#but damn being back on here is just as painful as it is enjoyable

[thelastofhyde]

i. the likeability paradox.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

synopsis. joel miller is not a man who strives to be liked, with a chip on his shoulder and a scowl on his face, until his world is flipped on its axis when the pretty young thing living under bill and frank's roof, with an irritatingly unwavering smile and the literal sun shinning out her ass, says those five damned words: i don't like you, joel.

warnings. no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, slow burn ( i have several oneshots planned for this couple ), unrequited love ( except you will never catch joel miller admitting he feels anything beyond grief, hunger and exhaustion ), pining, poor communication no communication, no seriously joel is down bad it's actually disgusting and highkey 🚩toxic🚩 but luckily red is your favourite colour, sunshine!reader, grumpy!joel aka canon joel, kinda perv!joel ( if you squint ), implied queer!tess, undefined age gap ( reader implied late-20s ), descriptions of canon-typical violence, smut ( oral- f receiving, fingering, degradation, panty stealing, hair pulling, dirty talk, dubcon due to intoxication, joel kinda gives her a wedgie at some point and honestly i don’t know what i was hoping to achieve with that, discussions of a lacklustre sex-life pre-apocalypse ). reader is a) hinted at being shorter than joel but it’s not central to the plot and b) described as lithe but the meaning intended is graceful, not thin!

word count. 12.9k

hyde’s input. half-way through, the regret of choosing to write this from joel's pov started to settle in but lmao i was too far in to not commit to the bit. don't come at me for the fact the timeline or events may not seem plausible with canon, i just wanna write this silly little depraved fic about joel in peace :( anyway, enjoy my first attempt at writing for tlou, forming a prayer circle rn in hopes that this doesn't flop because i will cry and you will hear about it

taglist. @kayleezra​​ @newavenger + add yourself to the taglist here !​

read on ao3 ! ( capitalization available )

distaste is not new in the life of joel miller.

in particular, one that is loaded, aimed and fired directly at him. he is not a likeable guy, often by choice and rarely by accident. the years of pain from a bleeding wound have now scarred over into nothing but an empty shell of the man that once was, from a world that no longer is, and he’s tried little to fill himself back up.

if anything, he’s made himself more empty.

rid himself of feelings, that which saves him the weakness of appearing sympathetic. discarded the need for luxuries, for which he’d scarcely cared for prior to his world ending. lay to rest what was left of the optimist inside him, leaving behind the danger of hope for it to rot with the rest of the infected.

an apocalyptic world brings out all sides of man that one would never dare to engage with in normal civilisation. joel learned swiftly that he was built to endure, quick to evolve and adapt to the new world order. the man who once worked his hardest to keep the peace among his neighbours, smiling that little bit wider on days he’d catch them scowling to themselves in hopes of brightening one part of their day for even a simple moment, would be at odds with the man who wears a heavy layer of enjoyment when met with the scowling glances and the hushed voices, all the watch out for that miller guys passed between cowardly members of fedra and the keep away from mr. miller's lawns spoken harshly from mother to child becoming music to his failing ears.

this plague of fear-driven dislike keeps him alone, how he likes to be, no one to lose and nothing to be taken. somewhere along the years the idea of safety in numbers has morphed into an illusion, something people say and never truly mean, to distract themselves from a reality more bitter than a snowstorm: in times of survival, people become dead-weight.

“so that’s all i am to ya, huh? dead-fucking-weight?” his brother’s voice still echoes in that damned space he calls a home, weeks or months or years since the day he’d departed for something else, somewhere else, leaving joel to do what joel does best: endure.

somehow, silence was easier than telling the man he’d taught to tie a shoelace, to shave his beard, to tune a guitar that he was the dead-weight, doomed to drag all those who remained too close down into his pit of despair.

she was an exception, his tess, buried 5-feet-under in her own swell of darkness, nothing but the tips of her fingers stretched out above her head to feel the sun upon her skin and keep her from going that last foot deeper. they’d made a home for themselves in one another, one where he keeps them fed, and she keeps them safe, and neither of them keeps the place clean.

she never asks for more, and he never offers it, both content to survive without the weight of affection smothering them. contrary to the belief of any misfortunate soul who’s encountered the pair within the quarantine zone, she is the one who holds the leash, tugging joel along close by her heel and keeping him from wandering off into the wild to surrender himself to a feral lifestyle.

which lands him here, sat at a table playing happy family, each time he dares to snark out a few words being met with the sharp kick of tess’ foot against his shin.

