilled about him knowing every little thing she does. She's never had anything just to herself. 

Twix is sitting on the porch, looking rather deep in thought as she skins a squirrel. Her hair is long, curtaining her face. When Blue asks if she wants to go to the pond, she agrees easily, claiming she has been meaning to cut her hair anyway with the encroaching warmth of summer. Nereida joins, too. 

The pond water is cool to the touch. Ari rips his shirt off and jumps in without even a second to waste. Blue usually swims in her underwear and shirt, but she hesitates with her thumb in the belt loops of her jeans. She didn't consider that he would see her in her underwear. 

A soft touch to her shoulder. It's Twix. "Want me to grab you shorts real quick?"

"Um... yes. Yes please."

She changes into the shorts behind a tree. There is an odd pit in her stomach when she gets in the water. She doesn't quite know what it is, but it's similar to how she feels when she's scared sometimes. Ghost always tells her fear is a useless thing. It doesn't keep you alive. So she ignores it, shoves it down deep, and swims over to Ari with a purposeful splash that even wets Twix, who sits at the edge sharpening her knife.

"Damn. That's gonna cost you."

A splash is given in return, and then they are playing. High noon bounces shimmering light off the water as she tries to keep up with him, but at one point he sneaks up on her and she ends up with a mouthful. Nereida spends her time picking at some bunches of rosemary and Twix cuts her hair. But Blue doesn't notice any of that too much. When the water stills and they pause to catch their breath, Ari climbs onto a rock and shakes out his wet curls. She is quick to find a perch beside him. Absentmindedly, she pinches the bottom of her wet shirt to keep it from sticking to her chest.

"It's nice to have some place to swim so close by. Back at our old camp, there was lake but it was a few miles away, so my mom rarely let me go."

"I'm sorry, you know. About your mom. Mine is dead, too."

He half-smiles. "Thanks. I don't think about it too much anymore. My uncle and I have always been close so it helped to have him there." He nudges her shoulder. "You're damn lucky to have such a cool dad, huh?"

"Ghost?"

"Yeah, that guy is a beast. My uncle says they called him Ghost because no one could ever see him coming before suddenly, they were dead." 

"Oh, yeah, he is super cool," she quickly agrees. "He has taught me a lot."

"Shit, really?"

Nibbling the inside of her cheek, she nods. "I know... I know how to throw knives pretty well."

"I gotta see that." His eyes flash behind her. "So what's up with his girlfriend?"

"Huh?" A divot forms between her brows before she follows his gaze, landing on Twix, whose hair is now just past her shoulders. She is wetting it, running her fingers through the newly cut strands. "Oh—Twix. That is not his girlfriend. She is my friend."

"You mean they don't sleep together?"

"Like in the same bed?"

"That's usually where people fuck, yeah."

He seems ready to laugh. She frowns, head tilting as confusion hums in her chest. "You mean like sex?"

He nods. "You know what that is, right?"

She quickly recovers. "Yeah, of course. Ghost told me all about it."

"You know they're probably doing it, right?"

"Ghost and Twix? No—no," she forces a laugh. "I mean, sometimes I catch him staring at her all weird. But I don't think—I mean, they hardly like each other and she is my friend, really, not his. He used to make me stay away from her, even. But I mean, they do spend a lot of time together now. It's usually to practice fighting and defense. Not to have...sex."

"Don't they share a room?"

"Just right now, because you guys are here."

Ari chuckles. "You really think they aren't doing it in there? She's really pretty. There's no way they aren't."

Blue looks back at Twix. She is pretty. And she has actual boobs. Blue's fingers curl into the soaked fabric of her top.

Her eyes flick back to him. "She would've told me if they were."

[slimybeth69]

Part 3- Your People

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2

Summary: After the civilized world you once knew came to an end-- the men that survived... well they just take, take, take. Growing tired of having things taken from you-- you have a hankerin' to take somethin' for yourself... and make him perfect.

w/c~ 8k

content warnings: Reader (no descriptions besides having hair that can be pulled) is in a weird mindset; hears voices, talks to herself. non-con/dub-con (if you're looking for enthusiastic consent, ya wont find it here) smut, cock-warming, unprotected P in V, creampies, oral (m&f receiving), rough sex, dirty talk, pussy and peen pronouns, alcohol consumption (altered mental state). Joel wears a shock collar and other various horrible things that would keep him in check-- and he doesn't fucking like it.

Reader warning- While it looks real pretty, this is a Dead Dove, Do Not Eat. If ya do and then come complaining to me that you ate a dead dove-- I'm gonna fight you. I warned you. I'm coming from a place of love and respect for my readers who have ever gone through anything traumatic and maybe don't want to relive that, it's in here. I try and do it tastefully and respectfully in the best way, i'll mark it with a lil divider where you can skip the part I'm worried about. it's smut but it's sad. There is your warning. I love you.

You gotta sleep, kid. You need it.

Mister-J looks so warm and comfortable… go on and crawl in beside him.

He does look so comfortable and inviting, especially from your spot just out of his reach if you were to fall asleep. His chest rises and falls slowly as he breathes in his sleep. It’s memorizing, and almost hypnotic enough to make you forget all of your fears— forget all of the things that made laying next to him with his arms around you physically excruciating.

S’okay, Baby. You’ll get there, it’ll get easier ‘n he won’t seem so big ‘n scary anymore.

There is a reason he seems big and scary, kid. Your gut is telling you not to trust him, so don’t.

Oh, stop it. If he wanted to kill her, he would have— he would have done it by now. He’s big ‘n strong— he could, and he hasn’t.

That sweet, soft voice does have a good point…

Doesn’t mean he isn’t waiting for a better opportunity.

The dark, serious voice has a point too…

This always happens, the voices say things that conflict one another, but they both have a point. They both make sense but never about the same thing. And they argue. And they’re loud. It’s only when you need them, that you really, really want them to say something that they are quiet.

The little flashlight that had been attached to the backpack Mister-man—

Joel… he has a name. He’s a real person, kid.

You flick the flashlight off quickly so it’s dark again.

Mister-mans, Mister-J… Joel… it don’t matter none, Sugar. He’s yours, and you can call him whatever you want.

You flick the light back on so you can watch him sleep. It’s incredible how calm he is, and how he fell asleep as soon as you laid down next to him after saying he couldn’t sleep.

Sometimes that happens to you though, sometimes you need to touch yourself, and make yourself squirm and moan and come, and then sleep finds you. Sometimes the whiskey puts you to sleep before you even have the desire to do that to yourself.

Whatever Mister-J did with his tongue was so much better than your fingers, wasn’t it?

It most definitely was. It was probably the most incredible feeling you’ve ever experienced. Not that you hadn’t ever experienced it before, but this time…it was soft, gentle— and you wanted it more than anything. That made it feel even fucking better, how badly you wanted to sit down on Mister-mans face and grind down onto his mouth.

He was making out with your cunt. Deep, long, tongue swirling kisses. He would open and close his mouth, and suck. He would lick and lap at all spots you didn’t even know could make you feel good.

When you would take his cock deep in your throat and gag on it, he would moan- loudly-and the vibrations from that were like earthquakes, they touched parts inside of you that were left unexplored by anyone before Mister.

He was perfect.

The idea of laying your head down on his big, muscular bicep was nice until you were actually doing it, and then everything about it felt foreign. It was like sleeping too close to the fire, surrounded by too many blankets.

You had gotten so used to sleeping alone, that the feeling of someone next to you didn’t feel right anymore. It made you sad and you’re not entirely sure why.

So that’s why you’re here on the floor and not snuggled up against Mister-man. It’s like the universe played some cruel joke on you- and you got your favorite food but when you bite into it, it’s rancid.

But your fingers twitch toward him anyway—like roots in dirt searching for water. His arm is right there. His breath is slow and steady.

Go on. He’s warm as fresh bread.

You shift an inch closer.

Dangerous as a snake in the grass.

But his skin smells like leather and sweat and you want to taste him again. Want to run your tongue from the tip of his cock, to the spot just in front of his ear that makes him sigh when you kiss him there.

Crawling—quiet like scared prey— you move until your face hovers over his chest. His shirt rides up just enough to show a scar on his perfectly doughy stomach. And another on his rib cage. It looks newer, still old enough to be a scar, but pink instead of white.

You wonder if it aches when he breathes. If that’s the reason his voice sounds like gravel sometimes.

He’ll crush you.

He’ll hold you.

It sounds like a song the way the sweet voice says it.

You touch the scar with your pinky finger, feather-light—and he doesn’t stir. But then he sighs—a rumble deeper than thunder—and your guts twist.

You scramble back, heart slamming against the back of your throat.

The sweet voice clucks at you.

You’re spooking yourself. 

You’re alive because you spook.

The flashlight rolls under your knee when you shift—plastic clattering loud enough to wake dead things—and Mister’s brow tightens. For one gut-drop second, his eyes flicker open, staring up at you, before he grunts and turns onto his side, back to you now.

He’s mad again? How, and why? What did you do wrong? You had done everything right.

You keep poking that bear and you’re going to get mauled, kid.

He ain’t mad…look’it his hands, Sugar.

They’re not balled up into fists, they’re relaxed. His whole body is. Everything about him seems so at peace.

Your stomach growls loud enough to wake the dead. It’s been a while since you’ve eaten— and then you only had half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and some whiskey.

Joel’s boot shifts with a dry scrape of leather—and your lungs forget how air works. But he just mumbles something that sounds like “goddamn horse” with his face smushed against the pillow.

Mister-J talks in his sleep? He’s precious.

He is. It’s hard to contain the feeling in your chest when he sighs loudly, rolling onto his stomach, curling his arms under the pillow.

Instead of trying to face your fears of crawling into bed with him and falling asleep next to someone else, you crawl on your hands and knees back to the chair across the room. The whiskey bottle is still tucked between the cushion where you left it.

--

Even with almost half of a bottle of whiskey in you, your eyes won’t close. You only know what time it is because the soft whir of the solar powered generator kicks on, and the singular lamp in the corner flicks to life. It’s dark outside now. 

The electric hum from the bulb makes your skin crawl, and your head buzz.

Part of you feels bad for keeping Mister down here like this. He doesn’t even know what time it is, he’ll probably wake up soon, getting ready to start the day. You wonder if he misses the sun, if he ever walked barefoot in the grass and if he misses that feeling too.

When you weren’t allowed outside, you missed the sun. You missed the grass between your toes. You missed being able to jump into the river and swim around with your brother whenever you wanted. There were a lot of things you missed when you weren’t allowed to go outside.

Unscrewing the whiskey cap, you take a swig and relish in the way it burns. It drowns out the voices, but it doesn’t dull the ache between your legs— the memory of his mouth makes you shift in the soft recliner.

In the soft, pale light spilling into the room from behind the aged, yellow lampshade, you can see Mister-J… and how excited he is. He’s on his back, shirt riding up over his stomach again, the bulge in his sweatpants clear as day now.

There is a new voice you’ve never heard before, and it’s not saying anything— only screaming. Loud, and high pitched. It’s excruciating. It’s the only thing you hear now, not even the sound of your own voice telling you what to do, or what to think or say.

When you stand, the whiskey sloshes between your temples. It makes you sway and almost lose your balance, but you press your hand to a support beam that juts out of the floor and into the ceiling.

Heavy, clumsy, limping feet and a swollen ankle carry you to Mister-J.

His cock is hard and heavy in your hand and he tastes just like he did last night. He stirs under your touch—a low groan vibrating through clenched teeth—and your pussy tightens around nothing. Mister arches his hips up against your slow moving fist, trying to fuck your hand momentarily before stilling and settling back down into the mattress. His eyes are still shut tight beneath furrowed eyebrows.

It’s pathetically cute how bad he wants this. How badly he needs it.

The screaming inside your head morphs into static.

Your fingers rub slow circles over damp fabric between your legs while your rib cage starts to feel like a hive of wasps. Everything inside of you is buzzing as you lean over and swirl your tongue around the ridge of his cock.

Wrong.

That dark voice sounds like it’s coming through the static like old radio stations.

You pull your hand away from Mister-J's cock and cover your face with it, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill. This is all wrong, all of it.

S’right. It’s all right.

The static transmutes into tornado sirens.

Your hand finds his cock again and it throbs in your grasp. There is no hesitation when you take him into your mouth with a gentleness you didn’t know you possessed when you’re this intoxicated. Delicate movements and laps of your tongue along his shaft make him moan softly, still slumbering.

Salt and musk take over your senses as he pulses against your tongue—wanting even in his unconsciousness. Your throat spasms around him as you gag, tears hot on your lashes. One hand brushes against his thigh as you move to steady yourself on the mattress while the other slips into your own waistband. Two fingers slide into you with no resistance. You’re so wet that you almost feel embarrassed.

Inside.

The sweet voice sings to you over the cacophony going on inside your head.

Mister’s hips jerk again, involuntary, desperate. A string of saliva connects your lip to his cock when you pull back to breathe. The room tilts—whiskey and shame on your tongue—but you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not when his thighs were trembling just a moment ago.

After kicking your shorts off, you climb on top. Mister feels so hot pressed up against your cunt. Yours and his breath catch in your throats when you sink down into his lap. Your eyes close to hide from the stretch that burns in a slippery, and shameful way.

