#should I maybe expand this into a one-shot? who knows | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

killerplink · 1 month ago

Text

DISCIPLINE

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Plot: Jason wants you to learn self-defense in case he's not around, but he should've known you'd turn it into a game—batting your lashes, pouting, testing his patience at every step.

Words: 7k

A/N: This one-shot is basically an expanded (and slightly spicier, oops) version of a convo we had a few days ago about Jason teaching his girl self-defense. It spiraled into something much steamier than planned, but honestly... are we surprised? Big thanks to that little idea spark—y'all know who you are 🖤

Jason stands in front of you, arms crossed, looking down at you like he's really trying to figure out where he went wrong in life. Because when he said he wanted to teach you self-defense, he expected some pushback. Maybe a little nervousness. Some hesitation. At worst, some stubborn "I don't need to learn that, Jay, you're always with me" bullshit.

What he didn't expect was for your eyes to light up like he just told you he bought you a puppy.

"Can I learn how to stab someone?" you ask, voice soft, excited, like you're asking if you can bake cookies later.

Jason blinks. "What."

You nod, like this is a normal response. "I mean, obviously, I have a taser and bear spray, but I think a knife would be a nice addition, you know?"

He has to take a second to process. "You—you have a what?"

"A taser! And bear spray," you clarify, eyes shining like you're announcing your engagement. "Bear spray is way better than regular pepper spray, so that's why I have that instead. Been itching so bad to use them, but who knew it took eons to get assaulted in Gotham when you actually want to?" you let out a dramatic sigh. "Like, I've been ready for this for years. I am so fucking up the first stupid asshole who wants to try me."

Jason has to take a very deep breath before responding, because he doesn't know whether to be concerned or turned on. Like, he genuinely doesn't know what to do with this information. Because he came into this fully prepared to convince you that learning self-defense was a good idea. He thought maybe you'd be scared, maybe you'd worry about getting hurt.

Which, in hindsight, was fucking stupid.

Because yeah, you're his small, sweet, shy girl—at least 90% of the time. All soft smiles and warm cuddles, curling into his side, acting all innocent. But he should know better. Because you're also a menace. Especially when you're drunk.

And the thing is, alcohol makes you bold as fuck. Your mouth runs without a filter, and somehow, that always ends with either you ready to commit assault over the stupidest shit or getting him in trouble. Like that one time a guy tried to cut in front of you in line at a food truck, and before Jason could even blink, you were calling him a "dickless little piss baby" and offering to fight him over a fucking taco.

So yeah, he should've known.

"Baby," he finally says, rubbing a hand down his face. "You don't get to just manifest gettin' mugged."

You pout, arms crossing tight over your chest like you're trying to physically contain your frustration. "I'm not manifesting it, I just think it'd be fun."

Jason stares at you, unimpressed.

"Not fun fun," you amend quickly, eyes darting to his face as you shift on your feet, hands waving as if that'll somehow make your argument more reasonable. "But, like, practical fun. Who doesn't wanna kick some criminal ass?"

"Jesus Christ," he says, voice dry, incredulous. "Doll, no one just casually waits for an opportunity to fuck someone up."

Your pout deepens, bottom lip pushing out as you tip your head, batting your lashes. "You do."

His eyes narrow. "That's different."

"How?" You take a step closer, blinking up at him, playing up your sweetness like you're not actively trying to convince him to arm you with a knife.

He groans, tipping his head back like he's asking the universe for strength. "Okay, yeah, no weapons for you."

"What? Why not?" you whine, stomping your foot just a little, because this is bullshit.

"Because," Jason says, tone final, firm, like he's laying down the law, "I'm not lettin' my girl run around with a blade just waitin' for some dumbass to try her."

You huff, arms crossing tighter as you glare. "This is so unfair."

He scoffs, throwing his hands up. "Unfair—you—oh my fuckin' God, no knife trainin' for you and that's it."

Your jaw drops, scandalized, because how dare he? "Jay—"

"Fuckin' no," he cuts you off with a sharp look, voice absolute. "You don't get a knife."

Your lips wobble like you're actually sad about it. "But—"

"Jesus Christ, you're worse than me," he mutters as he pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing in deep like he's trying to summon the patience of a saint.

Which, let's be real, he doesn't have. Not when it comes to you and your innocent—and very concerning—enthusiasm for fucking people up.

"Baby," he starts, slow and measured, like he's talking to someone who's about to do something really fucking stupid. And honestly, maybe he is. "This is self-defense. Meanin' it's only for when you have no other choice. Got it? You are not—I repeat, not—goin' out of your way to stab someone just because you wanna see how it feels."

You blink up at him, lashes fluttering, mouth curling into the sweetest little pout. "I would never do that."

Jason stares. Stares. Because you're lying. Blatantly.

"You just said you've been waitin' for someone to try and mug you," he points out, voice flat, arms crossing again as he levels you with a look. "That doesn't sound like self-defense, baby. That sounds like premeditation."

You tilt your head, like you totally don't see the problem here. "But Jay—"

"No." He lifts a hand, cutting you off before you can even start with whatever bullshit argument you're about to pull. "No buts. This isn't a game. If someone actually attacks you, you do exactly what I teach you. No extra shit, no tryin' to one-up them, and definitely no pullin' weapons just because you feel like it. Understand?"

You nod, but it's too quick, too eager. Too much like you're just saying it so he'll shut up and move on to the part where he actually shows you how to hurt someone.

Jason sighs through his nose, jaw tightening as he gives you a slow once-over. "Say it back to me."

You bite your lip, rocking on your heels, playing up the innocence in your eyes. "I will only use self-defense if I absolutely have to," you recite, soft, sweet. "I will not go out of my way to fight someone, no matter how bad I wanna try out my taser—"

Jason groans, tipping his head back. "Jesus Christ."

"—and I will definitely not stab anyone unless I am in mortal danger."

He squints at you. "Are you fuckin' with me right now?"

You clasp your hands behind your back, swaying slightly, still looking up at him like you're the picture of pure intentions.

"No, baby," you say, voice syrupy and so fucking fake, and you can see the muscle in his jaw twitch, the barely contained exasperation tightening his shoulders. "I'm taking this very seriously."

"No," he mutters, rubbing his hand down his face again. "No, you're not."

You step closer, pressing your fingers to his chest, looking up at him through your lashes. "I am," you insist, voice so soft, so sweet. "Don't you trust me?"

Jason's hands drop to his hips, and he leans in, just enough to look you right in the eye. "Not even a little."

He exhales slowly, leveling you with a look that's somewhere between exasperated boyfriend and man barely holding onto his sanity. He doesn't know why the fuck he thought this would go smoothly. You, of all people. You, with your wide, innocent eyes and that suspiciously sweet little voice, who he knows is just itching to cause some kind of bullshit.

He should've seen this coming. Should've known.

Because realistically speaking? You rarely go anywhere without him. It's fucking Gotham, and he's Jason fucking Todd. Which means if you're not with him, you're with someone he trusts—or you're home, where he left you, safe.

Not because he's some controlling asshole who doesn't let you live your life, but because he's been out there. He knows what this city is. Knows how fast things can go from fine to fucked in the blink of an eye.

And not that the freaks here need a reason to attack people only at night anyway—God knows they don't. Broad daylight, rush hour, middle of the fucking street? Doesn't matter. Gotham's got its own fucking rules, and they don't care if you're just trying to grab a coffee or get home from work. But still, he thought it'd be good for you to at least have some self-defense training.

What he didn't think, was that you'd be fucking giddy about the idea of stabbing someone. He drags a hand down his face for what feels like the thousandth time, shoulders tensing as he looks at you again, standing there all sweet and so fucking suspicious.

"You're gonna be the death of me," he mutters, shaking his head.

You just beam at him, rising onto your toes to press a quick kiss to the sharp edge of his jaw. "But I'm cute," you remind him, voice sickly sweet, lips brushing against his skin.

Jason sighs, tilting his head down just as you try to step back, catching your chin between his fingers before you can get away. "Yeah?" he murmurs, eyes flicking between yours, thumb stroking along your jaw. "That supposed to make me forget you just admitted you're impatient to commit a felony?"

Your lips part, your breath warm against his, but you're still smiling, still playing that little game of yours, still batting your lashes like you're the picture of innocence. "Not a felony," you say softly. "Just... an act of self-defense that may or may not get me arrested, depending on the jury."

He groans, dropping his forehead against yours, shaking his head as his hands slide down to your waist.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mutters, voice rough, full of barely contained affectionate frustration. "You are so lucky I love you."

You giggle, bright and genuine, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing yourself into him like you know exactly what you're doing. "I know," you say, smug and happy, and fuck, he's so fucking gone for you it's ridiculous at this point.

Jason breathes you in, lets his fingers tighten around your waist, and kisses you. A slow, lingering press of his lips, soft enough to make you melt a little, teasing enough to remind you that he's got other ways of distracting you. And maybe he should've just started there instead of pretending this was ever gonna be a serious lesson.

But he pulls back, just enough to murmur, "You done playin', doll?"

You blink up at him, still smiling. "Depends."

Jason squints, lips twitching. "Depends on what?"

"Depends on whether you're actually gonna teach me now, or just keep kissing me until you forget about it."

Jason huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he pulls away, finally taking a step back. "Alright," he says, rolling his shoulders, glancing down at his hands like he's mentally preparing to deal with you. "Let's try to get through a fuckin' lesson, then."

You giggle again, soft and way too pleased, and he already regrets this, because he knows you're gonna try some bullshit the second he gives you an opening. He knows it. Can see it written all over your too sweet expression, the way you're still smiling, still batting your lashes, like you're not already planning your next move.

So he sighs, rolls his shoulders, and chooses to ignore that for now. Because if he wants to get anywhere with this, he needs to at least get the basics into your head before you start trying to murder him.

"Alright," he starts, keeping his voice even, professional. "This isn't a "how to win a fight" lesson, okay? You're not lookin' to beat someone. You're lookin' to get the fuck away as fast as possible. You with me?"

"Mhmm," you hum, tilting your head, still smiling.

Jason narrows his eyes, but moves on. "Gotham's a shithole. You're not gonna have time to square up and throw a clean punch. So this is about gettin' yourself out of a bad situation before it gets worse. You get grabbed? You break the hold and you run. If they're faster than you? You make sure they regret gettin' close to you in the first place."

You perk up, excited, and Jason almost groans. So fucking predictable.

"So," he continues, pretending he didn't notice, "most common grabs. If someone gets your arm—"

He reaches out, quick but controlled, his fingers circling your wrist in a firm grip. He doesn't squeeze, just holds, tilting his head down to meet your eyes. "What do you do?"

You think for a second, then— "Break their fucking nose?"

Jason lets out a rough chuckle, shaking his head. "Okay, yeah, that's an option, but first? You wanna break the grip. They grab your wrist, you don't pull back. You twist toward their thumb, push through the weak point in their hold."

He loosens his fingers just a little, giving you the chance to practice. You try it, twisting your wrist too quickly, too eager, but Jason keeps his grip light so you actually get the motion right, slipping out of his hold easily.

"Like that?" you ask, looking pleased with yourself.

"Yeah," he nods. "If they grab both wrists, same thing, but you yank up and break out of both at the same time. Quick, before they can adjust their grip. Got it?"

You nod, biting your lip like you're really paying attention, and fuck, Jason has no idea how much of this is actually sticking and how much is just you playing with him. But he moves on, because next is something he needs you to know.

"Okay," he murmurs, voice dropping slightly. "If they go for your throat—"

His hand ghosts up, barely touching, just resting his fingers lightly against your neck, so gentle it's barely pressure at all. But it's enough to make your breath hitch, just slightly, your body going a little still.

Jason watches you carefully, reads every microexpression, every little flicker of something across your face before continuing.

"People fuck this up in movies. You don't try to pull their hands off. You're not gonna be strong enough to break the grip outright, especially not if they're bigger than you."

He flexes his fingers slightly, just enough to demonstrate, to show you what he means before pulling back. "You wanna go for the thumbs. That's the weak point. Both hands, grab their thumbs, push out and down, then duck away. Got it?"

You nod, more serious, something thoughtful in your expression.

"Good," he murmurs, then gestures to your hair. "If they grab your hair—"

"Oh fuck no, I'd simply die," you say, deadpan. "That's my nightmare scenario, Jay."

Jason huffs a laugh. "Yeah, well, let's say you'd rather not die, baby. If they grab it, you don't try to yank away, or you're just helpin' them control you. You grab their wrist, stop them from jerkin' your head around, and you drive your knee into their fuckin' balls until they let go. Got it?"

"Got it," you echo, nodding, biting your lip like you're really thinking about it.

Jason watches you for a second, then takes a step back, flexing his fingers. "Alright," he says. "We're gonna go through these real quick, one by one, get the motion into muscle memory, yeah?"

"Yeah," you nod, lifting your hands a little. "Okay. Ready."

Jason nods, reaches for your wrist again—

And you go straight for his throat. No hesitation. Zero fucking hesitation. You move fast, hands darting up like you're ready to go for his jugular, and Jason barely manages to react in time, catching your wrists before you can dig your fingers into his windpipe.

"Jesus Christ," he barks, startled, holding you back as you giggle, eyes bright, too fucking pleased with yourself. "We are literally practicin' breakin' a wrist grab, and you go for my fuckin' throat?"

"It was open!" you defend, twisting in his grip, trying to move your arms, but Jason just tightens his hold. "Seemed like a good opportunity!"

Jason lets out a long, slow exhale, like he's praying for patience. "You are so fuckin' lucky I love you, I swear to fuckin' God," he mutters.

You just beam at him, but he's determined to get through at least one lesson with you before you either land a dirty hit or he ends up putting you in a fucking time-out.

It's a battle though. Because every time he tries to correct your form, show you the right way to get out of a hold, you're already one step ahead—twisting in his grip, shifting your weight, going for some batshit move you absolutely should not be attempting yet. And you do get it right, more than once, your motions smooth and sharp when you actually focus, but the problem is that you never just focus.

It's always followed by something else. Something you shouldn't be doing. Like now.

"Jesus, baby," Jason grunts, dodging just in time as you try, for the millionth fucking time, to go for his balls. "Do you have to aim there every fuckin' time?"

"It's a very effective tactic," you say, so damn pleased with yourself. "It's a vulnerable spot, isn't it? You literally said I should make them regret getting close to me."

"I meant them, pretty girl. Not me."

"You're just in the way," you say, batting your lashes, grinning. "Move, and it won't be your problem."

Jason lets out a sharp huff of laughter, shaking his head. "Y'know what? Fuck this."

And before you can react, he moves. Quick. Smooth. Controlled.

His arm hooks around your waist, the other sweeping your legs clean off the floor, and the next thing you know, you're falling, pulled down with him, but the landing is soft—the plush rug cushioning you as Jason twists, making sure he hits the floor first, his arms caging you close against his chest as you let out a startled little gasp.

Your hands press against his chest, pushing yourself up slightly, but Jason doesn't let you go far—his grip tight, his fingers curling against your lower back, keeping you right where he wants you.

He smirks up at you, all slow and lazy, something dark flickering in his eyes, and when he speaks, his voice is warm and rough, low enough to send a thrill down your spine.

"Careful with my balls, baby," he murmurs, the rasp in his voice making your stomach flutter. "I thought you loved gettin' fucked."

Your breath hitches, heat sparking through your veins, and Jason watches the way your lips part, your lashes fluttering as your grip on his chest tightens just slightly.

You let out a soft little giggle, feigning innocence, tilting your head as you trace a slow, teasing line over his collarbone, down to the fabric of his shirt.

"I do," you murmur, pouting a little, "but I'm also very dedicated to my studies, Jay. You wouldn't wanna distract me, would you?"

Jason huffs, his grip tightening for a split second before he shifts—one arm coming up, curling around your back as the other slips down, fingers pressing against your hip as he flips you under him in one smooth motion, his weight pressing you down into the rug.

"Doll," he breathes, tilting his head, his lips so damn close to yours, "I don't think you wanna study right now."

And then he kisses you. Slow. Deep. Messy. His lips part against yours, his tongue licking deep into your mouth, coaxing a sweet little whimper from you as your hands fist into his shirt, pulling him closer.

He kisses like he owns you—mouth hot and searching, tongue sliding over yours with purpose, like he's trying to taste every little gasp you give him. His hand slides up, fingers cupping the top of your head as he tilts it just how he wants it, deepening the kiss until it's all spit and need and heat. You can feel the groan rumble in his chest before it spills into your mouth, vibrating against your lips, low and rough.

Your lips part wider for him, letting him devour you, and he takes full advantage, licking into you slow and filthy, like he's savoring every second of it. His teeth catch on your bottom lip when he pulls back just a little, only to dive right back in, lips sealing over yours again like he can't stand not kissing you.

And fuck, you melt for it. For the way he kisses like you're something sweet he can't stop craving, like he wants to drag the taste of you out long and aching and endless.

His weight presses against you, his body solid, heat radiating from his skin, and when his thigh shifts, pressing between your legs, you let out a soft, shaky little sigh, your body arching up into his. Jason smirks against your lips, his fingers dipping under your shirt, warm against your skin as he teases up your waist, his touch light, slow, deliberate.

"That's what I thought," he murmurs, voice thick with want, "guess you're not so dedicated after all, huh, baby?"

And he doesn't stop there. His hand drifts higher, fingertips skimming your ribs before they finally close around your tits, squeezing, kneading, teasing you with slow, intentional touches. He knows exactly what he's doing, knows how sensitive you are, how easy it is to work you up until you're a whimpering mess for him.

His lips brush your jaw, then your neck, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses against your skin, dragging his tongue along the pulse that flutters under his mouth. His voice is deep, mocking, when he finally speaks, words warm against your throat.

"So damn insatiable."

And you are—grinding against his thigh, your breath coming faster, hips rolling like you need something—anything more than just the pressure of his leg against your cunt. Your nipple pebbles against his palm, and he chuckles, tugging your shirt up with one hand before leaning in and taking it into his mouth.

The heat of his tongue makes you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair as he sucks, his teeth grazing the delicate skin before he bites, just enough to make you jolt. Then he soothes it, licking over the sting, lips closing around the peak to suckle again, slow and deep, making you arch into him, chasing the feeling.

And he loves it. Loves the way you squirm, the way you whimper, the way your grip tightens in his hair when he switches to the other, dragging his teeth over the soft curve before his lips close around it.

He mouths at you like he's starving, like your tits are the only thing he needs to live. His tongue drags slow, lazy circles around your nipple before flicking the tip again and again, just to hear you whine for it. Then he sucks harder, lips sealed tight, cheeks hollowing slightly as he pulls another breathless moan out of you.

"Fuck, baby," he murmurs against your skin, voice thick and ragged, hot breath ghosting over the wet flesh. "These tits—God, you know what you do to me?"

He licks lower, wet and messy between the swell, then back up again, trailing spit like he wants you soaked everywhere, not just between your legs. His hands push your shirt higher, bunching it under your arms as he palms both at once, squeezing, thumbs flicking over your sensitive nipples, slick with his spit.

He leans in again, lips dragging between them like he can't choose which one he wants more, switching back and forth like he's addicted, like he's trying to memorize every soft noise you make when he tongues one and rolls the other between his fingers.

You're grinding harder, pussy practically dripping, every drag of his thigh against your clit making your whole body twitch. And Jason? Jason just grins, lips still wrapped around your nipple, watching you fall apart just from how he sucks your tits like they're his personal fucking addiction.

He hums against you, the sound dark and pleased, one hand sliding down, down, slipping past the waistband of your shorts.

His fingers slip between your thighs, pressing just right over the soaked lace clinging to your cunt, and he groans, low and rough, like he feels it in his chest.

"Jesus, you're so fuckin' wet, baby."

And you are—the fabric already drenched, sticking to you, barely anything separating you from the slow, teasing circles he's rubbing against your clit. But it's not enough, not when you're already aching, already needing more, and he fucking knows it.

You whine, hips shifting, trying to push against his fingers, but he doesn't give you what you want. Just keeps barely touching you, brushing his knuckles over the damp lace, the ghost of pressure over your pussy enough to make you whimper.

His mouth is still working you over, still licking at your tits, sucking slow and deep until your nipple pebbles against his tongue, until you're so fucking sensitive you can't stop the little noises slipping from your throat.

Your fingers tighten in his hair as your voice comes soft, needy. "Jay, please—"

He hums against your skin, tongue flicking over the peak of your nipple before he suckles again, just toying with you, like he's perfectly content to keep you like this—whining, squirming, so needy it's almost pathetic.

His lips curl against your skin as he finally lifts his head, his fingers still moving slow, teasing, barely pressing against your clit.

"Please what, huh?" His voice is thick with amusement as he brushes another lazy touch over your pussy. "What do you want? You were talkin' so big earlier. What happened, baby?"

You whimper, hips shifting again, trying so desperately to push into his touch, but he doesn't let you. Just holds you down, controlling the pace, the pressure.