“... and then,” frank struggles over a cough, so excited in his story-telling that he fails to separate taking a breath from taking a sip of his wine. with a roll of eyes and a disapproving grunt, bill’s no more than two seconds away from clapping down on his back, urging the other man’s wind-pipes to unblock and welcome back airflow. “otis dragged his muddied self over the whole house. we were finding paw-prints for days!”

joel’s unamused, too keen to think of what a nuisance that would be. as if incapable of feeling the buzzing energy of disinterest, the german shepherd drops its head further up his lap, begging for a morsel of anything that sits atop the table.

“which means i was cleaning paw-prints for days.” bill, the only one at the table besides himself who wears the looks of a cynic, grumbles out before shovelling what remains on his plate into his mouth.

frank is quick to shush him.

“i’m sorry, again, bill,” he doesn’t mean to break eye-contact from the mutt at his thigh, but the voice calls to him like a siren calls to a ship in the night, like a flame dances and seduces a moth into its brightly burning touch of death, a spotlight in the dark which promises- or threatens- more light to come. “i’d no clue there was a storm coming till we were already a good few miles away, and there was nowhere to take cover to wait it out.”

there you sit, parallel to him.

the sun rests lower in the sky as time carries you all into the late noon, its rays a beacon of light bursting out just behind your head, painting you in the glow of the golden hour and staining a mockery of a halo above you. it hurts his eyes, this brightness that you so easily bask in, forcing him to squint and deepen the frown on his face.

you catch him with his sights on you, at some point, and the smile you meet his scowl with has him cursing at the sun, and the moon, and every star that sits between.

the threat of a great war looms in the air as you rush to rise up and help clear the table of the remnants left behind- none of which joel can account for, mouth to keen and body too starved to skip out on enjoying the mundane luxury of a fresh, home-cooked meal. the battle ends swiftly as you surrender to bill’s hardened stare, and frank’s disapproving head-shakes, and tess’ own plan of action to simply force you down back into the seat you’d been sat in- the one you always sit in.

“you, sit. no one should have to clean up the food they made.”

they get no fight out of him when they insist he’d done enough catching the so-called food.

silence casts its shadow over the table, dampening the light and painting you both in a mockery of greyed tones- truthfully, it is the disappearance of the sun hind a large cloud that causes such a thing.

being alone, with you, is something joel’s never mastered. the affliction of your presence is so much greater when there’s no one else to balance out your natural shine- the kind that has his head spinning and his cock aching-, no one but him.

were he not a sick bastard, he’d try harder to not make you sad.

something bumps his hands, ripping him out of his moral self-condemnation. the dog meets his gaze, eyes a widened mess of puppy-dog pleading that punctuates its existence with an impatient whine.

just like your owner, he finds himself thinking and not saying- never saying-, yet to find your bark.

the ball’s a sticky mess of slobber and dirt, and joel touches it all the same, throwing it up in the air once, then twice, before tossing it across the yard. he’s slumped back in his chair by the time he registers the dog’s departure, a ball of dark fluff bouncing its way across the garden, and all the man can think is fuck, he’ll be feeling the effect of that throw on his shoulder come the morning.

the pain is not enough to stop him from tossing the ball again, and once more, and then yet again, sending the dog in a never ending loop of chase, grab, retrieve- a parallel to his life of wake, survive, sleep.

“he likes you,” you never leave things the way he wishes them to be, bursting his bubble with the vocal reminder of your presence.

as if on queue, prompted by your addressing of it, the dog drops its interest in joel, and the ball, and the chasing, tail wagging uncontrollably by the time it reaches your side. standing on its hind legs, it collapses the front of itself into your waiting lap, and joel watches how you wrap your arms so easily around something that could cause you harm.

to envy a creature that licks it own shit off its ass is a new low for joel.

“thinkin’ he might like ya more, sol.” the nickname rolls off his tongue with ease, the safer option than uttering your name, a vice and virtue he’s only permitted himself in idealistic fantasies that play out in his own troubled thoughts.

“most people do,” whether you mean to make it seem like you’re degrading his very existence or not, he’s unsure, but it rouses a chuckle out of him.

he takes note of how you don’t protest the name he’s branded you with, not like how you’d fought tooth and nail against it every other visit he and tess have made.

“you’ve got a whole load in common, you know? i think that’s got something to do with his fascination-”

“how the hell’s a man like me got somethin’ in common with a four-legged mutt?” there he goes again, making that smile slip down your cheeks with a simple use of his voice. it helps as much as it hurts, frown loosening up and eyes no longer strained beneath the bright shine of your visceral optimism.

