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dreamermonica · 1 year

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“how much do you love me?”

in which you question the extent of their love out of the blue.

—includes itoshi sae, itoshi rin, michael kaiser, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, barou shouei

—gender neutral reader, isagi is the only normal one AGAIN, trigger warning for kais*r himself, established relationships, fluff, crack, nagi’s got a bit too real for a sec, some swearing, yeah this is reminiscent of my most popular post on genshinblr what abt it😤

SAE surprisingly ponders your question. years of your random questions getting ignored has its effects, and it is definitely the reason you're now staring at him like a madman, ready to catch his response in an instant. oh my, you think your heart isn't ready for this. what could your lovely and handsome boyfriend say that'll effectively swoop you off your fee—

“as much as one would love a rock, i guess.”

you whine as you throw your head back in frustration, sliding off the couch dramatically, earning him a scoff. “so mean! and unromantic too! pick a disability, not multiple!”

“well, you're as dumb as a rock. can't have too much in this world, unfortunately.”

a pout makes its way to your features, before suddenly switching into a suspicious frown when you see a small smile creeping on his face.

wait...you're as dumb as a rock?

“oh...?” your face immediately looks up at him. “and how much do you love this stupid rock exactly...?”

seeing that you finally caught on his antics, a heart-fluttering chuckle escapes his lips, his eyes shut in amusement as your heart beat quickens at the melodious sound.

“a lot—as in more than anything in this world.”

RIN ignores you. acts like you never spoke in the first place. why? hah, his pride's too high for him to even properly answer that. even if he said something that's relatively joking or teasing, it'd be lying in a way, right? so what purpose would it solve in answering your question? exactly. none. so you get no response, whatsoever.

“rin-chan, answer my question, please?”

radio silence.

“rrrrrrrrrin. rinnnnnn. riiiiiiiiiiin. RIN!”

he still continues on walking, gaze still ahead whilst you struggle to waddle along with his wide strides, opting to grab his arms as to not get left behind.

“itoshi rin! just how much do you love m—”

he places his gloved hand flat against your face, shutting you up as he moves you away from his line of sight. his teal stare still bored and unbothered.

“any louder and you'll attract attention. i don't want paparazzi stuck to us for the rest of the day.”

you narrow your eyes at him as he practically drags you along, legs unable to keep up with his pace. “i don't see how that refrains you from answering my question, though.”

“i won't answer a question you already know the answer to, so shut up.”

you blink twice, swearing you just saw his cheeks go a bit red for a quick second. were you seeing things...?

KAISER, the mischief, always has to edge you on for a bit before giving you what you want. (🤨📸) it's how he functions as a partner—never failing to be an infuriating piece of shit who gets on your nerves whenever he gets a chance. what makes you think now would be an exception?

“hmm...” he hums with that annoying curl of his lips once more, feigning thoughtfulness. “what do you think?”

“more than you love yourself?” you guess expectantly.

but with how he gasps dramatically at you, all your expectations of the narcissistic king drop like dead flies. your expression must’ve also dropped without you noticing, because now, your asshole of a boyfriend is cackling at you. you mercifully resist the urge to hit his annoyingly pretty face as you pout and face away from him with a huff.

“what’s with that glare? i didn’t mean it, you know.” yet he continues to snicker like a child.

“what did i even expect from you…" you sigh, visibly deflating in disappointment as you stand up to leave. “i’m an idiot.”

“yep, you are for even believing i’d—” wrapping his arms around your frame, he pulls you onto his lap with yet another shit-eating grin of his. “—let you go like that. now gimme a kiss, chuu—”

pushing away his exaggerated puckered lips from your face, still glaring at him. “what do you say first, my liebe?”

he chuckles, half of his face flat against your palm that’s pushing him away. “i’m very sorry. i love you more than anything. well, except my side chicks—” your glare turns into a scowl. “—just kidding! i love you, baby. so much that i’d give up anything in this world just to see you smile.”

removing your hand from his face, you finally let him attack you with his kisses.

REO smugly raises his black card. well, it would’ve been a lot more cool and impressive if he didn’t practically jump out of the couch in his pajamas and full-on sprinted to his bedroom to fetch it. was he waiting for this question for a long time now?

“…what’s that have to do with—”

“i love you, as much as the amount within this baby right here. if not, then more!” he slaps the who-knows-how-much card onto the coffee table, gazing at you with excitement not much unlike a puppy waiting for the coos and praises of its owner after fetching them a stick.

adorable. so goddamn cute. ahhhhh. you want to rip your hair out.

“how long were you waiting for this moment…?” why does this scene seem so familiar?

"a long time. i saw this while reading one of the romance novels you had, and i just had to do it.” he smiles sheepishly at you. “was my excitement a dead giveaway or…?”

that explains the feeling of deja vu, then. you remember getting giddy over that specific scene. mindlessly, you snort at the fact that this man has more achievements than anyone you’ve ever known yet he’s still trying to impress you. jesus. he’s so…

you lean over to him, grasping his hand in your own. “you know, you look so kissable right now.”

he perks up immediately. “heh—then, don’t mind me if i do.”

NAGI hums, animatedly tapping away at his game, not sparing you a glance. “would it be bad if i said that question’s a hassle?”

“…? why do you think so?”

“well…you’re only asking that because you want me to say something that’ll uh…make you blush or something right?” he starts, voice remaining bored as ever. “but if i don’t manage to, you’ll be dissatisfied or even use it as leverage to get mad at me to get my attention.”

you frown. “what are you—”

“i don’t mean it in a bad way.” he finally looks at you, a bold ‘victory!’ visible on his phone screen. “it’s not that i’m not willing to indulge you—it’s just that i don’t really know how to be romantic, and i also don’t wanna make you sad so…”

you blink when he performs a beckoning motion with his fingers, silently requesting for you to come near him.

complying with a raised brow, your confusion is immediately replaced by shock, and maybe a tad bit of warmth as the tall boy’s arm wrap themselves around your form, pulling you down with him with a small ‘oof’.

“n—nagi!?” you squirm.

“i love you a lot, [name].” he nuzzles his face onto your hair, his next words a bit muffled as they left his lips. “so don’t get mad at me, please?”

how in the world are you going to get mad at this goddamn sloth when he’s acting like this??

ISAGI blinks. scanning your face for a moment for any uncertainty or insecurity that might’ve influenced your posed question. but when he finds none, redness takes control of his entire face like a infectious parasite.

“why do you want to know?” his voice is meek, most likely caught off guard by such a direct question.

“just curious.” you reply, smiling at the way he seems so wrapped up in your finger despite it being so loose. “you don’t have to answer though. it’s quite an open question—vague and has a lot of possible answers.”

he stares down at his palm, carefully planning out his next choice of words for your inquiry. he really wants to provide an answer, something that shows he’s completely confident in your relationship. but…

how much he loves you? how is he even going to start?

“i’m not really sure how to put it but,” he starts, determination on his expression as he turns to look at you. “i’m certain i love you a lot. not sure just how much exactly but…”

“if it could go by anything, i think about you so much that my first instinct in the morning is to grab my phone and text you a good morning,” he adds on while rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “i-i don’t know. was that a good way of putting it? there’s also the fact that i always unconsciously brew two coffees even when we don’t live together, and oh! there’s also that time i—”

too caught up in his mind to recount the times his love had overshadowed his rationality and normalcy, he fails to see the lovestruck gaze given by a certain someone, completely and utterly in love with the man chatting away that you could probably see hearts in those [e/c] irises.

just wait till you start on sharing your side of the relationship.

BACHIRA grins impishly as he takes out a ruler, pulling down an imaginary board from thin air whilst putting on some nerdy glasses from nowhere. he points the tip of the ruler on an equation, your face now deadpan.

what is he doing…?

“the formula for measuring my love for [name]! note; very easy!”

you snort at his antics, before deciding to play along as you nod for him to continue.

with his ever-present grin, he taps the board with his ruler, adjusting his glasses as if to catch your attention like a typical teacher. “now, [name], can you try to answer this equation for me? these glasses are kinda blurry.”

n-no teaching or guides at all? uhm, okay.

you suck in a breath, gazing at the imaginative board with an unperturbed focus.

[name]’s infinite beauty x [name]’s infinite kindess x [name]’s infinite funniness equals N…what are these variables?

this shouldn’t even be a working equation but if you’re playing with how bachira’s mind works, then…“infinite?”

“yes!" he swoops in lowly and sweeps you off your feet, a yelp escaping your lips as he lifts you up bridal style. “looks like i have to add [name]’s infinite smartness into the equation too, what do you say?”

“whatever you want. but i think i need to mention that infinity isn’t actually a number so i think you’ll have to make a different formula—”

“jokes on you, i won’t let the laws of math deter me from figuring out the estimate of my infinite love!”

BAROU sneers. making quite an ugly face that forces you to be wary if he’s about to spit in your face or not.

“hah, when and where did you hear that i, the king, loved you, a mere peasant??”

raising a brow at him, you quickly throw a glance at the bouquet of flowers delicately placed onto a polishes and refined vase, the glint of its glassy appearance reminding you who it undoubtedly came from, and whom it was given to.

“at the front of that bakery you like, around 3pm on a sunday a few weeks ago, after i gave you flowers, you replied to my confession by saying—” you’re promptly cut off as an oven mitt is unceremoniously thrown at your face.

“what the hell?” he says breathlessly, letting out an unbelieving scoff as he crosses his arms. like a tsundere. “why do you even remember all that? creep.”

“well, you see, it was the first time king barou had bared his feelings towards me. an extremely rare moment, even though we’re basically dating right now.”

his eye twitches. “WHO THE HELL SAID WE WERE DATING?!”

“eh?” your sarcasm is immediately gone. “you said you loved me back, so i thought that—”

“is that why you’re always in my goddamn house unannounced??” he cuts you off, again.

“it’s kinda late to retract my view of our status now though. your sisters really like me as your lover for some reason.”

he responds with a groan, muttering something about how his soccer is now doomed by some outsider. silly king. he doesn’t even notice that he could always kick you out, yet simply chooses not to.

no i didn’t add a part where they’d explicitly have to theoretically choose between you or soccer because lets be fr they’d all choose to kick a ball forever over some head

its 3am rn (no beta we die like men) so if theres a few typos or pronoun and grammatical errors that ive missed, please do tell me!

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liliannadelaphinehartifelt · 2 months

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Alastor - [ CONTROL ]

xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxx

[ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ FEM READER ] + [ CNC ] + [ SLIGHT BONDAGE ] + [ MENTIONS OF BLOOD ]

( as always lmk the artist for the fanart so i can tag them properly thanks)

xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxx

Hours.

You’d been at Alastor’s complete mercy for hours…

All because you dared to tell him ‘no’ once. You hadn’t meant to let the defiant response out but in the moment you were overwhelmed and extremely emotional.

It wasn’t your fault that every emotion you felt doubled in intensity during your heat, triggering a less than agreeable version of yourself, and consequently making your giving nature highly restrictive.

How could you give anything to anyone when all your mind could comprehend was taking from them? Using anything and anyone for pleasure or downright zoning the rest of hell out to think about doing it nonstop.

You couldn’t function properly like that and Alastor took advantage of your distracted state time and time again.

He’d spawned into your room, proclaiming he had a task for you to complete, one that ruined your solitude and would take all day.

“My dear, return this to Rosie for me,” he set a stack of books on your disorientated bed, not at all bothered by the glare you shot him as your head peeked from under the heavy duvet you’d curled into.

Couldn’t he see you were busy?

Nearly encompascited at this point, unable to speak without whining, and noticeably shaking as if your body was withdrawing from some awful drug.

In a sense, it was, but withdrawal wouldn’t cure your state.

However, Alastor refused to leave until he heard a response, standing stock still beside your bed with that devilish smile plastered on his face, and the sight drove you mad.

He was so infuriating, looking over you all the time, demanding one thing after the next, and always acting smug…

Telling what to do, when to do it, and how..

Controlling nearly every move you made with a single look, languid gesture, and passive command…

Oh, how you hated being under his unruly thumb but every time hatred surfaced a dull annoying wave of arousal would follow.

Alastor owned you, the essence of your soul, and yet every instinct and nerve you possessed was more agitated by the fact that he wasn’t staking a claim on your body as well.

So, out of pure spite, and slight uncharacteristic boldness you sat up on your knees and got right in his face. Alastor’s gaze raked over your flustered body as you carelessly unraveled yourself from the covers, almost bare in his presence if it weren’t for the oversized dress shirt you’d put on, but he wasn’t given much time to admire your smaller frame trying to size up his larger one.

His attention no longer mildly revolving around your exposed skin but rather the spiteful “No,” you hissed out.

That was new…

Alastor could’ve sworn your soul was his and not your own…which meant refusing him should never be an option.

You watched as his eyes narrowed at you, his grin widening as anger clouded his aura, but unlike other instances you didn’t shrink away or apologize.

No, you decided to take it further. Wanting to push the radio demons limits since he so proudly proclaimed that ripping your soul to pieces wouldn’t be a bother to him.

Maybe then he’d touch you or at least end your suffering through this heat.

“What did you just say to me?” Alastor seethes, static overriding his voice more than usual as you smile at him defiantly and repeat yourself loud and clear.

“I said: No. So, fuck off and find another poor soul to do your bidding…”

Alastor for the first time in a long time since his arrival in hell felt hot rage course through him as you collapsed back into bed like you’d won whatever argument you thought he was entertaining.

You heart was racing as you curled back into the covers, core throbbing with anticipation as his eyes burned holes into the back your head, and the demeaning silence seeming louder the longer he stared.

His ears twitched, smile almost a wicked snarl as his anger began to manifest into physical prowess. “Surely, you’ve mistaken me for someone who cares what you want or think…” he seethes, letting his natural voice ring freely through your room.

Not a good sign at all…not for you, anyway…

A sharp searing pain entraps your throat, a very familiar green chain binding itself to your neck, and with one swift tug on it Alastor has you up on your knees facing him again.

You instinctively wrench your head back, teeth gritting together as your hands fly up to claw at the materialized collar, but your efforts for freedom prove useless when Alastor yanks the restraint so harshly it chokes you for a solid minute.

“I’m more than willing to correct that assumption, darling. “ His lips brush yours as he speaks, sending shivers through you with every word, but you find the will to respond defiantly.

“You wouldn’t dare…” you snicker at the overload, attempting to jerk back from him again, but failing miserably as Alastor pulled the chain taut around one hand while raising the other to grip your jaw.

His claws dug into your cheeks, nearly drawing blood from the sheer pressure he enforced to keep you still, and you only complied when the pain became distracting.

You’d surely have marks left on your face but it was worth it. At least then everyone might realize how much of a fight you put up with Alastor, that despite being indebted to him you fought for freedom every chance you got, and had the scars to prove it.

Though he did find your stubbornness amusing most of the time, at this particular moment you were taking his patience too far and he was well aware it wasn’t intentional -more so a side effect of your predicament- but what was the fun in excusing your behavior on a technicality?

You would need to learn your place one way or another.

“Is that a challenge, little doe?” Alastor held your gaze, his shadows beginning to emerge and slither around your body. The ghostly chill they emitted never faded, cooling your burning skin as each spectrum bound your wrists, snaked around your thighs, and twisted up your entire torso. Alastor hummed in approval as the shadowy tentacles tightened, pressing the red linen fabric of the shirt to your skin, accentuating every curve you had and gradually riding the hem of it higher up your thighs.

You jolted feverishly, relived to be touched finally, but beyond agitated with your current position. Every shift and twist of the shadows sent a surge of arousal to your core, causing slick to drip down your legs, and the sensation threatened your ego.

Were you really about to cum from being talked down to and restrained? By Alastor no less, the very reason you’d lost free will, but the only demon you fantasized about constantly…

“Don’t look so fearful, my dear. I only wish to teach you a much needed lesson….” You stiffen as a shadow passes over your clothed cunt, sliding back and forth at his will, and easing more cum out of you with every motion.