The wasps behind your ribs sharpen their stingers as you slowly start to rock your hips against his. Mister’s eyelids flutter but he doesn’t wake-up, not fully. He just hovers in that feverish space between dreaming and drowning. A place you’re familiar with.

Bad. Bad. Bad.

Good. Good. Good.

You want to carve yourself into his bones before the tornado sirens rip your skull apart.

The oven mitts make useless fists at his sides as he arches beneath you, tendons in his neck pulled wire-tight. His hips stutter upward instinctively, chasing more friction, seeking the deepest, warmest parts of you.

His eyes snap open, “The fuck are you—” Mister-man’s voice is rough like sandpaper but you don’t let him finish before you slap your hand over his mouth.

“Shhhh, makin’ you feel good,” you moan quietly, your hips never faltering. His cock slides across a spot inside of you that whites the edges of your vision.

He mumbles something, his teeth scraping along your palm as he does so. It vaguely sounds like, ‘Get off’a me’ or ‘get off on me,’.

“M’tryin’,” you groan, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. Your cheeks are wet, but from tears or sweat, you don’t know.

How can everything make sense up here on top of Mister-J, and still feel so incredibly… wrong?

The oven mitts start to drum against your thighs as he squirms underneath you.

It…hurts? Mister is hitting you? 

Hurting you.

You like it. 

“Knock it off!” You press harder against this mouth with your hand, your fingers digging into his cheeks. It’s impossible to stop riding him, to stop yourself from needing this brutal closeness with Mister. 

You’re being bad. 

You like it. 

His muffled growls vibrate against your palm—angry or pleading or both—but your cunt clenches harder around him anyway. Release is so close, you can feel yourself teeter on the precipice, but you can’t seem to push yourself over.

“Please, please, p-please— jus’ wanna, I just wanna— please, please, Mister-J,” you whine, face wet with perspiration and tears now, they’re flowing freely from your eyes. “I want it, need it—”

“Stop, goddammit—” he shouts at you from behind your fingers.

It makes you flinch but you don’t stop, and your pussy pulses around him. Your hand presses harder, fingernails leaving moon crescents in his flesh mingled with his stubble.

You just want to feel good, to be able to fall asleep once this is all over.

Oven mitts thump and scrabble at your hip, and that only makes your thighs clamp tighter around his waist. You want to swallow every twitch of his cock, everything he can give you– you want it. 

He bucks his hips up into you and touches a place inside you that leaves you gasping for air. “Yes, yes, yes—” you groan breathlessly, leaning forward to lay your body on top of his, resting your forehead against his collarbone.

Mister bucks his hips up into yours again— once, twice, three times and suddenly you’re being shoved off of him, pushed to the side like you’re weightless.

Before you can really even know what hit you, Mister-man has his entire body weight pinning you down underneath him. He has his forearm forced against your neck.

Your thumb instinctively presses against down, searching for the shock collar button but you just end up pressing against your own palm.

The static, and the sirens and the screaming— the voices. It all goes completely silent and the only thing you can hear is the blood roaring in your ears.

Mistake?

Mistake. 

“Got’chya,” He growls down at you, his eyes dark and blown wide.

“Get off me! Get off me! Get off of me!” You scream at him as loudly as you can, “Get off of me! Get off! Off, off, offoffoffoff! I’ll fucking kill you, you stupid fucking sonofabitch- get the fuck off me!”

“Awhh, lil crazy puppy don’t like it?” He murmurs, pressing his lips to your tear stained cheekbone.

Your legs begin to flail wildly in an attempt to dislodge him, push him, get him off. Your hands flying to his face, scratching and clawing at the soft skin, and his vulnerable, delicate eyes. You can’t find the words for how much you don’t like it, so you scream— it’s loud and rattles in the back of your throat as Mister-man clamps his hand over your mouth to silence you.

His breath is hot and ragged against your ear, the oven mitts clumsily grappling at your wrists as you thrash. "Stop—fuckin'—fightin’—," he grits out, but his voice cracks on the last word.

You taste copper—your teeth sink into his palm at some point, his blood smearing your chin. He pulls his hand back back to look at the broken skin, and you clench your eyes shut, flinching away from the incoming blows.

The room tilts and suddenly Joel’s weight isn’t just on your body; it’s inside your head, like pressure forcing memories that had buried deep to the surface like lava from a volcano.

Different hands holding you down. A different room. Different voices in your ear.

“Nononononono,” you whimper in a shriveled voice you don’t recognize. 

“Hey!” Joel’s voice is sharp and grounding.

His arm lets up just enough for you to suck in a shattered breath. You’re both trembling now, your chests heaving against one anothers. His beard scratches your temple as he turns his face away from your clawing hands, but you don’t miss it—there is a  flicker in his eyes when your choked sob hits the air between you. 

Something wet smears your cheek. His blood? Your tears? It’s hard to tell. 

“M’gonna make you feel real good, crazy girl.” His lips brush your earlobe as his hips grind down into yours, the length of him sliding between your folds, the tip notched at your entrance.

“Stop,” you whine, but the force has left your voice. Something about him breathing in your ear, something about the sound he makes as he shifts his hips and slips himself inside of you. The tears continue to fall, even as you gasp and clench around him. 

“She’s suckin’ me right in baby,” Joel purrs in your ear while his hips start to move. 

You can feel every fucking inch of him, every vein, and every single beat of his heart through the slick walls of your cunt. “Oh god,” you groan, your stiff, frightened hands curling in the hair on the back of his head, the other gripping one of his strong, strained biceps. 

You're terrified, but Joel's words and touch are overwhelming you, making your body respond in ways you didn’t know could in a position like this.

He thrusts slowly at first as he sinks deeper inside you. But soon his pace quickens and the slapping, wet sounds coming from between your legs fill the small basement room. "Yeah just like that," Mister groans, his lips ghosting over your cheek. "Take it all, baby girl.”

Your walls clench around him, pulling him in as if eager for more. You feel delirious with fear and an unbidden arousal. Tears stream down your face, but soft moans spill from your lips.

Joel licks at your tears and leaves gentle kisses in their place, his beard scraping against your sensitive skin. "Shhhh, I got you," he murmurs between thrusts.

The room spins and blurs as the pleasure builds. Nothing exists and nothing is real anymore; Mister-man’s weight pinning you down, his cock splitting you open, the sour, sweaty, musky scent of him.

He’s real. He’s real. He’s real. He’s real. He’s real and he’s good. He’s good, he’s good, he’s good. He’s not killing you, not hurting you.

So good. It’s so good.

You turn your head to capture his salty, tear stained lips with yours, opening your mouth to let him in. His lips press against yours desperately, tongue licking at your teeth as he slips inside.

Your body arches up to meet him, craving more of his touch even as fear still coils in your gut. It’s like you’re two separate people wrapped up into a whole. One part of you wants him with everything that you are, and the other is ready to hide, ready to slip into the cracks into the wall and never come out.

His oven mitts move to your waist and fumble with the threadbare shirt you have on, trying to push it up over the swell of your breasts.

“Fuck,” he grunts, nipping at your bottom lip as he pulls away from the kiss. He sits back on his knees, cock still throbbing inside of you while your walls flutter around him.

“Don’t, oh god, no. Please don’t go-” you sob, hands and fingers clawing at his forearms, desperate for him to come back. “P-Please don’t leave me,” you whine sadly, 

Mister says nothing as he places both mitt covered hands inside your shirt where it’s fastened with buttons. He pulls the two pieces of fabric apart like paper. The buttons fly in every direction, scattering across the floor and some landing in bed with you. Joel stares down at your naked body and you feel more exposed than you ever have in your entire life.

“Jesus christ,” he murmurs, eyes tracing every single one of your curves. His mittened hands cups the swell of your tits, thumb swiping over the stiff buds

It’s like you’ve been zapped by the shock collar. Your back arches into his hand, your eyes clamp shut.

“Nuh-uh, watch me,” he growls. He waits until your eyes are on him before he leans over and takes one of your nipples into his mouth. His tongue swirls and teeth graze and bite down.

“Oh my god,” you groan, your fingers gripping his hair tighter, your nails dragging red, almost bloody marks down his arm.

Mister releases your nipple with a wet pop, blowing cool air across it almost like he’s teasing you. Goosebumps erupt across your skin as he takes the other into his mouth, alternating between harsh sucking and tender kisses.

You mewl softly as he begins to thrust again, each movement slow and deliberate. He drives deep inside of you and hits that spot that blurs the edges of your vision again, and again, and again.

You stare up at him in awe- his beard is longer, thicker than it was when he first came here, his hair disheveled and damp with sweat hangs in his forehead. He leans back and pushes the loose strands away from his face with an oven mitt.

Handsome.

He is.

Strong.

Being so gentle.

With you, Sugar. So gentle—

With you.

"Please," you whimper, spine bowing as pleasure coils tight in your belly as his hips snap against yours loudly. “More. Need more…”

He grins down at you, eyes crinkled at the corners, “I’ll give ya’ more, sweetheart.” If you thought Mister was handsome before, when he smiles your heart swells. and the pressure and tightness inside of you feels like it’s about to burst.

He wraps one hand underneath your knee and brings it up, resting your ankle on his shoulder by his ear, repeating the process with the other leg. He grips your thighs, the scratchy fabric of the oven mitts drags across your skin. Joel never lets up, never slows down the brutal, bruising pace he sets. 

A string of expletives and maybe his name more than once spill out of your mouth quickly, stumbling over the words as your body trembles underneath him.

All of the air is pushed out of you as he leans over, pushing your knees up to your chest and starts fucking into you with deep, long strokes. His pelvis grinds against your swollen clit with each powerful snap forward, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"I can feel her squeezin’ me," he rasps hotly in your ear, licking the shell before biting down on your earlobe. “Come on my cock, crazy girl.”

That does it. It’s more than enough to push you over the edge. “Oh—” Your head tips back with a silent scream as your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave, making your entire body shudder and convulse beneath him. “Fuck… Joel!” Sparks burst behind your eyelids as pure rapture consumes you.

Mister sucks your earlobe as you come, his sweaty temple pressed against yours as the waves wash over you. He’s kissing and licking down to your neck, and bites down hard right over your pulse point, sucking hard enough to hurt. "That's it baby girl," he grunts against the spot he just bit.

It’s like your whole body is on fire, everything is too much, it’s all too good.

You feel a new pressure, a new sensation and it’s familiar, but foreign all at the same time. A new release, it’s different and it’s happening so fast.

“Stop! Oh my— Mist- Joel, p-please,” you plead for some sort of relief. “I’m gunna—”

Joel presses his lips to yours again, silencing you. You twist your head to the side, pulling away from his mouth as he kisses down your cheek to your jaw. “S’okay— let go...”

"I...I don't...can't..." You gasp out between ragged breaths. Hot, wet tears still leak from the corners of your eyes as the intense pleasure builds to an unbearable peak.

“Ya’ can,” he pants, resting his forehead on the side of your head. “Cryin’ only makes it feel better, baby girl.” He shifts his hips, angles them differently and fucks you harder- faster.

“P-Please,” you whimper, unsure if you’re begging him to stop, or to keep going. “S’too much!”

“Shut up,” he growls, nipping at your cheek gently, teeth scraping skin as he pistons into you relentlessly. “Let it happen, crazy girl.”

So you do- body obeying his command even as your mind reels with what’s about to happen. A second climax crashes over you, more intense than the first. It erupts from you in a wet splash against Mister’s lower stomach and pelvis, it drips down the curve of your ass and you feel it seeping into the mattress underneath you.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he praises breathlessly. “Such a good fuckin’ girl cummin’ on Mister’s cock again.”

You sob in pleasure and embarrassment simultaneously as he fucks you through it, his deep voice rasping in your ear.

“Crazy,” He murmurs. His thrusts grow clumsy, and he’s panting in your ear, kissing the side of your face. His tongue captures the tears on your cheeks again like they’re his favorite drink as your fingers dig into the soft flesh on his shoulder. “Makin’ me fuckin’ crazy,” he snaps suddenly, pulling back and out of you completely.

You whimper at the loss but he presses your thighs together tightly with his hands and forearms, and slips his cock between them, the length siding through your wet folds.

Mister-J kisses your ankle, his teeth biting down on the skin as he groans loudly, warmth spreads and seeps between your thighs, and slick lower lips, the crease where your legs meet your pelvis.

You stare up at him, watching as his eyes close, his brow furrows, his hips jerking back and forth clumsily as he empties himself onto your lower half.

Your legs tremble as he slides his softening cock out from between your thighs. 

That was the most incredible, and intense feeling you’ve ever experienced and you’re not sure if you should love him, or hate him for what he just did to you. The wet spot on the mattress is an embarrassing reminder of what happened seconds ago.

“S’good for ya’?” Mister asks, running one of his oven mitts over his forehead, wiping the sweat away. His eyes move from your face, down your still naked body, his cum smeared across your mound and lower stomach.

You pull your shirt closed around your bare torso, holding it closed with one hand. You use your good foot and the other hand to push yourself onto the cold concrete floor— skin scraping roughly as you shove yourself away from him.

His brows pinch together tightly, and he narrows his eyes on you. “Where’re ya’ goin’?” He sounds… concerned? Angry? Disappointed?