"C'mon, baby," he murmurs, voice thick with mocking sweetness as he drags his fingers over your clit—slow, featherlight, barely enough pressure to give you what you need. "Say it. What do you want?"

Your panties are soaked, the thin lace clinging to your cunt, and you know he can feel it. The way your slick seeps through the fabric, the way it makes every slow, teasing brush of his fingers even slipperier, easier for him to keep you right on the edge without giving you anything.

Your breath stutters as you try again, voice coming out soft, desperate. "I need—" A sharp inhale as his fingers skim your clit, and fuck, you're so sensitive already. "I want you, Jay."

He makes a low sound in his throat, something that's almost thoughtful as he keeps up those infuriatingly light touches, the pads of his fingers gliding over your slick, swollen clit with just enough pressure to keep you right there, to keep you aching.

"Yeah? Do you?" he grins against your skin, his mouth moving to your throat, kissing, sucking until he knows it'll leave a mark. "Cause earlier, you were sayin' I'm in your way."

Your pout is immediate, your fingers tightening in his hair as you whine, frustration bubbling up in your chest. "I was just talking shit, baby—please, I need you."

But he doesn't budge, doesn't give you what you want yet, just keeps playing with you, his fingers teasing just right over your clit, flicking, rubbing, not letting you grind against him like you're trying to.

"Need me, huh?"

His voice is so fucking deep, rasping against your skin as his fingers finally slip beneath your panties, pushing the soaked fabric aside. You gasp when he spreads you open, fingertips sliding through your slick lips, smearing your arousal around as he grins.

"Jesus, baby, you're so fuckin' wet."

He loves it, loves the way you writhe for him, loves how fucking needy you are, even as his cock throbs, straining against his sweats, aching to be buried inside you.

But he doesn't care, not when he's having too much fun teasing you, playing with you, dragging his fingers over your soaked pussy like he's just getting started.

Jason groans, deep and gravelly, his mouth slanting over yours with a heat that makes your toes curl. His lips are rough, possessive, like he needs to taste every single moan he pulls from you, like he wants to swallow them down, keep them all to himself.

His tongue flicks against yours, teasing, coaxing you into parting for him even more, and you can't help but moan when he finally presses his fingers against your clit, circling the swollen bud with slow, deliberate strokes.

The slick, wet sounds are obscene, filling the space between your breathless little whimpers, your needy, muffled gasps as he works you, rubbing tight, precise circles that have your thighs trembling, your body tensing as he brings you right to the brink.

Your hips jerk as he drags his fingers lower, sliding through your soaked folds, gathering up every drop of arousal before he brings it back up, spreading it over your sensitive clit, making it easier for him to tease you.

"Fuck, baby," he rasps, breaking the kiss just long enough to nip at your lower lip, grinning when you whimper, "you're drippin' all over my fuckin' fingers."

And you are, your slick coating his fingers, making his strokes smoother, more precise, working you into a mess of needy little gasps, of desperate, helpless little moans.

Your head falls back against the plush rug as he grins, taking the opportunity to kiss down your jaw, nipping at your skin between murmured praise.

He finally—fucking finally—slides a finger into your pussy, sinking it in slow, making sure you feel every inch stretching you open. Your walls flutter around him, clenching at the intrusion, and fuck, he loves how tight you are, how you always squeeze around his fingers like you're desperate for more.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. "So fuckin' tight for me. You love this, don't you? Love havin' my fingers inside you?"

You whimper, nodding quickly, too lost in the slow, steady thrust of his finger, the way he angles it just right, making your cunt pulse around it.

"Yeah, I know you do," he rasps, a grin in his voice before he adds another, pressing both fingers deep, stretching you open as his palm grinds against your clit, sending a sharp, electric jolt through you.

You gasp, your hips rolling up, seeking more, but he just chuckles, keeping his pace slow, teasing, fucking you on his fingers with deep, steady thrusts that have your thighs trembling.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice dark, full of heat, "takin' my fingers so good, baby. You're so wet, fuck, you're drippin' all over me."

You moan, making every movement smooth, obscene, the wet sounds of your pussy taking his fingers only making you more desperate.

Then he curls them, dragging against that perfect, sensitive spot inside you, and you cry out, your back arching as your pussy clenches tight around him.

"Yeah? That's the spot, huh?" he grins, doing it again, pressing his fingers just right, making your whole body shudder. "God, baby, you feel so fuckin' good squeezin' me like that. You gonna cum for me?"

And God, you need to, you want to, especially with the way his cock is pressing against your thigh, hard and thick, the heat of it searing through his sweats. The thought of him fucking you, of him stretching you open on his dick instead of his fingers has you whimpering.

Your pussy clenches around him, and he groans, fingers thrusting deeper, his palm grinding against your clit, rubbing, teasing, working you closer, closer, closer.

Jason groans into your mouth as he kisses you, lazy and wet, his tongue sliding against yours in slow, sloppy strokes that have you whimpering. His lips are soft, warm, but his kiss is hungry, deep and messy, like he's devouring you, like he can't get enough. And you—Jesus, you're already a wreck, your body trembling against him, your breath hitching between every filthy press of his lips.

His fingers fuck into you with a steady rhythm, curling deep, pushing against that perfect spot inside you, and you shudder, your pussy tightening around his fingers, so close, so fucking close.

"C'mon, baby," he rasps against your lips, his voice all low and wrecked, full of heat. "Let me feel it. Cum for me, baby, cum all over my fingers."

And you do. Your whole body locks up, pleasure hitting you like a shockwave, crashing over you in a hot, electric rush that makes your legs shake, your breath hitch in a broken gasp.

Your cunt pulses around his fingers, clenching so tight he can barely move them, your slick dripping down his hand as he fucks you through it, drawing out every last ripple of pleasure until you're gasping against his lips.

Jason fucking moans at the feel of you cumming for him, his fingers sinking deeper, fucking into your spasming pussy with slow, deep thrusts, coaxing every last drop from you. His cock throbs against your thigh, aching, needy, but he stays there, taking his time, watching you come undone.

Face all flushed, lips swollen from his kisses, your pretty little eyes all hazy and fucked-out, barely even focusing on him as you come down from it. Jesus Christ, he fucking loves this. Loves how you always get like this whenever he touches you—dazed and needy, wrecked and whimpering, like he's the only thing keeping you grounded.

His fingers slow, dragging against your soaked, sensitive walls, making you twitch, and he fucking grins.

"Fuck, baby," he murmurs, voice thick with praise, "that was so fuckin' pretty. So good for me."

His hand lingers, fingers still buried inside you, soaked with your slick, and fuck, you're still clenching around him, like your body knows what it wants.

Him. Specifically, his dick.

And he's so tempted to just fuck you stupid right now, to shove his sweats down and give you exactly what you need—his cock, deep, hard, relentless—but no.

Not yet. Because you've still got a lesson to learn. But first, Jason drags his fingers from your pussy, slow and lazy, feeling the way your spent little hole clenches down on nothing as he pulls away. He lingers for a second, fingertips slick and shiny with your arousal, and then he drags them over your twitching clit, making you jerk against him, a choked whimper slipping past your lips.

And then—because he's a fucking bastard—he tugs your panties back up, pressing the soaked lace firmly against your still-sensitive cunt, trapping all that messy, sticky heat right where it belongs. You whine, a pout already forming on your lips, and Jason just grins, bringing his fingers to your mouth, rubbing them over your lips, smearing the taste of you against them.

You know what he wants. So you open up, tongue peeking out, and Jason groans as he slips his fingers inside, watching as you suck them clean.

Jesus.

Your tongue swirls over them, slow and wet, sucking him in deeper, your lips wrapping around his thick fingers as you hum against them, letting your mouth get all sloppy as you clean every last drop. Your lashes flutter, heat pools in your belly, your cunt throbbing again as you think—you really think—he's gonna fuck you now.

Because that's all you can think about.

His dick. Hard, leaking, hot, stretching you open, sliding in and out of your desperate, needy pussy, fucking you deep, fucking you hard, pumping you so full of his cum it drips out of you.

But oh, you're so wrong. Jason watches you for a second longer, his control fraying at the edges because fuck, you look so hot like this, but then he pulls his fingers from your mouth, spit clinging to them before it breaks. He smirks, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, and then he moves, getting off you entirely.

You gasp, scandalized, blinking up at him in betrayal as he stands over you, adjusting himself with a satisfied little grunt.

"Baby, what the fuck are you—"

"Well," Jason interrupts, voice way too smug, "you didn't learn shit yet. Prove to me you can do what I told you earlier, and then I'll fuck you for as long as you want."

You stare at him, jaw dropping, because you cannot believe he just said that.

You sit upright, letting him pull you up from the floor, still gaping at him. "Jay, you can't be serious right now—"

He quirks a brow. "Bet."

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest, your lower lip jutting out as you glare up at him. "You're mean."

Jason barks a laugh, eyes gleaming as he tilts his head at you. "You're the one who agreed to learn self-defense, baby."

You whine, pouting like that'll somehow change his mind. "But I have a taser and bear spray—"

"I don't give a fuck."

You pout harder, but it's not working. Not even a little.

He just smirks, shaking his head. "The more you pout, the longer you waste time."

You stick your tongue out at him, frustration bubbling in your chest. "I hate you."

He just chuckles, dark and knowing, his gaze dropping to your mouth before flicking back up to yours. "Keep talkin' all you want, baby. We'll see how sweet you moan on my dick after."

Jason waits, watching, arms crossed as you huff and pout, clearly not happy about being denied, but then your expression shifts. Your lashes flutter, your lips part like you're about to whine, but he sees that little glint in your eyes—oh, you're about to try some bullshit.

And he's right. Because the second his hand reaches for you, you move. His fingers barely close around your wrist before you do just like he showed you—twisting toward the weak point by his thumb, slipping free in one smooth motion.

His brows lift, and for a second, he looks genuinely impressed. But he doesn't say it, just rolls his shoulders and reaches again, this time wrapping his hand fully around your throat, fingers firm but not too tight. Testing you.

You don't hesitate. Both hands, grab the base of his thumbs, push outward, duck and pivot out of his reach—just like he told you. And it works.

Jason lets out a low hum, watching as you step back, grinning like you just pulled off the heist of the century. "Huh," he says, head tilting, that hot glint of approval in his eyes. "Guess you actually did listen."

But then he moves again, lightning quick, fingers aiming for your hair, and without even thinking, you go for his balls.

"Jesus fuck!" Jason jerks back so fast you'd think you actually landed the hit, his hands immediately dropping as he glares at you like you just committed a war crime. "Alright, fuck this, I give up."

Your brain barely has time to process it before you're grinning, bouncing on your heels as you beam up at him. "I did it!"

"That's not—" he groans, running a hand over his face before glaring at you, but there's something hot in his gaze, something that has your stomach flipping. "Yeah, fine, you did it. Now c'mere, you little shit."

His gaze drags over you, slow and deliberate, as he takes a step closer, big hands flexing at his sides. His jaw twitches, like he's debating how he wants to grab you, where he wants to put you, and then he just fucking moves.

He's on you in a second, hands snapping up so fast you barely have time to gasp before he's got you by the waist, pulling you right up against his chest. His grip is firm, possessive, fingers digging into your ass as he lifts you like you weigh nothing, and you squeal, clinging to him as he starts toward the bedroom.

Jason smirks, voice dropping, rough and teasing. "Gotta say, baby, 'm real proud of you."

You preen, tilting your head smugly. "Oh? Does that mean—"

"Yeah, yeah, I keep my word." His hands flex, grinding you down against the thick, hard bulge pressing into your pussy, and your breath catches. His smirk deepens, dark and promising. "And you're gonna take every inch I give you."

And you did.

You took every inch, again and again, in every way he wanted to give it to you. On your back with your legs spread wide, face down with your ass in the air, straddling his lap while his hands dragged you down onto his cock, over and over until your thighs were shaking. He used every angle, every position, fucking you through the bratty attitude until all that was left were the soft, sweet little sounds you made when he hit just the right spot.

He stuffed you full of him each time, slow at first, like he wanted to feel every clench of your cunt, the way your walls fluttered around him with each stroke. But it didn't stay slow. Not when you were begging, nails clawing at his back, whispering his name like a prayer.

He came deep, again and again, grinding into you with a low, possessive growl as his cum spilled inside—thick and hot, dripping out around his cock every time he thrust back in. He fucked it deeper with each roll of his hips, chasing every last tremble from your thighs until you went all soft and pliant underneath him, wide-eyed and dazed.

No more teasing. No more smug little smirks. Just you—sweet, ruined, and wrecked just how he likes you.

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redflagshipwriter · 11 months ago

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ANOTHER UNDEAD FENTON

Inspiration came from this post by @stars-obsession-pit !

Word count: 1479

Masterpost of Archive Down Fics here.

(I wrote three dp x dc fics based off of prompts I've seen in the last day for reading while the site is getting maintenance. )

There was a high, shrill scream in the Fenton lab.

Maddie bolted for the stairs, abandoning her coffee without a thought. She flung herself down to see Jack bent over a body in front of the portal.

“Is this person a threat?” Maddie prepared to defend her husband, but the body didn't move.

Jack looked up at her. “No, I was just surprised! I think he's hurt, Mads.”

Her bleeding heart husband. She crossed the room and rolled their intruder over to see it was a kid, maybe Danny's age. In his sleep, he had a sweet, soft face. His face and throat were covered in faint scars.

Well. That was one of hers, now. No getting around it. That was a teenage boy on her floor who has obviously been the victim of violence.

“Well, shit,” Maddie said companionably. She blew out air between her teeth. “Dear, would you put clean sheets on in Jazz's room?”

They were running out of space, between the clones and the past evil alternate future children.

Jack saluted her, shouted an affirmation , and bounded away.

Maddie took a moment to wonder if her children would be an infinitely expanding collection and if so, if it would be better to move into Vlad's castle than to build the home addition they had planned for.

She gathered the teenager up in her arms despite him being her size, and laid him out on an exam table. She started checking his vitals.

A hand shot out and grabbed her by the wrist.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Maddie said. She redirected her hand to smooth hair behind his ear. He blearily followed the movement, just as obviously intelligent as he was obviously compromised. She didn't know if it was a concussion or drugs or what, but this boy was not well. “It's Friday June 29th, and you're in Amity Park, Illinois. I'm Madeleine Fenton and you're at my house because you fell through a portal. Is there someone I should call for you?”

He stared at her. She could see the moment he decided not to speak to her.

That situation didn't change much all day. The kid walked himself up to bed and peered around at Jazz's old posters. He seemed to want to be alone, but Maddie caught him watching Dani and Dan playing catch in the yard. She made eye contact with him over her book and then looked back at her shrieking kids. Dan was doing flips on the trampoline and launching his sister in the air, catching and tossing her back up in the nick of time between flips.

Their new boy closed his curtains.

“I was thinking about Dante,” Jack said, bringing out a pitcher of iced tea. “Or, how about Jasper! Eh? Eh? You know, like Jazz-per?” Jack belly laughed.

“He probably has his own name,” Maddie said calmly. She'd estimated him at 16 or so, anyway. But whatever. If he wasn't going to give them a name, they did eventually need something to call him. And they needed to sort out accommodation fast, before Jazz got back from her college tour trip.

“Let's go with Jasper until he gives us his real name.” There were enough Ds in her home, honestly.

She lured Jasper out of his room for lunch. He sat at the kitchen table and watched them all warily. He only ate what they ate.

Danny arrived mid-meal. “Mom! Dad!” There was a whumpf as he probably threw himself onto the sofa. “We wanna go to Elmerton, that ok?”

“You should take your brother with you,” Maddie called back. “He needs clothes.”

“What?” Danny clearly pried himself up and came into the kitchen. Maddie silently offered to make him a plate. “No, I ate at Tuck's. Dan, what'd you do to your clothes?”

“Nothing, you pathetic worm,” said Dan, who really was a sensitive boy. “I am not the topic of discussion, you blithering fool.” He jerked a finger at Jasper. “New one.”

Danny stared.

Jasper looked uncomfortable. He gave a sort of hello nod.

“He's, uh, he's not-”

“Not a clone or alternate future version of you, nope,” Maddie agreed. “Though he did come out of the portal. We wondered if he might be a ghost, but it didn't seem necessary to ask.”

Jasper full body flinched at the word “ghost”, but he looked confused.

Danny squinted at his new bother who, it must be said, did look a bit like a Fenton already. “Not a ghost,” he said after a long pause. “But a little undead. Not sure what kind. But yeah, you're walking dead, buddy.” He clapped Jasper on the shoulder.

“You'll fit right in!” Jack cheered. “Dan is half dead! So is Danno! And so is Dani here! And-”

“Thank you, Jack,” Maddie cut him off. “It might be a sensitive subject, don't you think?”

“Nah,” said Danny, stealing food out of the pan despite saying he wasn't hungry. “We aren't that sensitive. Like-” he looked at Jasper and explained: “I got electrocuted to death in the lab two years ago. Dan is from an alternate future where everyone he loved died, so then he killed everyone else on earth. And Dani is a science experiment baby.”

“It's true,” Dani said solemnly. “I'm a work of science.”

“You make me sound so uncool,” Dan complained, stabbing at his spaghetti.

Jasper laughed for the first time. He himself seemed surprised by the sound. It was hoarse but there was promise there.

When the boys were off at the mall in Elmerton with Sam and Tucker, Maddie called up Vlad.

“You want to come here?”

“I’ve got more kids than I have rooms in my house,” she said wryly. “So if the offer is still open…”

“Yes, of course it is,” he assured her. “But- most of the little ones are still in the Ghost Zone, correct?”

“They're not big enough to leave yet,” Maddie agreed. “Which is why I need to be near a portal.” The ghostlings were staying with the LunchLady and Box Ghost, but they needed to be able to be in touch. “But no, I've got another one.”

Glass shattered in the background. “Another- what happened to Daniel this time?”

Maddie laughed at how flustered her old college friend got. “Nothing to do with Danny, actually, this one fell out of the portal. He's some level of partly dead, but we don't think he's a ghost at all.”

Left unsaid was that they needed to do a lot of research to figure out what other possibilities there were. If they could get into contact with Danny's GP, he might be able to get them on the right track.

“Well.” Vlad took a moment to rally. “When will the family be arriving?”

Two months later, all the kids were pretty settled in.

Jasper had never shared a name, but he was happy to let them call him Jay. He was a phenomenal big brother to Dani. He wrestled with Dan. He bullied Danny into doing his homework. It had been something of an administrative nightmare to get Jaspen enrolled in school, but Vlad had pulled off whatever magic trick he'd done for Dani (applied a lot of money to the problem, Maddie supposed) and Jay had settled in very well.

“Your debut in society,” Maddie hummed, making a point of straightening Jay’s tie. He was growing already, she was sure of it! He was going to wind up as tall as Jack.

“I've been to parties before, Mom,” Jay drawled, and then flushed a dark red that meant he didn't want to be asked questions. Maddie tweaked his nose instead of answering.

“But this is the first one where Vlad's introducing you to his business friends!” She said, already dressed up for a fun night. Vlad had flown them all in on his private jet for the day.

“Queen is a family man as well,” Vlad had said the night before, aiming for calculating and coming off soft. “It will put him off his guard or perhaps make him sick with envy that I have brought a higher quality child than he could ever manage to produce.”

They arrived together, Maddie on Jack's arm, keeping her flock of kids within eyesight as Vlad led the pack. She had a perfect view of Oliver Queen seeing them arrive, the smile dropping off his face, and him choking on his drink. He did look very silly, Maddie had to admit.

“Inept,” Vlad hissed, very pleased. “The fool can't even drink. His company will be mine-” he looked at Danny for some reason. Vlad faltered at whatever be saw. “....Through legitimate business practices, such as buying a majority of stocks,” Vlad weakly finished.

Maddie slapped him on the back. “Go get him, tiger.”

#dp x dc #dc x dp #another undead fenton

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hellinistical · 3 months ago

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Priest! Vampire! Rafayel x Nun! Reader synopsis: when a charming new priest is sent to your convent amidst the winter freeze, you're naturally untrusting. unfortunately, he's more knowledgeable of the faith, and you could learn a thing or two, especially if you want to protect yourself from the recent vampire attacks. trigger warnings: (heavy plot!). minor and major character death, blood, dubious consent, sacrilegious themes (Not Christianity or Catholicism; made up religion but using synonymous terms), gore, porn with plot, fingering (fem. receiving), hand jobs, piv, non-consensual vampire transformation, bodily horror, drinking blood, playing with blood, human consumption, unwilling cannibalism, afab reader- usage of female anatomy (though not descriptive of size/skin markings). fem. reader- she/her used. biting. choking. manipulation. blasphemy. overstimulation. virgin reader. corruption. monster fucking. slight belly bulge, bondage. incorrect use of holy water. wax play. this list may expand and/or altered. trigger warnings: (for this chapter.) afab. fem reader. implied pregnancy. period sex. piv. wax play. incorrect use of holy water. fingering (fem receiving), biting. overstimulation. corruption. virgin reader. non-con. dubious consent. hate sex. vampire transformation (though not explicit, just implied, and not in standard means; I took creative liberty). blood. slight belly buldge. major character deaths. spit. a:/n:this piece holds no actual religious scripture or quotes, I just needed those terms as they were synonymous. This is in NO WAY a jab at those faiths nor is it meant to spread hate or harm to them. It is also not an insult to those who practice. I tried to write with care, which yeah may be hypocritical of what I have here, so I apologize. Additionally, thank you to everyone who voted in the poll. While it was originally intended to be a one-shot, I felt it would be better to break it into chunks as this is very plot-heavy. Thank you for your support! Reblogs are highly appreciated. word count: 6.1k masterlist | prev.