“S-stop..” you moan softly, wanting to fall forward against his chest as your thighs trembled, but you’re kept perfectly balanced without Alastor’s direct support. He watches, drinking in the way your defiant expressions dissolve into lucid pleasure induced hazes, and keeping careful track of how fast his shadow slithers over your cunt. Your head drops as the world starts to spin around you, everything feeling fuzzy as the knot in your stomach tightened, and any resolve you had left fading quicker than you anticipated.

A perfect picture of submission…

Alastor dipped his head then, leaning over you to get a taste of your skin, teeth nipping at your ear, and his tongue dragging along the flushed skin of your neck. “Mmmm….d-don’t,” you whimper and shake, unconsciously arching your body closer to his as your eyes slide shut, but he simply ignores your pleas. His subtle licks and bites progress to intentional kisses, earning desperate moans from you, and desiccating what little self respect you had left.

It was hard to think straight, wanting to come undone already, and your cunt clenching around nothing with only his shadows dragging across your slit in a set pace. String after string of wanton moans leaped from your throat as his specters fondled your body, squeezing your breasts, swirling your waist to keep your hips rolling against your will, and securing your arms in a painful bind behind your back.

Alastor tugged on the chain occasionally, laughing into your ear every-time you choked on a sob or preemptively gasped for breath, and the contrasting sensations left you unprepared and incredibly delirious.

“N-nigh…ahm’m! Hah…hah…ah…” you struggled one last time, losing strength as your legs buckled indirectly shifting your balance to one side. Alastor let you fall, finding your state pathetic, but amusing.

His shadows never ceased as your back hit the mess of covers on your bed, seeming to get bolder as they slithered under the dress shirt, and held your legs apart to give the owner of your soul a clear view of your drenched cunt.

Alastor took quite a good look too, slowly lowering himself to be face to face with your heated core as he spoke down to you, “My, my…you truly have some worth to me now, ma chère…. I hope you don’t mind if I have a taste…” The stag peered up at your flushed expression, smile widening seeing the panic in your gaze flicker with eagerness, but the animosity ever present.

Hate.

You truly did hate Alastor.

He found it the most appealing aspect about you, a girl so desperate for power, now naively giving it away to him after failing to attain any.

A hatred he could consume, taunt, and use to keep you in line.

Even now, as his tongue replaced the shadows task of ravishing your cunt he could feel the waves of anger merging with satisfaction pouring straight out of you and into his waiting mouth. He hummed against your folds when you hips lifted sparactically, wordlessly begging him to go further, push your harder over the edge.

“Fuck…fuck! N-no…y-yes!..” you cried endlessly, out of breath as he lapped up your essence, “So…indecisive…” Alastor drawled against your cunt with a smirk gracing his slick lips.

You attempted to sit up, struggle, or scramble away from him altogether but his shadows wrestled your small body down into submission again. The air grew thick, laced with hushed radio static, and faintly distinct screams of the many souls Alastor had ripped and devoured to shreds mixed together. It was a warning to you -a threat in Alastor’s definition- and you broke into a cold sweat as he sat up on his knees to glare down at your trembling form.

Alastor tilted his head, red eyes threatening to dilate, and a green hue starting to flicker around him.

“Move again without my explicit permission, my dear, and I’ll fuck you within an inch of your pathetic life before ripping what remains of your precious soul to pieces…”

Fear, wouldn’t begin to describe the blood chilling emotion that flooded you as his smile became eerily soft, not at all reaching his eyes, and the distortion in his tone reaching new heights as he lowered his face a millimeter from your own.

“Understood?” Alastor quipped, addicted to seeing your hopeful eyes darken with despair and lust when he threatened you into submission, “U-understood…” you mumble in return.

“Splendid! Now,….where was I?…”

The stag observed your restrained state, presenting a false sense of confusion as his shadows continued to toy with you, and when an inkling of a moan threatened to fly from your drooling mouth a tentacle invaded that space too.

Alastor chuckled lowly, finding the sight of you choking on the spectrum delightful, and your distressed gasps for air dwindling to pleasured whines becoming music to his ears. They flicked atop his head, perking up when you rolled your eyes to the back of your own while the shadow swirled in your throat as if searching for more warmth in your fragile body.

“Ah, I remember now. You were in need of my gracious assistance….” Alastor’s hands found your legs, claws grazing your damp thighs just hard enough to leave light red marks in their wake, and he only stopped scratching your skin to grasp at your ankles. He jerked your lower half closer to his own with a singular tug and you nearly gagged on his shadow as a yelp built in your chest from the rough movement.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as the need to breathe weighed on your lungs, hips unconsciously rolling to press harder into his obviously large erection, and in any other circumstance you’d fight for air over urging Alastor to fuck you…

But the thought of enduring your heat cycle for another minute erased any sense of logic you’d been clinging to since he’d barged in.

You needed him.

You needed Alastor to have his way with you… breathing be dammed…

He read your actions like a memorized book, snapping his fingers once to remove the shadow from your numbing mouth before bringing a hand up to cup your jaw. Alastor’s fingers squished your cheeks as he angled your head up to look at him directly.

Desire.

You desired him now, desperately.

Hate was no longer swirling in your watery eyes.

What a wonderful sight…

“Say it, mon chere…” Alastor spoke uncharacteristically quiet as you stared at him through your tear heavy lashes, “Ask me for help like the polite and sweet girl I know you to be…”

All your pride vanished, heat engulfing your body in waves as the need to be in control of yourself shut down completely hearing his gentle encouragement, “I need…” you began in a timid whisper, but Alastor clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he corrected you with low hum, “Mm mm, darling…where’s that ‘please’ at, hm?..”

“P-please!…ahmm…” you paused as a shaky whine tumbled from lips, shock coursing through you as he finally grinned his hips in rhythm with yours, “Please…help me…need your help…please A-Alastor…”

You babble, begging as he asked you to, and forgetting to care about how indecent you looked while doing so.

Alastor hummed in approval, letting you face go to unbuckle his belt and remove his bow tie before shrugging his jacket off. You watched in slight awe as more of his physique was brought into view. Alastor had a lean frame, seemingly slimmer than most demons at his power level, but that was all but an illusion apparently.

He was tall, hovering above you at a massive seven feet and another few inches, an evenly placed mass of muscle to match, and pale grey skin adorning a few scars. His usual demonic form portrayed him as prey but as you saw him now….he was far from the definition.

You were a bit terrified he’d unintentionally tear you apart in the current state he’s in -no antagonized version needed.

“There’s no need to be so afraid of me, little one…” Alastor mused at your wandering eyes, head lowered to the crook of your neck, and his tongue licking a long stripe over the skin there before he bit down hard.

“Hah!” You screamed in pain as his sharp teeth penetrated your skin, dark blood spilling into his mouth as he T asted your flesh, and no amount of your crying made the radio demon relent his greed for it.

You were tempted to kick around, smack him hard, and resist, but the memory of his very malicious threat ceased any fight or flight response you’d developed while under his control.

Alastor grinned, retracting himself from your throat with a lick of his lips, “You’re such a good girl… so well behaved for me now…” he praised you tenderly.

You shivered as he kissed the wound he made, his compliments causing a blush to burn your cheeks, and your stomach to so several flips.

“I could just eat you alive, sweetheart….” He panted into your ear, clearly feigning like a predator on the hunt for prey, and for once you were glad to be his next victim.

“Please do…m’ all yours…” you mumble in return, dazed out of your mind as he laughs while pushing the head of his cock past your drooling folds.

“Never forget it again, my dear. Ever.”

xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxx

Idk if is should turn this into 2 parts are not. I’ll see how you all like this one first and decide from there. Bye, loves! ❤️ Tune in again soon! ❤️

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

Him + Lana = Perfect Combination 🥰 credit to creator ❤️

#alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel alastor #human alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanon #alastor fluff #alastor hartfelt #alastor smut #alastor the radio demon #hazbin alastor #alastor x oc #alastor x reader #alastor x you #fanfic writer #hazbin hotel fandom #cnc k!nk #Spotify

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xrcs · 1 year

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sub gyutaro + dom reader

author’s note – i like deadass forgot about demon slayer until the new ep came out yesterday 🤦🏾‍♂️.. but here i am writing for it

content warnings – talk of insecurities. mirror sex. handjob. uncut gyu. nipple play. self harm. soft porn again. L word used???

Mirrors. Gyutaro despises his reflection, breaking each one he sees. Why? Why did he have to be made like this? Were the gods furious at him? Gyutaro wanted to shatter every bone that protruded from his frame. You always see how he treats himself. It was almost as if he was immune to self-care.

You wish you could understand what was going on in his mind. Watching as he scratched his skin off every time he got mad at himself over little things. Warm crimson blood oozed out of the cuts he made from his continuous scratching.

“Jesus Christ, Gyutaro! Stop that, please,” you wince, his tired yellow eyes glancing at you. Gyutaro’s hand hovers over his wounded neck, chest feeling heavy.

“And why do you care?” he scoffs. Gyutaro turns his back on you and walks into another room. Why is it that he hates himself? You follow his footsteps slowly, trying your best not to anger him. But it’s also infuriating seeing Gyutaro degrade himself and his worth.

You sigh as you notice him breaking down. He’s facing the wall, gripping his hair tightly. It’s saddening. His behavior makes you want to cry for him. Gyutaro’s sniffles and sobs become increasingly louder. You approach him and hug him. Your loving embrace soothes him. His tense shoulders drop while he turns to look at you.

Your lips hover over the shell of his ear, “Gyutaro. I want to understand you. Please, let me know what’s goin’ on,” He doesn’t respond to your concern. You’re just going to have to make him feel better. Your soft and plush hands snake down his torso. Fingertips grazing his bony flesh. Gyutaro’s lips let out a small gasp as he feels himself heating up from the contact.

He was never used to being treated well. Even being protected was a taboo thing to him. Gyutaro loathes everyone except you. You’re different. You’ve never judged him for looking a certain way. That’s why he loves you. You’re kind, loving, caring, and so much more. Gyutaro loses himself in your touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“Get up,” you whisper. Gyutaro follows your request and stands up. You wrap your hand around his wrist and guide him to the vanity mirror. The first emotion that washes over Gyutaro is disgust. His repugnance only grew once he saw how skeletal he was. All of his self-hating thoughts came back again.

You observe his body language. That same sickened expression was on his face. You let your hands explore his body this time. The left teases his pec area while the right goes to other places. Gyutaro’s heart rate increases as you touch him so lewdly. He can feel the tent growing in his sweatpants.

His chest feels light when you touch him.

“Look at yourself. I want you to realize how handsome you are,” you utter. You slowly take off Gyutaro’s sweats, his semi-hard cock springing out. Another small gasp comes from his lips, his member twitching in anticipation. You press light kisses onto his nape, nibbling occasionally.

You rub your palm on his bulbous tip, rolling your wrist. A series of moans slip past Gyutaro’s mouth. Pre-cum starts to leak out from his tip. You stroke his whole length, lubricating his cock with the sticky substance. His eyes close while trying to take in all the pleasure.

You abruptly stop and firmly say, “Look into the mirror. Now,” Gyutaro whimpers as he opens his eyes, watching himself getting pleasured. Your other hand pinches his nipple, rolling it between your thumb and pointer.

“Haah, fuck! W-Why do you want me.. ngh- to look at myself in the m-mirror?” Gyutaro questions, arching his back as your touches become more intense. That question will be answered later when he figures it out. Your hand slowly fondles his cock. With every stroke you give, his foreskin covers his tip. The delicious brush of the skin on his tip makes his head spin.

He can’t help but look away. Does he really deserve the pleasure you’re giving him? As he turns his head to the side, your hand assertively keeps it in place. Your eyes burn into his face while you do so. You flick his dark grey nipple, making him yelp. All this touching is making his mind all muddly.

You stop stroking his dick, leaving your hand in the same position. He starts to buck his hips into your fist. God, this is your favorite sight to see. Him fucking your fist like an animal, chasing his own pleasure. You continue to pinch his nipple, creating a more blissful experience from Gyutaro. Waves of satisfaction ripple through his body.

“Look at you, Gyu. So pretty becoming undone. You’re perfect,” you state, smiling as you watch his eyes roll back into his head. He’s getting close. You move your hand around his cock at a fast pace, forcing him to look at himself.

Tears fall down his face from your compliments. You really think he’s pretty? Perfect? More pretty moans and whimpers come from Gyutaro. The coil in his stomach is about to snap. The roll of your wrist as you stroke his cock makes his mouth water. His eyes feel heavy, eyelashes clumping together from the tears.

“F-fuck! ‘M gonna cum.. cum! Lemme cum, pleasepleaseplease,” Gyutaro moans, voice cracking as drool slips past his lips. You smirk as you feel his body twitch as you play with his nipples.

“You’re so handsome, so perfect for me,” you mutter. Gyutaro feels like he’s going to break. The pleasure keeps on building up and it’s getting stronger by the second. Your praise is just too much!

“I love you, Gyutaro,”

His cock twitches as you mumble those words in his ear. Thick, hot, white ropes spurt out his cock. His eyes roll back as his head falls onto your shoulder. Your left hand comes up to pat his head, soothing him as he comes down from his high. God, what has he done to deserve you? You always make him feel so secure. Even with himself.

You wait patienly for his breathing to slow down. Humming and playing with his hair as you do.

Once he does, he sits up. His head between your thighs.

“You have no flaws, Gyu. Say or do some stupid shit again and you’ll see what happens,” you vocalize, giving him a small kiss. He nods and turns around to look at you.

“I appreciate you. I.. love you too,”

XRCS 2023

#gyutaro.#gyuutaro x reader #gyutaro smut #kny smut #kny gyutaro #demon slayer smut #anime smut #dom reader #sub character #anime x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #XRCS.

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celtic-crossbow · 6 months

Text

One Step, Not Much but It Said Enough

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Farm/Prison

Warnings: None

Summary: Someone had to make a move. In the end, it was neither of you.

A/N: First November request. It can be found here.

You pushed your glasses up on your nose for the umpteenth time in less than half an hour, cursing yourself for never checking with your optometrist about contact lenses before the world went to shit. Not like you would have known to buy a lifetime supply because the dead were going to rise up and eat the living. Oh well.

You didn’t dislike your spectacles. You actually enjoyed having them. You used to pick out the snazziest frames you could find that meshed well with your personality. Still, having glasses in the apocalypse wasn’t easy, by a long shot.

Especially now, when you were trying to set up the perimeter line and it was a million degrees outside, the sweat accumulating on your skin making your frames slide down. It was actually rather infuriating.

You were tying off a line when a shadow loomed over the string in your hands. “Here.” Before you could look up, a sunhat was placed on your head. You reached up to adjust it before leaning back to meet Daryl’s eyes. “S’one’a Carol’s.” He motioned toward the hat as he crouched on the other side of your line.

“Thanks.” You mumbled, hoping he’d credit the sun for the rosy coloring of your cheeks. You suddenly felt unsure of your work and hesitated to continue while he watched.

“G’on.” He encouraged, chewing on a blade of grass while those blue eyes flitted between you and the string of cans. You took a deep breath and carried on, soon becoming lost in your work as you moved from sector to sector. The hat did help, but eventually, you found the frames teetering on the end of your nose once again.

“Damn glasses!” You didn’t even bother to adjust them, simply sitting back on your heels with a pout. Daryl had followed you, having already done his hunting for the day. You weren’t really sure why he was hanging around. His presence never bothered you but did make you increasingly nervous. The man was attractive and, though he’d fight hard to never admit it, he had a huge heart.

“What ‘bout ‘em?” He looked up from cleaning his bolts, tilting his head when he noticed your adorable pout. He laughed in the form of an exhale through his nose and leaned forward, using his middle finger to push your glasses back to their rightful place. “They suit ya.”

“Yeah.” You agreed, blinking at him with wide eyes. It wasn’t until his brows drew inward and he began to smirk that you realized you had been staring at him for far longer than necessary. There was a noise akin to a squeak when you quickly went back to work and tied off the last of the perimeter. “Done!”