The words don’t find you, thoughts don’t come to you anymore as you hold the shirt over your chest and glare at him. All you can do is scream at him. It comes from somewhere deep and your lungs hurt, your throat feels like it could bleed from how raw it is after.

“Where’re ya’ goin’?”

He watches as tears continue to pour down your cheeks, your face twisting up tightly. You inhale deeply, and it looks like you’re trying to regain your composure.

Then you scream at him. It’s long and loud and hurts his ears, but he stares at you until you’re done. He continues to watch as you scurry away from him in a clumsy, stumbling crab-crawl until your back bumps into the leg of the table. 

You flinch and stifle a sob, and finally take a deep, shaky breath. You use the table to push yourself to your feet, turning away from him finally. You shove the table in his direction, grabbing the shock collar remote before you turn, and limp into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

The dull roar of the infected grows louder from upstairs. They’re still there, and that means the two of you are stuck together for at least another day or two, maybe longer.

The door opens again, and a metal bucket comes hurdling out of the bathroom and through the air. It hits the wall, and drops to the floor noisily with chaotic, metal clangs until it comes to settle in the corner by the mattress.

The door slams shut again.

You’re broken, he can see it in your eyes almost all the time, but there was a moment when he was on top of you where he thought you might have completely checked out– gone somewhere else, somewhere he didn’t mean to take you. 

Traumatized the poor puppy. Pro’lly in there cryin’.

He’s not worried that you’re crying. Nope. Not even a little. 

Alright- that’s what you wanna keep tellin’ yourself, go right ahead. 

He’s worried he just signed his death certificate. 

Joel wasn’t trying to take anything from you— not like that. You were already on top of him, riding him, but you just looked like you needed some help, like you needed him to take control. Like you didn’t know what you were doing up there, rolling and swirling your hips in any direction. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t ever going to get you there- where you wanted to be so badly.

Joel took you there, made you fucking squirt all over him and he took some sense of pride in that. 

Joel helps himself to jerky and bread, he drinks as much water as his body will comfortably allow. For the first time in weeks, he’s actually full. His stomach feels like it’s stretched like he might actually burst. 

–-

At first Joel thought you just needed a couple minutes. Maybe you wanted to clean up in the privacy of the bathroom without his eyes on you. But hours go by and he hears nothing coming from the separate room. Nothing. 

It’s silent. Completely. No shrieking or clicking of the infected from upstairs either. 

It’s the lack of control that’s pissing him off more than he would care to admit. Being captive was of course at the top of his ‘things to be pissed off about’ list,  but if he was going to be stuck here with you, he wishes he could at least have a say in what goes on. 

Hasn’t seen the sun, hasn’t had a proper shower in god knows when, hasn’t had a real meal in just as long. If you would give him just a little more freedom, things wouldn’t be too fucking bad here. 

Now you’re gettin’ it. 

You’re making Joel crazy, now he’s thinking about complying?

Y’been complyin’, Mister. Complied real damn good in that bed just then.

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit. 

Has Joel been complying? What the fuck is going on? Why didn’t he kill you in bed? Why didn’t he strangle you, bite your jugular out of your throat. He could have, he felt your heartbeat on his tongue. He could have ended all of this right then. 

But ya’ didn’t! 

He sure fucking didn’t. He was so unworried about killing, that he made sure you came– twice – before he finished. 

Looked so sweet comin’ on your cock, perfect tits bouncin’, fuckin’ pussy was immaculate. 

Joel presses the oven mitts into the sockets of his eyes and groans loudly. 

--

Joel’s eyes snap open at the rattling coming from inside the room. He shoots up, looking around with crusty eyes and blurry vision. He expects to see you but is met with the sight of that fucking opposum sitting on the table with a piece of Joel’s jerky in his clawed little fingers, munching happily on the dried meat. 

“Git!” Joel shouts. The small animal doesn’t even flinch at Joel’s outburst, just continues to eat that precious protein. “Y’little fuckin’--” Joel grumbles, pushing himself to his feet. He stands in front of the table, looking down at it- the opposum- Puddin’. 

He just stares right back up at Joel, chewing quickly and swallowing. 

Kinda cute.

“S’fuckin’ gross,” Joel grumbles. He doesn’t really want to touch that thing, he doesn’t want to get whatever diseases that thing could be carrying. 

He’s got a collar on. 

Puddin’ does have a collar on. Joel imagines you taking your time picking it out for him, going through all the colors and designs. He can see you finding the teal and pink collar, holding it up against his fur and saying it’s perfect. That Puddin’ would be the most handsome opossum this mall has ever seen. 

It makes him smile. 

--

It feels like two fucking days--two goddamn days since Joel saw you walk into that bathroom and slam the door shut practically in his face. 

You’re either dead in there or plotting the most painful ways to kill him. Both choices make Joel sick to his stomach. 

–--

Joel watches you behind the metal grate that keeps the mattress store all locked up nice and tight. He’s on the wrong fucking side! He’s on the mall side and you’re tucked under the covers of your comfortable looking bed. Seven mattresses stacked on top of each other like you’re in some fucking story he’d read to Sarah when she was really little. 

Joel almost wishes he could go back to the basement because this is more dehumanizing than being tied up by the elbows or roped up to a chair. 

The metal chain around his neck is tight, and it digs into his skin. It’s thick,  heavy and has prongs on it– like he’s a fucking dog. A violent dog that lunges, and bites and attacks. 

You opened the door to the bathroom an hour ago with the choke chain in your hand, the shock collar remote taped to the other, and the most exhausted look Joel’s ever seen on anyone's face. Big dark circles under your eyes, disassociated stare like you weren’t even really looking at Joel when you spoke to him in almost indecipherable mumbling.

Joel fought you a little when you padlocked the choke chain to his neck, and added a smaller lock to the shock collar. But he stopped when you said you were gonna take his oven mitts off his hands. 

Where are all the infected? It sounded like there had been a horde of them up here two days ago and now there is not a single sign that they had even been here. 

When Joel had questioned you about what he would do if more infected came, you very confidently said that no one could get in or out that easily anymore; that you had made this place nice and safe for your ‘mister-man’.

Ain’t ever had no one like that before, have ya’?

No.

That had always been Joel’s job; to keep everyone else safe. 

Who made sure that he was safe? 

There had always been give and take with everyone else, even Tommy and Tess. There was love there, sure– but never just someone absolutely and completely tearing themselves open to make sure that Joel was taken care of. 

The only thing you wanted in return was his company. 

Might’a never touched ya’ if you hadn’t asked for it. 

He wonders what your name is. How old you are, where you came from. How long have you been out here…

Joel grabs the metal cord wrapped in some sort of plastic or vinyl material that goes all the way up to the ceiling and gives it a shake as he looks up. You’ve attached it to some other sort of rope or cable that’s been tied from one end of the mall to the other. 

The other end is connected to Joel’s choke chain. 

As soon as your eyes closed he attempted to unclip himself from it but it wouldn’t budge. He tried everything but it was like you welded the clasp closed. 

Joel wanders. That’s all he can do. He’s got more than enough slack to go into whatever store he wants and walk around, inspect.

As he does this his mind doesn’t stop thinking about you. Why didn’t you sleep with him? What did you do while he slept on the bed? Did you sleep? Have you eaten? What the fuck did you do in the bathroom for two whole days?

Joel finds a place where the sun is shining through a hole in the ceiling and faces it with his eyes closed. He could fucking cry. He didn’t realize how much he missed this, how important it was for a person to come in contact with the sunlight. He chokes down the lump in his throat and stands there, following the sun as it moves in the sky, the light coming in at shifting angles and directions. He follows it, stays in the warmth- basking in it for as long as possible until dusk settles and the sky slowly starts to turn pink. 

Joel has his backpack with him. You packed him some food and water, his flashlight. A clean long sleeve shirt in case it got cold. You even threw in some whiskey for him, which he was enjoying sip by sip. 

He pulls his flashlight out and uses it when he goes into an old bookstore. Some shelves are empty; nature guides, atlases, hunting and fishing- basically the entire outdoors section is gone. 

The romance novels are almost bare. 

Who needs those when lil puppy’s got you, right?

There are still self-help books on the shelves, almost untouched and whatever is left looks like it would fall apart in his hands if he tried to touch it. 

Why’s you even in this section?

Joel wanders to the comics and takes a look at whatever is left. Some are in alright condition, wrapped in plastic away from the elements. Some do disintegrate before he can even get them out of their place on the shelf. 

He grabs a Batman comic still in a vinyl sleeve and tosses it in his pack for later. There are tons more strewn all across the floor, some he remembers reading with Tommy as kids. He picks through them, looking for any worth saving and finds two more still in decent condition. 

There are several department and clothing stores that look bare from the outside, but he wanders into one anyway just to see what might have been missed.

There’s an exit to the outside that's been all boarded up, with what looks like every empty clothing rack pushed in front of it. He thinks about moving all those things, breaking through the boards… but where the fuck would he go? Ten feet outside of the mall where the infected were apparently moving through? 

No. 

He’ll stay inside.

He paruses the homegoods section all the way in the back of the second floor and finds a wall of empty shelves except for one. 

It’s filled with books- he reads through the titles: The Beginners Guide to Foraging, An Introduction to Wildlife Rehabilitation, LIVING WITH WILDLIFE- How to Enjoy, Cope with, and Protect North America’s Wild Creatures Around Your Home and Theirs, The Big Book of Skill Makers, The Complete Beginners Guide to Greenhouse Gardening- A Month by Month Planting Book to Grow 365 Days a Year, You Will Find Your People- How To Make Meaningful Friendships as an Adult. There are several Batman comics featuring Harley Quinn and The Joker. 

They all look like they’ve been read thoroughly and many times. 

On the same shelf there is a pink balloon animal made of glass, it has fresh flowers in it, with clean water. It takes him several seconds to realize that it’s supposed to be a bong. For smoking weed. And you’re using it as a vase. 

Joel chuckles to himself and continues to look at the shelf of your important belongings. A couple rocks of different colors, an old makeup compact that has a broken mirror in it. And a small glass picture frame of a family– a mother and a father, a little girl, and a young man but his face has been scratched out beyond recognition. 

On the wall behind the shelf Joel notices lines carved into the wall.

| | | | | | | | | | |

Twelve. Is that how old you were when this all happened? Is that the number of men you did this to before Joel came along? Are you going to add him to this fucking list?

Is that how many months you've been out here?

All of this suddenly feels like someone he can’t see punched Joel directly in the stomach. 

Sad. 

Joel makes his way to a different part of the mall, checking every entrance that he finds along the way and they’re all boarded up better than they were when he used to walk around here before you captured him. He does appreciate the effort you went through to make sure nothing could get in if you weren’t going to give him a weapon, and he couldn’t escape. 

There is an old music and entertainment store where you must get your princess movies and cartoons to watch. He picks through a couple, finding a couple classics that he watched before the outbreak Office Space, Dirty Harry, The Thing, Top Gun. 

He grabs a couple more that he watched as a kid with his dad and grandpa; The Magnificent 7, The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. He grabs the three original Star Wars movies as well– the best ones, the only ones worth watching. The ones that started to come out right before the outbreak– Joel can’t even talk about it. 

He’s done his exploring and now he sits outside of the mattress store waiting for you to wake up and let him back in. As soon as Joel unwraps the sandwich and jerky you made him, that stupid fucking oppossum comes scampering along like this is it’s dinner too. 

“Get the hell outta here,” Joel grumbles, waving his hand in its direction, trying to scare it off– but it persists. 

Inching closer and closer until Joel could kick it if he wanted to. 

Kinda cute in the little collar.

Joel tosses a piece of his sandwich a good distance away and Puddin’ chases after it while Joel digs into his own portion. 

Hours and hours go by, you sleep for so fucking long. He reads all of the comic books that he grabbed and even goes back to the bookstore to look for more. He finds nothing else that interests him so he goes to your bookshelf in the department store and grabs a couple from there to look at. 

He’s flipping through the skill maker book when you finally wake up and open the grate. 

Joel scrambles to his feet, watching as you rub your eyes with your one free hand, the other still has the remote tapped to your palm. 

The two of you stare at each other for several silent moments before you notice the book in his hand. 

“Just put it back where ya’ found it when you’re done with it, ‘kay?” Your voice is deep and filled with sleep. 

Joel nods his head, and puts the book in his backpack. “Yeah, sure– hey where did all the infected go?” He questions as you toss your own pack over your shoulder and head in the direction of the food court. 

“Cleared ‘em out the other day.”

“How the hell did you do that? When? After we–”

“Yup.” You cut him off with a sharp, short response. “Wasn’t that many. Kinda easy when you get high ground on ‘em.” 

Joel eyes dart up to the rafters and wonders how good you are with a bow and arrow. He knows Ellie is a great shot, loves her bow and arrow. “And you moved ‘em all out on your own?” 

“Yup.” 

“How did you even get out of the bathroom?” Joel’s been wondering that this whole time. 

You walked into the bathroom, slammed the door and the next time he saw you was coming down the stairs to the basement. 

He wonders if you’re even real. 

Ohh our lil puppy is real alright.

If you knew that Mister-J was going to ask all of these questions you might not have ever taken the duct tape off. 

Where did the infected go? What if more get in? How did you get out of the bathroom? Where are you going now? When will you be back? Are you okay? Are you mad? What’s wrong? Why aren’t you answering me? 