V. Trasformazione

“We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark"

It’s all-consuming, how he seems to swallow the oxygen before you can breathe. Like he’s taking it straight from your lungs, leaving you lightheaded, weak. His hands are everywhere, mapping you, learning you, claiming you in ways you don’t know if you should allow—but you do.

The tree digs into your back, rough and unyielding, but his body is just as unrelenting. His lips drag along your jaw, down your throat, his breath hot against your skin. A shudder wracks through you as his teeth graze your pulse, and he lingers there, as if tasting your heartbeat.

His fingers tighten their grip. "You’re mine," he murmurs against your skin, voice low and raw. It’s not a question. It’s not a request. It’s a vow.

Your stomach hurts, the cramps from your cycle gnawing at you, twisting in sharp, unforgiving waves. Your body burns, the feverish heat meeting his coldness in a clash that sends a shiver up your spine—a mess of sensation, of discomfort, of something deeper you refuse to name.

You turn your head away, not because you want to, but because you can’t bear to look. His breath ghosts over your exposed throat, his grip firm, possessive, unrelenting. You feel his lips press there, lingering, and it only makes the ache inside you worse, different.

A breath shudders from you, and you hate how weak it sounds. His fingers flex against your skin, and you feel the sharp edge of his teeth as he hums in something like satisfaction.

“You’re burning up,” he murmurs against your throat, his tone almost gentle. Almost. “Poor thing.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. You hate him.

His fangs graze your skin but never sink in, lingering like a silent threat—or maybe a promise. His breath is cool against the feverish heat of your neck, sending a shudder through your already trembling body.

Then, his hands are on you, pulling your leg up and around his waist, pressing you closer until there’s no space left between you. The motion is seamless, practiced, like he’s done it a thousand times before. Like he’s meant to hold you like this.

And it’s humiliating.

Your nightgown is thin, ruined, sticky with blood, the fabric barely clinging to your form. You’re exposed—more than you’ve ever been, more than you should be. And yet, the very sight of you like this seems to draw him in more.

His fingers press into the flesh of your thigh, his breath hitching. "Messy little thing," he murmurs, voice rough, reverent. His lips trail the line of your jaw, slow, deliberate. "Do you know what you do to me?"

You don't want to know. You don’t want to feel the way your body reacts, the way the fever in your veins has nothing to do with your cycle anymore.

You press your hands against his chest—whether to push him away or pull him closer, you don’t even know.

His lips press against your collarbone, soft yet insistent, his breath cool against your heated skin. The way he inhales deeply, savoring your scent, makes your stomach twist—not just in fear, but something else, something raw and unfamiliar.

"Wait—wait, Rafayel—I don’t—I don’t get it." Your voice trembles, caught between confusion and something dangerously close to surrender.

He shushes you gently, his hands smoothing over your waist, his touch both possessive and reverent. "You don’t have to," he murmurs against your skin, voice thick with something deeper than want. "You just need to feel it."

You shudder, your fingers twitching against his chest. He’s cold, so unbearably cold, yet his presence is suffocatingly warm. Every nerve in your body is on fire, your pulse hammering, your breaths short and uneven.

You should push him away.

You should run.

But Astra above, you can’t move.

His eyes flicker down to the deep crimson staining your nightgown, pupils blown so wide they nearly swallow the color of his irises. His chest rises and falls sharply, unsteady, his fingers twitching where they grip your waist.

And yet—his expression twists. Something raw flickers across his face, something tangled between hunger and revulsion.

Not at you.

At himself.

He looks away, jaw tightening, his grip faltering for just a second. His breath comes sharp through his nose, as if he’s trying to will himself into control.

A muscle jumps in his jaw. "Damn it," he mutters, voice tight, nearly shaking. His fingers flex against you like he’s about to let go—like he should let go.

But he doesn’t.

You barely have time to react before his grip tightens—hard.

“Jump.”

Your breath catches. “Jump?”

“Jump, damn it.” His voice is sharp, urgent, commanding.

His hands slide down, gripping the backs of your thighs. He hoists you up with inhuman ease, your legs scrambling for balance around his waist. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, your heartbeat hammering against your ribs.

He presses you hard against the tree, the rough bark biting into your back. His face is so close now, too close, his breath mingling with yours, cool and sharp. His hands flex against your legs, his grip possessive, unyielding.

Rafayel's hands are ironclad around your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin, pinning you where he wants you. The pressure is bruising, possessive. He isn’t just holding you; he’s claiming you.

The air is thick, damp with the scent of earth and blood. Your blood. It clings to you, drying into the fabric of your nightgown, and you can feel how his eyes linger on the stains. His pupils are blown wide, black nearly swallowing the eerie glow of his irises. His breath fans against your jaw, cool and sharp, but his body is burning.

"Tree or the grass." His voice is low, firm. Not a question. A command. "Hurry up."

You grip his shoulders, nails biting into the fabric of his robe. The tree behind you is rough, its bark scraping against your spine as you shift in his grasp, trying to steady yourself. But it’s useless. He’s already made the choice

He holds you up with one hand, your legs around his waist as he undoes the zipper of your nightgown, pulling it down swiftly.

The nightgown pools around your hips, the weight of it dragging against your thighs as Rafayel's cold fingers skim over your ribs. Your breasts free, the cold air on your exposed nipples makes them harden. His touch is reverent, but there’s nothing holy about it. The moonlight barely reaches through the dense canopy above, casting fractured beams of silver across his face. His expression is unreadable—somewhere between hunger and hesitation, worship and possession.

“You look divine like this,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, almost awed. His thumb presses into the dip of your waist as if to test the reality of you. As if he doesn’t believe you’re real.

The night air chills your exposed skin, but you burn beneath it, a fever licking at your spine. Your blood, your scent—it’s making him tremble. You can feel it in the way his grip falters for a moment before he steadies himself, locking you tighter against him.

His grip tightens as the scent thickens, as the warmth of it seeps into the fabric of his trousers. He shudders, a groan tearing from deep within his throat, something raw and starved.

His fingers flex against your hips, betraying his restraint, the barely-contained need that trembles beneath the surface. He exhales sharply, like he's forcing himself to remember something—like he's fighting the very nature that compels him to sink his teeth into the tender flesh of your throat.

"Mine."

The word isn’t spoken, but you feel it in the way his body tenses, in the way his fingers dig just a little too hard into your sides, like he’s trying to brand himself into you. His breath is uneven now, and you realize—with something close to horror, close to exhilaration—that he’s shaking.

His head dips lower, mouth pressing just beneath your ear. “You’re going to ruin me,” he murmurs, almost reverent. His lips are cold, but his voice burns.

Your hands are firm on his chest, trying to push him off,

“Stop- stop, I’m dirty,”

He doesn’t budge. If anything, your resistance only seems to ignite something deeper in him, something far more desperate.

His hands trace your thighs, smearing warmth into your skin, fingers painting patterns in the mess of crimson and sweat. His grip is firm but reverent, like he's touching something sacred, something he refuses to let slip through his fingers.

"You don't get to be ashamed," he breathes against your jaw, his voice shaking with something dark and unspoken. "Not from me."

You shudder, your fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt. “Rafayel—”

“I don’t care.” His lips brush your temple, your cheek, his breath fanning hot over your ear. His voice lowers, dark and hushed, almost mournful. “I would bathe in you if you'd let me.”

He grabs your chin roughly, forcing you to make eye contact. He looks utterly feral. “I want to be in you. I need it. In your skin. In your very soul.”

His lips crash against yours, not with brutal force, but with a yearning so deep it feels like he’s trying to devour something unseen, something hidden inside you. The kiss is desperate, frantic. It’s not just want—it’s need. A need that claws at him, that shakes his very foundation.

His grip tightens, fingers digging into your flesh with an urgency that borders on bruising. His palm presses into the small of your back, pulling you flush against him—your soft warmth clashing against the hard, unyielding chill of his body. His breath, cool and fanning across your lips, mingles with your own, the contrast dizzying.

His mouth moves against yours with a hunger that leaves no room for hesitation, lips parting just enough for his teeth to graze your lower lip—sharp, teasing, just barely holding back from drawing blood. The press of his fangs sends a shiver down your spine.

Your nightgown slips further down and bunches up more as he tugs at the fabric, his fingers tracing up the length of your spine, nails dragging lightly, leaving a tingling trail of sensation. His free hand moves down, skimming over your thigh before gripping it, pulling your leg higher against his waist. The rough friction of his clothes against your bare skin sends a jolt of sensation up your body.

He shifts, pressing forward, pinning you against the tree with his body weight. The bark bites into your back, a stark contrast to the way his hands explore your skin, cold and burning all at once.

"I—" A kiss, deep and forceful, swallowing any protest you might have had.

"Hate—" His hands tighten, fingers bruising against your skin, as if trying to mold you into him, make you stay, make you his.

"You—" He bites your lip this time, just enough to sting, and you gasp into his mouth.

And despite everything—the fear, the confusion, the war between sense and something darker—you kiss him back.

His tongue swipes at your bottom lip, slow and deliberate, tasting the remnants of your breath. His grip tightens around your waist, pressing you flush against him. The rough bark of the tree digs into your back, but you barely register the sting—your senses drown in the feeling of him.

Rafayel’s tongue pushes past your lips, hot and insistent, swirling against yours in a messy, feverish dance. He doesn’t kiss with precision—he kisses with hunger, his movements uncoordinated yet consuming, like a man starved.

Saliva slicks your lips, the wet sounds of your mouths moving together filling the night air. He groans into the kiss, a deep, guttural noise vibrating against your tongue as he sucks at it, pulling you deeper into him. His teeth graze against your lower lip, nipping and tugging before soothing the sting with another deep, open-mouthed kiss.

Your breaths are ragged, mingling with his as he swallows every gasp, every whimper. His fingers dig into your hips, keeping you locked against him, refusing to let you pull away. His tongue moves greedily, exploring, claiming, savoring every inch of your mouth. The kiss is hot, messy, intoxicating—his spit coats your lips, mixing with your own, leaving you breathless and lightheaded.

When he finally pulls back, a thin string of saliva connects your mouths, breaking only when he licks his lips, his eyes dark and hooded with desire.

“Gods-” His palm is firm, pressing against your lips as his eyes darken. "Don’t," he repeats, voice low, almost dangerous. His fingers linger against your cheek, the coolness of his skin a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your own.

His grip tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you—he is in control. His breath is heavy, ragged, his pupils blown wide as he watches you, drinking in every detail of your flushed face.

For a moment, there’s only silence, the weight of his hand against your mouth the only thing grounding you. Then, slowly, deliberately, he leans in, his lips just ghosting over the shell of your ear.

"Do not speak of them here."

The weight of his body against yours is suffocating, his grip unrelenting. His thumb brushes over your cheek, deceptively gentle, a stark contrast to the feral hunger in his gaze. "You’re mine now," he breathes, his lips hovering just above your skin. "No gods. No saints. Just me."

His teeth graze your jaw, sharp but restrained, a warning and a promise all at once. His grip tightens at your waist, pressing you further into the rough bark of the tree, as if he could mold you into the very world around him—an extension of his own being.

"You feel that?" he murmurs against your skin, his breath cool but his presence searing. "That’s the only thing that’s real now. Me. Us."

His fingers trace along the dip of your spine, slow, deliberate, memorizing every shudder, every unwilling response he draws from you. He’s reveling in it, in the way your body betrays you, in the way your heartbeat hammers against his own.

"Say it," he demands, his lips brushing just below your ear. His voice is steady, but there’s something almost desperate beneath it. "Tell me you understand."

His mouth finds the pulse at your throat, lingering there, savoring, but never quite sinking in. His hands roam, gripping, kneading, learning the shape of you as if carving it into memory.

You try to focus—on his words, on his demand—but it’s impossible when his teeth drag along your skin, when his hands press you tighter against him, when every touch pulls you deeper into something dark and inescapable.

"Rafayel—" you manage, but it’s breathless, barely a whisper.

He chuckles against your skin, the sound low, wicked. "You can’t even think, can you?" His fingers slide up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head back so you're forced to meet his eyes. They gleam with something unhinged, something hungry. "Good."

He lays you down before you realize.

The earth is rough beneath you, twigs and dead leaves pressing into your skin, but it barely registers over the sensation of him. His lips ghost over your sternum, his breath warm despite the unnatural chill of his body.

His hands slide down your sides, slow, deliberate, as if savoring every inch of you. The contrast between his cold fingers and the feverish heat of your skin makes you shiver.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice thick with something unreadable. Reverence? Possession? It’s all the same with him. "You belong to me."

He presses a lingering kiss to your ribs, just above where your heartbeat pounds wildly against your bones. He exhales, and his lips curve against your skin in something dangerously close to a smile.

But you remember you’re technically free bleeding, and your pulse spikes, a rush of panic coursing through your veins as you instinctively try to close your legs. But his hand is there, swift and firm, stopping you. His grip is too strong, his presence too consuming.

He doesn't let go, his fingers brushing over the inner parts of your thighs, his breath shallow and erratic as he drinks in the sight of you. His pupils are blown wide, almost black, utterly lost in something feral and primal. He’s staring at you like he’s found something sacred, something far darker and deeper than just physicality.

"Don’t hide it," he murmurs, his voice raw and low. His gaze flickers down to the blood, and there's something almost reverent in his eyes. "This—this is perfect."

He throws your leg over his shoulder, and your face burns.

Your breath catches as his lips linger against your calf, the warmth of his mouth searing against your skin. Your face burns, a flush creeping down your neck, spreading like wildfire. His touch is reverent—too intimate, too consuming.

He watches you through lidded eyes, something unreadable flickering behind them. "Look at you," he murmurs, dragging his lips higher. "Divine."

The forest around you is silent, as if holding its breath, as if bearing witness. Your pulse pounds in your ears, the rhythm syncing with his own quiet, shuddering breaths. You don’t know what’s more terrifying—the way he touches you like you’re something sacred or the way you’re starting to believe it.

Divine.

He did not want you to utter a word of the gods, and yet here he was, revering you as though you were made of stardust and prayer. His lips traced blessings into your skin, his hands mapping out every fragile piece of you with something dangerously close to devotion.

Your breath shuddered, caught between fear and something deeper, something you couldn’t name. He worshipped you in contradiction—loathing, needing, aching.

His voice was a rasp against your skin. "You don’t even see it, do you?" His fingers ghosted over your thigh, his grip tightening as though you might disappear. "You are holy in a way the heavens could never understand."

He pulls the nightgown off you completely, throwing it aside. The ruined nightgown lands in a crumpled heap, forgotten the moment it leaves his hands.

His gaze devours you, tracing every inch of exposed skin like a man starved, like something sacred has been laid bare before him. His fingers, cool against the heat of your body, press into your waist, lingering, memorizing.

"You were never meant for them," he murmurs, almost to himself. His touch drags up, slow, reverent, mapping out the curve of your ribs, the plane of your stomach. "Never meant for their rules. Their prayers."

His lips follow the path his hands have taken, pressing against you like whispered blasphemy.

His devotion was feverish, a worship not of saints or gods, but of you.

Your body was his temple, and he knelt before it without shame, lips pressing against every inch of exposed skin as though engraving his reverence into you. His hands roamed—possessive, greedy, desperate—as if afraid you might vanish between his fingers like mist at dawn.

“You were made for me,” he murmured against your hip, his voice rough with something deeper than hunger. His teeth grazed your skin, a silent vow. “No holy book, no doctrine—only this. Only us.”

The forest bore witness to the sacrilege, the rustling leaves whispering secrets to the wind. But he did not care. And, Astra help you, neither did you.

“Rafayel, that blood-” “It’s precious. Don’t you dare say otherwise.”

His words came like a command, hard and unyielding. His fingers gripped your wrists, holding you still as if your very body was his to claim, to savor. There was something in his eyes—intensity, obsession, an almost maddening hunger as he traced the lines of your skin.

The blood, your blood, had already stained him, and yet it seemed to hold him captive. It wasn’t just an act of possession—it was reverence, as though your very essence was sacred, and he couldn’t bear to waste a drop of it.

"Every part of you," he whispered, eyes now fixed on the path of blood trickling along your skin, "is mine." His voice was raw, desperate. "And I’ll cherish every bit of it, even if the gods themselves would frown upon us."

His lips hovered just above the blood, as if he was waiting for permission, the tension between you both palpable, thickening the air.

His lips hovered, teasing, just barely brushing against your skin as he waited, and you couldn’t hold back anymore. Without thinking, you pulled him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair, pressing his mouth to your blood-streaked skin.

It was an act of surrender. You were no longer the person who feared him, who resisted his touch. Now, you were simply a part of the chaos between you, caught in the storm of his desire and your own.

His breath hitched as his mouth met your skin, his hands roaming to claim you further. Every inch of him was pressed against you, his body marking you as his, as he whispered your name—like a prayer, like an obsession, like a promise.

If he was going to damn you, it may as well be worth it.

His tongue laped at the blood on your thighs, his grip bruising on your hips as he cleans you up. Nipping and kissing up, up, up, his breath fans over your cunt, abd you can’t help but shiver.

“And Astra said do not be wasteful, so thank you for this meal.”

His lips were on you, drinking your blood. "I could spend an eternity feasting on you,”

His words sent a thrill of excitement through you as he continued to lavish attention to your sensitive flesh, a cold hand coming to press down on your stomach, cool to the touch. Rafayels tongue traced patterns along your folds, your breath hitching as waves of pleasure rippled through your body, conflicting with the apprehension that still lingered in your mind. You let go of his hair, grasping at the dirt, clawing at whatever could ground you, fighting to maintain control over your desires. But with each flick of Rafayels tongue, each gentle suckle, your resolve waned, your resistance crumbling like sand beneath a relentless tide.

Despite yourself, you arched your back, offering yourself more fully to his ministrations, your moans mingling with the soft sounds of his fervent attentions. Lips parting to taste the blood that came from your core, he teased and taunted with each languid stroke.

Rafayel savored you like a forbidden fruit, movements deliberate and precise as he explored every inch of your trembling form. Eliciting gasps and moans from your lips, he threatened to consume you.

His hands, strong and commanding, roamed over your body, tracing the curves of your hips and thighs as he held you in place, ensuring you remained at his mercy.

"Please," you begged, your voice a breathless whisper. "I can't... I can't take anymore..."

Of course, the faux priest ignored you.

His lips were bloody- so bloody, smearing across his chin and mingling with the spit that connected him to your cunt.

“You- you’re beautiful.”

He licks it away, groaning at the taste as he reluctantly pulls himself away, sitting up, keeping your legs apart as he undoes his buttoned shirt, pulling it over his head and-

As if your cheeks couldnt burn any more.

It was as if Astra had carved him himself, and he probably did.

No clay was made to make his form, no.

He was made from fire and starlight.

Two fingers replaced his mouth, inching their way. Your eyes threaten to roll at the intensity of it all, and the feeling of shame was ever present in its advancements.

Rafayel made his way up your body, lips trailing along the curve of your neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses in their wake as he moved towards your breasts. Capturing one of your nipples between his lips, he sucked and nipped at the sensitive flesh, his fangs nearly breaking the skin.

“Divine.”

It was said like a mantra, a prayer on your skin, an obsession with the salvation he so desperately craved. His free hand grabbed one of your own, interlocking your fingers and holding it about your head. Worshipping your breasts with a sense of reverence, he nearly whined.

"I could spend an eternity feasting on you,”

The words send a thrill of excitement through you.

But the ins and outs of his fingers, his mouth on your tits, and the utter act of it all-

You don’t know whether to cry or beg.

Beg for it to be done?

It’s too much- and he knows this. Of course he does.

Father Rafayel always knows.

He lets your nipple go with a lewd pop, taking his fingers out of you before grabbing your face. If you weren't so overwhelmed, you might have gagged.

Until he spits in your mouth and pushes your head back down.

“Stay down.”

His hands go to his pants, and you watch. Watch him take himself out.

Astra above.

He was pretty just about everywhere. Endowed, leaking, his skin tinged the faintest of blues up until his tip, an aggressive deep red-almost purple.

And there's so much cum.