“‘Bout time.” The archer drawled, already standing next to you. “Ya hungry?” He was holding out a hand to help you to your feet but you just couldn’t seem to make your body function. “S’a hand. How it works is ya put yers on mine n’ I pull ya up.” You suddenly deadpanned at his his version of a grin. “C’mon, now. Carl gets there first an’ there’ll be none left for us.”

You took his hand and let him pull you to your feet. “Thanks.” He hummed in reply, falling in step beside you. You walked quietly back to the fire and your friends, about to branch away from him when you felt his hand on your arm.

“Hey, um—” You looked up just in time to see him look back from gazing at something behind you but he kept speaking before you could turn to investigate. “Y’wanna go with me tomorrow? Huntin’, I mean.”

You knew how your face lit up, there was absolutely zero hiding it. You had always wanted to go with him. Honestly, you wanted to go anywhere with him. You felt like a middle schooler with a crush. Embarrassing. Regardless, the fact the he had invited you after spending all afternoon watching you string up cans between trees made your heart beat just a little faster.

“Hell yeah, I’d love to! I mean, as long as I won’t be in your way.”

“Ya won’t be. M’gonna teach ya.”

Your jaw gaped. “Really? You mean it?”

Poor Daryl just looked confused. “Wouldn’a said it if I didn’t.”

You just managed to stop yourself from diving in for a hug. “I’m looking forward to it.” You smiled, tilting your head when you noticed the slight flush on his cheeks. He scratched at the back of his neck and nodded.

“Good. We’ll be leavin’ ‘fore first light so get some sleep.”

You nodded and watched him walk away, apparently forgetting that he didn’t eat. You chuckled to yourself, pushing your glasses up yet again but not at all bothered by it this time. When you turned, you barely caught the knowing smile that Carol wore before it faded and she went back to eating. You removed the hat Daryl had brought you, looking at it with narrowed eyes, then to where Daryl had disappeared, then to Carol, then back to the hat. Suddenly, it all made perfect sense.

Well played, Carol. Well played.

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beautifulhigh · 7 days

Note

Hi hi!! It's unfair of me to ask you to actually write the full essay on the rwrb red room kiss scene, but I saw your tags and am very interested in at least what the main thesis would be, if you feel like sharing!! No worries if not 😊 Have a good night/day/whatever time it is where you are!

The last few weeks have been, well. They've Been™ and I'm going to use this wonderful ask to dust off my overthinking tag and write a meta post on this movie, these boys, and then hope more than three people care what I have to say.

The Red Room kiss scene is Iconic™ and Important™ and in this essay I (really) will discuss agency, framing, and why it always had to be Alex to be the one to make the move.

While book!Alex takes book!Henry to the Red Room, here he's waiting. Bundle of nervous energy. He doesn't know what to do with himself, how to hold himself, how to present himself when Henry turns up. He's backlit in this (which is a theatre technique, I see you Matthew) but it also adds to the drama and tension of the scene.

The (in)famous painting of Hamilton, about to bear witness to things.

We jump cut between Alex trying to find... something. Here he is realising his shirt has come slightly undone and he wants to try and be somewhat presentable. At least for the moment. But it speaks to Alex's physicality in this scene because he is shifting and moving so much that his clothing is shifting. There's also an interpretation that this suit represents the formality of the situation - the Prime Minister's dinner, at which he (the First Son) and the boy he wants to kiss (the actual Prinec) are supposed to be front and centre and the picture of formality.

He's coming undone in this moment because he's the First Son and he's waiting for the Prince, but he's also Alex and he's waiting for Henry.

Ah, yes. The casual lean against the wall. Fancy seeing you here, your Royal Highness, what do you think of the menu? But there's grounding here too. When you're spiralling focusing on a physical point of contact between you and and something can help ground you.

It's also a defensive stance in a way. You shall not pass, I'm not moving. Alex is claiming space and territory and he's controlling it.

"How dare you fucking kiss me, run away, ghost me, then walk into the White House like nothing changed." This is closed off, defensive, protective - probably why it's the quickest of the poses to be dismissed. He's got his back against the wall like he's scared or ready to come out fighting. And, in a way, both of those are true.

Book!Alex is mid-crisis on his bisexuality and while he logically knows he is very much into Henry, he's not gotten to the point of turning theory into reality.

Movie!Alex is more chill about being into guys, but this attraction to Henry is confusing him. He hates the guy. He wants to punch him in the mouth. With his mouth.

(What? That's literally book canon: and if he weren’t already hell-bent on destroying Henry’s infuriating idiot face with his mouth right now, he would consider doing it with his fist.)

Casual lean against the table, less staged and jarring than the extended arm against the wall.

But then Henry walks in and Alex stands to attention and he is... rapt. He is calm and composed and he is focused. We're back to the back-lit position which helps frame him with a near-halo effect.

And you can see that he is relaxed. There's a slight drop in the jaw, his shoulders are sloped and rounded. Because none on what he was trying to convey before matters. Henry is here.

"Look" he starts with - he's expecting a fight. He's expecting Alex to go off on one for the kiss, for the liberty taken. Even if Alex is willing to forget that it ever happened, take Henry's secret to the grave, Henry gets one thing right in this.

"my behaviour was appalling"

Because it was. Look, Hen, I love you and I'm with Alex in the feeling that I will go to war for you to see you happy and safe. But you did kinda kiss him without consent (harsh reading) and you did ghost him without apology (soft reading) and for a boy raised in the Royal Household that... well... it's pretty much top items on the Very Bad Behaviour list. He did not act with decorum or dignity, he did not act in the way that his status and position demands.

(That's OK, Hen. Because the boy under the linden tree wasn't the Prince. It's OK to not be him, and Alex is going to spend the rest of his life loudly loving the man, not the prince.)

"Shut up, stop talking." // “Shut up, shut all the way up, oh my God,” Alex hisses

Because even though both versions of Alex said he wanted to talk to Henry, in the moment that's the last thing he wants to do. And actions speak louder than words, right?

Why it had to be Alex

Henry needed to make the first move, that New Year's kiss, because there needed to be something to make Alex realise that this thing he's feeling is very much reciprocated, and that Henry wants it too. If Alex had kissed Henry for the first time on New Year's Eve/Day then it would have been too much of a leap. Alex, at whatever stage of his bisexual journey, has no clear idea of Henry's orientation at that party. It's only with retrospective viewing that he realises that Henry was low-key flirting, and that the sharing of these deeply personal moments wasn't just a "two bros in a hot tub" thing.

So Henry had to kiss Alex first but then he had to run because there was no way that the mostly-closeted, private Prince could accept that a) he fucking kissed a boy, b) said boy is the one he's been dreaming of since Rio/Melbourne, and c) the boy kinda?? kissed him back?? Henry will have been having a low-grade anxiety attack all through January (and trying to reclaim some control with the date he went on in the book).

In this moment, Alex knows all the pieces. He's played this logic game to its conclusion and he knows all the facts. 1) Henry is gay. 2) Henry is into him. 3) He's into Henry. That last fact is something Henry isn't fully aware of (or at least can't bring himself to believe it to be true) and so it has to be Alex.

He doesn't want Henry to say something that would get in the way of this, doesn't want to hear any kind of pre-prepared speech of "yeah, we're better off as friends" that always happens when the couple get too close to getting together too early in the run time. Alex is full on shutting that down, shutting Henry up, and he gives as good as he got.

"Wait a minute" // Henry’s too shocked to respond, mouth falling open slackly in a way that’s more surprise than invitation, and for a horrified moment Alex thinks he calculated all wrong, but then Henry’s kissing him back, and it’s everything.

And this time it's both of them. Framed between Hamilton and the books. The American political trailblazer and the literary. In the space between? There's our boys.

Alex's hand is on the wall again and he's controlling the space but Henry is very much in it. He's protective but in a different way.

In one frantic motion, Alex knocks the candelabra off the table next to them and pushes Henry onto it so he’s sitting with his back against—Alex looks up and almost breaks into deranged laughter—a portrait of Alexander Hamilton. Henry’s legs fall open readily and Alex crowds up between them, wrenching Henry’s head back into another searing kiss. They’re really moving now, wrecking each other’s suits, Henry’s lip caught between Alex’s teeth, the portrait’s frame rattling against the wall when Henry’s head drops back and bangs into it. Alex is at his throat, and he’s somewhere between angry and giddy, caught up in the space between years of sworn hate and something else he’s begun to suspect has always been there. It’s white-hot, and he feels crazy with it, lit up from the inside. Henry gives as good as he gets, hooking one knee around the back of Alex’s thigh for leverage, delicate royal sensibilities nowhere in the cut of his teeth. Alex has been learning for a while Henry isn’t what he thought, but it’s something else to feel it this close up, the quiet burn in him, the pent-up person under the perfect veneer who tries and pushes and wants. He drops a hand onto Henry’s thigh, feeling the electrical pulse there, the smooth fabric over hard muscle. He pushes up, up, and Henry’s hand slams down over his, digging his nails in.

The sensibility of the suits is on its way out, they're not the First Son and the Prince. And Alex is taking the lead.

Agency

Henry is somewhat passive in this - although he is fully engaged - but it's Alex who set this in motion. Pun intended. Alex who pushed him against the wall. Alex who pushed him up onto the table and hiked his leg up around his hip, Alex who is driving in. Because Alex needs Henry to know that third fact. The one he's worked out, the one that Henry is just catching up with. This isn't payback, it's not some prank. Alex Wants™.

There's a scene I'm writing in my current FirstPrince WiP in which Alex and Henry have a charged moment. And Henry wants to act on it but those princely sensibilities get in the way and he can't let himself be led into doing something that could be used against him. If Henry made all the moves then the accusation of him taking advantage, of the inherant imbalance that comes with status and titles and positions of power. So in the scene, and here, Alex takes the lead. There's no way anyone could accuse Henry of forcing Alex into doing this.

(Good luck getting Alex to do ANYTHING he doesn't want to.)

So Alex gives and Henry takes and he gets the memo very quickly.

Fact number three. Alex wants this too.

Then Movie!Amy walks in on them (which IMO is way funnier than Book!Amy hissing through a crack in the door) and these idiots try to act like they weren't redefining International Relations a second ago. Alex is by the painting, Henry is by the books. They've gone back to their sides and they're playing at being interested in what they find there. But they're not, it's all for show, someone who gives a passing glance at this point sees this part of them, this side of them The First Son and the Prince: the politician and the literary.

They're both backlit, they're in line even if it doesn't look like it, Alex is no longer on Henry's right, and they're both trying to act like the people that others could see them as.

But we - and they - know better. 1) Henry is gay. 2) Henry is into Alex. 3) Alex is into Henry.

4) Everyone is on the same page now.

(Also I know Casey talked about seeing the Red Room on a White House tour and so that's why they included a scene in that room in their book, but I cannot ignore the fact that red = love and passion and danger and fire [the counter to the water motif] and it's a warm colour designed to excite.)

#jen answers stuff #overthinking jen is overthinking #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #prince henry of wales #red white and royal blue #rwrb #rwrb movie #meta post #long post #henry fox mountchristen windsor #otp: history huh

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silentsamlikesham · 3 months

Note

Heyoo! Request here!

Sanji had Nightmares at night?? Zoro then being alerted and trying to calm down the cook. (While also forcing him to go back to sleep XD.)

Anyways that’s all.

Hope you get the idea :]!

(I’m not a good story explainer when it comes to request TvT)

Thanks for the request! Hope you enjoy :) -----------------------------------

Zoro stares at the underside of the top bunk, just visible from the low light creeping through a crack in the door of the boy’s room. He can see the mattress shaking above him, can hear the wood creaking over the noise of Luffy’s and Franky’s snoring. Sanji is twisting and turning, one of his hands flying over the edge of the bunk to hit harshly off the frame of the bed.

His breaths are coming out in laboured wheezes as he seems to pant, like he’s running from something in whatever nightmare has taken hold of him. Zoro lies still, not usually one to wake up in the middle of the night but Sanji’s distress had upset his haki, forcing Zoro awake as though danger was looming nearby. Now, he can’t get back to sleep, his body stiff as he waits for Sanji’s panic to pass.

The cook should settle down soon, right? They all have nightmares like this on the ship. It’s not uncommon for someone to wake with a shout, with their arms outstretched, re-living something terrible. Chopper gets them a lot, climbing into Zoro’s bed with teary eyes and snuggling deep beneath his covers. He finds comfort being near the Swordsman, and honestly Zoro enjoyed feeling one of his crewmates being so close to him, one less person to worry about as he slept.

The cook waking him up is unusual. Not because he doesn’t have nightmares, Zoro knows he does. He can see on his night watches when Sanji is below in the galley, lights on in the middle of the night as he battles with whatever is bothering him. But it’s unusual for him to not immediately wake up and slink off to the kitchen.

Sanji hated being caught off guard by the crew, hated them seeing him as weak. He’s the first to comfort them, to make someone’s favourite snack or offer them tea in the galley as solace from the rest of the rowdy ship. Even with Zoro, who he’s pretty sure he hates, he’ll appear with a bottle of sake and a plate of rice balls when he thinks the Swordsman needs a pick me up. It’s infuriating, and they never speak about it, but it reminds Zoro that the Cook does care about the crew to an admirable extent, even Zoro.

Which makes it even more frustrating that he prickles up whenever someone tries to return the favour. It’s like Sanji is always clutching a dead man’s switch for his temper, waiting for someone to piss him off enough that he can let go and explode. Often, it’s Zoro setting him off.

That’s what makes this so difficult. Lying there in the dark while one of his Nakama is struggling and having no idea how he’s meant to help. If it was Luffy he’d tug his arm and let the boneless man flop onto the bed beside him. If it was Usopp he’d pinch his nose until the sniper awoke with a start, more afraid of Zoro than whatever was bothering him in his sleep. Even with Franky, Zoro knew to make up a problem with the ship so the shipwright would run off to check on it and promptly forget about whatever had him tossing in his sleep.

Sanji yelps in his sleep, his hand disappearing from where it was dangling as the mattress shifts again. If Zoro was to guess, he’s curled in on himself, the mattress dipping on one side only.

Zoro climbs silently out of the bottom bunk, able to see Sanji now as he stands at eye level with the top bunk. The blonde’s face is almost completely covered by his bangs but Zoro can still see half of his left eye, can see how it’s scrunched up tightly as though he’s trying to close them in his sleep, trying to block out whatever image his mind has conjured. He’s drawn his knees up, his arms hidden behind them as he’s folded them against his chest and under his chin, almost as if he’s protecting them.

Zoro’s heart clenches to think of Sanji dreaming of something happening to his treasure, knowing he’d be screaming bloody murder in his sleep if he dreamt of anything happening to his swords. His hand is rising to brush the other’s bangs back before he even knows what he’s doing, his fingers caressing over the other’s furrowed brow and raking gently through his hair until he’s cupping one side of Sanji’s face.

The other man tenses, stilling in his withering and Zoro freezes himself, waiting for Sanji to open his eyes and swing a kick at his head. He’s not prepared for the soft sigh that leaves the Cook, the blonde turning his head towards the palm of Zoro’s hand. He can feel the deep inhale the cook makes, his cheeks warming as Sanji lets out a low-

“Zoro?”

His eyes flutter open, the one not covered by his fringe staring at him in the dark. Sanji blinks slowly, his eyes flicking to the light source at the door and then back to Zoro as he tries to wake up enough to know what’s going on.

“What are you doing?” He whispers, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the out of sync snores still echoing in the room.

“You woke me up.” Zoro means to say it as an accusation but having to whisper makes everything sound soft...and maybe he is being soft with the cook, just this once.

“Sorry.”

The cook pulls away from Zoro’s hand as though he’s been burned, his eye flicking away from Zoro embarrassed. Shit. He half sits up in the bed, his hand twisting in the sheets as he clenches them.

“I’ll go to the galley.” He decides, turning from Zoro to hop down to the opposite side of the bunk. His shoulders are hunched up to his ears, his arms trembling as they hold his body upright.

“Don’t be stupid.” Zoro grumbles, reaching across the bed to tug on the back of Sanji’s night shirt. “It’s too early to start on breakfast, idiot-cook.”