He’s so nosy! Asking more questions than any of the other guys combined. 

Why does he even care? 

Shhhhh, this is what makin’ friends is, Sweetheart. 

“Used the vents to get out of the bathroom,” you sigh, not stopping or slowing down but Joel keeps up anyway, his arm brushing yours as he walks alongside you.

“What about the infected– you know the spores–” 

“I burn ‘em outside at night when it’s real dark–” you explain to him quickly. “I ain’t stupid. I know ‘bout the spores. I know how the fungus works. I paid attention,” you huff softly as you reach the ladder that takes you up into the rafters and eventually out onto the roof.

Mister is too big, and probably too clumsy to follow you up here. 

“M’just goin’ to get some more food… I’ll be right back– couple of minutes, okay?”

Mister looks relieved when you say this, his face relaxes and he sighs softly. “Okay, just be careful.” 

— -- --- ---

“Is that my shirt?” He asks about the green and red flannel you have on when you come out of the women’s restroom in the food court. Your hair is clean, your body feels refreshed after taking a shower. 

Mister looks good too with his hair slicked back, and his beard trimmed neatly. 

You nod, not taking your eyes off of him. It’s almost impossible when he looks like a brand new man- handsome. He looks like he’s lost weight since he’s been here with you. 

You’ll fix that. He needs to eat more than you, and he wants meat so… you’ll go get it for him. Real meat this time, even if it makes you sad how you have to get it.

“Yeah, I took it ‘cause it smelled like you.” You admit with no shame. That’s exactly why you took it. So you could sleep with it so he could warm up to his new house, with his new friend. 

Mister-J chuckles, and shakes his head at you with a smirk plastered across his face. “Someone told me I stink once,” he says through his laughter. 

This makes you smile because he’s happy. He looks happy, like he doesn’t mind talking to you, he’s not saying mean things. He’s sharing. 

Told ya’ he’d get comfortable. Just had to be patient. We figured it all out eventually. 

“You do stink sometimes, but you smell real, so I don’t mind.” You share with him as you lead him back to the mattress store. He carried the TV up earlier and said he found a couple movies he wanted to watch. They don’t really look like movies you want to watch, but you’ll give them a shot.

Anything for Mister-Joel, perfect, sweet man. 

It doesn’t make this easier. Mister wants to sleep in the bed next to you, said he wanted to warm you up, but now you’re next to him again and it feels like you could burst into flames and tears all at the same time. 

“What’s your name?” He whispers into your ear, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding onto you tightly from behind. 

“Why?” The sirens go off inside your head. No one’s asked you that in so long, it makes your stomach flip and you feel like you could be sick. 

“Told’ya mine,” He murmurs into your hair. 

Joel. 

When you go to answer, the words don’t come because the memories are gone. You can see your mom and dad talking to you inside your head but their voices are on mute. The name never leaves their mouth.  “I don’t remember…”

OFC thank you @pedrospookie for making this cutie banner and letting me scream at about all of this!!

I need to give an extra special shout-out to the couple of other people I screamed at about this. @almostempty @gothcsz( your music recs inspired me) and thanks to @probablyreadinsmut and my unnamed friend who helped me with the TW of the chapter.

I was especially nervous to post this because I didn't want to ruin anyone's day or send anyone into their own spiral. I hope you all are OK!

thank you to everyone who has been reading!! I've never gotten such incredible feedback on a fic before and you are all so nice and make writing this story that much more fun. I LOVE YOU

TAG LIST: @pedrospookie @gothcsz @joelmillerisapunk @sp00kymulderr @paleidiot @goodvampykitten @rosebuds-and-moonlight @diabaroxa @zhazy-blog2 @almostempty @xdaddysprincessxx @tobethlehem @lilac-boo @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @rav3n-pascal22 @baronessvonglitter @joelmillerisapunk @syd-djarin @probablyreadinsmut @itwasntimethatdidit40 @letsgobarbs @lovehappyloki @joelalorian @pedrostories @evolnoomym @valkyreally @youdontknowe @corazondebeskar-reads @pastelpinkflowerlife @tobethlehem

please don't hate me if I forgot you, I have a hamster brain, ok?

[yorsgirl]

Love is a Curse

Trope: Angst

Warnings: none

Word Count: 818

He is perfect.

Fingers threads through your hair, abruptly stopping when you question: would you be sad if I die?

His eyebrows knit together, he stares at you with confusion - you aren't dying.

You want to smile, if I do?

I won't let you.

He is a man of few words, it's often not he expresses himself but when he does, your chest rumbles with an emotion you certainly know about.

I am never letting you go. You're stuck with me forever.

You know he's right. You truly are stuck with him forever.

.

He is like dopamine.

Touches aren't what you expected them to be. You know the touch even with his presence or absence.

They belong to you after all.

It's his name you chant, his name you say. Whether they be alone or in middle of a crowd. Your mind screams his name, always. The fantasies you stage revolves around him, always.

Everything he does leaves you wanting more.

You tell him this one very night, lying in your bed. He listens, he knows. He is there every night, every time, every second. He knows.

But he doesn't answer.

You close your eyes, then you hear him say.

So do I, for you.

.

Distraction doesn't work.

You try to. You really do.

You try using apps, moving to your people, your friends, your teachers, your family. They don't help at all. And you are down the rabid hole again.

Then you are running to him.

He scolds you, still taking you back with open arms. Chiding you for even trying to believe what they said.

Arms wrapped tight against your body, you cry silent tears hearing words so endearing. You don't deserve this.

He knows what you are thinking. You deserve everything, my love. The stars, the moon, the sun, the world... I will give you what you want. I am yours.

Why does he do this? Doesn't he know it has you falling for more?

He is cruel.

.

It's on days you want to comfort him.

You see him again. You read him again. As always.

There is a smile on your face and your chest is rumbling with that emotion again. You almost can't stop your squeal.

But then you see him in despair, in pain.

And it hurts you seeing him hurt. Emotional or physical, it doesn't matter. It hurts seeing him hurt.

You want to reach out and comfort him. But you can't.

.

Everyone tells you, you shouldn't be this devoted.

You can only answer that you can't.

Your devotion can never measure up to his. His affection, his tenderness, his devotion... his love. They are immeasurable for you.

But he is consumed with darkness. They say.

They fail to understand that you love his darkness as much as his light. For in your darkness, only he sits with you. Only he knows about it.

The parts they see as ugly and unlovable, are the very parts he said he loves the most about you when you said it to him.

Plugging the earphones on, you hear his voice again on the other end.

Did you forget me, pretty? You aren't calling lately, or did you find someone else? Nah, can't be. You have to get rid of me before that.

And getting rid of me isn't that easy.

You hate how he knows so much about you.

.

The men around you are... nice.

And it's just that. They are nice.

Some of them better than the other, some worse. And you know, you can live with one of them, one day.

But it feels wrong.

Thinking about other guys feels wrong.

Its foolish of you to even think you can ever replace him with one of them. Even when the touch of another on your skin repulses you.

And at the end of the day, its just that - they are nice.

Then you question:

Can they ever understand you like him? Can they ever know you like him? Can they ever accept all the darkness about you like him? Can you ever love you like him? Can they ever be him?

The answer is clear.

Hence, you are running back to him. He accepts you with open arms.

He is your home, regardless of what he does.

He tells you that, It is fine. I will never let you go, pretty. You are mine.

And that's what you want to be. His.

.

You open your eyes.

You see the ceiling, you are in your room.

Love is a curse. It has you falling for him in every way possible. And it's him, that you want. You wonder if you'll get over him.

You want to laugh. Who are you kidding? It's been years.

You smile, a single tear rolls down your eyes. The realization hits you again, like every other day.

You love him. You want him. But you can't.

You exist. He doesn't.

Characters: Levi Ackerman, Sukuna Ryomen, Gojo Satoru, Kageyama Tobio, Shoto Todoroki, Bakugo Katsuki, Son Hak, Loid Forger.

A/N: uhm, this is very close to me and the characters mentioned are just my faves with whom fantasize the most, you can imagine your other fav in place of them too

+

Thank you for reading.

[sugarlywhispers]

s.sanemi x reader (fem) | time-travel!reader x hashira!sanemi

a.n; it's placed somewhere before the confrontation with Muzan lol honestly, probably a lot of things are OC cuz i’m still catching up with the anime and i haven’t read the manga, sowy 👉👈🥺 — but i had this idea in my head that’s bugging me and i had to write it lol a.n2; this MONSTER was split into two 🙃 — next part will be posted next week. 😉 i decided to cut it there cuz next part is gonna be DARK and sad, probably not for everyone. so if you just like fluff, you can enjoy this part no worries~ next part is for the babies like me who loooove some tearing, ugly-cry angst with characters' deaths😜 (not Sanemi tho, that man will not die in ANY of my writings💚)

It’s been several months. Months since you appeared out of nowhere in this world. 

Nobody knows why, but you haven’t been the only one. Alongside you, two others appeared. A little boy of six years old, named Riko and another boy of seventeen years old called Minato. None of you have ever met before you three appeared in the middle of the woods, right in the middle of a drawn pentagram on the ground.

You didn’t understand what was happening or why, yet your instincts screamed for you to protect them. And that’s what you did. The moment the monster appeared –of course, at the moment you didn’t know it was a demon– your body moved to stand in front of them to protect them, even though you didn’t know what to fucking do.

To sum it all up, the altercation ended with you pretty harmed, dangerously wounded, and in high levels of pain. For a moment, you thought you were in a dream –actually, a fucking nightmare. But the pain was too real for your mind to fake it. You lost consciousness holding the two boys in your arms.

When you finally woke up three days later, you were in what looked like a hospital gurney. Your wounds had been taken care of and the pain was low considering what you have been through; but still there, making you grimace here and there when you tried to move. The two boys flew their arms around you in a hug when your eyes opened and you smiled, glad and relieved that they were okay.

A man with black shoulder length hair and a scar running down from his forehead til under his eyes was standing a few meters with another one next to him. This other one looked bigger, taller and muscular, with spiky black hair and a prominent scar running horizontally across his forehead. Both of them looked… strange. They weren't looking anywhere specifically, but you knew their attention was on you three.

That first man introduced himself as Ubuyashiki Kagaya and he explained what had happened. Including why, or better explained how you came to be there. I mean, their way of dressing and talking said much. He also explained what the term Hashira meant, introducing the guy next to him as one named Himejima Gyomei.

The demon that encountered you and the two boys was considered an Upper Rank demon, still not part of the Twelve Demon Moons, but just as powerful; able to manage time and dimension. That way it could bring humans who didn’t exist in this era and eat them, smartly going completely unnoticed by the Hashira.

“There hasn’t been a demon able to do this for centuries… I’m glad we were able to put an end to his harm, before Muzan got more interested in its power. And that’s mostly thanks to you,” Ubuyashiki had said to you with a small bow in your direction; the other guy, the Hashira, also followed suit with a bow, lower to show his respect.

The girls standing close to the door in silence gasped at the action of the men, following and bowing even deeper.

You weren’t that stupid to not comprehend that what was happening was something important.

What he explained next was that thanks to something you did, another of the Hashira was able to find where you were and helped you three just in time. What exactly you did to make this happen was not quite clear to you. Or more specifically, Ubuyashiki didn’t detail it willingly. For now.

He explained everything else quite thoroughly, patiently even when Riko would ask something more than twice. He looked like a smart kid, but you could perceive how difficult it was for him to assimilate the fact that this was another world, another time period. Truth is always hurtful. In addition to that, there was no way of going back to where you three belonged. You couldn’t avoid caressing his head each time he asked again something, trying your best to comfort him. He hadn’t cried yet in front of you, and you were preparing yourself for when it happened. You wanted him to feel that he wasn’t alone; by the way Minato also patted the kid’s back and held your hand, you knew he felt the same way.

That same night, when the three of you were alone, you did have a talk with them. You had to make it clear for them to understand the main theme here: You three were in another universe, another world. And there was most likely no way back home.

Minato, being the eldest, understood. He looked of course a bit down, but he accepted the circumstances. Riko, on the other hand…

“So… I’m not goin’ to see my mommy again?” His question broke your heart.

Both your hands cupped his cute chubby cheeks, thumbs caressing in comfort, “I’m sorry, buddy.”

The tears were there in your eyes, yet you refused to let them free. Minato though had to look elsewhere to not let the kid see his tears.

“So… If the three of us are here together, does… Does that make us friends?”

“Oh, sweetheart…” You picked him up, sitting him over your crossed legs and hugged him, “Of course we are! We can even be family if you’d like.”

“I would like that…” His little voice broke and you hugged him tighter, rocking him side to side. Minato sat closer to you and joined the hug. 

“We are going to be okay.”

It was a promise. You didn’t know if it was possible to promise something like that, but you did. You didn’t say it out loud, but you promised you would take care of them with all your being.

This is how your life in this new world began.