He lines himself up with your quivering hole, breathing hard as if he needed the oxygen. Maybe he did now. “I- hah- I’m taking you. You understand, don’t you? I need this.”

But your gaze is too focused on his member, too distracted.

“He’d probably marry a book,”

Oh, Yvonne, you sweet ignorant soul.

Your blood smears across his tip, and he hisses. “So hot- too hot,”

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe ou-

You cry out, the push too uncomfortable, too harsh, too mean. And finally- finally- closes his eyes, long lashes giving his cheeks butterfly kisses as he damn near growls.

He leans over you, his forehead meeting yours as he presses his lips to yours, whether just for the sake of kissing or to not look foolish, you don’t know. Don’t have time to think as he goes to your throat.

He bites.

Not enough to break skin, but it hurts.

Hurts more when you gaze at his hands, how they are fisted in the damp soil beneath you, nails caked with blood and dirt, holding himself back.

He moves his hips, pushing in, and your arms scramble around his bare back, nails gifting crescents into his skin. A bulge in your tummy- he presses down on it.

“Here. Here is where I’ll be. Where we will be. Do you understand?”

“What?”

“Miseal. It’s already decided.”

His thrusts are deep- rough, and something feels off as he takes you. Though you’re not sure what.

Almost as if you’re being watched.

And he feels it too.

“Damn him,”

A rush, a rush as he tries to make you both finish, no longer worried about the pleasure of it all, so long as it was done. You whine, legs wrapping around him, keeping him in as he rocks into you.

Soon enough, he spills.

But it's strange, how he pulls away fast, grabbing his pants.

You watch as he pulls out a candle, a muted red wax of a long shaft and a packet of matches.

“You move, and you’re getting burned. Do you understand?”

What?

He lights it.

Panicking, you try to get up-

His hand is on your throat, keeping you down. “Stay. Still.”

He holds it over your body, letting the wax melt and then-

When it drops onto your skin, it burns.

You bite back a yelp, throwing your head back and gritting your teeth.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

His gaze is hard as he lets it fall onto your body, watching it roll down the curves and valleys and dips of your body. Tears pool in your eyes, and all sense of warmth he had in his gaze is gone. Why was he so hard to understand?

He brings a hand to your stomach, smearing the wax before it solidified.

It hits you.

He was drawing something on you. Swirls of roses and vines, stars and something else you can't quite see.

“Rafayel, what’s wrong-” “Quiet.”

His tone is sharp, cold. And then-

Holy water?

He splashes it onto you.

“Rafayel, wha-”

“Stop- Just stop it! Let me finish what I need to do!”

Rafayel’s breath came fast and uneven, his hands shaking even as they held you firm. His panic bled into you like ink in water, spreading thick and inescapable.

No—no, no, no. This was wrong.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out everything else.

He jerked back as if burned, his expression twisting. Regret? Shame? Desire? It all mixed together, unreadable.

"Astra," you whispered, your throat tightening. "Astra is going to punish us."

Rafayel's face darkened, his pupils blown wide, his grip on you tightening like a noose.

Then, before you could utter another breath, he shoved his hand over your mouth, pressing you into the earth.

"Shut. Up." His voice was a raw, desperate growl. His body caged you in, his hand firm against your lips, his eyes blazing with something almost wild.

The wind only grew stronger. The trees groaned. The stars above flickered—then vanished.

Astra was watching.

Your chest heaved, but no air came. His hand was firm, unyielding, stealing the breath from your lungs as the wind raged around you. Your fingers clawed at his wrist, nails digging into his skin, but he wouldn’t budge.

Your vision blurred at the edges, a ringing building in your ears. Above you, the sky churned—inky black swallowing every trace of light, the heavens convulsing in silent fury.

Rafayel’s eyes bore into yours, his grip trembling. His own breath was ragged, his expression torn between panic and something darker.

Then, just as your limbs began to weaken, he let go.

You gasped, choking on the rush of air, your lungs burning. The moment your breath returned, you shoved him away, scrambling backward across the damp forest floor.

"What have you done?" Your voice was raw, torn.

Rafayel didn’t answer. His lips parted, but his eyes weren’t on you anymore. They were locked onto the abyss above, where the sky had fractured.

A sob clawed up your throat, raw and broken. You could feel it—like something had been ripped from you, something sacred and irreplaceable.

Your soul.

The weight of it hit you all at once. A terrible, hollow emptiness where divinity had once dwelled. The connection to Astra, the light you had clung to in your darkest moments—it was gone. Torn away by his hands.

You curled in on yourself, fingers digging into the damp earth as if you could anchor yourself, as if the ground would not reject you like the heavens had. You had been forsaken.

A gust of wind howled through the trees, the sky above still shuddering, the heavens themselves mourning you.

And he—he only stood there. Watching.

"You’ve ruined me," you whispered, voice shaking, eyes wet with grief.

Rafayel flinched as if struck. But he didn’t deny it. Didn’t apologize. He only took a step closer, the shadows curling around him like a crown, his expression unreadable.

"You were never theirs to begin with." His voice was low, reverent, filled with something close to adoration.

You hated him. You hated that you wanted to believe him.

A breeze flows through your hair, comfortable on your scalp.

A field of golden wheat. The stalks sway, whispering secrets in the wind. The sky is endless, a soft, hazy blue, and the sun is warm on your skin.

And then you see it.

Her.

Your body—mangled, broken, wrong. Blood seeps into the dirt beneath, soaking the golden earth in deep crimson. Your eyes are open, clouded and lifeless, staring at nothing. The wind does not touch you. The sun does not warm you.

You are dead.

But you are also here, standing above yourself, barefoot in the soft earth, small hands trembling at your sides. You are a child again.

A shadow looms over your corpse. You look up.

Astra?

No.

A hand grabs yours. You turn, blinking in confusion. There, standing beside you, is a younger version of Rafayel, his eyes wide, full of an unspoken fear. The wheat sways gently around him, but the warmth of the sun, which once bathed you, now feels distant, cold, almost unreal.

“Are you scared?” you ask softly, your voice trembling, not sure if the words are meant for him or for you.

He doesn’t answer at first, his gaze fixed on the mangled body lying in the dirt, still and lifeless. Slowly, he nods. His expression is tense, strained, haunted. The faint trace of a tear glimmers in his eye, but he refuses to look away from the vision of death that lies before you.

Another figure steps forward, his presence almost ethereal amidst the vast expanse of the golden wheat.

He is a man—older, perhaps, though not by much—and yet, his features carry an odd resemblance to both you and Rafayel, as if the strands of your lives had intertwined in ways too complex to decipher. His face is solemn, filled with a quiet sadness that mirrors your own unease. He crouches by the mangled body, planting roses in the earth, the delicate flowers contrasting sharply with the harshness of death surrounding them.

When he finishes, his eyes slowly rise to meet yours, the sorrow in them palpable. "I can't wait to meet you," he murmurs, his voice tinged with a melancholy that feels out of place in this strange vision. There's a heaviness in his words, as though he’s already resigned to an inevitable fate that neither you nor he can escape.

You stand still, caught in the moment, unsure of what to make of him or what he means by his cryptic words. His gaze lingers for a moment longer before he turns away, his figure slowly dissolving into the wheat as if he were never there to begin with.

The familiar sound of Gran's laughter fills the air, cutting through the tension of the dream and pulling you back to reality. You blink, suddenly disoriented as you stand in your kitchen, the smell of burnt soup wafting in the air. Tara, your younger cousin, stands at the stove, a guilty grin plastered across her face.

You roll your eyes and call out, annoyed, “Tara, did you burn the soup again?”

Gran chuckles from her rocking chair in the corner of the room, clearly entertained by the chaotic dynamic. She has seen this a thousand times before, but her amusement is unwavering. "Let her be, love. She’s learning."

Tara, red-faced and clearly embarrassed, scoops a ladle of the charred soup into a bowl, trying to salvage what she can. "It wasn’t that bad," she protests weakly, though the scorched smell says otherwise.

You sigh, but the irritation fades quickly as you watch Tara and Gran in the soft light of the kitchen. It’s a comforting scene, one you’ve known all your life. Still, that dream lingers at the back of your mind, its strange figure and cryptic words echoing through your thoughts, mixing with the mundane and ordinary.

"Gran, I had the strangest dream last night," you start, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling. She pauses, her hands stilling on her knitting as her sharp eyes meet yours.

“Did you now?” “I…yeah. I dreamed I was trying to be a nun…and there was a vampire.” Gran raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "A vampire, eh? Sounds like Astra's handiwork, that does."

You roll your eyes, but before you can speak, you hear a soft chuckle from the doorway. The voice is familiar, comforting, yet too smooth—too perfect. "Nightmares again, cutie?"

You freeze, instinctively glancing over your shoulder. There, standing in the doorway, is him. The man who doesn't quite fit, but is always somehow there, a shadow in the corner of your life. He wears the same smile as always—charming, relaxed, but with an undertone you can't quite place. His eyes gleam, mischievous with amusement.

Gran raises a knowing eyebrow. “Rafayel, you causing my grandbaby nightmares again? You ought to be more gentle with her.”

“I can’t help it, Josephine. Gotta get it out of my system before the wedding.”

Gran snorts. You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “So what, you just had to torment me one last time before I walk down the aisle?”

Rafayel grins, lazy and wolfish. “Of course. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t haunt my bride’s dreams before the big day?” His voice is teasing,

Gran swats him lightly with a dish towel. “Enough of that nonsense. Go set the table if you’re gonna stand there running your mouth.”

Rafayel winks at you before grabbing the plates.

©hellinistical 2025 do not copy, translate, distribute, plagiarize, or reproduce in any form without permission, and do not share to any media outside of tumblr.

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gojosfling · 8 days ago

Text

like pretty much everyone else who has watched sinners it is safe to say i have a bit of a thing for Remmick lmao

so i’ve been writing a little nsfw one shot with him and a reader who has some curse in her bones and a mind filled with fog— she meets him in the dead of night, nosferatu style, and the opening goes a little something like this:

the faint crackling of branches and dried-up leaves beneath your damp feet is the only sound that pierces (through) the fog— dense and clinging— that seems to be drowning your tired mind. cold winds nip at your bare arms, serving as an anchor against the pull of sleep and mist. they tether you to reality, though now, that’s little more than a concept in the state you reside in.

the woods are still.

but they breathe.

A gentle rhythm. croaking and rolling, almost like a singular organism, more alive at night than it dares be by day.

your eyes betray you.

lids heavy and slump, your view blurred by thick, curling lashes—not that it matters. you reckon you wouldn’t be able to see much anyway, not in the midst of all this dark.

and besides,

you are asleep.

at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

yet, you move.

onward, toward a place unknown.

your body moves of its own accord, out of your hands. it is the air, really—the way it whistles through the trees. like a guide, it carries you forth. you drift, but you do not float… not quite. twigs still tickle your toes, reminding you that you are, at least, close to solid ground.

your mind is worth even less than your eyes. it is filled with cotton—a thick, pressing feeling coming in from all sides. you hear whispers, maybe. feel a call, perhaps. but certainly, there is a pull in your gut. Something like a string, dipped in the likes of destiny, that runs through you. loosely tugged, drawing you ever inward. towards the center. the belly of the woods.

and then suddenly—

wood.

the sudden solidity beneath your feet sparks something in you. the sunken creaks beneath you are familiar, every step—even to your drowning mind.

your soles land, softly, on a porch.

“Well now… ain’t I just the luckiest soul this side of the Delta.”

the sound of a voice—soft and sulky like honey, yet deep and low, like a hum—snaps you out of this trance-like state. your eyes are finally allowed to blink.

once. twice.

the veil lifts. your vision sharpens. your breath catches.

you have woken.

though now, you begin to wonder wether you were truly asleep.

the mist pulls back, thinning at the center. the trees part, unraveling like ribs, expanding with breath. the subtle outline of a structure reveals itself.

it’s shaped like a house.

surprisingly crisp around the edges—too clean for the wild that surrounds it. it’s simple. quite elegant even. something you might expect on the white side of town. unexpected, this deep in the woods that circle the Mississippi Delta.

but the foundation looks wrong. feels wrong. the wood is old. soft. sour and hollow—like one good blow might bring the whole thing crashing down

it looks like a house.

but it certainly doesn’t feel like one.

and before better judgement has a chance to settle, a sharp sting blooms across your legs.

you look down.

thin cuts all over your sticky legs where a night gown could not reach. the black fabric clings to waist and thighs instead, wet with sweat and the heavy humidity of a southern summer. the scratches are shallow—nothing deep enough to scar.

you are bleeding nonetheless.

and around here, thats enough to draw attention.

you’re starting to wonder how you even made it this far out without something catching your scent. then again, you don’t know what still waits behind you in the dark—

or worse, what lies ahead.

right now, at the foot of some house, deep in the darkest part of the woods—you should be scared. terrified, really. to be lifted out of your own bed in the dead of night, carried through soil and sulk.

however, another feeling fills your body. something warm. burning. thick. it runs deep—blood deep. like a sensention passed down through the marrow.

it feels familiar.

similar to what your mother used to make you pray against in church and out of it.

similar to the sensation aunt Annie’s tried to push down with burned fingertips and oiled charms.

maybe you should be worried. probably. but it feels too good. and you’re too far gone to care.

whatever it is, has been waiting for you.

and so have you.

you inch closer to the door, and your feet melt into the soft, tired floorboards. the house grunts and coos in response. it’s as if it’s begging you to come closer.

the front door hangs slightly ajar—darkness spilling from the slip. a darkness filled with sounds so void, they seem to be coming from deep below. from those that are no longer among us. they chant and hum melodies, though their voices clearly miss soul. and you stop, the fear getting to you at last.

that’s when you hear that voice again - soft, warm, but with the slightest hint of desperation now:

“Well dear, no use in being shy now. Come on in.”

#remmick #sinners #remmick x reader #smut #remmick smut #sinners fanfiction #black!reader #black!fem!reader #remmick x black!reader #oneshot #southern gothic #nosferatu vibes #haunted house #feminine horror #writers on tumblr #this is my first post #writing snippet

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gladiatorcunt · 7 months ago

Text

- JOYRIDE / VIII.

i drink the honey inside your hive

cw: kinktober prompt (daddy kink), southern florist president’s secret child!reader x secret service agent!toji, reader has a vagina, tits used to refer to your chest, age gap (toji is 47 and reader’s early-mid 20’s), dad bf type shit, willing to expand on this, hints of political intrigue and fictional plots, toji x your mom mention, implied and eventual betrayal (not of reader), typical politician behavior, parental neglect & it’s consequences, anal & lack of proper anal prep, dirty talk, light pet play, arguable one sided incest role play & possible actual incest, plus sized!reader, gun play mention, underlying mental health issues, mention of itafushi, flower language, dead dove do not eat

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

“There. After nearly breaking my back, the seeds are all planted, finally.”

You'd like to be buried under this magnolia tree, it would be a pretty funeral. Black outfits against the white backdrop of rare winter snow. You have big dreams for this sapling, clearly, as unassuming and drab as it appears freshly planted in the soil of your garden. The ones you’re mom took care of are all gone, maybe they got up and walked after her to somewhere on the horizon. If it doesn’t get so hot the state gets put under another burn ban next summer, this little thing should grow into a beautiful thing that obviously showcases how not depressed you are.

Could a depressed person cope with grief by growing a new life? Well, you wouldn’t know, coping isn’t on your to-do list for a long time if ever. What’s the point of getting better when you’re just going to feel bad again?

Whatever, you shake your head and head back into the shop, you have bills to pay and moping around won’t do anything to help with them. Since you live in a pretty small town, it’s a slow day like always. That is until a tough looking man steps in through the door, opening it and making the bell ding.

His loud sports car is still on and roaring outside, a bright yellow Alfa Romeo 4C.

The man notices your wandering eye and smirks, “You like it, doll? Didn’t take you for someone who’d be interested in cars.”

“Uh, yeah, it’s cool. Must have cost you a lot.”

“Nah. I bought it off one of my buddies at work, fixed it up myself. Well, me and my son’s boyfriend that is. You lookin’ to get somethin’ like that for yourself?”

You’re not really on the market for one, no, because it’s loud as hell and practically rumbling in your ear. You rub it off and ask him what he wants, forgetting some of your politeness, but this man doesn’t seem like he’d care if you spit in his face and kicked him in the balls.

“I’m not from around here.” He rasps and adjusts his sunglasses, leaning one heavy arm on the counter and cocking his hip out, “DC, actually. I’m lookin’ for somebody. You could call it confidential business.”

You hum and narrow your eyes, “Unless that confidential business involves a funeral or getting out of the doghouse with somebody, I can’t help you.”

Suddenly you remember your mother telling you about a big shot politician that knocked her up with you, how he hid you both away when she told him she was pregnant. Your mother was down on her luck 16 year old diner girl, and apparently the politician knew all too well how to use and discard her. The money was enough for your mom to give up her dreams and keep you in this town. When you’ve lived so long without what you think you should, you’re fine to obsessively make sure you never go without again.

He’s the president now anyway, even more reason to make sure you’re the bug that stays squashed under the rock.

The man with the mouth scar notices and decides to drop the act, sighing and taking out his gun. He doesn’t shoot you, just scratches underneath his chin with the puzzle and pointedly makes eye contact with you.

“Okay, let’s cut the shit. My name’s Toji Fushiguro, and I know that you’re who I'm after just as much as you know why i’m here, so why don’t ya just appreciate that y’r old man wants you back and come with me?”

You grit your teeth but you know there’s only one way this interaction is going to end is with you getting in the passenger seat of this nutjob’s car. He watches you shut everything off in the shop and leave a message for the only other employee, asking them to take over until you can come back. He’s a gigantic wolf, tall and silent in the corner, keeping his eyes constantly on his prey. Toji’s never let a bunny or prickly house cat out of his sight in his entire career, but in his current line of work it’s at least legal. Essentially.

“Pretty flowers ya got here.” He says, prolonging your unease. “Maybe his office could use some of these, dull ass beige box that it is.”

Your lips quirk up despite the awful situation, “Yeah I guess. The camellias are new, but hellebores are my favorites, I think. Not many people are into flowers this time of year, but I don’t have anything else to do.”

Toji nods, leading you out of the shop with a hand at the small of your back and oddly content to let you stress babble.

“I’m nowhere near good enough to do arrangements for the White House anyway, regardless of who’s sitting all cozy in it.” You spit and bite one of your nails, nipping at a piece of a hangnail. “Probably’d just throw some buttercups, yellow carnations, orange lillies on the floor, a bit of aconite in there too.”

You know that the agent corralling you into his car doesn’t have a damn clue what you’re talking about, but he seems at ease the more you relax into the leather car seat.

You make yourself fall asleep when he puts the car into drive and speeds down the street.

You’ve been in DC for about a week now, without ever actually meeting your dad of course but you’ve met plenty of his staff after Toji introduced you. He’s a secret service agent, who was given the special task of watching over the president’s only child, you can tell he’s not that happy about it.

Probably not as much action as there’d be in his usual position, you’re very willing to go with their plans of you laying low and staying inside most of the time. You’re still so confused, none of this makes any sense at all. You’ve lived your whole life without being involved in any of this but it’s only when your mother’s dead and your father can’t ignore you anymore that he wants to claim you?

It’s all another move in the game towards the re-election. At least he’s a better president than a father, but that’s not by much. Promises to address climate change and the country’s oil dependance getting pushed to the side, worsening class issues and trickle down economics, putting up more anti-homeless measures. You wish you felt like you could leave, but the tiny sliver of hope that by some weird miracle you could do something keeps you from being bold.

There’s nothing you could actually do anyway, you’re never going to be a part of the groups that their agendas support. You’ll always be the small town reject who saw meth addicts at the local gas station more than your own father.

You and Toji have gotten closer, by necessity and the sheer oddity of being polar opposites. You’re both equally as prickly though in different ways, birds of a molted feather. He’s there when you wake up, there during your mundane day, and there outside your door when you go to sleep. Even if you wouldn’t have liked your “bodyguard”, and you’re not sure you do, the distance between the two of you decreasing was inevitable.

He delivers you food, opens your jars, fixes the pipes in your penthouse, drives you everywhere you want to go in the city, carries your books for you in a bookstore, kneels down beside you in the dirt so he can help you with weeding out your garden, and keeps an itemized list of period supplies and your favorite things.

Your favorite minor holiday is national cherry day, he puts a reminder on his phone with the help of his son to always stop by the supermarket and get you some.

You feel like Whitney Houston right now, and if late at night you listen to her albums more than your mom did growing up, fantasizing about a 40+ year old man who treats you like a bug he has to keep alive, then no one has to know.

But no other man’s gonna do

So i’m saving all my love for you

You also think he’s going to assassinate your father. Sometimes you’ll hear hushed whispers late at night between Toji and someone on the phone, he’ll break protocol and leave you alone to duck into another person’s office and end up leaving with a grim look on his face.