“I’ll just wake more people up.” Sanji mutters, refusing to turn but slumps back, no longer poised to leap.

Zoro bites the inside of his cheek, uncertainty hanging heavily between them as Zoro wracks his brain for the best response. Overthinking stupid stuff like this is not his strong point and he decides after a moment of silence that it’s pointless for him to try do so.

He catches the side of the frame of the upper bunk and hoists himself up, throwing his legs onto the bed and lying down behind the Cook.

“I’ll wake you up if you start being loud again.” Zoro crosses his arms over his chest, amused by the jump in Sanji’s shoulders as he feels the bed dip, his head turning slowly to glance warily at his crewmate.

“What are you doing?”

“I just told you-”

“You- you don’t need to sleep in my bed to do that.” Sanij stutters. Zoro can’t be sure in the dark, but he’s certain the Ero-Cook must be blushing right now, if the wiggle in his body is anything to go by.

“I’ll do what I want.” Zoro retorts with a quiet snort, closing his eyes.

Sanji doesn’t move at first. Zoro wonders if he’s made a mistake. If Sanji will storm off to the kitchen in a rage and leave Zoro in his bed.

He has to stop himself from jumping in surprise when he feels Sanji shift and lie down beside him. They’re both lying on their backs, their shoulders pushed uncomfortably against one another’s as they barely fit in the small frame of the single bunk.

The cook is breathing in uneven bursts, clearly overthinking the arrangement and any noise he’s making. Zoro tries to ignore it, hoping that the cook will just drift off to a dreamless sleep soon but after several minutes it starts to grate on him.

“Will you just relax?” He whispers, turning to stare at the completely rigid man.

Sanji just sneers at him, twisting his head enough to glare at Zoro. He quickly looks away though as soon as the Cook seems to realise just how close their heads are when they turn to each other.

He doesn’t argue back though, doesn’t lose his temper or flip himself off the bed. Zoro takes this as a win and decides if the Cook is going to be this insufferable about the situation, Zoro is just going to have to push his luck.

He lets out a frustrated grunt and turns on his side, his arm reaches out over Sanji’s narrow waist, as he easily grabs hold of his furthest hip, drawing the Cook against him. Sanji gasps, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from yelling and waking up his sleeping crewmates. The last thing he wants is for anyone to see what has just happened.

“Calm down Curley, I’m just getting comfortable.” Zoro mutters, his lips so close to Sanji’s ear that he can’t help but shiver as he feels the heat of Zoro’s breath.

“If you’re so uncomfortable then go back to your own bed.” Zoro didn’t think it was possible, but Sanji is even more tense now, his hands curled into fists by his side. He can’t seem to lie still, his tense muscles quivering from the strain. Zoro lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Do you always have to be this difficult?”

That halts Sanji’s weak attempts at wiggling away from him. The Cook freezes, his breath hitching as he falls silent. Zoro glances at his face, trying to see his expression in the grey light of the shadowed corner of the room, but all he can see is Sanji’s bangs and his chin trembling. If Zoro didn’t know him, he might think the Cook is finally relaxing but he can tell what Zoro just said has upset him.

“Curley?”

Sanji doesn’t answer him, doesn’t even react when Zoro tightens his forearm to lightly squeeze him. Zoro waits patiently, wondering if Sanji will ignore him until he falls asleep. He’s not prepared for Sanji to shift his weight, twisting his body until he lands on his side, his face pressing against Zoro’s chest. Zoro’s arm slides forward, landing on the small of Sanji’s back.

“Sorry.” Zoro barely hears him; only certain he spoke because he can feel Sanji mouthing the word against his bare chest.

Now it’s Zoro’s turn to freeze, not expecting Sanji to break through his own stubborn walls this easily. Slowly, he relaxes, the tension draining from his body as he melts into the mattress, his head resting high on the pillow, his chin tickled by Sanji’s hair.

“Stop saying that.” Zoro mumbles, his tone void of any actual anger or frustration. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Shit-Cook.”

Sanji seems to choke on a laugh, the barest hints of a sob blending with the noise.

“Since when are you so nice?”

Zoro blinks in response, taken aback by the comment.

“I’m nice.” Zoro growls, feeling his cheeks warm. “You’re always just pissing me off.”

Sanij doesn’t have an answer for that, but Zoro can feel him laughing under his breath, can feel his lips curling against his skin.

They lie in comfortable silence this time. Zoro waits to hear Sanji’s breathing slow, to feel the other doze off. Despite relaxing though, Sanji stays awake. His body might have settled but Zoro can feel the cogs turning in his head, the buzz of his thoughts keeping him from slipping away.

“Cook, you're thinking too loud.” Zoro complains, cutting the other off as he opens his mouth “And don’t say sorry again.”

Sanji stops as his mouth forms the word and instead lets out an angry puff of air.

“Normal people can’t just empty their heads like you, Marimo.”

Zoro rolls his eyes, hoping Sanji can sense his exasperated reaction.

“Just go to sleep, Mosshead. I’ll be fine.”

Zoro frowns at that. The whole point of him being up in this bunk is to help Sanji get to sleep.

“You’re not even trying.” Zoro grumbles, not looking forward to how cranky the Cook will be tomorrow if he doesn’t get more sleep.

Sanji stays silent. Zoro can feel him shifting his arms, so his hands rest curled between their chests. It can’t be comfortable sleeping on one of his arms and having his other crammed between them, but Sanji lies like that unmoving for what feels like hours. Eventually he replies.

“I don’t want to go back to sleep.”

Zoro lets out a low hum of acknowledgement.

“Why?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Cook-”

“No.”

Zoro wishes he could bang his head off something, but he’s pretty sure he’ll wake someone up if he chooses the headboard behind him.

“I’m not going to judge you or bring it up again.” Zoro argues, wondering if Sanji really thought so lowly of him that he would do either of those things.

“I know that Shit-head.”

“Then why are you being so stubborn?”

“It’s none of your damn business why I don’t want to sleep.”

“It is when you’re going to be extra annoying tomorrow.”

“Fuck you.” Sanji tries to wiggle away, pushing off Zoro’s chest with his hands. “I’m going to the galley.”

“Not a chance.” Zoro tightens his arm on the blonde, making Sanji’s attempts a futile effort.

“Let go.”

“Ooh, you’re so scary.” Zoro can’t help the grin stretching across his face at the indignant sound Sanji makes from Zoro’s mocking.

The smile doesn’t last long though, not when Sanji draws one of his legs up, lightly kneeing Zoro in the groin.

“What the hell Cook?” Zoro wheezes, it wasn’t hard enough to make him shout, to alert anyone else in the room. But fuck, his balls were throbbing.

Sanji uses his flinch to duck out from under Zoro’s arm, leaning to grab the edge of the bed to pull himself away.

Zoro lets out a snarl before he follows the cook, lifting himself so he can wrap both arms around Sanji’s chest, drawing him back down against the mattress. He flings a leg over Sanji’s hip, rolling the Cook onto his stomach so he can pin his torso and hips to the bed. Hopefully keeping him from kicking out at him again.

It’s not a position that Zoro would usually win in, not with how sharply Sanji can swing his legs around to get out of it. But doing so would be loud, and from the way Sanji is panting and is unmoving beneath him, tells Zoro all he needs to know. Winning is not worth waking the crew up.

“I win, Ero-Cook. Now tell me.” Zoro is speaking directly into Sanji’s ear, his lips ghosting the shell of his ear as he speaks quiet enough that not even someone on the bottom bunk would have been able to hear them.

Sanji shudders, clenching his eyes shut at the sensation, as the pit in his stomach seems to fill with a foreign warmth. He sighs into his pillow, the fight leaving his tired body.

“I- I keep having the same dream- or nightmare, I guess.” Sanji is mumbling the words, if Zoro wasn’t pressed up against him, he’d probably miss them. Even now he can hear the static between them as he strains his ears to make out every word.

“It always ends the same...I have to give up my hands.”

“For what?” Sanji flinches as Zoro’s words tickle the edge of his ear.

“It changes every time...sometimes it’s the crew, the All Blue...” Sometimes it’s you, Sanji thinks, but doesn’t have the courage to say.

Zoro thinks hard, trying to imagine what would make him feel better if he had dreams like that. Then again, Sanji isn’t him.

“No one’s taking your hands, Curley.” Zoro whispers calmly, his tone leaving no room for an argument. Zoro would never let that happen, thus it won’t.

Sanji doesn’t have the words to respond to Zoro’s confidence. The Swordsman can’t know that, can’t promise that. Not in their line of work. Still, the sentiment makes Sanji feel better, as strange as that is to acknowledge.

“Okay.”

Zoro smiles into Sanji’s hair. He could get used to winning fights with the Cook.

“Zoro, I can’t breathe.”

The use of his name is surprising, but it does spur Zoro to move quicker than he might have with one of the Cook’s stupid nicknames.

He drags his leg off Sanji, falling beside him and drawing his arms back as he does. He ends up pushing one of his arms under Sanji’s neck, the other curling around his waist as he presses his body against Sanji’s back.

It’s the most comfortable way to share the bed, but Zoro still prepares himself for another argument. For Sanji to get flustered and embarrassed about being the small spoon.

But he surprises Zoro again, leaning back against his chest and resting his head on Zoro’s bicep. He doesn’t speak again, just lays there mimicking Zoro’s breathing, matching the rise and fall of the chest behind him until he drifts off.

Zoro doesn’t fall asleep. At first, he thinks he’s too riled up from their brief spat of wrestling but that’s never affected him before.

Zoro can always fall asleep when he wants to.

Sanji is a quiet sleeper when he’s not dreaming. Zoro would think he’d stopped breathing if he couldn’t feel the little puffs of air against his arm. His hair is annoying, falling across Zoro’s face and making him want to sneeze or brush it all to the side. He’s cold too, nothing like Chopper who’s like a little hot water bottle in bed. Also, Zoro’s arm is probably going to go dead from where the Cook is lying on it.

No wonder Zoro can’t sleep.

That’s what he tells himself as he lies there awake for the rest of the night.

Until Sanji stirs and lies there awake with him, unaware the Swordsman heart is thumping in his chest.

The Cook slides out of the bunk to start on breakfast and Zoro waits until the door closes, until he can sense Sanji moving across the deck and towards the galley.

He rolls onto his stomach, burying his head into Sanji’s pillow when he’s certain he’s not returning to the room. It smells of all the fancy products the idiot puts in his hair mixed with the reek of cigarettes.

It’s disgusting.

Zoro’s late for breakfast.

He never slept a wink.

#zosan fanfic #zosan #one piece zosan #roronoa zoro #sanji #fanfic #one piece #zoro x sanji #zoro #vinsmoke sanji #Zosan nightmares #request #sanji x Zoro fanfic

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year

Text

Favours - Chapter Three

Pairing: Ettore (High Life) x nameless female character (third person perspective) Warnings: Violence, smut. Word count: ~1500

Chapter summary: An agreement is finally reached. Series summary here.

The ship is always too quiet at this time of night. The silence feels suffocating. When she’s left alone in the dark, the flimsiness of the thin mattress doing nothing to protect her back from the cold, hard metal of the bunk, her mind becomes a noisy place to be. The cacophony of her thoughts is overwhelming.

Her mind used to dwell on the increasingly bizarre reproductive experiments that Dibs was inflicting upon the crew. After the storm of cosmic rays had hit the ship, she had pondered on her own mortality; their trajectory towards the black hole meant certain death, the anxiety of that had caused her many a sleepless night.

None of that seems to matter now. Her thoughts for the last few weeks have been preoccupied by something else, someone else. It’s been seven whole days since Ettore left her half naked and bewildered in the garden, not that she’s counting. He hasn’t spared her a glance since then and her bewilderment has steadily developed into anger. She is angry with Ettore for discarding her so quickly, but most of all she is angry with herself for allowing him to use her twice.

She knows she shouldn’t feel spurned by a man whose obtaining of her consent is dubious at best, but deep down she likes the depravity. It aggravates her that he does not seem to crave her in quite the same way that she craves him. Ettore is an enigma to her, but she is desperate to understand him.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she stands, her bare feet making contact with the startlingly cold linoleum of the floor. It sends a chill through her entire body, but it is not enough to rouse her back to her senses as her legs carry her along the darkened corridor. She stops once she reaches the doorway of Ettore’s cell, sudden apprehension causing her to hesitate.

What am I doing here?

She has no plan, she is not sure what she hoped to achieve by coming here. She lingers, her heart hammering in her chest, her palms clammy. She turns to leave, deciding it was a mistake to come here.

“Back for more?”

Ettore’s voice startles her, causing her to jump back slightly with a gasp. She hadn’t expected him to be awake. She sees the silhouette of him move from his bunk. Coming to stand in the doorway, he leans against the frame. He is bare chested and she cannot help the way her eyes rove across his toned pectoral muscles and the leanness of his abdomen. Her throat goes dry, she swallows quickly before fixing her gaze upon his face.

“Did I not do a proper job last time?” He sneers. “You need another go?”

His cockiness is infuriating. She feels the tips of her ears burn with a mixture of shame and embarrassment. “Piss off.” She spits back.

“Play nicely.” He warns, stepping forward and grabbing her by the hair at the back of her head, yanking back roughly. “Or I won’t.”

The sharp tugging sensation at her roots has warmth spreading like liquid fire in her core. She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath in an attempt to keep her composure, refusing to allow primal lust to get the better of her.

“Let me go.” She grits out.

He says nothing, keeping a tight grip on her tresses, and when she looks up at him he is staring down at her, the predatory glint in those cold blue eyes of his is unmistakable even in the darkness.

He has spent the last week treating her as though she doesn’t exist, he has no right to do this to her. The anger that has been building up inside of her finally reaches its boiling point, and she snaps. Fury and adrenaline course through her as she draws her hand back and strikes his cheek with a slap that echoes around the empty corridor.

Immediately he lets go of her, grunting, as his head turns to the side with the force of it. She backs away as he turns slowly back to face her, the hardened expression of malice on his face shooting a cold jolt of fear straight along her spine.

She yelps in pain as his fist connects with her face, the metallic tang of copper is acrid in her mouth as her lip breaks open from the blow.

“What’s going on?”

Her head snaps up, seeing the figure of Boyse emerging from her cell. She shakes her head, turning and walking back to her own.

“Nothing, just stubbed my toe, that’s all.”

Sleep does not come for her the rest of the night, the blooming pain that lingers in her face and ceaseless thoughts of Ettore will not allow it.

When she enters the small cafeteria space for the first meal of the day the following morning, Boyse’s gaze immediately finds hers and she is quick to look away. The lurid red split that now adorns her mouth serves as embarrassing proof of her lie, and she can do without further questions or judgement.

She sets down her tray on the nearest table and leaves, deciding she’d rather spend the hours she has until work duty in her cell, her appetite is non-existent now anyway.

“Why’d you do that?”

She stops in her tracks, looking into Ettore’s cell. He is in his bunk, mercifully fully clothed, staring at her as he lays with both his arms behind his head.

“Do what?” She snaps back irritably. Her patience has worn too thin to endure any more of their heedless back and forth.

“Lie about what happened. You could have just said I hit you.”

The expression on his face is unreadable as she walks into his cell, hovering by the bunk.

“You’d have gotten into trouble.” She says with a shrug.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I don’t need you to protect me.”

She feels her temper flare again, her voice rising an octave with fury. “Jesus, why are you always such a fucking dick?!”

Ettore lunges, grabbing the front of her shirt and pulling her forcefully towards him. She lands heavily next to him on the bunk, startled and wide eyed.

“I’m not your boyfriend, don’t be so bloody soft.” He says angrily.

She stops struggling, changing tactics. She is so used to resisting and fighting back against Ettore, violence has ingrained itself as part of their dynamic. She relaxes her body next to his, looking into his eyes as she speaks. “I don’t want a boyfriend. I just want someone to make the time I have left on this hellhole bearable.”

His eyes widen slightly, his expression softening as he lets go of her shirt. “I’m not a good person. You don’t want that with me.” He whispers.