“well, you’re both... hairy,” he restrains himself from reacting, washing down a laugh with the help of the dregs of wine that lay collecting at the bottom of his glass. he’s let his appearance grow more rugged over the past few months and your noticing of this brings an unwanted warmth to his aching bones. “and have the most kickass women in your lives to stop you from dying.”

he’s interested to know what life would be like under your protection.

discovering the answer brings the threat of pain, and loss, and an openness to vulnerability he can not afford himself, so he takes the safer option: “‘s easy stayin’ safe when you live in this fantasy land. doubt your mutt’d last any longer than a day out in reality.”

with you as its protector.

he doesn’t say it and, still, it somehow hovers in the space between you both, a heavy, syrupy implication that slips down your throats and threatens to suffocate you. he watches you choke on it, coughing on his cruelty and feigning it to be a simple clearing of your throat. your eyes glue themselves on the dog, delicate fingers smoothing over the well-groomed hairs down its back.

survival has turned him into a man who knows when to seize an opportunity, and this is one he takes with both hands, basking in the simplicity of staring, watching, observing you without the crime of being caught.

but i could keep you safe.

he toys with the danger of uttering such a thing aloud. it’s not the first time he’s thought it. truthfully, he’s unsure when it first nestled its way into his mind.

his memory, which ails him more than it aids him these past years, would have him believe it was way before the dog had even appeared, back when it was just bill, frank and you. a few whiskeys in and a campfire lit for you all to gather for warmth around- why you’d all chosen to sit out in the gardens on a winter’s night joel remains unsure of to this day-, it was frank who’d prompted the question. “where were you all when... this started?” tess went first, braver than most people he knows, sharing stories of a version of herself he’ll never meet. 

he never imagined her working in a bank.

bill, with reluctance, took the next step, keeping his account factual and to the point. “was shit-faced drunk and getting my stomach pumped.” he’d been quick to skim over the story of the young nurse who’d guided him to safety out the hospital, losing her own life in exchange for his survival. she was barely out of school. “i knew her dad, bit of an asshole, but boy, was he proud of his baby for graduating.” frank couldn’t let him swim too deep in his thoughts, afraid a current of guilt would trap him and drown him in the depths of it, and so he raised his own voice and began his tale.

joel had always been a good listener. being a single parent to a teenage girl required him to be, or so... she would have had him believe, nights at the table set for two spent listening to the playground he-said-she-said gossip. years later and he at last prefers things this way, a rare gem of safety found in the act of saying nothing and hearing everything- that his hearing will allow. all this to say, he’d tried his best to pay attention to frank’s impassioned retelling of his heroic misadventures that had lead him to the unintentional arms of bill.

but you weren’t smiling.

he watched you, you watched the dancing flames, face stoic and drained of that natural shine his eyes had only just started to be able to gaze upon without the threat of being blinded by such light.

the desire crept up on him like a tiger to it’s prey, hiding in the far off bushes until the opportunity to strike presented itself and the feeling lunged for joel’s back, gripping him in its claws and piercing his ribcage with its gnashing teeth. with each bite, it plagued him with the delusions of a wandering mind, imagination left free to run laps around his head with visions of you from another life, another time, another set of people gathered round a dining table. he’d wanted to hear about the ones you’d lost, and comfort you with all the things he hated hearing (“you’ll keep ‘em alive, in spirit and memory!” “those we remember never truly die!”). he’d needed to bend a knee and swear a vow to be the one to stand between you and death, to fight for your survival on your behalf. ‘could keep you safe. there, then, the thought did cross his mind.

he’d washed it down with a swig of lukewarm, flat beer.

“-could fix it, you know. i’m good with my hands.”

he almost chokes on his own breath.

i'm good with my hands, it swims in circles round his mind, replaying and echoing off the walls of his skull. and he knows- oh, how he knows- that he’ll be replaying it in those moments of solitude for the next few nights, weeks, months- however long it may take till he forgets the way such thought-provoking words sound on your lips.

“what?” the question leaves him harsher than he intends, drawing an enemy line between you both with the foul sound of it. in the corner of his eye, he swears he sees you flinch backwards, physically recoiling from the disdain-filled bullet he fires in your direction.

the mutt in your lap retreats, hackles rising as it turns to face joel once more.

he sees it, in the dog’s brutal protectiveness over you, this similarity you claim exists.

“your watch, it’s broken.”

“hadn’t noticed,” he’s retreating into his own space now, mentally and physically, scraping the legs of his chair against the ground as his mind works to strengthen those walls that threaten to crumble so often in your presence. “don’t need ya to fix it.”

you pull a face, brows furrowing and lips pouting. confusion.