You’ve seen the logs he keeps of your father’s whereabouts, which he should have anyway. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but you get the most awful storm in your gut when you see them under a gun that’s never been fired, like it has a special purpose.

You only speak to your father briefly, tense hellos and goodbyes exchanged over the bridge of a too tight handshake. You immediately expressed your distaste for being involved in his political career and he accepted that, letting you galavant on your merry way around town with his most dangerous agent. Ahead of Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Nanami Kento, and Sukuna Ryomen, your father’s closest gaggle of hyenas.

You call them that because you could easily imagine drool dripping from their jowls if they felt so inclined to attack, to devour.

They give Toji their own versions of the same look when you pass them in the halls or they need to meet to give security updates, watching and waiting.

They only give you smiles, of every shape and size.

It’s easy to get a closer look at what your father does, the lives he ruins. Peace can only be an option for so long before other courses of action have to be considered. You don’t know Toji’s motives, this could just be another murder for hire paid for by one of your father’s political rivals. You doubt his heart is that deeply invested in those sorts of things, he’s made himself too apathetic, but you can tell that he still cared a little bit. He told you once that he’s had children who grew up starving before he got the job he has now.

They’re your age now, but he’d still do anything to keep it, to support them.

And then you think that maybe someone who’s only ever been abandoned knows what it’s like to hoard any good thing you can get your grubby hands on.

You give him own little bouquet of flowers one day, half because you’re going stir crazy as the weeks go by with Toji being all you know and half because you think you do want him to kill your father.

Purple Orchid.

Red Lily.

Red Anemone.

Gloriosa.

Red Delphinium.

Red Clematis.

Genista.

The next day, he’s barking at you to get packed for a stay at one of the out of the state safe houses. Don’t ask questions, protocol means you heed his warning and hop back in that canary yellow mid life crisis status symbol.

The tension was bound to be cut with a knife, the whole ride to the safe house is filled with sideways glances and slipknot blaring from the speakers. You have the same uneasy feeling that you do anytime Toji even hints at something being wrong, but something seems especially wrong this time. It’s not your job to worry about it though, and the older man tells you as much.

“Shut y’r trap, alright? You never have to get your panties in a twist when y’r with me, sorta.”

The safe house is as boring as expected, something out of a kindergartener's drawing. One story cube shaped, small roof, faded brown door.

You're only in the tiny kitchen for a second when Toji locks the door and comes to prop himself up on the counter, licking his scar.

He chuckles, “You’re a lot different than I thought you'd be, ya know that?

“I could say the same about you, I mean not really, but there are things I was surprised by.” You retort and sort through the cabinets, picking what cereal you’re going to stress eat tonight.

He comes around the counter and his hands slide from the tile to grip your waist.

“Yeah? Like what, doll?” Is cooed right in front of your mouth when Toji leans down.

You’re not immune to the proximity, your heart does a factory reset. “I never knew you could be so sweet, Toji.”

You’re not supposed to refer to him by his name, but you can’t let the word you secretly want to say slip out. You’d have to tell the employee back at your flower shop to be ready to claim the insurance policy on it after you go back and set yourself on fire.

But God, the miserable man looming over your bunny-tense figure really is sweet, distantly warm in the way a generally emotionally unavailable father is. But Toji’s the kind that would actually give you something to hold close to your heart over his long stretches of being absent until months go by and he tries to be better again.

You’re glad Sigmeund Freud isn’t an immortal vampire who would still be around to psychoanalyze you to shreds.

“Sweet to you maybe, ‘cause I have to be.”

“My dad couldn’t care less if you beat me silly.”

“I know.”

He never once said it was your father that compelled him to be as gentle with you as he is. A woman he met decades one, shacking up with an up and coming politician who he didn’t even try and pretend to be better then. They hooked up once and then he met his late wife, but months later the woman from his one night stand swore the baby in her belly wasn’t his. He never asked for a paternity test.

He never will, he’s already enough like your Daddy anyway, there’s no point in getting a confirmation or a denial to what his soul (and his cock) knows is good enough for a rat bastard like him.

You come out of your shame spiral as he splays one of his beefy gigantic hands out on the counter so you don’t get cold when he pushes your head down.

“I’d kill your old man if he kept me from this ass pussy, but it ain’t like he could if he tried.” Toji grunts, pendulous balls slapping your ass like a couple of grapefruits with every rough thrust in your puckered hole.

You gave up on being shy as soon as he clamped a hand around your throat to direct the first kiss you’d share. “Daddy- ngh, you’re gonna break me”.

His hand is so warm, your cheek squishes against the grooves and minor cracks in his skin as your head bobs forward. Despite you already being pressed down into the kitchen counter as much as humanly possible, Toji seems determined to force you to become one with it.

He gropes your thick ass cheeks, watching them bounce and jiggle as his burly hips slam against you continuously. Performance art in its truest form, whiney little baby pushing their hips back to take him even deeper in their fat ass. He didn’t have the means to properly prep you, just spit on his hand and massaged it into your already wet rim and called it a day. No condom either, but he can probably save the pussy job and it's obvious consequences until after your old man’s been made to lie face down in the dirt.

“I like the way your cunt sits under your squishy belly, ‘s pouting, baby. Both you and your pussy are clingy as fuck, huh?” He laughs deeply, reaching the hand that’s not under your face to smack your clit.

Your empty cunt gets wetter at the teasing, clenching around nothing because Toji likes to play pretend that he can be halfway considerate to the poor thing until he can’t. You want it too much right now, when you’re all loopy from his mean pounding in your ass is the moment he’ll regretfully have to pull himself out to sheath his hung length in your chubby pussy.

You moan, thought it gets precariously close to a wail the longer it goes on. “Daddyyyyyyy, oh fuck, shit- ‘m gonna tear.”

Your words end in a squeal of delight, your off the cuff rambling driving Toji to speed up his thrusts to piston his fat cock harder into your ass. Like he almost wants it to tear, your biological daddy gave you some nasty emotional scars, let your real one leave you with a couple physical ones. That’s what good daddies do, they take care of their babies and always give them something to remember them by when they won’t like their ancient relic of a father so much.

“Now don’t get mad at me, but- Oh, fuck- i was gonna kill ya, that was the plan. Take ya back, blow your brains out in front of your dad, make ‘im piss his pants because he knows he’s next.” He smiles knowingly when his hand on your clit feels it throb at his dark thinking-out-loud musings, wishing he could scrunch his fingers all up in your scalp and roughly pet you. “You like it like that, baby bunny? Daddy gets you gooey and syrupy sweet when he touches you, huh? Could just gobble you up whole, bones and all.”

Fuckin’ hell, you’re more precious than diamonds or gold or any loot he could’ve swiped from your old man’s crib. He’ll have to remember to slide his cock between your slick girls later, soap them up in the freestanding bathtub and spill his thick off white load all over them. You’ll lick up what you can but cleaning you up is obviously Daddy’s job, slurping up his own jizz like a wolf smoothing his rowdy pup’s fur down, nuzzling his nose in the valley of your tits and in the crook of your armpits.

“Daddy-” Your mouth gapes, little punched out ‘unh-unh-unh’s fly out of your mouth as your ass ripples. A few of your hairs stick to your forehead and you look over your shoulder, flushed and overwhelmed.

He just said he was going to kill you, you couldn’t even say when he changed his mind if he’s even telling the truth. But all you can focus on is that you really hope no other security personnel arrive at the safe house to check on you, whatever the fuck you’re doing definitely isn’t protocol.

Toji leans forward and scruffs the back of your neck with his canines, nipping the skin and leaving a mark as he slams his hips forward again. His grip on your love handles becomes iron clad and binding, wishing on a shooting star for bruises to form. He plunges in to the hilt with every thrust and gnaws at your sloped shoulder, he’s gonna cum and fill your cute little butt up. Pump your backdoor so full of cump it bulges and trickles down your trembling thighs.

You keen brokenly, floating up and away into his kiss. Which is basically more of an affectionate bite, but his tongue is mapping out your teeth and your cherry chapstick lips glide against his cold weather chapped ones. So it can be technically considered a kiss, but it leaves you reeling, someone just smashed a rock into your face and you’re collapsed on the ground unable to walk it off.

You try to squirm away from the earth shattering pleasure.

“What i’d say about givin’ me a chance, doll? Anyway, you were good as dead until I actually laid eyes on ya. Pretty thing, soft heart with a softer touch, ripe for the picking and left all alone…”

He can feel you getting close, you’re humping back against him like a bunny in heat as his thumb does a frenzied dance on your clit. He slides his big hand up your body to strum your nipples, his soft as a butterfly’s wing touch contrasting deliciously with his diabolically rough strokes.

In the fantasy he coos in your ear and asks if you agree that he did such a good job making this body, didn’t he? He twists his wrist on your pert bud, timing his ministrations with the upwards angled stroke of his cock. Your whimpering, his thick tip hitting the sensitive place you’ve never been able to reach with your fingers or your extra large toys.

“Fill me up, Daddy, please.” You beg, tears streaming down your face and sticking to his hand cushioning you. You turn your head the tiniest bit to wetly smack your lips together, kissing the rugged appendage. “It’s so hungry, I need it, give it up to me already. Not goin’ anywhere.”

Your cock-crazed eyes widen in panic whenever he acts like he’s gonna pull out, allowing you only the tip before grinning and sliding all the way home once again.

“Don’t worry, baby. I fixed it, didn't i? Got you all plugged up and owned doll, would sooner ride the muzzle of Shiu’s gun than kill ya now. Y’r soakin’ my balls so goddamn good.”

“Thank you, Daddy. Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you-“

Holy fuck, you can’t breathe. You can’t fucking breathe because how can you when all the air in your lungs is beaten out of you by some 47 year olds’s massive cock. The coarseness of his body is so right for you, abrasive where you’re soft and riddled with signs of being battleworn where your body’s only enemy is you. You feel split right down the middle and you’re half afraid that when Toji eventually pulls out, you’ll fall apart and actually become two bleeding halves of a whole fucked out person.

Your clit throbs at the mental image of his hairy swallowing the muzzle of a gun, Toji licks his lips and mercifully lets you reach behind yourself to claw at his rippling muscular glutes as he fucks you. Your ass squeezes his cock in a vice like grip as you shoot your load onto the pale wood laminated floor below. Your ass cheeks jiggle as your hips jump forward, grinding against the air as you get it all out. Riding that lightning off to who knows where.

“Jesus, oh, Jesus- You’re so fucking insane, Jesus Christ!”

At least Daddy will be there, because you’re certain you’re gonna crave keeping him inside and Toji seems like a terrible guy to try to do cockwarming with.

“Shit, baby bunny, this bouncy cottontail is gonna milk me dry, take me for all my money, isn’t that right honey bunny?” His voice is coated with sickenly toe curling condescension.

He roars a guttural groan, his nails forming crescent shaped indents in your hips as he pushes his cock as far as it can go and spurts his hot cum into your ass with a gruff grunt. He can feel your walls spasm around his dick, the sensation hurtles him further over the edge and his hips jerk and the joints begin to creak from the effort.

He’s not the wild and reckless young man who fucked your mother anymore, but you have him all wrong if you think he’s going to roughouse your shit any differently.

When you’ve both calmed down, his salt and pepper stubble gives you beard burn between the fleshy globes, punctuated by a breathless snicker and a barely there peck to your ass hole.

“Sleep in tomorrow, baby bunny” He says abruptly, his tone dropping to become startlingly serious. “I’ll bring back some breakfast for ya, give you a massage. I better come back and find your adorable ass right where I put it to bed, ya hear me?.”

“Yes, Daddy. ‘Said I wasn’t going anywhere.”

He pats your lower back, curling his thick digits around an invisible ball of fur.

260 notes · View notes

skippingstonez · 3 months ago

Note

Could you write Twilight Link with an aristocratic reader? Just cute country bumpkin bf and fancy schmancy wealthy gf who spoils him (‘-’*)

I don't know what made me think *bath* when spoiling Twilight but here we are!

Rags and Riches

(TP!Link x Wealthy!Reader) Warnings: the tiniest mention of nudity and its mostly just implied

Castle Town was thriving. The usual hustle and bustles of shops and vendors rang through the streets, welcoming all who entered into its gates. It's cobblestone weaving through buildings long since established while others were recently refurbished for whatever new and exciting thing had grasped the citizens interest.

All were welcome into the ever expanding town. Where Gorons and Zora freely traversed and traded with Hylians both residential or simply passing by. So it was almost comical that the only one to be so roughly denied entry was the one who had saved it all.

Spears shot at him as he ran back to the gate. The soldiers shouted after him as they charged. Mother's snatched their young up into their arms as he ran past. Likely afraid of getting bitten or even just knocked over.

Link didn't blame them. It wasn't him they were chasing away after all. Even as Hyrule's hero he wasn't well known in town. Mostly only recognizable to those who frequented Telma’s place. But not even they would realize who they were chasing. To everyone around him he was simply a large wolf that had wandered into town. Of course they would chase him off, he would have too in their situation. That understanding didn't lessen the pain he felt as sharp metal nicked his shoulder.

He whined in pain, darting through the south gates into Hyrule Field. The small band of knights cheered as he ran, content to stay near the gate instead of attempting to finish him off.

He knew trying to go into town the way he was had been a poor judgement call. The sun had still been low in the sky. The early morning light chasing away the shadows of night. And try as he might to stick to those shadows, there simply hadn't been enough to conceal him from watchful eyes. Which led to guards quickly being notified, and to Link's displeasure and shock, decided to actually rid the town of him.

He slowed to a crawl-like speed. The chain around his foot dragged against the stone steps. He just needed to get far enough to change back. As a Hylian he'd be able to freely roam the town without fear of being chased down. He could find the shop and get the red potion he so desperately needed.

Assuming he even had enough rupees for it.

Or that he would even make it that far without collapsing.

Link was exhausted. An ambush of monsters earlier had taken everything out of him, including his ability to walk normally. Having likely fractured an ankle, he had to finish off the fight as a wolf. Letting the weight of his broken foot be distributed to 3 others than try and remain upright on one. He had then dragged himself all the way to Castle Town that way in hopes of getting a potion he had unfortunately found out he was out of.

He reached the bottom of the steps. The large fountain to his right and the grassy fields of Hyrule before him. The peaceful meadow and calming sound of rushing water was a far cry from the turmoil his body felt. Stomach empty after having not eaten for Hylia knows how long, exhaustion creeping into his bones that only bore more weight from the pain of his leg.

Maybe he should just call it quits and sleep out here. The grass looked soft enough and maybe then he could snag the potion and some food later in the day.

He scanned the surroundings, looking for a spot hidden away where he could either change back or rest. His mind still heavily debating between the two. The rather open concept of the area limited his options significantly as he searched and quickly realized he wasn't even alone.

Just ahead, sat at the edge of the fountain was a young lady. Her hair done up in a flawless curl that fell over her shoulder. Her clothing screamed of wealth, dressed in one of the finer styles Link had seen around town. Its long, flowy material hugged her body perfectly while its color complimented each detail of her delicate face.

Link's heart quickened. A deep warmness spread over him as he took in the way she moved. Soft, careful and elegant.

The girl was stunning. And more importantly,

She was you.

He lifts his head, releasing a song-like howl into the air, rushing over to where you sat. Your head now frantically searching in his direction. He approaches with confidence, sitting right in front of you as a large grin spreads across your face.

You were on him in seconds. Grabbing at his face to shower him with affection.

“Link! Oh you're alright!” You squished his face between your hands. Alternating between scratching at his ears and running your fingers through tangled fur. Your lips peppering kisses around his nose.

His tail swooshes back and forth rapidly, raising his head high as you showered him with praise.

You paused, moving your hands lower to see the blood on his shoulder. Your face slowly turning to a scowl with hands on your hips in a weak attempt at scolding him.

“You're hurt aren't you?”

Hearing your less than pleased tone of voice he laid down, looking up at you with innocent eyes. It was a move he always played when you were upset with him. Knowing that it worked 9/10 times and this time was no different.

You sank down to your knees, holding his face once more with a tender gentleness Twilight yearned for every time he had to leave your side.

“What happened? Do you need anything? A potion? I think I have some at home! Otherwise I'll buy the whole stock if you need-”

Link pulled at the shard's magic, letting himself return to his Hylian self to better ease your concerns. He knelt before you, putting a hand over yours that still held his face.

“I'm fine Darlin, it wasn't anything I couldn't handle.”

It wasn't a lie per say. He was fine in a way now that he was with you. And he did and was handling it. Even as he winced in pain as the full force of his injury returned to his ankle, making him move to sit on the ground rather than on his knees. Or how the new gash on his shoulder began bleeding through his shirt.

You immediately noticed his discomfort, eyebrows only furrowing further in worry.

“You clearly are not!” You scolded him, gesturing to not only the fresh blood on his shoulder, but the other dried patches of blood and dirt and whatever else coated his clothes. The small rips and tears from battles, and of course the rather obvious way he was sitting as to not bump his ankle.

Link wasn’t a slob by any means. Even during his travels he prided himself on keeping his things and himself relatively clean. But sitting there, next to your smooth clothes and flawless skin, Link had to admit he was downright filthy. He hunched his shoulders in embarrassment as you stood, brushing off the few flecks of dirt from your skirt that likely had gotten there because of him.

“Come on, let's get you home and we will get it all cleaned up.” You took his hands, carefully helping him to his feet. He hissed, trying to put pressure on his bad foot so he wouldn’t crush you with his weight. You merely ducked under his arm, wrapping around his waist for support.

“I’ll make a mess of ya, let me-”

“Nonsense! Clothes can be washed and replaced my dear.” You leaned up and kissed his cheek. “You however can not be.”

Link smiled, kissing the top of your head as you helped him back to your place. The walk taking longer than normal due to the slow pace and uneven ground that made him stumble. Biting back the pain shooting up his leg with every jolt and misstep.

It was late morning by the time you reached your place, a soft glow welcoming more and more townsfolk into the streets. Yours was one of the nicer homes nestled just east of the castle itself. The swirled metal fence protecting the lush green yard that led all the way to the small porch.

It was a place Link had been spending more and more time at. Giving every and any excuse to come and visit you whenever he could. It wasn't quite home and it still felt almost like a whole new world here compared to the humble village of Ordon. But it's where you were which is exactly where he wanted to be.

You helped him inside, helping remove his gear as a short woman scurried towards you.

“Thank you Lyla, could you see to it that these are cleaned and repaired?” You asked, handing her his sword and shield before she disappeared just as quickly.

“Alright, the larger bathroom is upstairs which will probably be preferable.” You mused. “Will that be alright?”

Link knew what you were really asking, rolling his eyes playfully. “Darlin, do you remember how I met ya?” He asked, grabbing onto the stairs railing.

“How could I ever forget?” You laughed lightly, hovering over him as he started up the stairs. “You saved my carriage from that awful large bird!”

“Sure did, and I'm pretty sure if I can face that, I can face a few stairs.” He laughed at the small pout you made. Giving him a little more space to get up the stairs. Your hands were right back on him when he reached the top, guiding him down the hallway until you reached for one of the doors.

The door opened to reveal a large bathroom. The marble tile floor and white walls lined with shelves upon shelves of bottles that Link could only guess what they could be. Each one uniquely shaped and sized with dazzling colors that swirled around inside their glass containers.

You led him inside before gliding over to the white tub. Turning its golden faucets as water poured into the tub, wisps of steam floating up to the ceiling. You grabbed one of the bottles, uncorking it and pouring a dash of its purple contents into the water that formed small bubbles on its surface.

You pulled out the stool of the neatly organized vanity to the left of the room, placing it directly next to the tub. Patting its velvety cushion as an invitation for him to sit. HJe complies, sitting down with a small groan as his muscles ache to accommodate the sudden change in position.

He slipped off his boots and socks before your hands found his chest.

“Can you lift your arm?” Gesturing to his injured shoulder. He does with minimal pain as you slip his tunic off, chainmail and undershirt quickly adding to the growing pile of filth now littering the floor.

The gash on his shoulder wasn't nearly as bad as he initially thought. With the bleeding already having stopped and the pain more of a sting than anything else it blended into the other scraps he wore.

You kissed his nose, “You hop in alright?”

He nods, waiting until you've left the room to remove the rest of his clothing and carefully lower himself into the tub.

He would never admit the straight moan that left his lips as he sunk down into the water. It's warmth seeping straight to his bones that relaxed every ache and tug at his muscles. The mystery soap left a tingle on his skin that poked at any scrape and bruised till they were only a memory.

He would definitely be asking to borrow this one in the future.

The door creaked open and Link quickly covered himself underneath the water as you walked in. Holding a small basket and the fluffiest pink towel he had ever seen.

“Apologies for the color, I unfortunately wasn't prepared to have company at the moment.”

You strolled forward, placing your small pile on the floor by the tub. You held out a bottle that Link recognized as a red potion. He took it from you, careful not to disturb the water too much as he drank all of it. It's magic flowing straight to his broken ankle, setting and then mending the bone in a numbed discomfort.