“Do you think any of us would be here if we were?” She asks, reaching up a tentative hand, her fingers gently graze his cheek.

He closes his eyes at the contact, a small, but noticeable shiver running through his body. She withdraws her hand and he is quick to grab her wrist, making eye contact as he does so.

“So what do you want from me then?”

She is sure she detects uncertainty in his tone and for the first time when she looks at him she sees nothing of the predator she is used to. He looks scared, vulnerable even.

She considers his question for a moment. “Just…a continuation of what we’ve been doing already, minus the fighting and blanking each other. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

“Sounds like a relationship to me.” He says, inhaling sharply as her hand pushes past the waistband of his trousers to wrap around his cock.

She smiles as his jaw slackens and his head leans back slightly. She begins to languidly pump her hand up and down, feeling him harden under her touch. “It’s not. We’re just providing each other with a distraction from…all of this.”

“I’m not going to kiss you.” He murmurs, his own fingers pushing forcefully past her bottoms.

“Uh huh.” She affirms, increasing her speed now that he is fully hard, and bucking her hips into his touch as he drags his digits through her folds.

“And I-I’m not gonna tell you I love you.” He grits out, stomach muscles tensing, his hardened member pulsating in her grip, as he finds the bundle of nerves his fingertips had been searching for, drawing tight circles on it.

She whines, pleasure electrifying every nerve ending in her body. “I know…”

“Fuckin’ hate you.” He grunts, applying more pressure as he continues to circle her bud.

“Hate you too.” She moans out breathily, the sloppy canting of Ettore’s hips signalling his end.

The tautness in her lower belly finally snaps, driving her over the edge into ecstasy drunk oblivion as Ettore groans, ropes of his warm spend coating her hand as she brings him to the apex of his pleasure.

It is only in the aftermath of their high, as they lay together panting for breath, that she notices their lips are almost brushing. Almost.

#ettore #ettore x reader #ettore smut #high life #ewan mitchell #ettore fanfic #ettore fanfiction #ettore fan fiction #high life fanfic #high life fan fiction #high life fan fic #ettore fan fic #high life fanfiction #ettore high life #high life ettore

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goodboywritings · 2 years

Note

hihi :] I am absolutely in love with the stuff you’ve written so far hhhhh it’s just so good, so I was wondering if I could request smthin:

billy x m!reader (amab). maybe since billy is so used to be feared and/or sought after when the reader is very vocal and physical about his dislike for him it awakens something in billy.

I don’t know how specific you’d like this to be so sorry abt that also sorry if it’s worded poorly

disturbance in the showers

sub!billy x dom!male (amab) reader

billy's been on your ass for months, harassing and picking at you. so what happens when he finally pushes you to your limit?

cw: hair pulling, manhandling, degradation, throat fucking, no aftercare

a/n: hii!! thank u sm, I'm so happy people enjoy my stuff! you're being the right amount of specific, don't worry <3 i interpret this as like... Quite smutty? So sorry if that's not what you wanted :')

Billy knew his own power. He saw the fear in people's eyes when he entered a room, he saw the envy. The lust, a lot of the time. He'd easily get most anyone he wanted down on their knees, in some way. He saw the other students at school as ants beneath his palm.

So that's what made him even more frustrating.

He didn't care. Not. One. Bit. Ignored mean comments, didn't even bat an eye at flat out bullying. Y/N L/N, a tank of a guy. He was infuriating. And fuck if it didn't make Billy rock hard.

They had just had gym. Volleyball. And with Billy's luck, he'd been close to Y/N majority of the time. They had slammed into each other over and over, Y/N pushing him away and muttering profanities under his breath.

"Stop humping my leg Hargrove."

Billy had grinned smugly at him, licking his lips.

"Not like you don't love it L/N."

He rolled his eyes.

"I don't. I'm just impressed with how fucking pathetic you are."

Billy had swallowed dryly at that, looking the other up and down hungrily. Y/N had never told him to fuck off, or cowered in fear. He was alway precise with his insults, pushing him down verbally. And it had a larger impact on him than any curse would ever have.

The match had continued, no big disturbances after that. When class ended they hit the showers, Billy staying longer than the others. He let the water pour down his body, calming his head and his head.

He heard the pouring of water, another shower being turned on. Someone else had decided to stay late and if Billy's luck continued...

The blonde dragged a hand through his hair as water dripped down his body. Walking through the showers towards the noise he looked around, quickly spotting the other.

Bingo.

Standing with his back turned towards Billy, Y/N was currently showering. The rays of water dripped down his frame, Billys eyes following every single drop.

"You jerking off in here L/N? You're taking a fucking while."

Billy said with a raised brow, lips stretched into a smug grin. He leaned against the wall beside him, eyes raking up and down the others body.

Y/N groaned at his voice, turning around to meet his eyes. He glared at him, his hair tousled and drenched.

"Could ask you the same question Hargrove. Difference is, you actually would."

He said, rolling his eyes. Billy just smirked.

"You wish. That's why you stayed huh? To stare at my cock?"

You could see the muscles in his face tense, frowning deeply.

"Just go and beg someone else for a fuck, I'm not in the mood to put up with your bullshit."

Billy chuckled at that, leaning closer. His hair was stuck to his face, a blonde tousled mess, and his eyes were hazey and glazed over, eating him up with his gaze.

"Oh I know you want me."

Suddenly he was pressed against the wall, trapped between Y/N's body and the tiles. Y/N was glaring daggers at him, practically fuming in irritation.

"Shut. The fuck. Up." He spat.

They were chest to chest, skin against skin. Billy could feel his heart in his throat, mouth open as he gasped. Y/N's hands held Billy's wrists above his head, overpowering him with more ease than Billy would like to admit. Their breaths met in the middle, mouths dangerously close to each other.

"I don't understand you. Why are so fuckin adamant about harassing me, the only one who doesn't care about you or your reputation? Do you like being degraded or some shit?"

Y/N huffed, months of anger bubbling up to the surface. Billy was at a loss for words, just staring into his eyes. His body was boiling hot, and not just from the showers. Just having Y/N's hands against his wrists was overwhelming, their chests touching pushing him further. And the thigh awfully close to his crotch didn't help in hiding his half-hard arousal.

Y/N pushed harder against him, gritting his teeth.

"Is that it? You—"

He froze, eyes trailing down Billy's body.

"You're hard?"

Billy stood as still as possible, as if Y/N would launch at him if he made any sudden movements. His cockhead was pressed against the others hip, making him gasp softly at the hint of friction. He bit down on his lip as to not make any more noises.

Y/N scoffed, gripping Billy's dick tightly in his hand. Billy grunted, back arching pitifully.

"You're actually getting off on this Hargrove? Jesus, you're more fucked up than I thought."

Y/N scoffed, disbelief in his voice. His face, which usually wore a frown, was stretched into a smug grin. He tugged on Billy's cock, making him throw his head back.

"You're just some whore, begging for attention from anyone who'll give you the time. And of course you come to me, the one person who can put you in your place."

Billy panted loudly, noises echoing off of the shower walls. His eyes were closed tightly and his brows furrowed in pleasure. This was just what he wanted, needed. Feeling his body pushed closely against his, hearing his voice mutter in his ear. Fuck he was hard.

Y/N grabbed him by his hair, tugging his head back.

"Say it. Tell me you're a pathetic, cock-hungry, whore."

Billy twitched at that, moaning loudly. His legs were shaking, barely standing up on his own.

"Fuck- I'm a whore. A- a cock hungry whore."

"Good boy. Now get on your fucking knees."

Y/N tugged him downwards by his hair, Billy quickly falling into position. His big blue eyes stared up at his face expectantly. Y/N was hardening as well, cock right in front of his face.

He dragged Billy forwards to his crotch, pushing his dick against his plush lips. The blonde instinctively opened up, sucking the head into mouth. Y/N grasped his hair harder, moaning softly.

Billy sucked him deeper into his mouth, licking and sucking around him. He could already feel tears at the corners of his eyes because of Y/N's hard grip on him.

"Fuuuck, just like that. Take it like the slut you are."

Y/N groaned, tugging him further down his cock. Billy whined around him as his hands held tightly on his thighs. He could feel himself leaking onto the tiled floors, loving the manhandling.

Y/N started thrusting into his mouth, Billys head trapped between his hips and the wall. He gagged pathetically around him, tears falling down his cheeks. He felt Y/N's hot gaze on him, making him whimper loudly.

"You want me to cum in your mouth? To use you throughly huh?"

Y/N groaned, licking his lips. His hot cock was twitching in Billy's throat, a tell-tale sign that he was close. Billy nodded enthusiastically, gagging and sucking as best as he could.

"S-such a pretty whore, shit—"

The pace quickened, Y/N speeding up their hips, really fucking Billy's face. He loved every second of it, paying his own cock no mind. Y/N groaned and moaned above him, tugging him back and fourth by his hair.

"F-fuck—"

Billy felt Y/N twitch, cumming deep inside his throat. He tried helplessly to swallow it all, gagging and panting against his crotch. Y/N pulled him off of him with a groan, a string of saliva connecting his cock and Billy bruised lips. He coughed as he was finally allowed to breath freely. His hair was tousled and his cheeks were tearstained, looking like a fucked out mess.

Y/N sighed, looking over Billy. He combed some of his blonde hair out of his face, Billy leaning into the touch.

"I'll uh- see you around, Billy."

He muttered, leaving a very sloppy (and hard) Billy behind as he walked out of the showers.

#stranger things #stranger things x male reader #billy hargrove smut #billy hargrove x male reader #billy hargrove #stranger things x reader

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sixhours · 2 months

Text

Chapter 10 - The Ghosts of Babylon

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut and violence Series tags: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Reader, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, LGBTQ+ characters, y/n is bi/pan, y/n is ~45, violence, pregnancy, abortion, medical trauma, emotional trauma, panic attacks, sex work, suicide, smut, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader has longish hair, Joel can lift you, smallish age gap (~11 years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

You don’t see or hear from Joel for three days, but the distance proves to be a good thing. You need the space to think and compartmentalization has always served you well.

It helps that your work at the clinic takes up all of those three days. The morning after your date, you get a call on the walkie telling you one of your patients is in labor. It’s a hard birth; a 19-year-old mother with a tiny frame and a larger-than-average baby, and you don’t have a drop of anesthesia to offer, nothing stronger than homemade whiskey and pain pills that barely dull the contractions. The labor drags out over the next two days in a chorus of blood and screams that ring in your ears for hours.

The baby finally makes her entrance, nine-plus pounds and healthy, save for the forceps bruises on her swollen cheeks. Her mother, on the other hand, has a broken tailbone, a mess of stitches, and needs a blood transfusion. You want to give her a stern lecture on the importance of birth control, but what birth control? You can only tell her bluntly that if this happens again, she might not survive.

Just when you think you’ll be able to catch your breath, you get another call. Another labor, this one six weeks premature. The delivery is easy, but the baby is tiny and his chances are grim. The best you can do is put him in a warmer and have the nursing staff watch him around the clock.

Through it all, you’re reminded of how fucking fragile all of it is, how few tools you have at your disposal, how you’re walking a knife’s edge every time someone shows up at the clinic with anything more serious than a paper cut.

It’s infuriating, and you struggle to keep your distance, reminding yourself that Jackson doesn’t need your heartache; it needs medicine that you don't fucking have.

You drag your ass back to your house and peel off your bloodied scrubs as soon as you step inside, leaving them in a pile by the door. You plod upstairs and fill the tub as hot as you can stand it and then some. The water comes up to your chin, and you feel the stress of the last few days begin to seep from your muscles, tendrils unwinding from around your ribs, your shoulders.

You’re dozing in the fast-cooling water when you hear the knock.

You drag yourself out of the tub with a groan, wrapping yourself in a robe and tying up your hair, then padding down the stairs in bare feet to answer the door. Joel stands on the other side, looking as tired as you feel. He raises an eyebrow at your robe.

“Uh, this a bad time?”

“No,” you say. “Come in.”

His eyes fall on the bloody scrubs piled next to the door. “Jesus, what happened?”

“Oh…right. Everyone’s fine. Well, no, everyone’s not fine, but…everyone’s alive. So far,” you mutter. “Want a drink? I need a drink.”

“I don’t–”

“Drink…right,” you sigh. “I swiped some beer from the dance last fall. Help yourself if you change your mind.”

“Bad day?” he follows you, leaning in the doorway and watching as you open the fridge and grab one of the amber glass bottles.

“Days, plural,” you say, wiggling the bottle in his direction. “Are you sure?”

He frowns, then sticks out his hand. “Fine.”

“I am not above peer pressure,” you smile, grabbing a second bottle and pulling the cork before handing it to him. You clink the necks and take the first sip, sour bubbles coating your tongue.

You perch on a chair, crossing your legs and pulling your robe around you, and he takes a seat across the table, looking around uncomfortably.

“Kitchen looks good,” he says after a beat, nodding to the open ceiling, the new floor joist sticking out like a sore thumb, pink insulation peeking from around the studs.

“Thanks, I was going for that ‘construction chic’ look.”

He snorts, takes a drink.

“What are you doing here, Miller?”

He opens his mouth, closes it again, clears his throat, takes another drink, setting the bottle on the table. Normally you’d enjoy watching him squirm, but you’re too tired to wait for his slow Texas drawl.

“Look, if this is about the other night, we don’t have to–”

“I had a good time,” he says flatly.

You blink. “Oh…me, too.”

“I just needed to say, I can’t…uh…I don’t want you thinkin’ I’m…ugh,” he groans, rubbing his face with his hands. You push his beer closer to him on the table.

“Drink.”

You hold up your beer to demonstrate, then tip it back and take three long swigs. It’s homebrew, stronger than the old-world stuff. You put the bottle down with a barely concealed burp.

“Your turn,” you say.

He gives you a look, but then does the same, picking up the bottle and bringing it to his lips. You watch his Adam's apple bob at his throat as he swallows.

“Now what?” he says, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“We wait for the alcohol to kick in,” you say, putting an elbow on the table and leaning into your hand. “And you talk. Or I pass out…whichever comes first.”

He nods, then after a thought, takes another long drink.

Good boy. That’ll help things along.

“I told you I haven’t, uh, done this in a while.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, rubbing at his eyes.

“I recall.”

“I had a…partner…Tess. Back in Boston. She didn’t make it out, but we, uh…didn’t have what you’d call a relationship. She…got what she needed from me, and I got what I needed from her. And most of the time…that was enough.”

You lean back, studying him as he talks, watching his fingers slide absently up and down the amber glass.

“And now…I have Ellie,” he says, growing more serious. “She’s my first priority. End of story. I can’t…have anything get in the way of that.”

“I get it.”

“I just don’t want to give you the wrong idea,” he says, staring at you with those dark brown eyes. “We can’t…I can’t be…with you…like that.”

You plop your chin in your hand, considering this, feeling a wash of relief move through you. Or maybe that’s the beer.

“Look, Miller, I’m not what you’d call girlfriend material. But…I’m down for a good time. Whether that’s looking at meteors or…doing other things.”

He licks his lips, nodding slowly.

“Whatever…this…is,” you say, gesturing between the two of you. “It doesn’t need to be serious. You’re not going to hurt my feelings by giving it to me straight. We’re adults, right? So let’s act like it.”

He swallows hard. “Alright then. Not serious.”

“Not serious,” you smile, then down the rest of your beer, watching him do the same. You pick up the empty bottles to bring them to the sink. “Do me a favor and grab us a couple more. One’s not gonna cut it tonight.”

“Sure.”

He goes to the fridge while you rinse the bottles at the sink and leave them upturned to dry. You’ll give them back to the brewer to be reused.

“What’s this?”

You turn around. He’s holding the orange, looking at you with one raised eyebrow, and you have to turn back to the sink so he doesn’t see the heat in your cheeks.

“Oh, that. Don’t let it go to your head, Miller. I just like how it smells.”

You hear him take an experimental sniff and have to bite your lip to contain a grin. You hear the clink of the glass bottles and the fridge door close.

“Where’d you find an orange in this place, anyway?”