“don’t you want to know the time?” you ask, as if time could ever be relevant in a rotten world where down is up, and up is down, and joel miller is not the overprotective father to the most delicate creature the god he’d stopped believing in had gifted him, just to force him to watch as life snatched her away.

“i don’t keep it for the time.”

you smile, and this one’s a killer, piercing straight through the cages of his ribs to carve itself into his withered heart.

the german shepherd relaxes with the rebrightening of your aura, shaking out the tension from its body before sauntering its way back over to joel, ball in mouth and tail wagging excitedly, as if it hadn’t just contemplated having its first taste of human flesh.

he’s throwing the toy in a matter of minutes, enjoying the repeated run and retrieve game, and the renewed silence that comes along with it. nature sings its tune with rustling leaves, cawing crows, and pounding paws. it’s almost so easy to leave your offer, your words, his broken watch in the rearview mirror of this otherwise pleasant afterno-

“ooh, so there’s a story to tell!” you’re blinding him with your excitement, lithe limbs leaning forward in your own chair in an attempt to reach closer, table between you be damned. “i’ve never heard any of the joel miller backstory, this should be-”

“i get that likin’ everyone is your thing, but would’ya give it a rest?”

nature falls silent.

skies grow dull.

you juggle sadness.

there’s a crash that comes from within the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of tess’ sailor mouth, cursing whichever delicate dish she’s broken into smithereens with the help of her accident prone hands. the dog’s lain itself down upon the grass, ball between it’s paws as it begins to bite, and chew, and break it under the pressure of its canines.

joel wonders what the mutt’s practicing for.

“sure,” then, with the return of your voice, all sounds resume, harmony upon planet earth once more. only, the gates have been shut in his face and joel finds himself forced to watch as everything unfolds from the outside, an unwelcome visitor forced out into exile with the fungal freaks and the inhumane. “but you’re wrong. i don’t like everyone.”

“‘s that so.” his eyes roll. the hole he’s dug for himself sinks deeper, casting you higher up on the pedestal joel will always be wiling to place you on.

“yeah,” you’ve risen out your chair, gifting him the view of how the fabric of your dress dances above your knee, a final twist of the knife in his heart that he lets you pierce his flesh with each time he surrenders himself to your existence. “i don’t like you, joel.”

the hours come and go, but your words linger like a bad tattoo, shamefully engraved into his skin and banning him to a life of noticing the horrendous thing each time he passes by his own reflection.

we’re staying, for tonight. tess had called the shots, and he’s been learning not to argue when she gives him one of her stern looks, biting down on the comments he’d wanted to make of the dangers of being out of the qz for too long, which would likely earn him nothing but a shrug and the reminder that they both were off duty the following day

the nights are beginning to grow darker as winter grows nearer, leading bill and frank- mostly frank- to excuse themselves to bed, bidding the two visitors with a final reminder to make themselves comfortable in whichever room they can find. if only joel could remember which door leads to yours.

the two women in his life remain awakened, passing a bottle of wine between each other as you both converse back and forth, catching each other up on one another’s life, satiating that craving for mundane gossip.

tess recounts the scandal of the poor boy who’d been caught sleeping with a fedra agent’s wife, you whisper that frank and bill had been fighting again recently. the memory of being ambushed by raiders- now dead raiders- comes to life once more with the help of tess’ voice, while the promise to uncover what exactly bill and frank were hiding from you as of late is sealed in your words.

at some point, he lays himself to rest atop the couch, legs stretched out and arms crossed over his chest, ignoring the squeeze of the fabric over his forearms as the too-small flannel struggles to contain the muscles forged by the need to survive. at another point, he’s lulled to sleep by the lullaby of your mingling voices, a safety blanket draping itself over his tired body and enveloping him in the comforts of having that which he struggles to care so little for, so near him once more.

-n’t tell me you’re a virgin.

the words are muffled as the man slips back into consciousness, a frown coming to rest on his forehead as he battles against the demons urging him awake, the nightmarish memories of car crashes, and soldiers, and so much red chasing him away from the sleep he longs for so badly.

a protest rings true in his head and his ears.

was gonna say. knew you were young, but not that young.

it’s the sound of your laughter that awakens him fully, saving him from the tortures of his own mind.

“god, no! me and my ex, we... a few times. it was alright, i guess. i just, yeah, there’s not much to miss.”

he’s unwilling, unable to reopen his eyes, curling in on himself as he rolls over onto his side. a groan slips past his lips, one he’s hoping tess and you will dismiss as nothing more than the sleep-filled rambles of a dreaming man.

neither of you make any acknowledgement of him.