So, after a month, you have already settled in the Butterfly Mansion, helping Aoi, Kanao and the other girls with the injured demon slayers that came from time to time. You decided you have had enough with just one encounter with demons –thank you very much. Instead, you preferred helping the ones who needed after those encounters. It hadn’t been your choice completely, but after one boy called Kamado Tanjirou came pretty wounded, with burns around his body that no one knew how to treat due to the infection they had –not even Shinobu– you decided to step in. Your grandma had taught you a lot about herbal medicine, her also being a certified doctor specializing in dermatology contributed to the knowledge. It took you two days of constantly cleaning and applying the ointment you have prepared for his burns and staying by his side to control his fever and symptoms. He woke up on the third day and everyone hugged you in thankfulness. After that, Shinobu asked you to help her to run the manor alongside the rest of the girls. Of course, you said yes.

By the time Tanjirou woke up, you had already been told all about who the boy and Nezuko were. Their history was kind of harsh and admirable too. And after meeting the other boys that joined too, Agatsuma Zenitsu and Hashibira Inosuke, it didn't take much for Minato to follow their steps of becoming a demon slayer.

You were a bit worried if you’re honest. Riko and Minato had become the closest thing to a family, little brothers, in this time for you. Even though Minato was agile and hectic, you couldn’t avoid feeling worried and afraid something bad would happen. The topic even brought a discussion between you two that ended in him yelling at you, “You are not my fucking mother or my sister!”

It hurt. His words had hurt you, however, you could see the regret in his eyes after he said them. He was still a teenager, you could understand his swing moods.

“Apologize, now!” Tanjirou yelled back at Minato just as he entered the kitchen, where you and Minato were discussing. “She might not be related by blood to you, but she almost died for you when you appeared here. She has cared for you and Riko more than anyone since you have been here... Y/N might as well be like your sister by now.”

The moment had been tense, yet Minato accepted Tanjirou’s words and apologized with his head hanging low before leaving the room. You nodded in Tanjirou’s direction thanking him and then sighed. 

That same night you spoke with Minato, both more calm, while sitting outside watching the night sky.

“It wasn’t my intention to–”

“I know, Y/N. It was my mistake. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that… or said what I said,” he admitted, playing with a little ball in between his hands. He wasn’t looking at you, but you could sense his regret. “Tanjirou’s right, you know… After everything we went through, you are like my sister. You are the only family I have now.” 

You felt your eyes fill with emotional tears at his slightly broken voice and one of your hands flew immediately to his shoulder and squeezed it in comfort.

After a moment of silence, and with all the worry swimming at the mouth of your stomach, you said, “If… If being a demon slayer is what you really want to be… then you have my support.” Minato looked at you, face all lightened up with shining eyes that showed how excited he was. “Only one condition…”

“Yes, anything!” He interrupted lively, kneeling next to you and holding your hand.

You looked at him directly in his eyes, before saying, “There’s nothing braver than admitting when is time to fight and when is time fly. Promise me you will choose what’s braver.”

He looked down for a moment, assimilating what your words truly meant, and when he looked back at you he nodded, firm and sure, accepting your condition. You patted his cheek lovingly before he stood and ran inside, probably excited to tell Tanjirou, Zenitsu and Inosuke the news.

You stayed there for a few more minutes. You couldn’t shake the bad taste off your mouth at the idea, still, you took a deep breath to calm your nerves. When you finally got up to walk inside and turned, you saw Shinobu standing at the doors with a smile on her face that made you smile back.

“It will never go away…”

“What?”

She put a hand over your shoulder, reassuringly, once you stood in front of her, “The feeling that he’s on the verge of death.”

Her crude words made you recoil a bit, not expecting them at all. But she kept talking.

“With this mission we have, of fighting against demons, we can’t promise anything. We never know what might happen and would be just cruel to do so, for us and for our loved ones. Yet, you didn’t make him promise that he would be back alive. You made him promise to choose braver,” she smiled again, closing her eyes, showing content. “I think that’s a loving way to ask someone to choose life quite wisely… and unique. He will remember that now every time he is on that verge. He will remember you, and I think that’s the only comfort for you to hold onto to subside that feeling and breathe. He will choose braver.”

The tears ran down your cheeks freely and the squeeze on your shoulder suddenly turned into a hug.

Shinobu has become one of your closest friends since then. Sadly, she wasn’t around often, she is a Hashira after all. But when she was around, you enjoyed it the most. Shinobu taught you many things about what she did and her techniques, but always left you wanting to know more.

You also watched Tanjirou, Zenitsu and Inosuke train some days, now joining them too was Minato. Each of the experienced three boys had their own styles and their own techniques. But none other caught your attention quite intently as much as Tanjirou’s. With some sways of his katana, they would change colors. It was almost imperceptible, but you could see it. Sometimes, they were blue and white, which reminded you of water waves. Other times, they were a mix of deep red, yellow and pink; almost as if there was lava dancing around him and his katana. You became pretty curious about those particular moves. But you didn’t dare to ask him, so you kept to your work.

Now it’s been six months, and by this time, you’re considered a great healer. Especially after a huge attack that left you taking care of and healing almost half the Hashira men.

It had been chaotic that morning. Aoi came running to your bedroom, profusely apologizing for waking you up so early and begging for you to hurry towards the infirmary section. You dressed as quickly as you could and sprinted.

Three of the Hashira men, alongside other demon slayers and corps, were being treated by the girls, Shinobu included. She barked orders here to there to everyone as she tried to hold down a convulsing big man. You recognized him immediately. Himejima Gyomei.

“What happened?” You quickly acted, helping her to keep him still, or at least to try not to let him fall from the gurney.

“A fuckin’ demon is what fuckin’ happened! What sort of stupid question is that?!” A guy yelled from the gurney next to Himejima.

That’s the first time you met Shinazugawa Sanemi.

You were surprised by how tall and muscular he was, the gurney looked too small for him –just like for Himejima. Yet who of the guys wasn’t? Almost all of them were big and bulky. Yet Shinazugawa somehow looked different to you. He had spiky short white hair that made you think not everyone could pull that look and still be considered handsome. Everyone but him. And he had large almond-shaped eyes with purple irises that, for a split of a second, left you out of breath. Well, that could have been more thanks to the force you were using in trying to maintain Himejima as still as possible for Shinobu, right? However, it's the amount of scars on his face that got your attention. He looked like he had done this job for years. And when one of the girls helped him out of his bloodied haori and shirt, his body said so too. Plus the new ones. That was kind of… sad.

“Let go of me, idiot! I’m fuckin’ fine! Go help the others!”

Yep, no, he was a douchebag.

You choose to not answer him back and focus on immobilizing one of Himejima’s arms so Shinobu could finally inject him with some antidote and he stopped thrashing around. Of course, all of this under the yells, protests and insults of the guy on the adjacent gurney.

Once the big Hashira was calmed, Shinobu sighed tiredly looking at the guy behind you, who was protesting quite loudly. She looked at you, shrugged, and turned to help the other hashira, Obanai Iguro.

“Fuckin’ let go!”

You turned around to face him. Shinazugawa Sanemi was half standing from the gurney, pulling back and forth his own haori with the little –and completely terrified– girl who was only trying to do her job and heal him. And at that, you completely lost it.

“Enough!” You exclaimed firmly at him, catching his immediate attention. And everyone’s. “Fucking listen to me, we are trying to work here and your yells are distracting and annoying. You are bleeding profusely from your shoulder, which means you’re going to pass out at any moment now if you don’t fucking stop moving around and get stitched up. So, I suggest you shut the fuck up and leave so we can do our job in peace. Or shut the fuck up and let the poor girl heal you so your stupidly annoying ass doesn’t die and can get the hell out of here. Either way, stay fucking quiet before I put you to sleep!”

Silence. No one said a thing or moved for a whole minute, expectantly. Of what exactly? You’re pretty sure of Shinazugawa’s answer and reaction.

Your eyes were directly connected to his, both sets firing daggers at each other, trying to win a battle just the two of you were part of. It’s heavy, the energy around felt charged and ready to explode at any second. And you were ready for it. This was your place, your job, and he was being a problem to everyone with his annoying remarks. He had to understand that you were the boss here.

And he did.

Everyone was witness to how Shinazugawa Sanemi sat back down on his gurney, grumbling under his breath, but didn’t say any more as he let the girl finally attend to his wounds. Two seconds later, he lost consciousness. You rolled your eyes, approaching and helping Kiyo with the hot-blooded Hashira.

After that day, everyone showed deep respect towards you. You have tamed the Shinazugawa Sanemi, the stubborn and wild Wind Hashira, and that by no means was something small. The word had even spread towards the Master, Ubuyashiki Kagaya, who Shinobu told you had laughed so hard over what happened that he cried.

Therefore, from that moment on, every time the hashira gets hurt after confronting some powerful demons, you are the one sent to heal him.

Because you’re the only one he doesn’t protest against or yell at when you’re treating him. He doesn’t even speak to you more than necessary. He went from insulting your guts one day to not even looking at you on the other. It is weird, but quite honestly you preferred it that way.

Even after several years have passed, he still hasn't said more than necessary whenever you treat him. Only informing you of his condition for you to do your job. But the moments only the two of you share during his healing are spent in silence. However, there is one time he actually says something different.

You are applying an ointment on his forearm due to a burn pretty similar to the one you once treated on Tanjirou, very concentrated on your actions. Gently, you hold the inner side of his forearm as your fingers from the other hand apply the cool and fresh ointment over the burn in slow, tender circles. Shinazugawa never moves or makes any sound when you are healing him, which you find weird considering the deep wounds he sometimes appears with for you to heal. But even though he mostly never reacts, you still treat him with gentleness. You know his wounds must hurt.

You have been like that for a couple of minutes, doing your job while he stays silent. Until he speaks.

“H-happy birthday,” Shinazugawa suddenly mutters, making you look up at him surprised. You then look towards the old clock hanging high on the opposite wall, which marks the end of the day and the beginning of the new one. It is indeed your birthday.

Your eyes travel back at him, but he is looking the opposite way, his typical grumpy expression on his face. You smile slightly.

“Thank you.”

He simply answers with a “mmh”, acknowledging your thankfulness, and proceeds to not say anything else. You try not to smile more than the small curve of your mouth, knowing fully any other sound will cause another argument with this temperamental man. He was leaving with your permission in the morning due to an important mission. Of course, under strict conditions, he would have to travel with the ointment and apply it at least four times a day. He agreed, so you were actually showing him how to use it. The few small pots with the ointment were ready wrapped in a cloth over his bed.

After telling him to send Sorai in case he needed some more, you bow slightly goodbye before leaving the room.

The next morning when you wake up, you find a red benibara flower on your bedside table. Somehow, you know it’s Shinazugawa’s birthday present for you and you can’t help but smile throughout the whole day.

The worry though is still latent.

It’s been years already and the worry you feel is still ineluctable every single time you have to treat any of the hashira or the demon slayers. But especially with Shinazugawa. He is a freaking Hashira –and one of the strongest in your opinion– which means he goes on the most difficult and dangerous missions. He wins mostly every time, but he also breaks his own body with each of them.

You always worry for Shinazugawa, you can’t avoid it. It’s almost like a string always pulling you towards him. Whenever something big happens and everything is chaos around, your body moves on its own and doesn't stop until you find him. Sometimes he’s alright; when your eyes find each other he nods, a sign that he is okay and that you can go and attend to others. Other times he’s a mess; gravely injured, bleeding profusely til he almost loses consciousness. Those times your whole being only focuses on him and you don’t leave his side until he’s completely out of danger.

You don’t know how to explain it. You feel… like you need to protect him every time you look at him.

Is this… some kind of… love?

You snort, sipping carefully from the little cup of red tea you decided to enjoy in the manor’s garden. It’s barely morning and everything is quiet and peaceful. Mornings like this help you analyze things in your head you mostly don’t speak to anyone. Shinazugawa Sanemi is one of those.

How could this be love when you barely speak to each other? Clearly, it’s just infatuation, right? The man is hot –you have eyes, for god’s sake. He is a man who walks with a purpose, filled with a confidence you have never seen before. That’s very attractive.

Now, he opens his mouth and he turns into an ugly ogre. It makes you want to slap your forehead in disbelief. He’s always yelling and bad-mouthing at someone, right in their face. Always threatening to kill, destroy, and many other harsh threats. It completely infuriates you when he treats the training corps –who are too young in your opinion, just kids– like that too.

Even so, he never treats you the same way. Shinazugawa hasn’t even raised his voice at you again since that first encounter where you yelled back. Why? Why does he never treat you like the others?

“MISS Y/N! MISS Y/N! Master Sanemi is in need of your attention! Hurry!” Sorai crows loudly at you, appearing out of nowhere after the first shine of the rising sun appears on the horizon, catching you by surprise just when you are about to walk inside the manor.

“What?! Where? There isn’t any–”

And just as you’re about to finish what you’re saying, Shinazugawa falls from the air. His stane is as cool as always. One leg stretched behind him while the other flexed, his forearm supporting himself after the fall in that one as the green residue from his technique disappeared with the wind he brought. You frown, he doesn’t look injured, his clothes aren’t even thorn or bloody. You could have even bet he just appeared like that and in that position just to brag about his skills.

But he doesn’t move from his position nor look up, which makes you feel something’s weird. “Shinazugawa?” You look more intently, eyes really focusing on his persona, and then you see it. The controlled and almost imperceptibly trembling in his whole body. Oh, his breathing technique is actually what is keeping him so still. Meaning, something’s definitely wrong.