Link mumbled a quick thank you as you took the bottle from him. Returning it to the small basket as you sat down on the stool by the head of the tub.

He pulled his knees up, not trusting the layer of soap to keep himself covered.

Link couldn't recall a time he had felt so…exposed, before. Maybe once when Shad and Rusl had helped him after a bad fight but certainly not in front of you! Not yet

“You're…staying? In here?”

“Is that alright?” You asked sweetly. Rolling up the sleeves of your dress. You grabbed a cloth, dipping it into the water before gently running it over his shoulders.

“I know how to take a bath darlin”

You chuckled, letting some of the water fall into his hair. “Well I would hope so dear. But I can see how tired you are,” you grabbed another container from your basket, scooping out some of its contents to rub between your hands. “So you just relax okay? Let me handle this.”

Your hands ran softly through his hair. Fingers rubbing at his scalp in a heavenly pattern as you hummed a song Link hadn't heard before. He let his eyes close, leaning back on the tub as you continued to work whatever concoction through his hair.

It smelled like wildflowers and honey. Exactly the way you smelled and he thought for a moment if this is what you would use when bathing before quickly making sure he was still covered beneath the water's soapy surface.

You lifted his head, rinsing out his hair a few times till you were satisfied the stuff was all gone. Your hands found his shoulders, gently kneading at the muscles until Link was practically moaning at your touch. It stayed like that for a while, occasionally rubbing a new soap or cream across his shoulders, chest or back. The heat from the water beginning to fog the room like a sauna.

A small tap to his cheek, “Alright dear, I will leave the rest to you.”

You stand, putting the pink towel and anything else he might still need on top of the stool where he could reach.

“The towel is there, and there's a fresh set of clothes awaiting you in the room to the right. Don't fret about these ones, I'll have Lyla collect them once you're done and make sure they get washed.”

You lean down, giving his cheek a quick kiss before exiting the room.

He takes a deep breath, letting himself enjoy it all for just another moment before washing the rest of his body. Getting out once the water had cooled significantly, trying not to splash water unnecessarily as he wraps the towel around him.

Even with the rather unbecoming color, it was the softest, fluffiest damn towel he’d ever used.

Keeping a firm grip to the towel around his waist, he peeks out into the hallway, making sure it's clear before dashing into the next room. Just as promised, a stack of plain clothes were laid out for him on the bed, near perfect to his size as he slips them on.

He attempts to dry his hair before making his way back down towards the stairs to where he hopes you are.

The stairs are much easier to get down with his injuries healed. Letting himself skip the last two steps as he spun to head towards the living area. Just as he suspected, you were sat on the couch, feet tucked up beside you. You had changed into a different dress, this one detailed in a floral pattern and fitted to the curve of your body.

He snuck up behind you, tossing his arms around you in a tight hug. Your laughter ringing in his ears.

“Feeling better?”

“Much” He lets go long enough to plop down next to you. “Thanks to you of course.” He cups your face, bringing it to his in a long, drawn out kiss. He deepens it as you hum against him, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip teasingly before pulling away. He smirks at the way your cheeks flush the same shade of pink as your lips.

He flops down, resting his head on your lap. The exhaustion sets back in, begging at his mind for rest. Fingers run through his hair, only encouraging the pull of sleep. Words are said but he can no longer make them out, smiling to himself as he finally gives into an easy unconsciousness.

_____

It wasn’t until later in the day that he woke up. The mid afternoon sun beating at his face through the tall windows while the smell of food invaded his nose. He turns onto his side, his face burrowing into the fabric of your dress as he wraps his arms loosely around your waist.

“Well good morning love”

Your soft voice calls to him. He opens his eyes, looking up to you smiling down at him.

“There is food awaiting you in the kitchen whenever you are hungry,” You explain, brushing hair out of his face. “I do need to head into town, would you care to join me?”

He nods lazily, holding you close to him until his stomach rumbles loudly in empty protest. You laugh, leaning over to kiss his temple.

“Alright, We’ll leave once you've had a bite to eat. Then we can get you all stocked up while we're out.”

It was only 30 minutes later until they were strolling down the busy streets. With Link now healed, rested and fed, the streets felt much more welcoming than the hostile experience of this morning. The streets were now packed, voices shouting out to hassle and bargain down prices. He kept a hand on the small of your back, holding the few things you had already bought in the other.

Despite his insistence, you had bought him everything he needed and then some. Multiple bottles of healing potions, some arrows and even his own bottle of that purple soap from this morning.

You were currently browsing through a stall of books. Briefly explaining plots of ones that you had read previously while searching over new titles. He smiled at the way your eyes widened in excitement as you skimmed through the new book in your hands, using the small moment of opportunity to hand over a few rupees to the vendor.

“Oh Link, you didn't have to do that!”

He hugged your shoulders, pulling you to his side. “It's alright sweet`art. It's worth it to keep that smile on ya face.” You blushed as he slipped the book from your hands, adding it to the bag.

You continued on your way, hoping to get a special treat for Epona who was being watched over back in Kakariko. You leaned into Link, enjoying the rare quality time spent together for the rest of the afternoon.

A detour through the center of town led you two to linger around the fountain. The street lamps being lit around you as the crowds began to disperse. He takes your hand, his rough thumb brushing over the softness of your knuckles with a deep sigh.

“I’ll uh, gotta get goin in the morning. Promised Fado I’d help out this week.”

“Oh..”

Link knew that tone. He knew you were disappointed and honestly, so was he. He wanted to be by your side more. To see your smiling face, to be there when you needed him. To be the hero he had been for Hyrule, to you. But Ordon was his home and he still struggled to imagine fully leaving it all behind. It was who he was at his core, a simple rancher. And you deserved more than that. You deserved the life of luxury that you had here. To be within the walls that he tirelessly worked to make sure were kept safe.

“Link?” He cupped your face, lifting it up so he could look directly into your eyes.

“What…what if I came with you?”

“Come…to Ordon?”

You nodded and Link's heart stuttered in both panic and excitement. You wanted to visit Ordon with him? To see his home, meet everyone he considered family? It was something he had dreamed of since the first time he had kissed you.

What if you didn't like it though? What if it only solidified how different your worlds were?

“I don't have to of course,” You tried to reassure him. Likely having caught onto his slight panic. “I just…I miss you when you're gone. And I know how important your village is to you. It'd be an honor to see it for myself.”

Link's heart nearly lept out of his chest. “Are ya sure?”

When you nodded Link couldn't hold back the smile spreading across his face. He grabbed your face, crushing his lips onto yours. He pushed away the panic, the fears and insecurities. You were coming with him. You wanted to come home with him and he couldn't imagine a more perfect idea.

#giggle requests #link x reader #loz twilight princess x reader #twilight x reader #this man deserves the most luxurious bath #with readers help of course #giggles

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babextoken · 14 days ago

Text

Slow like Mold in the Vents in the Wall

✧・┈・chapter 1

pairing: vessel x fem!reader summary: you're running from something (and your) and find yourself as the lone girl on staff at one of the few video rental stores left in the area. everyone sees you as good coworker, if not a bit of a wallflower, expect for one. Ves sees right through your mask. And you hate him for it. wc: 1.9k head's up: series, slowish burn, enemies to lovers, coworkers, plus size reader, nerd!vessel, rude!vessel, hitting on people at work, reader and ves are a bit unlikable, slightly jealous!vessel, gatekeeping, Taylor Swift slander (it was for the plot, I'm not interested in entertaining this), tragic reader backstory, idiots who aren't in love YET a/n: I am both terrified and excited to share this. it's a mix of requests, my own thoughts, and my own ways of working through things while keeping that boy in a situation ♡ 𓈒⟡₊⋆∘˚⊹ Situation Enjoyers™: @lifemod17 @glitterghost @inv3ga-sustenna @adenobabe @jeriiicho @milk--bones @myaudiocommentary @horsebiologist @intake-of-breath @fruitsandcheese @killed-by-thegods @goosepond69 @friendly-neighborhood-ghoul @lynzeequitlollygagging @thatxxjiyong-ssi @cloudy-soul @daddysaidbringthethunder @evisnotok @cheomain @chaosandchaos @object-of-my-desire @dreamer-lost-in-wonderland @blvckmvgicwoman @canopies-of-gold-and-evergreen

recommended listening:

Vessel’s talking again. About nerd shit. Always with the nerd shit.

It started as a chat about video games. Sure, fine. Then it became video game soundtracks. Bit out there for some, ok. But then it veered to music. The question is posed, again, (because most zone out) about what kind of music Ves likes and makes on the side. But it only got worse. Everyone saw the change happen in slow motion; Vessel’s brows shot up, his dimples deepened, the normally soft spoken, stoic demeanor he had turned almost frantic. The music theory professor was in…and all because a sweet plump little thing beside him piped up saying, “An 11/8 time signature? That’s not even a real fraction!”

Vessel didn’t know you yet. He saw you come in for your interview and onboarding but didn’t bother to approach you. Welcome you to the video store. At first he thinks you’re fucking with him. Busting his balls for the time signature thing, but you’re persistent.

“No, seriously, how would that even sound? Come on, explain like we’re back in music class.”

The sheer glee radiating off this man could power a small country. He takes on a matter-of-fact but kind tone as he claps out the beats and explains what one could accomplish with such an interesting and complex and… It all fades out. You’re listening, yes, but you’re not retaining. The fact that you watched him go from a quiet participant in this little conversation you were cornered in to someone who was confident and expressive was, honestly, really hot. He’s tall enough that you have to lift your head a bit to look him in the eye, making you feel a bit like you’re being lectured. Guided. If the thought-police are real, they should put you away now because this is…really fucking hot.

But Ves is none the wiser. He’s now moved on to name dropping bands that excel at weird time signatures and that even though math rock and progressive metal both utilize it they’re actually, in essence, quite different and that—

“You know, honestly,” you look around and whisper almost conspiratorially, “I don’t know any of the bands you just mentioned but—”

Vessel interrupts you, as nerdy boys on a roll are want to do. “Well, yes, that’s to be expected, but just because they—“

You raise your chin and your hand to stop him. “Hold on, I wasn’t done.” His face falls. Damnit. He’s done it again. He’s info-dumped too close to the sun to a new coworker, much less a GIRL. “I was going to say that maybe you could help me…expand my musical horizons,” you say with a tiny smirk.

“Right! Right, yeah! Pull up your Spotify then and I’ll add some stuff for you.”

Years of being rejected allowed you to mask your disappointment. You shouldn’t be looking for a date at work and especially not at your brand new job. What you don’t realize is that Ves is masking, too. He won’t even give himself the chance to IMAGINE you’re dropping hints about a date. Instead of asking for clarification or, god forbid, explaining yourself further, you sheepishly take your phone out and let him start saving playlists and albums to your library. He hands your phone back, looking smug.

“There we are…a much needed upgrade. Looks like you needed it…'This is Taylor Swift.’ Come now,” Vessel titters. “Listen to something that pushes the envelope.”

“Hah. Wow, alright.” You scoff with a humorless laugh.

Oh.

Cringe.

Goddamnit.

Vessel barely realizes now his sarcasm was NOT detected at all. He chuckles nervously and pats your shoulder. “Lighten up. Joking. I’m joking.”

“I actually meant we should spend some time together,” there’s a subtle emphasis on the phrase as your eyes roll back in exasperation, “and talk about it more. Get to know each other. Seems like we dodged a bullet then, hm?”

Vessel stands there for a bit. Why did she want to wait until another time to talk about this? Surely she’s just saying this because it’s like when you see an old friend and say “let’s get coffee” and then you never do and…wait. WAIT. “Do you…surely you don’t mean a…a date!” Vessel’s cheeks are stained maroon now from the sheer thought of a DATE. “This really did it for you? Hearing me drone on?”

Your face scrunches as if to say “dude, yes, obviously,” because to you it is obvious. Why not him? Yeah you just met him (and you’re at work. Please do not forget you’re at work) and he seemed fairly safe and nice, but maybe a bit of a gatekeeper-type? Or just a sarcastic jerk. All you know is that now you’re turned off a little. And Vessel’s just gawps at you. Thank god everyone else left to do closing duties when it was clear you two were having a one-on-one. No one needed to see you taking a joke too seriously and Vessel dropping the ball and probably missing out on one of those “for the plot” opportunities. It’s awkward now. Both of you had questionable dating history so no one really knows how to gracefully end the conversation (or have one, it seemed). And maybe you’ve got the right idea by just nodding and pursing your lips saying, “well…good talk,” and walking away to choose some tapes for your Staff Recommendations.

Thus began the "Great Ignoring." It wasn’t to the point that you called in sick when you knew you were working with him, but you certainly felt a pit in your stomach. But you kept your head down and just worked. That’s why you were here. To start over. And do "The Work," as they say.

It wasn’t like you wanted to be sent away last year when this big adventure started. Well, “sent away” was an overreaction (or at least that’s what you were told. Must be true then, yes?). You were “encouraged to seriously consider” taking time off and “enjoying a break.” And when paired with a queasy smile, it translated both literally and perfectly into “get yourself together, bitch, and do it far away. Come back when you’re normal.”

Fine. Like a child sent to her room, you huffed and pouted as you planned your mini vacation that instead turned into you completely upending your life a county over. No big deal! But beginnings are overrated. Finally getting some distance between a certain ex-boyfriend and a life you were comfortable with does not evoke feelings of “fresh starts.” It’s a death within and of itself. The physical move was easy. You didn’t own much. Such is the nature of breaking off an engagement that was over long before you even left. Long before the first emotional blow was struck. Family and friends offered more than you thought you deserved—money, secondhand furniture, food, the number of “a guy.” It was too much for you. The kindness didn’t cancel out any of the cruelty, and the small cruelties were magnified.

Vessel gatekeeping “superior” music should have been the equivalent of a gnat in your general vicinity. You know it’s there, it’s not bothering you immediately, but when it does you can wave it off. No. For you it was worse. It was coming home knowing mom was mad at you. It was facing the tribunal. Or at least that’s how it felt. Normally he just ignored you, which gave you great comfort and dread. Comfort because “ok, he has no reason to bother me,” and dread because “ah shit the other shoe is about to drop and it’s gonna fucking suuuucckk.”

“Hey are you listening?”

Fingers snapping drags you out of your haze.

“Jesus. Come on, please tell me you actually sorted the new releases." Vessel, looking tired as usual, leans against the counter with his arms crossed and waits with bated breath for your answer. It was the dreaded closing shift with him.

You return his tired gaze with a blank one, proffering your hand towards the fully stocked end cap boasting “New Releases? More like New Favourites!”

The heaviest sigh comes out as he throws his head back, exposing his neck. You’d been here only a month but you were already keenly aware of Vessel’s body. You’d seen him do this multiple times a week. When a customer was difficult. When the regional manager had some asinine quota. When you…well…existed? But that got you acquainted with the delicate column of his throat. The strength of the sides sloping into his traps. Despite him icing you out, he was still hot.

“Yes, V. It’s stocked.”

“S’all you had to say. Taking my 15. Cheers.”

“Hey, on your way out can you take out th—“ but he’s already gone, “…trash?” You sigh heavily. “Fucker.”

Not two minutes later, a lone guy comes in. He gives you a polite wave when you welcome him in, seems nice enough. Probably the kind of guy who knows exactly what he wants, he’ll pay, and that’s it. But he lingers for a bit at the Staff Recs with a big grin. He picks up one of yours, the third of a wacky but popular horror franchise.

“This one yours?” He asks with a quirked up grin.

You laugh softly and do a little bow. “That it is. And I’m not going to apologize for it.”

“Oh you shouldn’t.” He shakes the box as he refers to the movie saying, “this subverts tropes as much as it regurgitates. People should apologize for shitting on it!”

“Exxaaccccttttlllyyyy,” you exclaim.

Finally. Someone who matches wits. You enjoy an animated conversation with about the franchise, the rumored reboots, other franchises…it’s refreshing. You barely realize Ves has come back from his break. He squeezes by you at the register mumbling, “lucky there isn’t a line right now.” But you ignore it. You have a handle on this. As you’re finally ringing up the guy, he mentions a series he thinks you might enjoy. And when you tell him you’d never heard about it before he gives you a smirk and leans forward as he takes his receipt.

“Maybe we should get together sometime…could get the box set. Takeaway even?” He winks. “Be seeing you.” He does a quick nod behind you, and you realize it was to Vessel, who was sulking in the corner of the little checkout boat.

“Oohhh let’s get together and talk about it…you’ll have to tell me all about it…I don’t know aaaannnnyythiing about anything,” he mocks. “You get off on that, don’t you?”

“What? Stimulating conversation about media? Yeah. It’s my kink.”

“Smart ass. No! Playing dumb.”

If looks could kill. But Vessel doesn’t care. He returns your icy gaze. “You’re just jealous.”

He scoffs and looks away, cheeks burning. “What’s there to be jealous of? You two aren’t actually going to meet up. Just like when you pulled that shit with me. Honestly…”

“Hah! No. You’re the one who fumbled that. You insulted my taste.”

“And you’re the one who took a joke wrong. And had the audacity to hit on me within your first two weeks here.” You swallow hard. He had a point. Here’s the other shoe dropping, but you weren’t going to run. Or fawn.

“I deserve that. I’m sorry.” You nod and lower your eyes.

“It’s…” Vessel seems shocked. Unbeknownst to you, Vessel has received maybe 3 genuine apologies in his whole life, each from family. “All’s forgiven.”

A sheepish smile pulls at your lips. “I’m going to take that trash out, yeah?” You say referring to the trash you had wanted him to take care of. He doesn’t protest and even thanks you.

As you’re tossing the garbage in the alley, you realize immediately…you’re not alone.

#sleep token fanfiction #sleep token fan fiction #sleep token x reader #vessel x reader #vessel x you #sleep token x you #woofie's situations #Spotify

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avelera · 5 months ago

Note

maybe I'm remembering wrong but I feel like some time ago I saw a post from you theorizing that Mel was Jayce's first for like, everything. I was wondering if you would be willing to expand on why you think that ;0

Yeah it's this post where I talk about how Jayce has the vibe of, "Intimidatingly hot girl that is so hot no one has ever asked her out before so she thinks she's unlovable."

I think Mel thought Jayce was a fuckboi. I mean, look at him! He totally looks like a muscle jock with a 1000 watt smile, who seems to soak up the adoration of the crowd, who seems based on his looks like he must have a vibrant sex life of sleeping with whoever he wants. To my eyes, Mel 100% thought that by sleeping with Jayce she would just be one of many and she could use the influence from that encounter to continue to manipulate him, but it would be a totally casual, sexual encounter.

Her belief he's a fuckboi seems to be confirmed when he's not there in the morning after they sleep together. You can see what's going through her head. She's thinking, "Welp, sleep with a fuckboi and you get a fuckboi. I don't know why I thought a party guy like that would stick around after, but I'm still disappointed." She is pissed and seems personally hurt/offended when he comes "crawling" back to apologize, and then he reveals it's because the single most important person in his life is dying.

Everything changes after that. Mel realizes she misunderstood Jayce. She realizes when he puts his head in her lap and kisses her wrist and is casually physically affectionate with her that she super-duper misread the situation. Jayce isn't a fuckboi. They slept together once and he thinks they're dating now! Mel actually looks like she's panicking there at how seriously he's taking this "relationship" AND she's realizing that she's taking him away from the actual love of his life, Viktor, so she fucked up big time. She literally reads the situation and immediately clocks, in my opinion, that Jayce is with the wrong person right now and possibly hasn't been aware of his love for Viktor and vice versa and as the one emotionally intelligent person in that trio says, "You lunatic, go back to your man right now, wtf are you doing here with me??" in so many words. She feels guilty and she realizes she fucked up and this actually very sweet guy is attached to her now. That's when she really begins to have feelings for him too but very much despite herself IMO.

As for Jayce being a virgin, or very near to it, I mean... Jayce doesn't notice people are attracted to him. He just doesn't. He's got random people sighing over him during Progress Day and he doesn't notice. He visibly swallows with nerves when Mel mildly flirts with him. He's not a fuckboi at all, if anything he's oblivious.

Basically, I think it fits that if Mel's not his actual first, she could very well be near his first. Jayce has been busy lately! Hextech is his dream, he's working at all hours, he's a hyperfixating nerd who spends all hours with his lab partner and if he's been hopelessly pining after Viktor then that's even more evidence he might have been "saving himself" for a marriage that didn't seem to be happening. Even when Mel kisses him, IMO Jayce's pause as he calculates whether or not he should reciprocate feels like he's thinking, "Do I have a shot with Viktor? No, sadly. Viktor's made it clear he's not interested so I might as well stop denying myself other relationships, especially with someone who expresses real interest and acts on it in a way my nerd-boy brain can understand." (Jayce is direct, he thinks in straight lines, and Mel flirts in the one way he understands IMO, but that's a meta for another day.)