“Did some work in the greenhouse a while back. Guy named Miles…guess he used to be a botanist or somethin’, figured out how to grow ‘em. It’s no mango smoothie, but I figured…”

He shrugs, opening one of the bottles and handing it to you. Clink , sip, wait.

The silence draws in on itself, circling you, and you let it. You consider him, feeling a certain lonely hunger curling inside you, the alcohol making your brain feel pleasantly detached and loose. You catch yourself admiring his profile, the slope of his nose, the slight dimple in his cheek, the patch in his scruff where his beard doesn't grow.

He’s watching you, too. When your eyes lock for one second too long, you turn back to the sink with a sigh, pretending to busy yourself with the nonexistent dishes.

There’s movement at your back, the sound of footfall behind you, the clink of the glass bottle as it’s placed on the counter to your left, a sudden warmth at your lower back. You feel his breath on your exposed neck. When his lips brush the skin at your nape, you barely hold back a shudder.

“This okay?”

You laugh a little as if he hadn’t had you up against the wall in this very same kitchen months ago. There had been no asking permission then. “Mmmhmm.”

His hand slides lower, lower still, then cups your ass, warm hand gripping and kneading in a way that sends desire straight to your sex. His hips push against yours, leaning you into the counter, cornering you like he’s worried you might run if given the chance.

“Shit,” he whispers, rough palm connecting with bare skin underneath your robe.

You suck in a hard breath and it’s like you have to remember how. Air in, lungs expand, air out, lungs contract , but all you can feel is one hand gripping your hip, running around to your belly, sliding under your robe and up. God, his hands are so big, so warm . He cradles your ribcage in his palms like a newborn, running them up your sternum, teasing at the base of your throat with rough fingers, loosening the sash at your waist.

He turns you around, leans forward again, pinning your hips and back to the countertop behind you. He’s watching you, reading your face as his hands skim your breasts. Your nipples are already tight, but his rough palm is cupping, rolling, kneading.

“Not serious,” he says slowly.

“Uh uh.”

You find yourself holding back, trying not to make a sound, not to give him the satisfaction. But his eyes narrow, his hips sway deeper into yours, and his thumb makes direct contact with one erect nipple. You moan, and you can feel him twitch between your legs, his mouth dropping open, forehead coming to rest against yours.

His nose brushes yours, his breath at your lips, but both of you seem determined to let the other one make the first move. It’s tantalizing, infinitely frustrating, almost cruel.

“You sure?” he murmurs, and you swallow his exhale in answer. The kiss is soft at first, tender, gentle. Testing.

He leans in, tongue swiping teasingly over your bottom lip, asking permission. You oblige, tasting him, kiss deepening until you’re both panting, his hand pressed into the back of your neck like a tattoo. His tongue slides against yours in a honey-slick caress.

He lifts you, turning you both until you’re sitting on the kitchen island. You have a momentary flash of his shoulder in a brace and consider reminding him to take it easy, old man , but then he’s kissing you, mouth trailing a hot tongue down the cradle of your throat, your collarbone, and the words are lost to the ether. Your robe has fallen open, exposing you, and he slips his hands inside, pushing it the rest of the way down your shoulders.

You realize he’s never seen you like this and the attention is almost uncomfortable. You can’t hide, you can’t run, you can’t turn around and press your face to the mattress.

“Fuck, you’re pretty.”

You arch into his mouth as his tongue circles one nipple, pulling it between his teeth, grazing the tender flesh before soothing it, over and over. He repeats this process on the other breast until you’re whimpering, caught in a haze of pleasure. Your hands reach for him, sliding under his shirt, pulling at his jeans, but he catches you by the wrist and gives you a gentle shake of his head.

Not yet.

He lays you back, one wide palm stroking the length of your torso, the robe thick and warm between your overheated skin and the cool marble of the countertop. He eyes you hungrily, spread out before him like a fucking buffet. Your throat tightens as his mouth descends upon yours again, suckling at your neck, your chest, your stomach.

“Oh, thank god, Miller,” you breathe, desperately clinging to your last shred of self-control.

“Mmm,” he grunts between open-mouthed kisses, intent on his path. His tongue circles your navel, dipping inside. “What?”

“Was beginning to think you didn’t know what foreplay was.”

He shoots you a dark look over the swell of your breasts, lapping at the sensitive flesh under your belly button, leaving a wet, hungry trail down, down, down.

Challenge accepted.

His tongue dips between your labia and you arch involuntarily, sliding back on the counter. His hands grip your thighs, pushing them apart while pulling you closer, anchoring your center to his mouth. Your fingers thread through his brown salt-and-pepper curls as he circles the pearl of your clit, pressing into it, laving it, circling again and again until you’re trembling, almost begging.

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he growls, dipping lower, lapping at you, eating you out like you’re his last meal. Fingers replace his tongue and curl inside you as he returns to your clit, suckling in earnest. One hand leaves his hair to grip the edge of the counter as his fingers thrust deeper, harder, faster.

“Mm-gonna–”

“That’s right, you’re gonna come for me,” he pants. “Come for me.”

You do, clenching hard around him, arching into him, throbbing wantonly against his mouth.

“Good girl,” he purrs, kissing your trembling inner thighs, licking and sucking his way back up your flushed, overstimulated body. You kiss him, taste yourself on him and moan into his mouth, feeling his hardness, still clothed, pressing into your hot center. “So fuckin’ good.”

When you reach for his jeans this time, he doesn't push you away. You sit up, and he waits as you undress him, unusually patient, hands stroking your bare shoulders, your back.

He’s wearing the same shirt as when he thought he was having a heart attack, you realize, the one you had to deface to get to his chest. The buttons have been sewn back on with thread that doesn’t match, and for some reason the thought of him sitting on his couch with a needle in his lips makes your pussy clench.

His torso is puckered with small scars, the one on his abdomen freshest and most pronounced. He takes a sharp breath when you run your fingers over it. You can see the outline of the messy stitches that once held him together. He’s watching your face, cautious, as if he expects you to stop, to come to your senses.

Instead, you run your hands up his chest, down the thick muscle under his biceps, the soft fur of his forearms. You arch up to kiss his throat, feeling the rumble of his sigh under your lips. You taste his skin, salty and smoky and deeply masculine.

When you pull down his jeans, he presses himself into your hand involuntarily, closing his eyes and tipping his head back when you grip him, tracing the outline of his cock through his briefs. You push them down and stroke him, letting your thumb slide over the wetness at the tip, around, back down, watching the effect on his face, the slack of his jaw, the quickening of his breath.

He pushes you back, dragging you to him, positioning himself at your entrance. You groan at the contact as he drags his cock up the seam of your cunt, circling your clit, back down, up and down, until you’re writhing underneath him.

Where before he thrust into you without warning, now he’s painfully slow, teasing you to the edge of sanity. His head pushes inside and you can feel every fucking twitch of his cock at your entrance. You reach for his ass to pull him deeper but he’s using one powerful hand on your chest to hold you back.

“Gotta go slow,” he whispers, voice thick with arousal.

He rocks his hips forward and back, waiting for you to adjust, even though you’re so fucking wet for him it’s hardly an issue. Where was this Joel, you want to ask him, the one who’ll eat you for dinner and fuck you for dessert, but then you can’t because he’s pushing deeper, deeper, deeper, filling you up until the only thing you can focus on is the thick, heavy heat of him inside you.

It’s luscious, your hips rolling, snapping up to meet his until his hands clamp down on them to control your pace.

“Not gonna…last…if you keep doin’ that,” he growls. He pulls you up until you’re flush with his chest, changing the angle, cupping your ass and thrusting more shallowly, breathing hard as his teeth graze your neck.

Your fingers slide between your joined hips, seeking out that one spot. “Want…” you pant, unable to form the words as your pleasure spills from your body in needy moans and whimpers. “More…”

His fingers follow yours until you’re both cupping your pussy, then gently pushes you out of the way and presses a thick finger to your swollen core, circling your clit with increasing pressure. You clench around him, so thick, so tight, feet pressed to the backs of his thighs to pull him as deep as you can.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby,” he groans, but his words are staggered, catching in his throat. “God you’re…so…tight. Need you to…come…for me.”

He kisses you hard, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other working delicious circles around your swollen bud. You moan into his mouth as he leans you back until he’s filling you again, your hips arching off the counter to meet his, and the extra pressure on your clit sends you flying.

“Ah fuck,” he gasps as your walls clamp around him, milking him, and with one more solid thrust, he’s buried to the hilt and pulsing hot and sticky inside you.

“Not…serious,” he pants, nuzzling at your throat, teasing your lips with his.

“Not serious,” you repeat, but the words have lost all meaning in your sex-addled brain, and then he’s sliding you off the counter without letting his mouth leave your skin, and he practically carries you upstairs to bed.

~*~

And this is how it starts, the beginning of your unraveling at the hands of one Joel Miller, the town’s resident asshole and, to your amazement, a really fucking good lay.

He makes up some excuse to be at your place whenever your schedules align, which isn’t often…but you make the most of the time. You’ve learned a new thing about Joel–when he sets his mind to something, he doesn’t fuck around.

Or maybe it’s more accurate to say he does.

He’s almost ruthless in bed, controlling in a way you’ve never experienced in a partner…maybe because no one until this point has been up for the challenge of trying to control you. He edges you to the point of pain, teasing you, playing with your clit and your breasts and sucking on your neck until you’re trembling and begging for release–and when he finally gives it to you, you come hard. You always come hard.

You’re used to being the dominant one, but something about his hissing “good fuckin’ girl” in your ear, while he pulls your hair and takes you from behind, makes you melt, turns you into a whimpering raw nerve. He fucks you until it hurts to move, until you’re chafing and walking slowly from the constant friction between your legs.

He fingers your asshole and calls you a filthy slut and then kisses you like he could drown in you. He marks you with bruises then soothes them with his tongue, whispering sweet words that fall like candy from his lips.

He pushes you to your knees and spills his seed on your chest, your face, your neck. You’re debased and degraded in a way you’ve never let yourself be before… but then he trails one finger from your temple to your jaw, and his black-brown eyes go slack with something more than lust until you have to look away.

You move through the winter days in a clouded haze of arousal and overstimulation, always too warm, distracted, and thinking about the next fix. You amass a collection of turtlenecks, grateful for the bitter winter wind.

Sometimes you hate the sheer madness of your desire, the gnawing sensation of want, of need . You don’t like the way you lose control when he’s inside you and cursing about how fuckin’ good you feel.

And yet, when he shows up at your door, you never turn him away.

#fanfic #fic recs #the last of us hbo #joel miller #ellie williams #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel and ellie #joel miller x you

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teabutmakeitazure · 2 years

Text

a/n: I totally forgot to post this. I opened my request doc in hopes of writing Dottore but I saw this instead oops

>Yan! Pantalone x Fem! Reader

Prompt: G - Gardenia (secret love) "It's been so hard to love you from the shadows."

Word count: 0.6k

------

"I don't want it."

Your outright defiance amuses him as much as it infuriates him. He doesn't appreciate you being ungrateful, yet he can’t say that he doesn’t find your anger cute, if not adorable. Even now when you’re seated on the chair near the fireplace with your arms crossed, he can’t decide whether to smile at your behaviour or sigh in exasperation.

Pantalone chose the latter. With narrowed eyes and a scowl, he leans on the wall behind him. “I don’t recall asking whether you want it or not. It is a gift from me, and as my wife it is your duty to be respectful.”

“What is there about being given a collar that demands being respectful?”

“With or without a collar, you are always on a leash. Why not be humble and embrace the entire thing?”

You hate that he’s right. Even if you’re not physically wearing a collar, you technically are on a leash. When he’s at home, you aren’t allowed to not be in the same room as him, even going as far to always have you present at arm’s length.

“I didn’t think the Regrator would have a thing for roleplay.”

A soft, amused chuckle manages to escape his lips. In the blink of an eye, he’s standing upright, the frame of his glasses reflecting the warm light from the hearth beside him.

“Roleplay? My dear, it is not considered roleplay if it is true.”

Cunning words from a cunning man. Throwing back your words to your face is child’s play to him. You bet that he doesn’t even need to think even once before doing so. Still, having to hang your head in shame isn’t anywhere near satisfactory for him. Regardless of you losing the exchange, he still has the audacity to walk over and grab your chin to make eye contact again. Hands now gripping the edge of your seat, you have to swallow in more insults when he smiles condescendingly at you like that. Like he knows that you can’t win, not in a million years.

"I like that spark of fire within you, dearest." Pantalone licks his lips as he looks down at you, obviously satisfied at the position. "Keeps me entertained and keeps you hopeful, it's perfect."

When there's nothing you can offer as a reply, his grin widens. "You don't have to wear it at home. It's for our outdoor activities, especially Fatui gatherings. It's embedded with jewels for a reason, after all."

"Why do you insist on playing dress up-"

You're cut off by his hand going for your neck, fingers now loosely wrapped around it as a threat. The way your heartbeat accelerated gave you chills.

"Manners, darling. Manners. It's been so hard to love you from the shadows. I did so much for you back then, all anonymously. You never complained back then. Why the noise now? It's hardly been a few weeks since we've been together."

“Had I known your true colours, I would never have even considered you a human.”

“Ah, details. They’re so troublesome. Why don’t you just be good and show me what it looks like on you?”

You nervously gulp as his eyes bore into yours awaiting an answer. There’s the prospect of being punished if you don’t comply. What’s worse is that his ‘punishments’ either leave you sore all over or leave your back hurting like hell due to sitting on the ground next to his office chair all day on a literal leash.

“I take it that your silence is a no?”

With a sigh, you mumble out a yes and watch as he walks over to the dresser to grab the box. How humiliating.

#genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin imagines #yandere genshin x reader #pantalone x reader #yandere pantalone #yandere pantalone x reader #yandere regrator #yandere regrator x reader

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absorbedbutler · 2 years

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hii I was wondering if u could do an Austin!elvis x reader ?

Y/n and Elvis have known each other since they were kids and literally cannot stand each other like every litte thing the other does gets them annoyed and they argue all the time, but one day before one of his performances they get into a really heated argument and he’s just like “wait till I’m done with this show.” And like after he’s done preforming he just fucks her into an oblivion LMAOO

this was really detailed but Austin’s just so fine as elvis like.

the amount of detail i’m in love you basically wrote this for me IM ON IT

tw this is lowk filthy

you had known elvis since you were 4 and your parents moved in to the apartment next to his.

subsequently your parents had become friends, meaning they were either over all the time or vice versa.

as your parents drank and plaid cards, you two were shunned away to a free room where you were forced to play.

you had hated him ever since he got a brush tangled in your baby dolls hair and accidentally ripped out a chunk, bringing you to lock him out on the balcony.

as you got older, sure you were attracted to him but you had to push it down, your hate always over powered it and he would remind you why you hated him in the first place.

the rumors always circulated around school that you were dating but no matter how your stomach flipped when you imagined you two dating, you forced it down.

he was an asshole, really. he wasn’t kind to you, he was cocky, and he would pull your hair any chance he got. it was typical child’s play, every morning at your locker you would put your things away and he would stalk behind you and tug on whatever hairstyle you had that day.

he infuriated you, right?

“tell me right now that wasn’t you.” you said as you pointed to the mess in your room, your clothes all on the floor and your vanity fucked up.

“it wasn’t me.” he said with a smirk, leaning up against your door frame.

“elvis i’m going to kick your ass i swear to god, get out of here so i can clean this up.” you said pushing his solid chest out of your apartment.

he put his hands up in surrender, smiling as he walked out the door.

you had come home to him already in your kitchen, stealing food and looking through your room.

this was a daily occurance, you would yell, he would leave, he’d come back and you’d hang out.

you were hooking your last shirt back onto a hanger as he knocked on your door, as you sighed you made your way to the door, letting him in.

“you calmed down yet, mama?“ he said looking in your eyes.

“that’s nauseating, don’t call me mama.” you said rolling your eyes and turning around as you mumbled a quick “close the door”, making your way back to your room.

he flicked through one of the many magazines you had as you did your homework on your bed, humming.