You drop your cup of tea and run towards him when he lets his katana fall to the ground and his body sways a bit to the side, almost losing his balance. 

“Go find someone inside!” You yell at Sorai, who obeys you immediately and flies inside the manor.

Your arms surround the hashira’s torso when you approach him, helping him stand by putting his arms over your shoulders. You realize then how actually big this man is and as he stands, he towers completely over you.

“Hey, I got you,” you whisper, looking up at his face with both of your bodies impossibly close.

His eyes look down and find yours, but they look quite disoriented, and you know he’s minutes away from losing consciousness.

Shinazugawa lets a smart snort out of his nose and a crooked grin flutters on his face for a split second, which, if the action hasn't made you realize the blood inside his mouth and worry, you would have thought that expression was sort of cute, attractive even. But fucking blood is coming out of his mouth!

“You got me?” He whispers softly, tenderly even. He’s clearly in some sort of delirious state and that worries you even more.

“Yeah, I do,” he nods at your answer, his forehead then resting over yours and closing his eyes for a moment; but you decide that’s a bad idea when his trembling legs and your weak strength make you both sway back and forth, unstable. “Hey, no, don’t. Don’t close your eyes. Look at me.”

He obeys instantly, taking a long deep breath as he stands straight and more firmly on his feet. It’s clear his technique is the only thread that keeps him conscious enough. His eyes now look more direct at yours, after several consecutive blinks that help him focus.

“Good, good,” you repeat, putting all the strength you can around his torso as you press him against you. A smile then spreads on your face after looking down at your bodies stuck together. “You look like trash,” you joke looking up at him.

He lets out a breathed laugh followed by a grunt of pain and another sway in both your stances that almost makes you both fall, “Don’t– Fuck! Don’t make me… laugh…”

“Sorry, sorry… I’m sorry!” You cry worried, cursing yourself for your stupidity. He’s barely holding up and you go and joke about it.

He moves one of his hands then to hold the back of your head and makes you hide your face in his neck. It feels… odd. The tenderness in which he moved you. You could swear it’s his way of telling you to not worry. However, you think he’s doing it more for him, to ground himself. You then feel his chin rest over your head.

“Breathe, Sanemi. Breathe…”

You feel him take another deep inhale of air and hold it for a moment, before slowly releasing it in very tiny puffs of air.

“That’s it. You’re doing great,” you praise, and the slightly more firm grip from his hand on the back of your head is answer enough that he’s listening to you. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay…”

You promise. Even though you didn’t say it out loud explicitly, you did promise.

And, after eight days of constant attention during the day, sleepless nights sitting next to his bed and caring for his wounds very thoughtfully when he finally wakes up, you can’t help but really cry.

You have fallen asleep, sitting in that rough wood chair next to his bed, body bending forward with your arm used as a pillow over a small space on the side of the bed, right next to his hand. It is what actually woke you, his big hand patting weakly and softly on your head. You sat back uptight, eyes opened wide as he blinked several times, adjusting to the daylight entering the infirmary.

Shinazugawa then looks at you, a tiny curve on his mouth resembling a smile on his face, “You do got me, huh?” His voice sounds hoarse, painfully thick.

And that’s all it takes for you to start sobbing and weeping like god damn kid. You hide your face in your hands, letting everything out as you bend over again towards the bed. His hand goes back to patting your head softly, comfortingly. He never asks you to stop crying; in fact, his touch feels more like he’s encouraging you to let it out. And you do.

Relief finally settles in your body… just as that other feeling that warms your chest and makes your body shudder with goosebumps at his gentle touch.

Is this really… love?

[kezzanza]

What type of boyfriend do you think jude would be?

A/N: first of all, i literally love this ask bc i think of this every 5 business days so thanks for making me put it in writing :)

Jude seems like the guy that would pick you up in a million dollar car, take you to your favorite high-end restaurant and ask you to be his with delicate chocolate lettering on a dessert.

But that's not really him.

The day he asks you to be exclusive, he calls you over to his place under the guise of helping him learn to cook. You both make a mess in his kitchen as you attempt to make your favorite meal—at his request, of course. You're laughing at the sauce all over his apron when he looks over at you—undeniable fondness in his eyes. It's not words written by a chef or spelled out in balloons when he asks. It's Jude's hands cradling your face, his voice softly saying your name and asking: "will you be mine?"

He kisses you when you say yes and you feel like crying—the tender moment scraping your heart raw. Your relationship starts with tears and somehow, that aspect never leaves.

Mostly, it's happy tears. You tear up whenever you watch Jude lift up a trophy, knowing how much hard work he put in. You tear up when he brings you to award ceremonies, his blinding smile meeting yours from the stage.

Sometimes, it’s simply tears of sadness. You fight over Instagram likes, tabloid headlines and models in his DMs. The argument only ending once you started crying, Jude stopping mid sentence to embrace you in his arms.

He hates seeing you cry, especially when it's because of him.

It takes a few weeks, but not you had both grown past that—Jude keeping his likes and follows clean, you doing your part to ignore the media.

Still, even now when you knew it was all fake, you hated seeing articles with Jude and random pretty faces paired off with him. But the media's presence in Jude's life is just one of those things you had accepted.

There are other things about Jude that you came to terms with. His competitiveness would always mix into your relationship in the form of jealousy. He wouldn't get angry but he hated the way men would drag their eyes all over you. You always assured Jude there's no man you wanted how deeply and intensely you wanted him. On nights he was particularly tense, you would laugh and tell him women were doing the same to him—just more subtly.

That would only make him frustrated, which was what you wanted, because it made Jude fiery. Passionate. He made love like he played football, which is to say with intensity, stamina, and unyielding focus. Every touch deliberate. Every movement full of energy. Leaving you breathless and exhilarated, as if you were in the final moments of a thrilling game.

Jude is charming, talented and good looking, but that was just the surface. In reality, he is one of the most complex people you know.

He wears thousand dollar designer but nothing made him happier than your homemade gifts—the pottery you made for your six month anniversary, the scarf you knitted for his birthday, the scrapbook you put together just cause. His attention to detail when it comes to you is second to none. You told him your favorite flower once months ago, now your shared apartment never lacks the pretty petals.

But the thing about him that never fails to amaze you is how much love he has to give to the world. A young fan would never be denied a signature. A grandma would always get a kiss on the cheek. No matter how busy or tired he was, he always made time for others.

There's nobody that knew this more than you.

When he is traveling between cities or stuck in traffic, he calls just to hear your voice. On rare free weekends, he whisks you away to charming little towns and quiet villas.

You ask him once, "Me or football?", and your voice is more sincere than the humorous tone you intended.

Jude looks at you with eyes dripping honey and says, "You, always you. The game is my passion, but you're my heart and my everything."

[meetmypointlessaddiction]

December Fics Day 7 ~ Holiday Cheer

Thanks or all the comments and support on the other parts of this Daily Fic challenge, it means a lot and I'm so glad people are enjoying what I'm writing 💛

Just a reminder that my requests are also open for any Logan ideas that you have or even if it's just to share any thoughts. 🫶

Summary: Logan's refusal to get in the Christmas spirit ruins your mood. How will he make up for it?

Warnings: like the teeniest bit of angst, but like it's not even really that angsty

Pairings: pretty sure this is suitable for everyone (fem!reader/male!reader/gn!reader) however towards the end in a conversation with Storm I feel like I may have slipped a little and it leans more towards a female reader

Enjoy and please like and comment if you do. Something as simple as an emoji literally makes my day better so please don't hesitate to comment and obviously reblog to share my work.

December Masterlist

Getting Logan into the festive spirit was difficult. And  that was putting it nicely. Just as you’d expect, the man was a huge grinch and no matter how much you begged and pleaded, Logan refused to participate in any of the festivities that were going on around the school. 

For example, you were currently chasing him around your bedroom, trying to force a Christmas jumper on his. Around Christmas time, the dress code for teachers changed from formal to Christmas jumpers and so it was tradition for you all to wear ugly jumpers or fancy ones or one with flashing Christmas tree lights on the. “I am not wearing that. It’s awful.” Logan said, shut away in the bathroom, the door locked and his body against it to prevent you from opening it. 

“Logan, come on. Seriously, it’s not that bad. Besides, all the teachers are wearing one, it’s tradition.” You pleaded through the door, your head rested against it as you tried to bargain with him. “We can go out to that nice steakhouse you like if you wear it?” You tried but he was having none of it. “Fine, you big baby. Don’t wear one.” 

Logan thought that was the end of it but, like usual with you, there was always something else. He got two days of peace, living his life as the grinch of the mansion before you were yet again chasing him, trying to force him into some festive item.

~~~~~~~~~~

He was at the other side of the kitchen counter, glaring at you as you held up a pair of pyjama pants, decorated with red candy canes and gingerbread men. “Oh Logan please! We’ll be matching and it’ll be cute. Nobody even has to see you in them, I’m not asking you to walk around the school in them.” 

“Bub I don’t wear shit like that, you know this.” He argued, unwilling to crumble to your wishes. You glared at him and threw the pyjama bottoms onto the kitchen counter. He noticed how every time he turned you down, the sadness on your face seemed to multiply. Was he being harsh?

~~~~~~~~~~

Three days before Christmas and you were in a mood with Logan. You had asked him to wear a Christmas hat to the dinner that evening and he had refused, straight up refused. Not even the usual bickering that you had before you finally left him alone, the man said no and went and locked himself in his office. Maybe he was being a grump but he didn’t want to wear the damn hat and your puppy dog eyes could not convince him otherwise.

It wasn’t until Storm knocked on his office door, asking to come in to talk about something that he realised how much he had messed up. “You’ve really upset them, you know, Logan?” Storm pointed out and Logan looked up from the work he was marking. 

“Huh? How have I? I don’t wanna wear the damn Christmas stuff, it ain’t that big a deal.” He grunted and Storm whacked the back of his head. 

“Jesus Christ Logan how dense can you be? This is your first Christmas officially together. The first Christmas where the pair of you aren’t just having some kind of fling. The matching pyjamas, the Christmas jumper, the Santa hat. They want to make memories with you, they want to be able to look back on your first Christmas together and recall all the cute shit you guys did. Instead, you’ve spent the majority of the month being a grumpy grinch and turning them down with every request they had.” Storm explained and Logan’s face softened. 

“Oh…” He muttered. “I didn’t realise it meant that much. I just-.” 