So err, at the risk of rambling for 10 more pages, I think that addresses your question?

#jayvik #meljay #arcane #jayce talis #arcane meta

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libraryraccoon · 1 year ago

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Kk so I am too lazy to write on my own but I have come up with a pretty good day dream scenario that you can write for ( I might also do it but maybe not).

But a police officer with a strong sense of justice goes to hell and starts trying to organize after spawning in one of the worst areas in hell, even the overlords are hesitant to go in there. But as they gain more and more power the area to clean up expands.

Their really not a bad person , one of the only reasons their there is because they had premarital sex . ( They banged someone's wife when drunk).

Was killed by the husband by a shot in the chest. Now resemble a fox because of their wit and inganuty.

( in sry if it's too specific but you can cut out anything u don't want)

Gender : GN

Pronouns : None

Message from Raccoon : I try to write a police officer!reader, but i'm pretty sure it's bad.

TW : Reader is in Hell 2 years before the series, 🟣 (one time mentionned), violence.

General Headcanon

In your lifetime you were a police officer, and a good one at that.

But unfortunately, one day you died and arrived in hell.

The person you loved was cheating on their partner with you. They didn't like it and killed you.

You are now in Hell.

Hell sorely lacked justice, but it's okay, you will rectify it.. :)

Vox didn't like you. Like, really.

He heard about you after you nearly beat Valentino to death.

Why did you beat Valentino ? Because he was a 🟣, forcing people to prostitute themselves, and more.

You also beat Velvette a bit because she created the love potions.

So yes, he didn't like you.

He start to hate you when you broke his head/tv when you saw him manipulating people..

It's hell ! What did you expect ?! Everyone manipulates !

A violent police officer. This is what you were.

You killed everyone who did things against your morals... in one month you killed more than the exterminators ever did.

Adam sees you as a sort of rival/person on his level.

Alastor find you entertained.

You were the only one in Hell with a moral, so you were interesting.

He also finds it very interesting that you manage to beat 3 Overlords and that 2 Overlords (Carmilla and Zestial) consider you their equal.

He wanted to come talk to you, but he decided not to after seeing you kill a demon with an angelic weapon because they were cannibals.

Compared to what you might think, he have a sense of self-preservation.

When you arrived at the hotel, as part of security, Alastor was a little scared..

Especially when you pointed your gun at his forehead, where the hunter had shot, killing him when he was alived.

Bonus point if you are a dog demon, he is really scared and wonders if you want to reproduce his death.

Husk love you and love the fact that you can scared Alastor, he live for seeing that man being your victim.

Niffty love you, she think you are a real bad boy ! RIP

You and Vaggie get along well, you both know that not everyone can be redeemed (looking at Alastor from a distance) and you know how fucked up Hell is.

But you help Charlie because some still have a chance to redeem themselves (looking discreetly at Sir Pentious).

Sir Pentious was afraid of you at first, but in the end he start to like you.

You always get him out of the worst situations, I can imagine that you saw Vox try to use his power on Sir Pentious when he was a 'spy', and you directly destroyed the watch by throwing a knife at it.

Sir Pentious didn't even notice you were here-

After that, a long conversation followed about why we should not harm the Hotel and its residents and avoid the Vees.

Sir Pentious thanked you very much for that by the way.

After that Vox received a little visit from you..

If it wasn't for Charlie stopping you from killing him, he would have died instead of just being injured/broken.

Vox spent a week in repair/hospital.

Angel Dust adores you.

Every time you accompany him to work, strangely Valentino gives him the day off..

Yeah, he takes you with him whenever you can.

Even if you hate the Overlords, you are one of them.

Overlord D/N (demon name), the Police Officer of Hell.

Carmilla loves it when you are at meetings, the other Overlords (*cough* Vees *coughs*) are always calm when you are here.

You 🤝 break into Lucifer's house.

Yeah, because well before the hotel, 3 days after your arrival, you break into Lucifer's house.

Why ? Because you found unacceptable that he didn't manage Hell and let the demons do all they want.

You didn't expect to find yourself faced with a depressed father whose wife left 5 years ago and who he no longer really has contact with his daughter.

You had to play therapist and friend.

Literally you were giving him therapy sessions in exchange of him letting you stay at his house.

You don't even have a degree in therapy.

Lucifer considers you as his lifeline. He clings to you for dear life, metaphorically and literally.

Hurt this man and the next day you will find his corpse-

Is this a healthy friendship ? No, but are you going to ignore this fact and pretend everything is normal ? Yes.

You have changed his point of view on demons, in the sense that some, not all but some, can be redeemed.

I headcanon that you repaired Charlie and Lucifer's relationship, and that before the series.

Greatest dad didn't happen, sorry everyone.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x gn reader #hazbin hotel x male reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel vaggie #vox hazbin hotel #valentino #hazbin hotel velvette #husk #husker #niffty #alastor #angel dust #hazbin hotel adam #Raccoon is writing

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thedeviltohisangel · 1 month ago

Text

Over The Handlebars

a/n: i currently have no defense of myself. one shot series? send requests?

Charlie meets a man, not a boy, outside the bar while enjoying a bad habit after an even worse date. She learns his name, learns he likes the way she looks when she rides a bull and that he likes to leave a mark. It never once crossed her mind to ask where he worked.

The thing about time is that it never stood still. Even when it felt like it was. It kept ticking and tocking and turning and twisting. Maybe it moved slower or moved faster depending on how focused you were on its phenomenon. But it never stopped.

Your heart could stop.

Your brain could stop.

Your lungs could stop and the world around you could pinpoint into one singular moment to aid in the illusion that time was standing still. And your world was tiling off its axis. And that nothing had ever mattered before that moment at a bar in Pittsburgh.

Because maybe it hadn’t.

----

She should be doing anything other than this. Listening to a boy in a backwards hat tell her all about the bond he still maintained with his fraternity brothers. As any girl learns in a male dominated field, she nodded and smiled and laughed and hummed with acknowledgement at all the right times. She tried not to flinch when his hand landed harshly on her knee and squeezed like he was trying to juice a lemon. It wasn’t intimate. It wasn’t welcome. And it wasn’t going to lead anywhere.

“Can I get you another drink?” It was just loud enough in the bar that he had to raise his voice for her to hear. Just loud enough that he felt the need to lean forward and speak directly into her ear.

“No,” Charlie answered with a smile. She grabbed her purse from the bar top and planted her feet on the ground, made sure her denim skirt was still covering her pink underwear, and was off towards the back hallway where she knew a door would lead to a side exit.

Everything felt better once she walked through those doors. Once she felt like she was shedding the dead weight of yet another failed attempt at dating. For so many years she had focused on school and casual sex. Never looking for a partner beyond the comfort of the Baylor campus. It hadn’t been front of mind that one day she would graduate and have to expand her horizons if she hoped to find someone new to ease her stress. Though the drawer to her nightstand held almost everything she needed.

“Mind if I…?” she motioned towards the cigarette held in between the fingers of a young couple. They offered her the pack, Charlotte instantly feeling better once the flame brought it to life between her lips. “Thanks.” She walked further down the sidewalk, dodging the early beginnings of the Friday night crowd, before sitting on an empty bench that faced out towards the river.

“I heard those are bad for you these days.” He was leaning against a lamppost, his own cigarette balanced in his hands, eyes brown and full of burden.

“Yeah, that’s what they taught me at doctor school.” The embers went out beneath the toes of her black boots. “Vaping might be worse, though. Who the fuck knows anymore.”

“You don’t have enough wrinkles to sound like that yet.”

“It’s not the years, it’s the mileage.” He huffed out a laugh. One last drag and his embers were out too. “Then again, Temple of Doom didn’t pique my interest enough to see how that sentiment turns out for them.”

“I think Harrison Ford did okay. Your interest or lack thereof aside.” He sat next to her on the bench, far enough away to keep her personal space, and the world got quieter once they were breathing the same air. As if everything was settling to watch.

"All things considered, I suppose he did.” Charlie didn’t mind the silence. She didn’t have an option as an only child. Sometimes that was all that surrounded her. She didn’t mind it then and she didn’t mind it now as she breathed in the cool night air. “I just went on one of the shittiest dates of my life. And that’s really saying something. The bar is so fucking low.” She doesn’t know why she said it, only that she felt she needed to. Her friends back in Texas didn’t understand the trauma of modern dating. They had rings on their fingers before their Bachelor’s were in their hands. Her friends here weren’t real. Not yet at least. She had to tell someone about the boy at the bar and her bench mate seemed like the only one she was likely to find.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He would never understand how men fucked up everything good that came their way, himself included. She was beautiful. Quipped back at him without a second thought. Said curse words in a way so he felt them at the base of his spine.

“You’re married?”

“Never.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t even bother trying to get out there. It’s so not worth it." She looked him up and down. “You’d probably do numbers, though.” He was tall and broad and sturdy. A gold chain teasingly glinting around his neck, tattoos winking at her under his watch and eyes she kind of wanted to drown in.

“Can I buy you a drink?” His eyes were even more intoxicating as he looked at her with nothing else bleeding away his attention.

“What?” Why did she sound breathless?

“I would like to buy you a drink.” He pointed over his shoulder towards a bar that seemed to be playing country music. “At that bar right over there.” He held out his hand to her and she only contemplated for one second before she took it.

“You know that one has a mechanical bull, right? And I’m not liable for what happens once I lay my eyes on it.” He took his own second to picture her riding it. The slow grind of her hips. The way her skirt would move up and up and up until…

“Good thing at doctor school they don’t just teach you that smoking is bad, they also teach you how to set a broken arm.” Charlie looped her arm through his and couldn’t help the little flush warming her cheeks. It was so simple to offer his arm but no boy had ever done that for her. She supposes that was the difference between a boy and a man. “The name’s Michael, by the way.”

“Charlie.”

He was nervous as he held the door open for her and they entered the western-themed watering hole. There were a few couples dancing to the sounds of Ella Langley, girls who looked like they were here for a night of simple fun and a few regulars were posted at the bartop. “I’d ask if you came here often but that makes me want to cringe,” she laughed as his hand rested on the small of her back and led her to the bartender.

“I’m not the one who knew about the mechanical bull in the back.”

“Touche. I’ll have a Ranch Water, please.” Michael ordered a whiskey and she sat on the stool, her chin resting on her hand as she faced him. “The tequila is just a formality. I don’t even need it to get on the bull.” He chuckled and took a step closer to her, wanting to be in her orbit if only for a little while.

“I don’t doubt that. It’s polite to help a lady quench her thirst before she balances on a death trap for her own entertainment.” Charlie scoffed in response as her drink was placed in front of her.

“Afterwards we can do a poll and see how many of the males in this bar are entertained. Maybe even some of the females.” The image in his head was one he knew would not just entertain him but one that he would enjoy. He had no claim to the impending view but he felt the urge to shield it from every other patron.

She didn’t shy from looking him in the eyes as she sipped from her glass and he did his best to keep his eyes on hers even as she crossed her legs and he swears he saw a flash of something pink and lacy.

“You were going to ask if I came here often?” he asked with a clearing of his throat. “I don’t get out much. Demanding job with inconsistent hours. I normally like to spend my free time decompressing and relaxing. Maybe a cabin and a lake.”

“So my warning against dating was unnecessary,” she teased. Michael shrugged.

“I’m older, sure, but not dead.”

“No,” she began, “you’re handsome.” A word she didn’t use to describe males her own age. They were always cute or hot or something descriptor that suited their simple good looks and underdeveloped brain.

The longer she looked at him, the more she found to admire. Streaks of grey in his beard. The way his hair moved with every rake of his hand through it. The subtle smattering of freckles across the center of his face. All of it showed a life that had been lived and stories to tell. Charlie wanted to learn all of them.

“Thank you. I think you’re very-” She scrunched her nose and tipped her throat back to catch the last drop of tequila.

“It doesn’t mean anything when you’re the second person to say it. Now come on, my ride is ready.” She laughed and pulled at his hand, leading him over to the corner where a mechanical bull was lit by a red lightbulb. It was cheesy and embarrassing and exactly what Charlie was looking to get herself into.

“Well, well, well, look at this eager little princess,” came the voice of the operator as Charlie bounded right up to him. If Michael squeezed her hand tighter and thought about not letting go…he would stand by the statement that he didn’t. “Fellas, I think you’re gonna want to see this one!” The crowd started to form and eyes were stamping across every inch of bare skin as they prepared for what Michael knew was going to be a long and slow ride.

“You sure?” he asked as she turned to hand him her purse to hold. “Going to be a lot of eyes on you.” He felt protective of her. Felt like he wanted to shield her from the sneers and hunger.

“Yeah. Cause I’m only doing it for your eyes.” Fuck if she knew where this confidence was coming from. This desire to be seen and feel worthy of his attention. Something within her yearned to be the object of his affection and root of all desire. Call it her recent string of bad luck, professionally and romantically, that had her inhibitions lowered. Whatever it was, she was chasing it. And she was going to keep chasing it until it was in her grasp or slipped away into the night air without a second thought. Either way she wanted to know what it felt like to earn that look in his eyes.

It was a personal form of torture for Michael to watch her jump onto the back of the bull, that pink lace dancing across his vision, and then to try his best not to salivate at the sight of her thighs flexing against the seat. She rolled her shoulders back and held onto the pommel with one hand and he was right in his assessment of the operator. Long and slow ride. Just what the horny frat boys were hoping for. Just what he would be thinking about tonight in the shower. The cold, cold shower.

Charlie moved with the bull as it rocked and spun. She kept her legs tight and her upper body loose as she found balance and rhythm. She was acutely aware of the hoots and the hollers and the flash of iPhone cameras as the operator made sure they got a show. As she made sure to keep a shy and sly smile on her face. And sure she enjoyed the attention and knowing they would all eat from the palm of her hand. But there was a heat licking underneath her belly bottom with every glimpse of those brown eyes. The man she surprised even herself by taking such a liking to. That she didn’t push away and run from as soon as he was within her sight.

It was just a heat. A slow simmer or a crackling ember. But then she threw her head back and laughed. And he smiled. And all of sudden she wanted to know everything about him. Learn every story that existed in the lines of his face and the muscles of back. Learn what made him laugh. What made him angry. Happy. Sad.

But then she couldn’t stop the thoughts. The bull racing faster as her smile diminished and a sloppy looking college girl asked when it would be her turn. Because certainly this man didn’t see her like that. Certainly he had seen a sad, young girl and extended a hand. He was just being kind, just being polite. Certainly he was older and more established and had life plans that didn’t include her. No one’s plans ever included her so why would this stranger be any different?

She loosened the grip of her thighs and tumbled to the mat as gracefully as possible, crawling to the edge where that warm and calloused hand was once again extended towards her.

“Definitely worth the price of admission,” he said as she landed upright on her own two feet. Charlie tried to smile, tried to chuckle, tried to find that spark that had given her the courage to hold his hand in the first place. But the self-doubt was suffocating. It wouldn’t allow her a single other thought.

“I should go home,” she whispered, “I’m not feeling well.” His face fell. Worry replaced the joy that had been in his eyes just a moment before.

“Okay. Tequila and mechanical bull maybe don’t mix.” Charlie nodded and reached for her purse, Michael keeping a bit more distance this time as they walked towards the front door. “You live nearby? I can walk with you or call you a taxi or Uber or whatever the fuck it is now.”

“I can walk. It’s only a couple blocks.” He was shaking his head before she even had the chance to finish her sentence.

“Charlie, it’s no trouble. I’ll stay a hundred feet behind and just make sure you get through the front door safe-”

“I’ve been enough of a burden for you tonight-”

“-and then I’ll,” he paused with a furrowed brow. “Burden? What are you talking about?”

“You were clearly trying to be alone and find peace earlier and then I just couldn’t keep my mouth shut and how fucking embarrassing with the bull and I can get myself home. Please don’t let me ruin the rest of your night.” She turned, desperate to put space between them before she let her heart pull her back, when a gentle hand landed on her arm.

“Hey, I can’t let you leave thinking any of that.” Facing him again, she looked up and allowed herself to notice the details that had drawn her in earlier. He looked softer when she was this close. She liked it. “You wouldn’t let me say it earlier but I’m going to say it now. I saw a beautiful woman on a park bench and thought to myself that if I want things in my life to change, if I want to try and be happy again, then I have to take risks. So I swung for the fucking fences when I asked you to let me buy you a drink. And I am so out of practice but it felt so fucking good to sit at that bar with you. And I understand completely that you just want it to be a moment with a stranger and nothing more and you have a lifetime of nights like this ahead of you but…at least just let me walk you home. Please.” And then he could let her go. Let it just be a night where he felt capable of happiness again. Silently thank her for reminding him he was alive then be on his way. Back to the grind with the hopes of keeping that kernel of light as a reminder when his days hit their rock bottom.

Charlie thought that maybe she had been wrong. Maybe she did deserve to have a serendipitous moment in her life like this. Maybe there was someone in the world who could look at her and see something worth smiling at. Taking a chance on. And that wasn’t something she wanted to risk losing at all.

So she did the only sensible thing. She grabbed him by his collar and kissed him.

He was stunned at first but melted into her quickly, his hands wrapping around her waist to pull her tight against his body. And as she pressed onto her toes to get closer and closer, his hands slid lower and lower until they were tentatively resting over the curve of her ass.

“Please touch me,” she begged. His touch became a grip and turned from tentative to commanding, the last barrier of his sanity breaking with her words. Michael walked her back until she was against the brick wall of the alleyway. It freed his hands from holding her flush to move to her cheeks, to twist into her hair, to trace his thumb over the pulse racing in her throat.

And fuck if he didn’t groan into her mouth when her finger tugged at the golden chain around his neck. He slotted a leg between her thighs in appreciation and licked into her mouth with greed as she tugged at the belt loops of his jeans like a child did to his mother’s pant leg when they wanted a lollipop.

“Charlie,” he moaned, “Charlie-”

“Fuck, I need more, Michael. Please.” God, the sound of her begging for him. Saying his name like he would be the answer to all of her prayers. But he could hardly bring himself to deny her so her legs went around his waist and the heat between her legs was heady enough to feel through his jeans. “Yes,” she breathed as his lips moved to the side of her neck and her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she bit and sucked and lucked at the sensitive skin.

“You like when I leave a mark?” The same rich, gravely tone that had caught her attention had turned rougher with pleasure the closer she drove him to the edge. It was almost enough to render her speechless.

“I do.” She could tell behind his eyes he was about to go against his better judgement and ask once again to walk her home. With a completely different intention behind it. And against her better judgement she was going to let him into her apartment to ravage her.

“Right on, my guy! Fucking get it in!” The classic tone of fuck boy rang from the down the alleyway and a hand clamped down onto Michael’s shoulder and gave it a little shake before he was off cackling with his friends in the distance.

He expected Charlie to drop her head in shame or rapidly land on her feet to fix her skirt and run as far away from him and the embarrassment of being caught together as she could. But she merely smiled and kissed his forehead, then his cheek and then down his neck.

“I think I should actually get home now. Before we give them a show worth cheering for.” Michael helped himself to one more touch of her lips to his before she landed back on the asphalt of the alleyway. “God, I was so fucking right,” she murmured as she gave him a once over.

“On numerous counts, no doubt.” She drifted closer and he welcomed her in his arms.

“You’d do fucking numbers.”

----

They were both sad when they arrived at the door to her apartment building as quickly as they did, their hands squeezing together tightly as their feet slowed. He wasn’t going to ask for her phone number nor to see her again. He was going to put her back where she belonged in the universe and that was not in his orbit. One night was the medicine that had been prescribed to his aching soul, on the verge of giving out. One night was what had been granted his allotment for the feeling she spurred in his chest. One night would be enough. It had to be.

“Thank you for allowing me to walk you home.”

“Thank you for the drink.” Charlie didn’t want to linger. She knew the best course of action was to say goodnight and go upstairs and shower long enough to wash away whatever version of him was in her bloodstream. Instead, she reached a hand to his face and stroked her thumb over his cheek in a final farewell to a night that had reminded her of the fire that yearned inside of her. “Goodnight, Michael.” It was a whisper against the wind. But he felt it. And pressed his good night to her palm as she turned to leave him. And it would have been easier if it was like she had ever been there at all. But that was hardly true.

----

“Here’s the bathroom, which you’ll hardly have the chance to use, and over there is the scrub dispenser in case you need a new pair during shift. Just make sure you remember to put your old ones in first. I made that mistake my first week and re-victimized half the patients.” Charlie smiled and nodded, mentally cataloging the lay of the land that Samira was walking her through. “Any questions?”

“No, I don’t think so. Super thorough. This is my second emergency medicine rotation so the bones are the same.” She had to leave her last hospital in the middle of her second year to move and take care of her dad. She had fallen in love with the pace of life that emergency medicine offered and was thrilled PTMC was willing to accept her as a R2 transfer. She was even happier to meet Samira. To find another female doctor, the same age and year, was making her a little bit hopeful that she might be able to make a friend. Stay awhile.