“did you know i have a performance tomorrow night, it’s this real uppity thing, they want me to sing.” he said as you looked up.

you snickered as he shook his head, “i don’t believe it.”

“cant you you be happy for me? this whole hate thing is a real pain in the ass.” he scoffed.

“elvis, i have never heard you sing or talk about singing a day in my life.” you softly spoke, trying to de escalate the situation as you put your hand in his thigh, him quickly pushing it off.

“no, i’m sick of you acting like a bitch. we’ve known eachother basically all of our lives can i catch a break.” he sneered

“what is all of this, why do you care so much all of a sudden.” you were overwhelmed with the sudden heaviness of the room, looking up at him with big eyes as he stood up.

“only people who know are my folks and you, i thought you could at least push away some of the hatred you have for me and be a little happy.” he was looking out the window now, hand smoothing over his forehead.

“okay, i’m happy for you, it was just a shock. i didn’t even say anything i don’t know why you’re so upset.”

a beat of silence went by before he walked over to the bed, looking down at you. “i try to make things normal between us constantly but all you seem t’care about is hating me.”

you couldn’t get a word out before he started up again, “i’m gonna go, come to the show tomorrow. wait until i’m done with my time slot backstage. we can talk then.”

——————————————————————————

you kept your legs crossed as you sat on the couch in his dressing room, smoothing out the skirt on your dress as you heard the finishing notes to the song playing.

you couldn’t believe it was elvis, if you ignored the fact it was your neighbor it was actually quite good.

you were nervous, things ended very tensely between you two the last afternoon and you could barely sleep because of it.

you stared at the door, mind racing.

he hasn’t spoken a word to you, sneaking you into the back without a passing glance.

the door opened suddenly and you were making eye contact with him.

you saw him in a different light, his hair sweaty and eyeliner smudged, causing your thighs to rub against eachother.

you quickly stood up, hands playing with each other behind your back.

“you like the music?” the said turning to look into the lit up mirror.

you felt instant relief that he didn’t make things awkward, cracking a smile at him in the reflection.

“don’t think i haven’t forgotten about last night darlin’” he said turning around, darkness taking over his features.

he started to walk forward, causing you to move back, gasping when you hit the wall.

“elvis-“ he cut you off with your foreheads touching, causing your breathing to pick up as he moved his hands to your waist.

“don’t think i haven’t seen the way you look at me. these past few years, it’s just been building. you felt it too haven’t you?” he was practically panting in your ear.

“elvis this is crazy, you’re just feeling adrenaline from the show.”

he shook his head against yours, “tell me to stop and i will.”

you paused and let the silence consume the room.

he immediately swooped in and connected your lips, your stomach flipping as you brought your hand to the side of his face.

you had wanted this for so long and now it was finally happening, you wanted to scream.

quickly he moved you two to the dressing table, your lower back brushing against the uncomfortable wood.

you moaned into his mouth as his knee pressed up against you, he pulled away as you intertwined your hands with his hair.

“i know we both want it, but for any reason if you want this to stop talk now.”

you could barely hear him over your breathing but you shook your head, biting your lip.

with a quick nod he grabbed your hips and flipped you over, hands grasping onto the table as you looked up at him over your shoulder, eyes hazy.

he kicked your legs apart from behind and he hooked his fingers into the hem of your underwear, pulling them down and flipping your dress up.

you practically fucked your self against his clothed erection, putting your head into your arms in embarrassment.

“god, look at you, huh? i knew you wanted this as badly as me” he said pulling your head up by a makeshift ponytail.

he took his time undoing his belt and pulling his pants down, he threw his blazer on the couch behind you as he aligned his tip with you.

shoving in slowly, you whined out as you let him stretch you out.

“you can go” you managed to spit out as you felt yourself contract around him.

he slowly started to thrust in and out as he went to kiss your neck, your head pulled back against his shoulder.

your mouth hung open as you turned your head to him, looking up into his eyes as he placed kisses on your open mouth.

your eyes squeezed shut, foreign feelings taking over you.

“don’t act like such a prude, acting like i can’t hear you filling yourself up at night and moaning my name”

you whimpered, humiliation filling your body, but he wasn’t done. “too bad your hearing isn’t as good as mine, bet you would’ve heard me too.”

you couldn’t breathe, tears were coming out of the corner of your eyes as your body tingled against him.

it was sinful, you weren’t even married. but you couldn’t stop yourself from pushing back on him, finding new angles,

you could feel yourself squeezing him, deep groans going straight into your mouth, profanities coming out of his.

his hand wrapped around to rub your clit, causing you to yell out, you could barely keep your eyes open as his thrusts became sloppy.

heat grew at the front of your lower stomach, the pressure getting tighter until he administered one last pinch to your clit that sent you keeling over, crying into the wooden table that the side of your face met.

he worked you through it before he murmured something about not being able to finish inside of you.

before you knew it you were being pushed on your knees, looking up.

he tapped the tip on your tongue, your lips wrapping around it as you moved to cup his swollen balls, from the moan that came from him you could tell he was close.

not soon after he was spilling into your mouth, you immediately swallowed.

after getting up he wiped your chin and you let yourself fall into him, engulfed in his scent, letting your arms wrap around him.

“think this was enough to fix your attitude?”

#austin butler #austin butler smut #austin elvis x reader #austin butler x reader #sebastian kydd #the carrie diaries #austin butler imagine #austin elvis imagine #elvis smut #elvis 2022

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theonlymadmanonmars · 7 days

Text

It's cold out. Willy hates the Cold. It makes his joints hurt. Every part of him feels stiff. It reminds him of his mortality. Despite everything, His power, His plans, The fact that he can kill a man with a mere thought, Despite everything he's still Mortal. It's Infuriating.

He lights a fire and holds it in his hand. It does nothing to fend off the frost that's biting at every piece of his skin, but it's nice to be reminded that he can.

The castle is old and Creaky. Despite the renovations they've done to it nothing can account for the lack of insulation. Whatever. It's not like it matters. Willy is well aware of who he is and the power he holds. Mortality is temporary after all. Or at least it will be when he's done.

As if his day couldn't get any worse Barry decides now is the perfect time to approach him. Lovely.

“Hello William,” He says In an infuriatingly cheery voice.

“For the millionth fuckin Time it's just Willy!” Willy sighs and waves his arms dramatically ”W. I. L. L .Y! Willy. Not William!” He pinches the bridge of his nose exasperated. Barry has this unique talent for getting under his skin.

“Of course, of course,” Barry pauses his Grin spreading to his eyes “William,” He lets out a small chuckle.

Willy shoots him an icy glare. Of course Barry just keeps smiling at him, his zen masquerade never faltering.

“Do you want something?” He says bubbling with irritation.

“Well not particularly Dear, I just wanted to give you this”

He hands over a shiny crystal Cup that immediately starts shaking in Willy's grasp nearly cracking.

“Dont fuckin call me that–” He sticks out his tounge slightly as if the nickname has left a bad taste in his mouth– “What the hell is this?” Willy glares down at the cup. He sniffs it still slightly annoyed.

It smells like Apples and Pine. He read somewhere you should never accept a gift from an elf, But it is Barry. He doubts the man would ever stand against him and regardless he's sure that if he did Barry would not survive.

“It's Apple Cider, Dear.” He enunciates the last word as if to prove a point. “I know you don't drink”

He's right of course. Willy doesn't drink. His dad drank himself to death when he was twelve. The idea of drinking hasn't appealed to him since then. Of course he used to. When he was alive he let Ron pour his whiskey. Unlike his father however Willy was always a sappy drunk. That vulnerability did not appeal to Willy in the slightest.

“Why are you giving me this?” He looks up at Barry skeptically.

“It's winter Solstice Dear. The start of Yule. We're celebrating the return of light.” He swirls The liquid in his own cup around gently. “Me and Autumn used to celebrate together but as of recent events… Well drinking alone is no fun if you'd care to join me.”

Willy looks over at him confused. Him and Barry aren't exactly friends. Are they?

“Why would I celebrate with you?” He glares over at him. He really doesn't want to spend anymore time with him than strictly necessary. Barry's smile faulters slightly.

“It was just an invitation William. You don't have to accept it.”

“Fuck it. I don't have anything better to do” Willy doesn't want to spend time with Barry but there's not much worse than stewing alone in the cold.

Barry's smile meets his eyes. He tilts his head to the side as he offers a hand out for Willy to take. Willy promptly smacks his hand away and stands up on his own. Barry simply turns and starts walking to his room with Willy in tow.

The room is Infuriatingly well furnished. A large Bed with a Gold encrusted Wooden Frame sits directly in the middle of the room. The frame twisting and turning into one of his stupid perfect symmetrical trees. Surrounding the bed are all sorts of plants. Pink and Red Roses are littered throughout the entire room growing directly out of the floorboards. The walls have almost no empty Space on them. Each section is invaded by shelves holding Crystals and Candles that light up the room warmly.

Overall it's incredibly pretentious. Incredibly Barry. Willy isn't sure whether he should be impressed or annoyed.

Barry doesn't say anything he just sits on the bed and pats the area next to him.

“Did you just fucking Pat for me to sit down? Are you fucking serious?!” Willy glares at Barry, the pretentious Fuck continuing to smile at him.

“I didn't mean anything by it dear. I simply was inviting you to sit with me.” He says calmly.

Barry stares at him. Willy stares back. He realizes now that Barry's eyes are the exact same color as the leaves of the trees he's curated. A deep green with small flecks of Gold inside. They match perfectly with his impossibly long blonde hair.

“Are you going to sit down or not?” Barry asks prying Willy out of his thoughts.

Willy reluctantly sits down next to him.

“It feels like… even after almost four years of knowing you I know nothing about you,” Barry says as that genuine smile returns to his face. “So I think we should play twenty-one questions”

“That's intentional, That you don't know anything about me I mean,” Willy grumbles

“I'm aware,” Barry says simply “However I think we should get to know each other. Wouldn't it be valuable for you to have some Intel on me?”

He's right. He usually is. Not that Willy would ever admit that. It would just boost the man's already exceptionally high ego.

“Fine,” He huffs sitting up against the bedframe.

“Do you want to go first?” He says polite as ever offering Willy a large bottle of Apple cider. “Or do you want me too?”

He moves to sit next to Willy, sliding a hand onto his shoulder. Another thing Willy hates. The way Barry touches him feels consuming. It's almost Terrifying. Willy thinks It would be to anyone else. This man- Who's more monster than man really- Trying to devour him whole with just a touch. It’s Corruption, Abuse, Violence, Everything that Willy himself is. He doesn't move Barry's hand.

“I will.” Willy sighs.

He pauses deep in thought. There are so many things about Barry he doesn't know. What could be useful? You need to know everything about a beast before attempting to tame it. Especially one that plans to eat you whole.

He's thinking too hard. Willy has never had a friend before, and the man before him was one of the most annoying people he'd ever met. But… They were similar in a way. He could relate to Barry on a level he can't any other men. Monsters often find solace in each other after all.

“How do you know what this game is? Do you have this stuff in fae rune?” He finally settles on a more simple question.

Barry looks at him like he's a particularly interesting ant in an ant farm. Willy glares at him.

“Bill told me about it.” He explains. “He wanted to play it with me but-” he cuts himself off politely. “Well you know how Bill is.”

Willy snorts rolling his eyes. Bill was, to put it lightly, the most annoying person Willy had ever met.

“My turn then.” Barry says

He starts stretching. His casual yoga has always pissed Willy off. He pretends to think for about a minute, Putting a finger up to his lips.

“What's your astrology sign?”

“I'm a Scorpio.” Willy knows the bare essentials of Astrology. He learned very quickly that when it comes to magic, if Barry believes in something it’s probably not complete bullshit.

The Half elf grins his pointy teeth on full display. Every part of Barry is sharp in some way. His sharp chin, his pointy teeth, his long slender fingers ending in perfectly manicured claws, his pointy ears- the most pointy Willy ever has seen on a halfie, and his sharp cutting words. Every part of him is dangerous, a ravenous monster waiting for its next meal. Despite himself it always seems to leave Willy wanting more. More of him.

“-Compatible.” Is all Willy hears when he snaps back into the moment.

“Compatible?” He repeats dumbly not sure what else to say

“Our Zodiac signs. You’re a Scorpio and I’m a Leo. We’re compatible!” Barry says cheerfully as ever.

“What do you mean compatible?” He asks a slight snarl to his voice, his words dripping in a false venom.

“I didn’t mean anything in particular. It’s just an astrology fact” He says shrugging.

“Hm.”

There’s a long silence between them for a long moment Barry’s striking green eyes focused on Willys. It takes a long moment for Willy to relive why the talking has stopped.

“Oh. It’s my turn. Okay… Why did you marry Autumn?”

Barry grins seemingly much more satisfied with this question than the first one. He pulls his floor length blond hair out of the braid it’s usually confined in and plucks the flowers out one by one.

“Autumn and I were…” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “Dreamers. She wanted to change the world, as did I. I liked her quite a lot—“

“—Not loved?” Willy asks, cutting him off for the second time this evening.

“No. Not loved. I don’t believe I’ve ever loved anyone.” He cards his hand through his hair now shaking out any excess plants. “Regardless, I liked her quite a lot. She was my best friend. I showed her the beauty of nature and she taught me about the stars, tales of Gods old and new, and told me her dreams for peace among men. I promised to make those dreams come true. She loved me and I was very fond of her. So we were married.”

Willy looks at Barry for a long time. The way he speaks of his wife now is far more fond than any time he has in all the years he’s known him. It makes Willy’s whole body tense up.

“Things are different now of course. Had Autumn turned out differently the two of us could have ruled the world together” He lets out a deep sigh. “But unfortunately she found a way to disappoint me. Just like everyone else I’ve met except…” He cuts himself off.

‘“Except?” Willy inquires.

“Except for you.” Barry looks away from him staring intently at the Wall that infuriating smile still plastered onto his face.

“Hm” Willy doesn't say anything beyond that leaving unsaid words dangling in the air above them.

“How about you? What was your wife like?” Barry asks.

“She was an absolute bitch. She thought she was ‘chronically ill’ or something and did nothing but lay in bed. She was a lazy Bitch. She didn't ‘approve of my parenting style' but never wanted to help raise the little pussy.” He grumbles a familiar bite to his words mocking his now dead ex wife.

“She doesn't sound like she was the right match for you” Barry says gently.

There's something strange tugging at his words. As if there's more to the sentence. But Willy doesn't ask and Barry doesn't tell him.

“Yeah well she wasn't. She was… I don't know. It was better before she got sick. She was a bitch though.” He says definitively.

Barry tilts his head slightly to the side and hums softly.

“What's your favorite thing about yourself?” Willy asks with a smirk.

Barry can go on for hours about how great he is. How much better he is than anyone and everyone around him. He's insufferable about it. Right now, However, it could come in handy. He'd rather listen to Barry ramble on than reveal more information about himself the Half elf will definitely use against him.

“My intelligence. What's your favorite thing about me?” Barry quickly flips the question.

What the hell? Barry loves to talk about himself. He has a deeper agenda here. Something that Willy can't see. It's enraging.

“What are you playing at?” Willy questions, ignoring Barry's question?

“What are you talking about?” Barry asks plainly.

“What's your game here Oak?” Willy asks again. He sighs, Willy hates repeating himself.

“Whatever do you mean?” Barry isn't asking. He knows. He's playing with Willy.

Willy snaps. He flips around pinning Barry to the bed snarling down at him. Barry shudders under him, his practiced smile never wavering.

“You know exactly what I mean, you self righteous prick.” Willy growls out.

Barry does something unexpected. He grasps at the back of Willy's shirt the fabric rough against his fingers and pulls him down into a hungry kiss.

Everything about Barry is sharp. His kiss is no different. Sharp teeth desperately bite at Willy's Lips as Barry Claws into his back trying to swallow him whole.

It's messy it's terrible. It's terrible the way that Willy wants Barry to cut him open to lick his intestines and Bite his heart in two. To dig his fingers into his chest and pull out his ribs.