“This proves how dense men are. You’ve had almost 200 years on this earth to figure out people’s emotions and you’re still clueless. Look, I don’t know how you can fix it but you better find a way to before Christmas Day otherwise Christmas dinner is going to be awkward for everyone.” With that she left and Logan immediately knew how to fix it. 

~~~~~~~~~~

On Christmas Eve, while you were in your office grading papers, he slipped into your shared bedroom, finding the Christmas jumper, the pyjama pants and the santa hat, putting them all on. He had been a bought a big bouquet of roses and some sweet Christmas themed treat that you had raved about all month, putting them on your bedside table before lounging on the bed, waiting for you to return. 

When you trudged back into your shared room a little before 10PM, you weren’t expecting Logan to be awake, nevermind sat on the end of the bed, dressed in festive attire holding a bouquet of red roses and a box and treats. “What-?” 

“I’ve been a dick and I’m tryna make it up to you. Storm kinda pointed out to me that this Christmas is more that just a holiday. It’s out first one officially as… well as a couple and I should have been more considerate of how you wanted to celebrate it and I’m sorry I’ve been turning you down.” He finished with a deep breath, standing from the bed and holding out the flowers and chocolate. You took them from him and noticed the note sticking out of the flowers. 

Sorry for being a dick, I’ll do better. Yours always, L.

“Logan…” You could feel the tears brewing as he held you against his chest, one hand on the back of your head and the other on the small of your back. “I’m sorry too… I shouldn’t have been so pushy. You didn’t wanna wear them and I got way too upset about it.” 

“Nah I was being a baby. The jumper isn’t even that bad and the hat is kind of cool, well the kids seemed to like it anyway.” He admitted and you noticed how he had pulled the return tag out of the pyjama bottoms. 

“You know that you can’t return those pants now that you’ve pulled the tag out?” You pointed out and the tips of his ears flushed pink. 

“Well they umm… I like em. They’re comfy and well… I wanna match with you.” He mumbled and you couldn’t help but kiss the adorable, shy smile from his face. “Merry Christmas, bub.”

This might be my favourite one I've written so far so let me know what you think!

Dividers: @coolcatsgraphics

I'm also on A03 :)

[bandgie]

Deal With the Devil | ARMAGEDDON EVENT

Request: Lamb - Changbin (SKZ) by @cbini song!

warnings: MDNI18+, fem!reader, bondage, nipple/boob play (m!), demon!reader x human!changbin, changbin is a sacrifice, changbin wears a dress (teehee), handjob/blowjob, changbin is called wife, cum swallowing, cumswaping

3k words

Water has not touched the lands in what feels like months. Crops are wilting and harvesting is becoming scarce. The village does not know why they’re being punished and the shaman is just as clueless. They do know, however, what pleases any God.

A sacrifice. One of purity, untouched. One that despite having full lips and hips, still drips with femininity and innocence. A woman who has an ethereal beauty that would easily be accepted by an angry God.  

Changbin, however, is none of those things. Save maybe for the ethereal beauty part. 

He had put up a fight. It took seven men to tie him up. To restrain his legs while they secured his arms to a dead tree far away from their village. Changbin felt humiliated when they smeared crushed-up petals on his lips and pinched his cheeks for color. He yelled with anger as they bound his feet together as if his toes could undo the knot on his wrist. He cried with fear as they walked away, their sad, solemn eyes giving him one last goodbye as they disappeared before the sun had fully set.

Now, Changbin groaned with boredom as the night bled on. His legs ache from the hours of standing and his mouth feels unbearably dry. The dress they put on him did little to save his legs from the cold air, causing goosebumps to rise and his nipples to harden under the material.

If he was going to die, at least he looked pretty.

There were so many other entities that could snatch Changbin away before the God could now that the sun was long gone. He only had the stars and moon to aid in his vision and Changbin wondered if it would be ennui he would succumb to. 

Then he heard it. A faint sound of branches cracking on the Earth as if someone - or thing - was approaching him. 

He held his breath, forcing himself to instead listen to the beating of his heart and not the footsteps that were clearly coming closer. The hairs on his neck stood and his body tensed. Should he try and break out the ropes? His skin is already so raw from the constant moving and rubbing. He isn’t sure if he can handle much more.

Changbin does something he swore he’d never do. He begged. He begged for whatever higher power could hear him to spare his life. He isn’t meant to be a sacrifice. No matter how much makeup the village put on him or how tight the dress squeezes around his chest, he would never be the virgin girl the angry God is looking for.

I’ll never jerk off again, Changbin cries in his head. I won’t even look at women. I’ll remain abstinent until I marry and-

“What do we have here.” Your voice breaks his thoughts. He blinks in the darkness. Once, twice, a dozen times before he can barely make out the silhouette of your figure.

Really? I say I won’t look at women and you send one to save me? Changbin would have scoffed at the irony, but he’s filled with hope and glee as you approach closer. “Please!” He shouts. “Set me free!”

But something isn’t right. The crickets and critters grow silent as you stalk forward. Even the wind silences as you step. Changbin feels that overwhelming fear that screams at him to run despite being bound to a tree. 

He reasons it must be the darkness that fills him with fright. The pleas for help die in his throat when the moonlight shines on you. Surely he’s hallucinating because why else would he see horns sitting upon your head? It should be that, or at least the predatory way you walk that catches his attention, but it’s how your dark eyes shine from the pale light that Changbin shrinks away from. 

“Set you free?” You repeat. “Why? Are you not an offering?”

Changbin feels his knees buckle. “I-I-No! There’s been a mistake. I’m not supposed to be here! Please! Before the God comes and takes me away. Untie me.” But as you finally stand face to face with him, there isn’t any indication that you’re willing to do as he asks.

And the horns on your head are very real.

“God? You think a little lamb like you is for a God?” You scoff and stalk around the tree. You note that his hands are bound behind his back, and his feet are red from the lack of blood flow and the cold night. Whatever village he grew up in obviously cares very little about their people. So much so that they brought this man dressed as a pretty bride for a demon, no less.

Once you make your round, you stop in front of him once again. “I don’t know what type of Divinity takes humans as a sacrifice, but I know demons are more than happy to take up the offer.” It’s full teeth that you smile with. “I do think it’s sweet that they dolled you up just for little ‘ol me.”

A demon? No, that can’t be right. The village praises itself for being protected by higher powers. You’re lying.

Chanbin shakes his head, “N-no. You’re wrong. My village would never worship demons like you.”

“Still saying my village, huh? The one that left you for dead?” You can’t help but mock him. “You know what? I’m in a good mood today - I’ll make you a deal. If you win, you’re free to go and I’ll make sure those villagers worship the very ground you walk on.” With tenderness, you caress his cheek before you roughly grab ahold of his chin. “But if I win, however, you’re mine.”

His head wobbles from how aggressively you shook it. Changbin knows better than to make a deal with any demonic spirit, but at least with this, he has some chance of survival. “What am I to do?”

Your hand releases his face and goes downward. The bust of the dress does absolute wonders for his chest and you have to resist the urge to grope his pecs. Instead, you round to his shoulders, going up until your fingers splay over his neck.

“More like what are you not to do. Five minutes of no cumming should be easy enough for someone as uh…active as you, right?”

It looks like Changbin’s eyes pop out of his socket. He turns red despite the look of fear in his eyes. “What?! I would never lay with a demon!”

You sigh, dropping your hands back to your sides in dramatic effect. Changbin shivers when he loses your touch. Most likely due to the only thing keeping him warm other than his own body heat. “Shame. Guess you’d rather lay your life to one then.”

Ah, that seems to get to him. It takes a conscious effort to keep your face neutral, ignoring how Changbin’s turmoil makes you want to grin. He pinches his eyebrows together, wetting his lips while his mouth opens and closes wordlessly. He then clears his throat, “Just five minutes?”

“Yep.” “And when I win, you’ll put me in power and not bother the village again?” “Cocky little lamb aren't you?” Something in you stirs to hear him ignorantly confident. “Yes and yes. I’m a demon of my word.”

The tips of his ears turn pink, a cute flush that happens to match his dress. He groans and swears under his breath. “Fine. Do what you see fit.”

You hum in approval, putting your hands back on his shoulders and, this time, grabbing his chest. Changbin yelps at the groping and you can’t help but giggle. “Are they sensitive?”

Silence. You take his wide eyes and the sound of his heart rate increasing as a yes. In circular motions, you make his pecs squish to create cleavage. It peeks just above the top part of his dress and your eyes hone in on the sight.

Changbin squeals just above your head. You don’t need to look up to know he’s caught between hating and indulging in the feeling. To take things up a notch, you lean your head down, swiping your tongue across the exposed part of his chest. 

Damn, he's cold. It’s impossible to focus on his gasp when your black heart feels pity. You pepper kisses across his chest, going as far as to tug his dress down until his hard nipples are exposed.

“Yah! You perv!”

Rather than playing into his fight, you smother your face between him. With your lips and tongue, you attempt to warm him up as quickly as you can. 

“Poor thing,” you coo. “They didn’t even leave a fire for you, did they?” His nipple ghosts over your lips and your tongue flicks over it. “Not even a hide just in case you escaped from the horrible monsters.” 

Changbin’s chest automatically puffs out when you take his nipple in your mouth. It’s almost like second nature to whine and twitch as you suck. The fire lighting in his body shouldn’t be happening, not when he was freezing just moments ago. But as you pull away from his chest with his bud still in your mouth, he can’t feel anything but heat.

“They didn’t kn- It’s not-” A hand plays with his neglected nipple, twisting and tugging until his skin blossoms with pink. You smile with his peak between your teeth, flicking the other one with your nail rapidly. 

When you pull away, you pop off with a wet sound. “Why are you still defending them? Think about it, Changbin. When have they treated you with kindness? Were you really a last resort? Or did they laugh on their way back home with booze in their mugs?” Slowly, your free hand wanders until it settles on his pelvis.

“I wouldn’t do those things to you. Not unless you wanted me to.”

Changbin should be questioning how you know his name or at least telling you that you’re wrong. But all those thoughts deem worthless as you find his chubby cock beneath the thin material of the dress.

Everything about you just feels so warm against his body. Everything you say turns his brain into mud and all he can think about is how he would never feel cold again if he’s with you.

Only the tips of your fingers dance on his cock. That seems to be enough, however, judging from the way Changbin writhes and bucks his hips despite the restraints. A certain type of glaze seems to begin to cover his eyes. You swear he looks like he’s on the verge of begging, but he still has his pride intact.

It makes you want to take it between your cunning lips and break it with your sharp teeth. “I could give you everything you need. Everything you want and more. All you must do is give yourself to me. Flesh, soul, and mind. A simple trade for eternal bliss. No more humiliation. No more being satisfied with mediocrity. No more droughts. Just give in, and it’s all yours.”

You don’t bother going under his dress as you stroke him. The material only creates layers of friction and frustration. His cock is heavy in your hand and it feels even heavier since he wears no undergarments. A little extra present left from the village, you think.

Pre-cum oozes through the dress. The pink hue turns nearly transparent from how much he can’t stop from leaking. It only aids in the slick sounds every time you drag his cock down, then back up so you could circle his tip. Changbin moans so prettily, so musically, that it’s only a matter of time before he succumbs to your touches.

You trail kisses up his chest to his neck. His skin tastes of arousal and salt going up and your lips brush against his earlobe. 

He shivers at the minor touch, hips still pathetically rocking into your loose grip. 

“Let me give it to you.” It’s a whisper in his ear. A literal demon on his shoulder. “I can give it all to you.”

Give what, Changbin isn’t sure. But he terrifyingly finds himself thinking about how he doesn’t care anymore. Not when he’s so close to cumming to a demon’s wicked touch. Your hand, ironically, feels heavenly with every pump. Even when your fingers play with the head of his cock, all he can feel is undeniable pleasure coursing through his veins.

“Please.” His eyes water. 

You pull away from his ear and look at his drooling lips. Aw. 

“Please? Please what?” Crap, you weren't keeping time. You can tell there isn't much left though as the moon continues to move, little by little. If he won't finish within a minute or so, you'll have to resort to the old way.

An oath.

Changbin’s on overload. He’s tired, he’s horny, he’s scared, he’s on the brink of…something he doesn’t want to lose. He throws caution to the wind when he says “Take me. Please take me.”

Good enough. The ground shakes. Something pulls in his chest and ties to your own. Changbin swears you glow brighter than any moon or star in the sky for a split second. You vibrate with power, a soft hum traveling throughout your body as you let a moan slip.

It takes a second to gather yourself. Your breath wafts over his lips and Changbin feels a sudden urge to kiss you. But you blink, locking eyes and cocking your head to the side. “As my wife commands.”

Wife? Changbin blinks at your statement, but when he opens his eyes, you’re gone. His head whips left and right before he feels hands on his thighs, pulling his dress up until his cock is free. 

He looks down to see you eye-level with it and he thinks you look cute being so captivated by the sight. How can you not when he’s so thick? The type that makes your cunt clench on pure instinct. His tip shyly hides behind his skin, peeking out to only dribble some pre-cum onto the ground.

What a waste that would be. You lean forward to catch the droplet, tongue out as the salty substance lands on it. Following the string of cum, you stretch your neck up and land on the underside of his cock.

Changbin moans, tugging the ropes on his wrist. He’s already so close. The warmth of your mouth is nearly painful from the cold air he was growing used to. Your tongue travels along his cock, finding that spot just under his tip that makes his toes curl. “Fuck!”

You grin, widening your mouth and taking in his head. There’s so much arousal oozing from his slit that you can’t stop gulping. It’s already hard enough to swallow with your lips apart, but his girth makes the corners of your mouth stretch beyond what you’re used to.

At least it’s easy to take him inch by inch. It doesn’t take too much effort to feel his cock settle on your tongue and for your nose to be tickled by his hair. Changbin sounds with throaty groans and pitiful whines. The bounds are limiting, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to face-fuck you with the little movements he has.

But, shit, it would be so hot grabbing you by the horns to keep pace.

Laying your tongue flat, you let him shove the few inches in and out. Such little thrusts, but Changbin whines like it’s your cunt he’s fucking. A gargled chuckle espaces your mouth onto his cock and he rolls his eyes back to the vibrating sensation.

“Oh fuck yes. Touch me, touch me!”

You laugh again but obey. One of your hands grip the plushness of his thighs and the other finds his sack. Drool drips down your chin as he forces his way in. His balls tighten and relax in your hand and knead them. You're excited to feel pleasure bubbling in your stomach. If his cock feels this good in your mouth, you can’t wait for how it feels deep in your cunt.

He throbs. Changbin lets out a series of moans and whimpers before he unloads down your throat. Since he can’t, you do the honors of burying yourself until his entire shaft disappears in your mouth. 

Changbin expects you to cough. To sputter with the overwhelming amount of cum, but you don’t. Dutifully, you swallow everything he gives you - which is a lot. You suspect he hasn’t messed around in a while with all the love he’s shooting out. 

When he twitches in your mouth again, you know it’s because he’s done. Properly milked and sucked. Slowly you pull off his cock while hollowing your cheeks. Changbin’s far too fucked out to comment on how sensitive he is.