“Let me introduce you to the attending. His full name is Robinavitch but he just goes by Robby.”

“Great!” Charlie turned to say hello to her new boss and was struck speechless. How many times did that make it in 48 hours that this man had done that to her?

“Dr. Robby, this is Dr. Charlotte Larson. She’s the R2 transfer we were talking about last shift.” Samira smiled but it fell slightly when neither of them seemed to be moving to introduce themselves. “I’ll let you two…” she trailed off and slowly backed away. It wasn’t worth trying to get in the middle of whatever that was.

“So when you said doctor school…” Michael began. “That wasn’t a joke.”

“No. I’ve got the loans to prove it.” Charlie swallowed around a lump in her throat. “I look forward to working with you, Dr. Robby.”

“Likewise, Dr. Larson. And not that it bears saying-”

“Never happened.” The words were acid on her tongue and the longing in his eyes was gone as quickly as it came.

“STEMI ten minutes out,” said Dana, the charge nurse, with a hand on Robby’s shoulder.

“Larson, you’re with me. Ready?” He handed her a pair of gloves and she shook the fog he brought to her brain and grabbed them.

Ready? Sure. As she’d ever be.

#the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt x oc #the pitt fanfiction #dr. robby #michael robinavitch #dr robby x oc #michael robinavitch x oc #noah wyle #samira mohan

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elliezlils11utt · 9 months ago

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I have no idea if this is how you send requests but could you write bsf ellie and reader getting high or drunk and ellie who's had a crush on the reader for ages is too drunk to control herself and she just starts rubbing the readers thigh which leads too..yknow stuff please.

Or she's just generally touching her up

‘WHAT DOES THIS MAKE US’ (e.w)

a/n: took a little creative liberty with this one. mb love.

warnings: both of yall r high asf, toxic!ellie at the end maybe? (not really), thigh riding, bsf!ellie, inexperienced!reader sorta, pet names (mama, sweets, ma, pretty girl)

ellie gets like this sometimes. after a good smoke sesh she js starts getting really fucking clingy and needy. she starts saying shit you know she wouldn’t say if she was sober. (not that your complaining) she’ll start complimenting you randomly. her fuzzy head js thinking about you and your ‘pretty smile’. now as much as you loved to hear her raspy voice tell you how beautiful you are and how she thinks your body is perfect, you know she’s not in her right mind. so u normally js giggle and play it off like a joke. this time though it was a lil different. you suggested you do a couple shots too. you two sit on her little couch. music lowly playing in the background, you take another hit of the blunt. feeling the burn follow through your lungs you exhale the smoke and pass it. a lazy smile on els face as you turn to her. ‘whatca smilin ‘bout over there els?’you question, handing her the weed. she takes a deep hit. you watch as her body expands with her breath. she blows the smoke from her lips she shakes her head lightly.

‘thinkin bout how pretty u r.’ she says so causally. fuck. the way she drags her vowels out when she’s high drives you fucking insane. your face flushes. a little giggle slipping.

‘yah? that how u feel els?’

‘mhm’ she hums. her eyes flow over every feature on ur face. lingering over your lips a little longer then they should. her eyes finally meet your own. your pondering expression causing her to raise a brow.

‘hm?’ she questions as you examine her. you take a moment.

‘what are you doing ellie? do u like me?‘

‘do I like you?’ she pauses. almost sounding completely offended you would even question her on that. ‘c’mer pretty girl’ she puts out the blunt & opens her arms. welcoming you to sit on her. and you do, you crawl over and plop yourself right on her lap. your legs stratilng her own. your hands placed on her chest. she peers into your eyes, looking through her lashes. a lazy smile on her face.

‘better?’ you whisper.

‘mhm. a lot better.’ her hands snake up your waist. slipping under your shirt her cold hands press against the plush of your warm hips. your skin kissed by her touch. she gently scratches at your back. her nails dragging circles up and down ur back. her fingers slip under the strap of your bra. playing with the lacy hem. ‘els your my best friend.’ you protest. not wanting to ruin the friendship you’ve built with Ellie.

‘so..?’ she replies. she undoes ur bra as she speaks.

‘fuck.’ you breath out. you place kisses down her throat. attacking her neck with love bites.

‘let’s get this off yah?’

she pulls your shirt over your head discarding it to be found at an later date (you will be searching for that shit for the next week and a half😭) your bra falls with it. her hands immediately find your tits. groping the fat of your boobs. your head falls back, a moan slipping past your lips. her hands snake back down your waist and she shifts you to the side. placing you on her thigh. your legs placed on either side of the muscle of her leg.

‘go on baby’ she coos.

‘what do you mean els?’

‘oh sweet girl, here lemme show you.’

she starts to slowly rock you back on forth on her. your clothed cunt rubbing against the soft of her thigh. you muffle the whimpers and whines by biting your bottom lip. you catch a hint and ride her. her red hooded eyes watching you closely.

‘that’s it mama. doin s’good f’me sweets’

‘oh god~’ you had never felt this good. this fuzzy feeling had formed in your stomach. like a knot begging to be untied. she pulls you farther up her thigh so your knee is pressed up her pussy. the uncomfortable wetness in her boxers becoming unbearable.

‘you close baby?’ your head bobbles fast. unable to answer her with words. ‘go on ma’, you can cum’

you thrust into her. the knot bursts. you spazz out following your high. mumbles of ‘thank yous’ fall outa ur mouth.

‘there we go, so pretty’ she coos as you fall onto her chest. your breath heaving and you pant into her. a goofy grin stuck to your cheeks.

‘how was that? still think i don’t like you?’ she says sarcastically, tracing circles into your sticky skin. your shirt and bra still gone.

‘that was fucking amazing ellie.’ you look up at her, staring into her eyes. she places a soft kiss onto your lips. your head falls back into the crook of her neck. you stay like this for a while. content with where you are. it feels safe.

‘what does this make us ellie?’

‘we can talk about it in the morning y/n, get some rest’

a/n: i apologize this is so shit

#tlou2 #tlou #tlou fanfiction #ellie tlou #girl in red #ellie x fem reader #bsf!ellie #inexperienced!reader #stoner!ellie #lesbian #wlw #saphic

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epickiya722 · 9 months ago

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You know what the moment it was revealed Izuku was left with the embers back in 424, I knew he was going to become Horikoshi's previous protagonist from 2008... Jack Midoriya.

I'm sure almost everyone has heard of Jack Midoriya, right?

Well, guess what, you are today!

Let me just point out something that I noticed when it comes to Horikoshi and his concepts and characters. Some of the characters are characters from his previous works and maybe he has used a certain concept before. Izuku Midoriya and his story is no different. It's been told before but in a different flavor.

(I kid you not that every time I think I'm done finding every character and concept Horikoshi has used before, I'm not done. I'll probably make a post of a list!)

For those who don't know, Horikoshi had an one-shot manga published back in 2008, which is 16 years ago, called My Hero. Already seems familiar, doesn't it?

Well, it should be. My Hero Academia is like a more revamped version of that story, just expanded with more added themes and characters and a different setting.

In summary of My Hero, Jack Midoriya is a salesman who wants to be a hero, but due to being anemic and failing his Hero License exam (yes, that exists), he can't become one officially. However, it doesn't stop him from trying! Throughout the story, Jack does still try to be a hero, using the gadgets the company he works for makes. Spoiler alert, by the end of the story, he is recognized as a hero. Especially, by the one person he has looked up, Snipe aka the real Positive, the mantle Jack used during his vigilante run.

Now, how does this may relate to Izuku Midoriya?

Throughout the story, it seemed that a quirk, a good one, is what was needed for someone to be a Hero. Izuku was born Quirkless and his dreams of being a Hero seemed fruitless, nearly shut down when his role model, All Might tells him so. (Which Snipe does to Jack.) However, after trying to save Katsuki, All Might sees that Izuku does have the ambition to be a Hero and Izuku inherits the One For All Quirk from him.

Now I know some of you said that was pointless for him to have a Quirk and then lose if he was going to become a Hero anyways using gadgets.

But, folks, that was it. There is a point. And the point is... it was pointless.

Here's what I'm getting...

One theme I think is often looked over is "be your unapologetic self" and another could be "work with what you have".

Izuku never needed a Quirk to be the best Hero he could be because he already had Heroic qualities, but he did need a Quirk to see that.

One For All was a Quirk that needed to be gone. It was a curse disguised as a blessing. It worked so to challenge Izuku into becoming the Hero he always meant to be. Just as Jack Midoriya did in his story.

Now that Izuku is Quirkless, he now can become that Hero. He still has room to grow and learn from what he did fail at in the past to be better in the future.

It wasn't something he was going to learn overnight just as society isn't going to change overnight.

While MHA has some fantasy elements, just like many other stories before and after, it is a reflection of the real world sometimes. One reality is that it takes a long time to finally understand something.

In real life, it takes people years to understand "Hey, that's not right" or "maybe I should change this about me".

The characters of MHA are no different.

"Society hasn't changed, there's still discrimination, there's still rankings and---"

Well, yeah. Again reflection of the real world.

And just because the changes aren't seen, doesn't mean that they can't happen or that they didn't happen.

The last chapter gave us glimpses of what transpires over the eight years. What if those events have changed? Even not then, what about later?

"What about the talk between Katsuki and Izuku?" Just because we didn't see it, didn't mean it didn't happen. It was revealed Katsuki put in a lot of money for Izuku's Hero equipment, so that's a sign for me that they did talk some more because knowing Katsuki, he wouldn't have just done that unless he knew Izuku would be okay with it somehow.

Hell, they still had two years of high school left together. You're telling me it's impossible that they didn't have a talk?!

Sometimes I feel like some of you decide "this sucks" is because you just don't have the patience to try to decipher the message yourself. You want it handed out to you.

Not me, I want a writer to challenge my imagination because that gets my mind working and really engaged with the story. I might not understand it, but it's not that big of a deal for me. I'll still try to understand and if I never get it, I'll just move on.

Really my overall take from "Izuku being Quirkless again but still a Hero" among other things is that yeah, work with what you have. Just because you receive something that may be a blessing, it will also curse you in some way. The things and changes you want won't happen overnight, it takes time. Izuku was already a Hero, or at least one in the making.

And honestly, Izuku wearing a suit (because he's a teacher) and still being a Hero with gadgets just visually is like a reminder of "I'm not forgetting where I started" from Horikoshi.

It's wholesome in a way that he went back to an earlier work and still used his intended concept for Izuku (he wanted to make him an adult but had to change it to Izuku being a high schooler) of his last chapter. Full circle! My Hero may not be Horikoshi's first work (yes, folks, it's not), but it's familiar.

And I know some of you may not care for my opinion because I'm sure this post made you feel some kind of way (not my intention, but damn it, I'm tired of not expressing how I feel), but I know some of you might.

My overall thought of the finale? It is not as bad as some of you make it out to be. I'm sure there are worse endings out there and it's not like Izuku didn't become a Hero. It's not like Izuku didn't have people by his side because he did.

"But he was lonely." Well, you would, too if you couldn't hang out with your friends. But they're adults now and busy. Izuku is busy, too, he's a teacher.

"But Izuku's feelings!" Cut it because this is the same fandom where some of you don't care how he feels. He cries, it was annoying to you. Oh, but when he was neglecting himself y'all sure was like "yeah so badass".

I see myself in Izuku with how he treats his emotions. He's expressive, but he also tends to keep in his feelings. He even keeps them from us, the audience.

"Eight years it took him to be a Hero again!" Back to my original point. Izuku was always a Hero. You don't have to go out there and fight to be one. You don't need a Quirk to be one.

Overall, I don't hate the ending at all. It have easily been worse.

Sure I would have loved more Miruko, but I'm glad she's alive and some other Heroes didn't get the spotlight like that anyways. She is still a minor character, so I'm not actually upset. 😆

#just kiya's thoughts #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha 430 #mha 430 #midoriya izuku #izuku midoriya #deku #horikoshi kohei #kohei horikoshi #my hero #jack midoriya #midoriya jack #bnha final chapter #mha final chapter #bnha finale #mha finale

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ellaa-writes · 2 years ago

Text

The Beast Within

author note: Part 1. Part 2 here. I wrote something close to this story on my first blog but I decided to redo it and maybe make it into a series? Anyways Alpha König is back! Alpha König headcanon can be found here. Will help with understanding this König. masterlist

summary: Omegas are rare, in a world full of Alphas and Betas. Being a Omega was not only dangerous but they were highly sought after. After living your life has a Beta in disguise, you meet a scary Alpha, but not any normal alpha. But a gaint Apex Alpha who won't stop at anything to make you his.

tags: 18+ only, slightly dub-con/non-con. Kidnapping vibes, Alpha/Omega dynamics. Female reader Mentions of alcohol and blood. Marking/biting. This is an Alternative Universe (which will be expanded). No smut in this but their will be eventual smut. vague mentions of nudity. Not proof read.

This was dangerous but it was exhilarating. The adrenaline coursing through your body gave you the sweetest high. You were in a packed night club somewhere in central Europe. The special blend of herbs and modern day pharmaceuticals that your best friend Kalina gave to you earlier, helping to mask your true identity. You were an Omega, which is very rare in this day and age. And there had to be at least hundreds of Alphas packed into this dimly lit club, bodies grinding on bodies. The musky smell and loud music filling the air.

Your friends got a private table on the 2nd floor, above the dance floor you were currently looking down on. You should be at home, preparing for you next heat that is only a couple of days away. But you've had a rough week at work, wanting nothing more but to feel the buzzing numbness from the alcohol. Turning back to your friends, one of them sliding a shot glass in your direction. Grabbing it and holding it in that air with the others. Bringing it to your lips and savouring the burning liquid. Joining the rest in slamming the small glass back in the table. One of your friends already trying to flag the bottle girl down for another round of shots. You sink was feeling warm and sticky, the alcohol doing its job. You closed you eyes for a second, enjoying the music and the vibration it sent through your body. But there was something else, something different.

It began creeping up your slow spine, goosebumps forming in its path up to the back of your neck. Where it bit down and stung, your reflexes acting out you touched your neck. Trying to find any indication you were bitten, but there was nothing. That strange feeling was sitting heavy in your stomach, it was either the 3 shots and 2 margheritas you had or the world was about to end. You slowly turned back towards the dance floor, but it wasn't down below. It was sitting across, in another private section. His eyes were burning flames of ember staring into you with such a fierceness that it scared you a bit. Your best friend reached out touching your arm which snapped you out of the trance you were in. Bringing you back to your surroundings. She looked at you with concern "You feeling ok?" she began rubbing her hand up and down your arm. You gave her a smile, nodding you head "Yeah, yes... I'm good. Just getting a little warm that's all." you let her know. A few of your friends began cheering when the server brought over another tray of shots. Making you and her to laugh, joining in and grabbing the glass from the tray before it was lifted away." Hold on, wait up. I just wanted to say, that I love you all so much and let's all hopefully get laid tonight. Alright, good!" Meave said, she was the oldest out of your group. Her gorgeous red hair danced around her shoulders while she did her speech, looking right into your eyes when she mention getting laid. Which made you blush, feeling a little embarrassed that she even said that. But it wouldn't be true to Meave. Her and Kalina are cousins, after meeting Kalina in year 1 you three became inseparable. "Oh don't listen to her babe." another one of your other friends whispered into your ear, making you giggle. You took the shot, setting the glass back down. You all but almost forgot about the stranger staring you down. But another stinging bite at the base of your neck, making you jump and yulp out of shock. Kalina and Maeve looking at you with concern. "I think something bit me" you yelled out, making a few of them laugh. You didn't notice it, when Kalina found the same eyes you saw earlier. The same uneasy feeling washed over her, she knew what he was. She could feel the power radiating off of the Alpha, but he wasn't just any ordinary Alpha. He was an Apex Alpha, she knew you were in danger. Apex Alphas were stronger than a normal Alpha, not just in psychical strength but mentally too. Their senses highented, making them damn nearly a God. At one point in history they were viewed as the closest thing to a demi-God, many believing they were the most special, having the blood and DNA of the gods running through them.

She grabbed you arm quickly standing up and pulling you up with her. Laughing you asked her "What's going on" trying to balance in the heals that Meave borrowed to you. "We need to go, like right now." she began pulling you towards the stairs, ignoring the calls from the others. She lead you down the steps, through the bodies and to the entrance of the club. "Hold up, Kalina. What the hell is going on." you tried pulling back, to slow her down but her grub only got stronger while she dragging through the exit and out onto the street. "Hey Kalina, talk to me." you tried getting in front of her. Trying to get her attention, but Kalina was in flight mode. Searching the street for any sign of taxi, when she found one she marched right over with you still in tow. Banging in the front passenger window, catching the driver off guard. "Are you running?" she asked quickly, the driver bossing his head and unlocking the door. "Hurry, get in. Quickly." she said while opening the back seat door and shoving you in. "Kalina what the fuck is going on." you asked while she closed the door. Reaching for the window down button. "Please get home and lock up immediately. I'll tell you later." she told you. She then went back to the front window and gave the driver your address before he quickly pulled away from the street and towards the direction of your small apartment.

You sat in the back seat, confused and starting to feel sick. The alcohol turning into bricks in your stomach.

Kalina watched has the taxi drove away, praying you'd get home safe and listen to her and lock up. Hoping that the Alpha would lose your sent. She turned back towards the club, noticing the Alpha storming out. His nose high in the air, sniffing you out. His eyes snapped towards her, her own fear taking over. She should have gotten in the car with you, but now she's in the path between a angry honey alpha and sweet omega pussy. She always pittied you, when you were young and coming into puberty. She could smell the changes happening to you, they were different than hers. She was a simple beta, but you became an omega. She knew the rarity of it, she also knew the risk of began one. Many of the omega being snatched up, nothing more than breeding machines to produce more alphas, female or male. She began helping you mask your smell at a young age and disguising yourself as a beta.

Sticking her head up high and ignoring the heated look he was giving her. She began to make her way back inside, but not before being pulled to the side by a pair of very thick solid fingers. The alpha had her corned, looking down at her. His nostrils flaring with anger, his chest rising and falling. He was trying to control himself, trying to push the animal that was inside him down. "Where is she." he said in between breaths. Kalina yanked her arm back "None of your business, now will you please excuse me." she began to move past the alpha but he grabbed her again. "Get off me." she yelled. Causing the bouncer and a few others to look in their direction. "You can't hide her forever." he called out to Kalina as she disappeared back inside. She hoped he was wrong.

You made your way inside you one bedroom apartment. Closing the door and locking in behind you. Your feet were sore and your head felt heavy. Walking into your kitchen to grab and glass of water. Standing in the dark, debating if you should wash your face or deal with the consequences in the morning. Refilling the glass you slowly walked to your small bathroom, turning the light on which made you wince. Pulling your hair back and using your expensive cleanser, one of the few things you splurge on. You found yourself kicking off the heals and peeling the tight dress you hand on off and falling into your bed. Only wearing the silky panties you had on, pulling the blankets down and over your body. Sleep found you quickly, drifting off into dreamland.

You woke a few hours later to what sounded like banging. You sat up in your bed, the blanket having fallen to your hips. Your tits out in the open, the air was cold causing your nipples to perk up. Listening in the dark for anymore noises and not hearing anything else you laid back down. Snuggling into your pillow, ready to fall back to sleep. But you heard your bedroom door slowly creak open. Your eyes snapped open, every hair on your body standing straight up. The same stinging from earlier made its way to the base of your neck again.

You instinctively reached out to your phone, but before you could full grab it. It was thrown across the room and you were flipped over on your back. The blanket that was covering your chest now on the floor. Thick hard fingers found themselves around your throat. The same burning ember eyes from the club were looking down at you. You didn't get a good look at him before, but you could see him clearly now. He was massive, not only in size but also in height. His head had to be nearly touching the ceiling. He was looking at with with such intense lust, the corners of his mouth turning up into a smirk. "I found you." was all he said before he removed his hand from your throat and brought his mouth to replace it. You could feel his hot breath fanning out over you jaw and down your chest. He pushed his nose into the vein that ran down the side, lightly licking its trail down to your crease were you neck net your shoulders. He paused a bit before he opened his jaw and bit down hard. Causing you to screaming and thrash, trying to push this gaint off of you. The trance you were in breaking and the panic and fear consuming you. Your screams got louder before his hand found its place over your mouth. "Shhh, darling. It's ok, I found you. Your safe now." he whispered into the side of your temple. Having released your neck, you could feel the blood drip down your back and onto the sheets below you. You began feeling dizzy, your vision getting blurry. He was still cooing into your temple, lightly kissing it and brushing his free hand over your hair. Trying to easy your fear and pain. You were stronger than he thought, fighting his trance once again. Once he felt you go limp in his arms, he let you go. Moving towards your closet, pulling out a shirt to cover you up with. He needed to cover you up, he knew if he didn't he would lose control. The beast in him still snarling and growling to get out.

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