Barry has always been a beast. He has no empathy, He cares about nothing but himself. He's a ravenous monster all sharp edges and sharper words. So what could Willy do but let him devour him?

Barry pulls away gently Willy chasing his lips.

“What the fuck was that?” Willy demands

“We can talk about it tomorrow.” Without another word Barry pulls Willy down to lie on his chest.

Willy thinks about leaving, Walking out now and never having to face what just happened. Then again Barry is wrapped around him, hard edges softening. It fills Willy with an unfamiliar warmth. He settles into the bed wrapping an arm around Barry. He can stay, just for the night. After all, Willy hates the cold.

#dungeons and daddies #dndads #dndads fanart #barry oak #willy stampler #Warbear #warbear #Willy/Barry #purple trees #dungeons and daddies fanfiction #dndads fanfic #dndads fic #dndads Season 1 #dndads 1 #dndads s1 #im begging you to see my vison #please

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travelling-on-the-octopath · 2 years

Text

S Plays 'Golden Wildfire' - Part 1

I tried to play with the Japanese voices and English dialogue, but it looks like changing the language does both? So that's. Irritating lol. I love Claude's JP!VA

We've all caught up with the demo, yes? No? I'll give you the rundown if not

Almyra launched an attack on Leicester back in the Academy days.

Shahid, Claude's brother, led the attack; likely the only reason they didn't succeed was because Nader didn't want to launch an attack on Claude. He wants the crown, and successful application of militaristic force seems to be the way to do it.

Hm. We'll see if that comes up in correlation to the leaks I've seen.

Holst is around; doesn't seem to bear the Crest of Goneril, despite Hilda claiming Freikugel was his birthright in Houses (she says he tried to pawn off his whole inheritance and only settled for giving her the Relic).

This will set the tone for all the infuriating retcons to come <3

Claude implies he's toyed with the idea of consolidating power in the Alliance because a multi-faceted higher power does not suit wartime. (Shez C-support)

Almyra seems to have stayed their hand for now.

Shez was left kicking around and unemployed for two years. Good for the Alliance, indicative of Claude's leadership, bad for Shez.

And now we're in it, folks! Get ready <3

The Defence of the Great Bridge

Claude's already talking about abandoning the Bridge if it really comes down to it. He's framing it in a way that talks about saving lives, but, uh . . . he manages to do it just fine in Houses? Aside from CF? So . . . hm!

I should say: That's me being nitpicky because I know where this goes, but also . . . Hopes!Claude has another full game of his character to stand as contradiction, so he has to get good.

All right so I have to go save Count DILF--I mean Count Gloucester's ass.

Regarding gameplay--OH FUCK OH LINHARDT BABY I'M COMING FOR YOU

Regarding gameplay: You can pre-pick strategies that are executed in battle. Picking of strongholds, recruiting people, etc etc.

AGAIN he mentions surrendering the bridge. I'm fucked.

Count Gloucester very much prioritizes the safety of his men :') what a guy

Acheron being a slime-spined bitch as always.

Oh DAMN Shez can warp-warp.

Okay so because Acheron was a bitch they have to forfeit the bridge. Sigh. Fucking hate this guy.

CASPAR???????

Linhardt warped Caspar to safety. That's so

They're being so cute. I do feel a little bad about taking Linhardt from him but oh well.

"YOU WERE NEVER THE TYPE TO FIGHT TO THE DEATH ANYWAY :( IF ANYTHING, I'M RELIEVED" CASPAR I'M SORRY OKAY

FERDINAND BABY NO I CAN'T RECRUIT YOU PLEASE LEAVE :(

Oh yikes, Gloucester surrendered.

Uh oh. "It's time to redraw the battle lines." Claude honey baby think about what you're doing here--

Okay so we skipped over the attack on Garreg Mach. Wonder when those lord cutscenes are gonna come into play?

DIMI DIMA DIMITRI LION MAN I LOVE YOU HELLO

It should be said: Rhea believes the church to now be in the Kingdom's debt for offering them asylum. Seteth offers the knights to be commanded as Faerghan troops. This is not at all a one-sided relationship. (Keeping note of this in case the writers get any Ideas)

Oh? Count Rowe is the Empire's problem child? Deserved. Asshole.

Hubert hates the obligation to help their vassal territories glkgjdflgj fucking love how awful this guy is.

NEXT CHAPTER

#s starts a wildfire #fire emblem warriors: three hopes spoilers #fewth spoilers

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dastardly-imbecile · 1 year

Text

Almost Human

Part 3 of the 'fandoms i know nothing about but wrote for a friend'. 1, 2

“Detective?”

That voice. He’d know it anywhere, of course, soft and slow and infuriating. Why was he here? Why did he have to be bothering Gavin now, of all possible times?

He looks up. His neck protests at the sudden movement—it’s settled well enough into the hunched, cramped position.

Bet the android doesn’t have to deal with this.

Unnatural freaks.

“Detective,” it says again, and he realizes that he still hasn’t responded. Gods only know why it’s bothering him—where’s Hank? Shouldn’t he be keeping this thing on a tight leash?

He almost snorts. Old man’s always been far too soft. It’ll no doubt bite him in the back someday.

Or shoot him, as things seem to go more often in this line of work.

Not his concern at the moment.

“Android,” he finally says back. It’s always aggravated him how the android is taller than him. It feels like some sort of silent inferiority; another example of how they’re trying to make the robots faster, bigger, better. He used to think that there was no chance of that happening.

At the progress they’re going, perhaps the real future is creeping up on him alarmingly fast.

“Do you require assistance?”

And the thing just stands there, straight-backed and suited. Acting like it’s a real human- like it’s clawed its way into this station like he has. How much has he given for his career? Any semblance of having a social life, for one. He’s bit back all the words that bubble up when the idiots above him make their horrible decisions. All those sacrifices, and yet the robot just waltzes in like it owns the place.

Like it’s better than him.

He lurches to his feet. More bones, more joints, protesting at the sudden movement. Whatever. Shorter though he may be, he doesn’t want to sit there looking up at the android, seeing his broad frame looming up above him.

At this height, he’s an image of brown eyes, dark hair. Shaved clean, smiling politely. His face isn’t any better than his chest but at least Gavin’s not looking up anymore.

“Shouldn’t you be on duty, android?” The words come out slanted with annoyance, which is truly the least of his emotions at the moment. “Not wandering the place like a mutt.”

“Hank let me out,” he says. “You looked like you needed help.”

Gavin opens his mouth, prepared to spit some sort of rebuke—what is this thing implying? That he’s some sort of helpless thing? That any problems he has can be solved by him?

He closes it again. No use, really, spending his hard-earned free time on arguing with this thing. “Go… ah, I dunno. Get me a coffee.”

At least this will get rid of him.

….Except it doesn’t. The thing, the android, simply stands there. Looking over Gavin with its gaze. He’d dearly love to say that his eyes are dead and blank, glazed dark like fish-eyes, but no, they’ve somehow managed to program some sort of life and expression behind them. Like there’s more than a sea of blue goop and biomechs behind that synthetic skin.

It weirds him out.

“Well?”

“Are you alright?” The android tilts his head. “Your posture-”

“Is that what I told you to do, huh?”

It’s an almost disproportionate anger that he feels. First it asks him for help, and then it tries to… what? Psychoanalyze him?

“I am not obligated to follow your orders.” The android nods once. Throat bobbing up and down. It’s a small movement; but for whatever reason, it captivates him. Maybe because of how realistic it is—make them blink, make them twitch, hell, give them the ability to disobey orders.

But this? There’s no reason for it to exist besides the fact that they want to make them realistic. A punch in the gut; that’s what it is, another reminder that maybe one day, he’ll be walking down some city street and be unable to tell what’s human and what’s not.

It makes him want to lash out. To hit something, break something, slam a fist on a wall—or into a convenient subject standing right before him. His fingers twitch. Clenching.

The android stares. He—he?—steps away.

“...nevertheless, I will do you a favor.”

With that, he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving Gavin with an anger that he can’t quite deal with. Really, though, as he looks at the android’s retreating back, he can’t help but think that he wouldn’t have. Something about staring into those eyes, dark and liquid-brown. About the twitch of his adam’s apple.

He can’t be letting him become… anything further than a bot. No matter how human he seems; no matter whatever shaved-face they’ve plastered into a facade.

He’s coming back. A small plastic cup, almost dwarfed by his hand. There’s a jump in his eyebrows as he walks closer. Like he hasn’t been expecting Gavin to still be standing there dumbly, hands by his sides, waiting.

Hadn’t that been his original plan? To walk away while the bot was busy?

Wordlessly, he proffers the cup. Gavin takes it, despite himself. The transfer from hand-to-hand is awkward, and the android’s fingers fumble against his for a split second.

Fingers. Warm, soft. Human. It’s another shock out of a thousand. Another way that they’re bending technology into humanity, mixing the two until they’ll be indistinguishable from one another. If it was dark, if he didn’t know, if Gavin grabbed an arm or a hand or laid his palm on a forehead, he wouldn’t be able to tell.

A vague notion of it runs through his mind—dark room, warm skin. Not the android’s; simply a stranger—not that he’s had the time to spend time with many strangers in dark rooms.

He doesn’t thank the android. It doesn’t ask for one either. Simply regards him with those dark, shining eyes, head tilted slightly, like he’s looking through Gavin’s head and out the back. Gavin stares back. Words bubbling in his throat; shouted ones, what’re you looking at or get away.

“Connor!”

Hank’s voice. It breaks him out of his reverie; does the same for the bot. Connor, right. What he calls himself. What Hank calls him too.

Soft.

He turns and ambles away. Leaving Gavin with his small cup and his thoughts and the memory of that gaze, that skin, that throat.

Human. So close. Almost there, a hair’s breadth away.

Connor.

#detroit become human #dbh fanfic #dbh gavin reed #dbh connor #connor x gavin #reed80 #dbh

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sagittittyrius · 2 years

Text

Unraveled Threads

They don’t care about me? Lovely. I couldn’t care less about them either. In fact, I’m only here to make them feel just as worthless as I do. Malicious? Sure. Insecure? Definitely. Set in my ways? Absolutely.

My father wove me this way. Unintentionally, but interlaced tightly together all the same. Stray threads sticking out, slightly obstructing the image woven onto the tapestry. The depiction of a woman whose face wishes to be anywhere but she is. My face. Me.

It was all so dramatic, really, the day my tapestry began to fray. I was nine years old. I had just gotten home from my hell of an elementary school when my mom came back inside from picking up the mail. A mysterious yellow envelope had arrived at our mailbox, ominous and seedy. Inside, a letter written out in sparkling green alphabet stickers–well, most of it, anyway. The latter half of the letter was handwritten, I assume because the writer had suddenly run out of their stupid little alphabet letters they were using to ruin my life. In the midst of all the drama, that was always both comical and infuriating to me. Why didn’t they buy more stickers?!

This was too crazy. Too fake. No, this couldn’t be real. And yet, here the letter was. Very much so in my mother’s hands, making her begin to tear up. My sister was much more hysterical, already openly sobbing . Me? I was incredulous. Disillusioned. Heartbroken, not only on my behalf but theirs as well. But most of all, I was furious. So furious. I could only bring myself to knock over one of our barstools. I spotted a photo of me and my father, standing together happily during one of our family cruise vacations. Taking out of the frame, I began to crush the picture in my hands, forever damaging it. I could only remember wanting to hurt his feelings as much as possible. It was the only thing I could do to prevent myself from losing my mind.

Did my dad really have another family that everyone knew about except us?

I mean, that’s what the letter said. Why would they lie? My father’s weak lies in defense of the letter only served to infuriate me more.

Hours later, after the endless screaming, fighting, and sobbing I finally entered my parent’s room, my turn to speak to them finally arriving. As I walked in, I didn't know what I expected. But it most certainly wasn’t my mother and father laying together, calm and reconciled. I was only nine years old but I didn’t inhibit the crude reaction to my parents.

“What the fuck?”

“Cata! Que es eso, don’t speak that way!” My mother had sat up, appalled.

“Why are you laying with him like nothing happened? I want to punch him right now!”

“Cata, enough! Respetame!” My father shouted, now sitting up as well. He barely inched closer to me when I dramatically backed away.

“Stay away from me! How am I supposed to respect a liar, a coward, a bad man? Because that’s what you are, a bad man!”

“Catalina, please, just listen to me! There’s an explanation for all of this!”

I didn’t notice the way his voice began to crack as it was shredded through his tears. I could only notice the way mine began to shake from rage.

“Yeah and it’s that you lied! You have another family and everyone knows and someone finally decided to tell us the truth about you and what kind of person you are!”

“That someone made all of this up! It’s a lie! It’s all lies!”

I turned to my mother again in shock. Disbelief, really.

“Do you seriously believe this bullshit?” I said blankly and pointedly. I genuinely wanted to know.

Both of them gave exasperated sighs.

“How stupid do you think we are? Did you run out good lies to tell, I mean, why would anyone do that?”

“To hurt us, mija! To tear us apart!”

“No, see, you’re lying again! Because the only one hurting us here is you! You! The coward! The liar! The man who I was actually stupid enough to believe that you were a good person! A good dad! That you cared about us!”

“I do! I do care about you, I care about you three more than anything!”

“Again, with the lies! Enough! Enough! I can’t deal with this, I can’t deal with you!”

I wanted nothing more than to hurt his feelings, and but when I saw the tears in his eyes it wasn’t all victory that I felt. I won’t lie, I was glad I made him cry. But, then again, seeing my proud father begin to cry planted seeds of doubt in my mind. Maybe it was a lie? Maybe I took it too far? No, that can’t be. He’s a liar. He’s hurt Mom so bad. He betrayed us. I feel awful. My mind couldn’t stop racing and my stomach wouldn’t stop churning at the weight of all of these thoughts and feelings.

I could begin feeling the threads of my tapestry spring up, thinning out the carefully woven thick wefts that had been so carefully strung together. I couldn’t take out the image in my head of my father splitting the tapestry apart with his own nimble fingers, pulling threads out from my eyes and heart, disfiguring my image. I could basically see him holding my ruined strings, walking over to the looms of his other children I didn’t even know exist. I could almost feel him using my frayed strings to instead begin weaving their tapestries, careful to craft a true piece of art.

This was all too much. For me, for anyone.

And I wanted no part in it.

I was my own tapestry. My own artwork. My dad may have woven me, but he was not in my image. No one was. Only me. That was going to be my focus now. It was too much to feel, too much to be involved in. I didn’t want this to be my life. I didn’t want this to be me.

It’s not you. It’s fine. Because you don’t care about this anyway.

Words that seemingly set me free, but really caged me in another trap. Of course. This isn’t my life. This isn’t my problem. I don’t have to worry about holding up the wefts of other mosaics, because I don’t care. I don’t have to stay up late at night, questioning my father’s love for me. I don’t care about him or what he does, so why would I do that? How can anyone unravel my threads if I don’t even let my weaver do so? Even my frayed threads add a rare elegance to me, giving textures and depths to my depiction. Adding dimensions that only served me and my value. There was no need to feel betrayal or sadness. I didn’t care enough about him to even feel sad, I decided. At times, I even purposely made my father doubt my love for him, thinking I was enacting some sort of revenge. He’s the only one allowed to be hurt in this situation. In reality, I was just trying to convince myself that I didn’t, a sort of ritual to maintain this psyche.

There’s no reason for your insecurities or for wondering if these mystery siblings have a special place in my Dad’s heart. The voice of coping disguised as sanity would plead in my head.

“What if he loves them more?” I’d always wonder back.

It doesn’t matter. You’re the most wonderful tapestry, with or without that foolish weaver you share. They’re cheap fucking rugs, Cat. You don’t care about him, and you don’t care about them. You are too above them to care. You are too above this to care.

I stand alone on this loom. I’m not concerned with the other pieces that could be out there, woven by my father or not. I stand alone on this loom, concerned only with holding myself up. To hold up any other wefts would bring me crashing down, a mess of strings and sorrows. I cannot care about them, because I care too much about me.

#writing #my writing #prose #complete #blog #fiction #short story #poetry #literature

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