He also misses when you untie his feet while you’re down there. You press chaste kisses up his body. Over his pubic bone, up the softness of his tummy before you’re back where you started - his, now bruised, chest.

He’s mouthing something. His lips keep puckering and babbling. You only smile at him, finally placing your mouth on his while your hands wrap around him.

The knots are tricky, especially since you can’t see what you’re doing. Changbin doesn’t mind how long you take when your lips are on his. He hums into the kiss as if this is what really makes him ride out his high. A tongue swipes against your lips and you happily let him in.

It’s when you swap cum that the rope finally frees. 

Changbin groans into your mouth. You think he’ll take a second to stretch, possibly push you away, and make a run for it, but he does neither of those. 

His buff arms wrap around your torso, bringing you closer so he can get a good taste of himself. His biceps curl around you, easily making you think that he might have been pretending to be tied up.

Cheeky bastard. 

A string of cum and drool still connects your lips when you pull away. He whines at that, opting to bury his face into the crook of your neck. “Nooo. Stay.”

You’re not used to this tenderness. You’re half-expecting for him to stab you behind your back. Maybe to squeeze you so tight that you pass out, but of course, he doesn’t.

“If I stay, Changbin, I won’t leave.”

Maybe it’s because he’s still basking in his orgasm, but there’s a massive smile when he turns his head to look at you. “Mkay.”

[lamemaster]

The Curse of the Uncursed (Thranduil x Feanorian Reader)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue |

Summary: What would your son look like? You did not get to see him when you gave birth to him. You did not get to see him before your death. Only remnants of his movements in your belly remain in your memory.

AN: thank you everyone for your kind words for the last part of this fic. I enjoyed reading every single one of them after long hours of work. That being said, sorry for the delay but here is the last part of this series. I may work on some headcanons about the plot in the future but nothing is set right now. I hope you enjoy this.

Legolas feels the lands of his birth leave him as he watches the shores of Aman greet him. His kingdom, his father, his people, and their memories are all left on the nether shores. All but his friend, Gimli, who stands beside him.

Maybe someday, in some peaceful age, he would welcome his father to these shores. A lungful of grief and a heartful of joy fill him as he finds his grandfather, King Oropher, on the shores.

He embraces his grandfather in the way of men, a way taught by Aragorn. And his grandfather, although taken aback, hugs him back with equal vigor. None of them mention Thranduil. They cannot bring themselves to.

Legolas' eyes wander, looking for someone else. Someone he has never seen, someone he does not remember yet knows. His mother. He looks for you, whose name he has not heard once from his father's lips.

Yet, he knows that you have loved him more than life. And now that he stands on the shores of the land that you live on, Legolas does not see you in the crowd of people welcoming him.

"Her kind is not welcomed on these shores," Oropher speaks, noticing Legolas' wandering eyes. "Not after what they did ages ago."

Hot, seething rage fills Legolas at the hostility he sees in his grandfather's eyes. Was this what his mother faced while bearing him? Such hatred that she had no part in. "Her son is a part of the reason that Arda remains peaceful and the Dark Lord Sauron stays defeated," for the first time, Legolas lets pride and steel of wrath seep into his voice.

"And if these shores cannot welcome my mother, who has been forgiven by the Valar, then I see no reason to be here any longer," with these words, Legolas finds his feet walking away from his grandfather, who does nothing to stop him.

He is aware of Gimli calling for him, but he continues walking as his Dwarven friend complains about emotionally constipated elves. Everything feels too unfair. Why did his mother face such hostility when she did nothing wrong? How sad must she have been with how everyone treated her? And he…he wasn't there for her.

Guilt builds in his heart, and the streets of Alqualonde blur as tears cloud his eyes. He wants to leave so badly. He wants his mother. He wants to comfort her and take away her pain. He wants to reassure her and make her smile.

Legolas bumps into a figure, and a warm voice greets him. "And here I thought I would welcome my grandnephew with smiles," a voice he does not remember. A golden-haired and silver-eyed elf smiles at Legolas.

Atandil, or "Friend of Men," King of Nargothrond, Finrod, beams at Legolas.

"Yonya, your pacing would help little. I recommend you sit and wait. That Findarto is pretty good with his words. He would definitely charm your son into coming here," Celegorm comments, perched on a chaise as he observes you pacing around the room.

His own anxiety is well-hidden behind his cocky exterior. You turn to look at your father, "Do not talk like that about Uncle," you warm him. It had taken decades of your work to mend the broken ties between the Finweans. Your father and Uncle Finrod had been one of the toughest ones to work with.

Your heart races as you imagine your son somewhere on the shores of Aman. So close, yet so far. Only your respect for the Teleri holds you back from rushing to the shores that would bear your son's ship.

Your son, who played a big part in the destruction of the rings once forged by your cousin, Celebrimbor. "I will definitely brag about my grandson to that Curufin. Let him know the actual hero of Arda," you shake your head at your father's obnoxious words. You would have to make sure that he truly does not offend your uncle or Celebrimbor, who seems to be recovering well.

What would your son look like? You did not get to see him when you gave birth to him. You did not get to see him before your death. Only remnants of his movements in your belly remain in your memory.

As Celegorm's words linger in the air, your pacing slows, and you reluctantly settle into a nearby chair. The room is filled with a mix of anticipation and unease, and your mind drifts to the memories of your son, Legolas, whom you have never met in person. It has always been a painful void in your heart, knowing that you couldn't be there for him in his formative years.

Your thoughts turn to the events that shaped his life—the battles fought, the sacrifices made, and the role he played in the destruction of the rings. Pride swells within you, mingled with a bittersweet ache. Legolas, your son, is a beacon of hope in a world plagued by darkness. The knowledge of his accomplishments fills you with immense joy, but it also deepens the yearning to be with him, to hold him in your arms.

You gaze at your father, whose tongue always seems to wander freely, his remarks occasionally straying into offensive territory. The mending of broken ties within the family has required delicate care, and you have worked tirelessly to foster understanding and forgiveness. The last thing you want is for your father's words to undo the progress made.

"Ata, please," you implore gently, your voice tinged with a mixture of weariness and determination.

Your father sighs, his expression softening, "I will welcome my grandson and offer all that we have, but never, in this eternity, will I ever welcome his father," steel of hatred fills your father's jovial voice as he talks about your husband, Thranduil. "He who made you suffer, made you cry, made you pay for wrongs you had no part in, has no place in my heart," your heart shudders as you observe the wrath in your father's eyes.

"He held no mercy for you, not even when you bore his child, not even the decency to let you meet your son," Celegorm gets up from his seat, and his eyes brim with tears as he cups your face in his hands. "He made you suffer for my crimes. He made my daughter go through the worst of fates ever. I cannot forgive that. Not even in this blessed land."

Thranduil remains one subject that your father never switches his views on. Of all the repentance and grief, your husband is a thorn in your father's heart.

You do not speak anything on the topic of your husband. You cannot bring yourself to. Guilt, remorse, and regret make it hard to do so.

As Legolas steps through the magnificent halls of Tirion, his heart beats louder than ever. He cannot bring himself to be awed by the glamour of the city or its palace. All he can do is steel his mind to keep up with his granduncle Finrod's steps.

Yearning greater than the depth of the ocean, the endurance of a mountain, or the vastness of the entire sky seems to fill his every pore.

Anticipation, fear, and joy all crowd his heart. The mother who loved him greater than life,

would she love him still? Would she be pleased to see him as he would be to her? Would she let him be a part of her grief and allow him to share his?

With all these questions plaguing his mind, Legolas finds himself rooted in the spot as he watches Finrod push open the doors that separate his mother and him. Mere wooden doors that seem to be most potent at that moment.

A curtain of long silvery hair and sparkling green eyes, like the beginnings of the spring that Mirkwood was once known for, greets Legolas. You… his mother…

He does not hear the background voices of Finrod or others. Nothing matters in that moment. Legolas feels whole for the first time in his life.

He watches as you rush towards him, your steps hurried, and when in the haste of your movement your feet falter, Legolas finds himself supporting you, catching your arms and holding you.

"Yondo," after a separation so long, Legolas cannot will himself to stop his tears at the first mention of an address from his mother. He does not stop you when, with trembling hands, you cup his face and kiss the top of his head.

Maybe not all the wrongs in the world can be undone, maybe Arda truly can never be unmarred, but it remains beautiful nevertheless. And Legolas believes it to be true at this moment.

Feanor's heart weeps. He has yearned, raged, and lamented for many, but never has a sorrow been so potent as the hurt of his grandchildren.

Since he first caught a glimpse of Celegorm's child from the solitary halls of Mandos, he cannot help but feel endeared towards you, who resemble his mother so much.

Maybe, in those long years, it was your well-being that kept Feanor looking out for the nis growing up in the lands of the Sindar.

Your grief, your joy, your love, all feel too personal to Feanor. Closer than the Silmaril or the pains of his own children. But that means that Feanor witnessed your fall. With an irony stronger than ever, your fate is similar to Miriel's.

Feanor's soul burns with the hatred of a thousand suns for the Sinda who abandoned his granddaughter, who left you alone and cold, yearning for your son. In those moments of despair, even the confines of Mandos's halls tremble at his rage.

This restlessness only grows until he meets you. You, who, even in the grief of your own death, came to console him. In those moments, Feanor's soul cannot help but mellow down at your gentle urging.

So, Feanor spends ages in the desolate halls of Mandos, looking over his family that resides in the blessed realm. And his great-grandson, who fights against the Lieutenant of Morgoth.

The lands of once Greenwood the Great now lie overrun by wild vines and overpowering fauna. A forest that was once a kingdom now speaks only of ruins. The elves who once resided there have long left for the shores of Aman.

Only one remains. A fallen king who wears no crown. A king who does not sit on a throne. Instead, he spends ages trapped in a room. No lock, no shackles bind him, but he remains seated by a window.

A window that witnesses changing seasons and the paths of the sun and moon.

The one called Thranduil awaits his redemption or any form of forgiveness. He does so now that he remains free of his role as the king to his people or a father to his son. For now, he remains Thranduil, who once wedded you and Thranduil who once loved you more than his soul.

In those moments of solitude, Thranduil allows himself to read every single one of your letters from long ago. Long ago, when you waited for him in the same room. He grieves as he reads. He allows himself to mourn for the loss of his love, you, your marriage, and his very self.

Maybe the age of elves is over, but Thranduil's repentance stretches long into the eternity of Arda.

[pennylane-dreams]

Apple Scruff Carol Bedford’s “relationship” with George Harrison Part 2

After returning to London in May 1970, Carol’s story becomes more “intimate” I would say as her “relationship” with George continues. The Apple scruffs witness the break up of the Beatles and the drama between everyone and even describes an incident where reporters physically attack George outside the studios and the scruffs help remove the reporter and get George to his car to escape, also making sure no one else attack the other members when they leave the building.

There are a few odd interactions with Mal but he was known for hitting on the scruffs. Margo warns the others that Mal uses your interest in one of the Beatles to make his own pass. I’m aware those incidents are described Living the Beatles Legend.

After staying almost all night outside the studios, the scruffs decide to call it a night and head home. Carol states on her way to where she’s staying, George’s car pulls up beside her. During this interaction, George gives her a book; The Autobiography of a Yogi by Yogananda. There's been a few people that have said that George would give out this book to friends and family.

“I want you to remember something that will help you,” George said, seriously. “God is in you and everyone. We all have God in us.”

The next day, Mal finds Carol and asks her if she read the book yet and said that George was “anxious” on her opinion of it.

There’s interaction Carol and George was when Carol was heading to her bus stop after leaving the studio. George’s car pulls up beside her and offers her a ride home, which she says yes to. It’s sad conversation, both of them are talking about depression and he talks about the pressure of being a Beatle and his lack of privacy. Carol offers him a number to a clinic where he can talk to someone about his depression. I can see one of them venting to a fan or to someone who will listen especially with everything that was happening during that time. Unfortunately, Carol just had to tell the others about the car ride and the talk they had which she shouldn’t have done. It’s not their business.

“This is special. You’re the only one of us to get close to one of them. […] I’ve had loads of conversations with Paul but none that personal. George was treating you like a friend. […]”

Jumping ahead to the day where Mal asks the girls to come into the studio. Entering the control room and are played the song Apple Scruffs for the first time which they was in awe. They thank George for the song and even gift him flowers later.

The 1970 Christmas party part was a little crazy to me. Carol sent George a letter, thinking he was making fun of them by coming out of the studio saying how “warm” it was in there and it’s cold outside. (No one making camp outside girly. That’s on you lol). During this conversation, it almost feels like a "confession" scene that George says while drunk.

“He [George] gently pushed me into a narrow area where the filing cabinets made a small box square. […] George stepped in front of me and leaned against the wall. He then pulled me closer in front of him. […]

'If you think of me, I'll be there. I'm with you always, in here.' he tapped my breast gently and removed his hand. 'I'm not sure what you mean by that. it would be impossible to "get over you." Every time I turn on the radio, I'll hear your voice. [...]". “I’ll [George] always be with you. We’re apart of each other. I wrote a song about us the other day. It goes like: I, I, I love you. You, you, you love me. We’re together always. We’re in each other. You don’t need to see me walk out of a building, do you?”

Who knows what happened at the party but drunk men can say pretty wild stuff.

As the story goes, Carol continues on with her small moments with George and her relationship with the other scruffs.

One of the craziest things she said in this book is implying that George wanted to start an affair with her by moving her into a LA apartment so he can visit her without the media finding out which of course doesn’t sound like George at all but this is Mal telling her that this is what George wants, only for Mal to force a kiss on her. So either Mal was telling the truth or wanting her to be vulnerable to make a move on her.

After this, she decides she needs to stop “waiting” outside the studio for George and move on with her life which is understandable. She does what she can to avoid him and the last time she saw George was when he entered the A&M Records (where she was working at the time) when he was creating his own label Dark Horse Records.

I know people don’t like Carol’s book and say she lied about most of the things in her book but I found it interesting and I’m not taking it to heart. I remember reading something about George being upset about the book, but I can’t remember where.

It does at first feel like reading someone’s diary but it takes a turn half way through. It does read a lot like fanfiction and if it was, it would probably do well on Wattpad to be honest.

Excerpts from Waiting for the Beatles and photo from fellow fan.