“not much to miss?! sweet christ, you’re breaking my fuckin’ heart.” he’s learnt over time the common traits of a drunken tess. each word becoming an exclamation, curses becoming more frequent, and that irritating habit she’s picked up of imitating his own accent. there’s no need to bother opening his eyes, joel’s already sure he’ll find his companion with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “i’d give up a hand for some head!”

you must do something, pull a face or shake your head, for the sound of tess’ renewed shock fills the room. he wonders, as the sound bounces off the walls, how late into the night it’s grown.

late enough that the cicadas singing outside the window are now accompanied by the hoots of an owl.

“you’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

“it bores me!”

“it bores you!?”

the couch beneath joel creaks as he shifts once more, turning his back on you both as the ability to contain his laughter grows harder with each word you exchange and each gasp tess gives. the last thing he needs is to be caught eavesdropping on your sex life like some dirty old pervert.

the crueler part of his mind replays your voice, i don’t like you, and the knife twists in his guts this time.

you like tess. love her, even. it’s been that way since the first time you’d met the duo, eyes giving one look over the woman before the smile on your face grew even wider, voice as sweet as honey sighing out finally someone with a pair of boobs, i’m bored of the sight of my own. joel’d gotten caught up in the thought of how he’d never tire of such a sight that he’d failed to acknowledge your greeting towards him, catching just the moment you drew your outstretched hand back to your side and offered him an understanding smile.

maybe that was the moment you decided you didn’t like him.

“must not have been doin’ ya right,” the bottle of southern comfort is working its wonders on the older woman, accent growing further and further from its true nature with each glass she nurses. joel hears the faint sound of ice smacking against glass and knows it must be yours. you’ve always struggled with liquors, slipping as many ice cubes as you can manage into a glass in hopes that they’ll eventually melt and water the alcohol down. it’s oddly endearing, you think no one has noticed. “this fella of yours.”

joel has no right to despise the idea of you and some fella.

he does so, regardless.

“well,” he imagines the shape of your meek smile and the way you shrug your shoulders. “we were each others firsts.”

“that’s no excuse! trust i left mine cryin’ into her pillow the first time i went down.” tess and he have a silent agreement to never speak of the nights joel would take refuge on their beaten-up couch while tess indulges herself between someone’s thighs in the bedroom. no discussing the sounds she pulls from her concubines, no addressing the wet patches left behind to stain their shared sheets, and definitely no speaking on how his hand winds up stained in his own cum.

you scoff and follow it up with a saccharine laced giggle, so sweet its bound to rot your teeth if you even attempt to hold it in. “what, are you offering your services?”

this he likes less than the image of you with some fella, the thought of having to lay upon a mattress on which tess had raised you to heaven while he once again remained locked out in the dark leaving his skin crawling with unwarranted rage.

“‘as sure as i am that you’re sweet all over, ‘fraid to tell you i like my women a little older than you.”

he knows he should do the same, should lust after those women his own age who shoot him carnal looks in the streets of the qz. it should be skin his own age that he longs to taste, and eyes who’ve seen as much as his own he wants to stare into, and lips as cruel as the ones he owns that he fights off the urges to kiss. but he can’t, and he won’t.

and you’re the one to blame.

you, with the glow of a thousand suns. you, with the hands that tend to flowers instead of corpses. you, with the gentle nature he’d have to spend the rest of his days fighting off every other living thing just to protect.

his own self being the first he’d need fight.

joel wonders what he’d missed in his hours- if it had even been so long- of rest, how the playground gossiping dissipated into reminiscing the pleasures of supple flesh and the sins of unfulfilling lovers. sleep steals him away once more before he can find the answers.

the next time he awakens, he’s drowning in a plight of cruel memories, a cold and brutal ocean of faces, places, and traces of the ephemeral sentiment of happiness he’d possessed once upon a time, back when the price of letting one’s guard down was not so high.

he’s learnt, with time, that losing her comes in waves. some small, meaningless little things, that ripple joel’s surface and coast gently over his dirt ridden skin. others, tsunamis. big, angry, all imposing. they’re born in ground-shaking explosions of grief, building speed, and height, and weight the closer they grow to crashing over him.

amidst the passing of time, he’s tried to keep himself busy in his awakened hours, to keep his mind occupied and avoid thinking about her too much. but the waves always come back, no matter how hard he tries to fight them or swim away from them. they catch him off guard, crashing over him when he least expects it. in the middle of a raid, lost in thought and standing ten inches deep in grime, blood, infected, and suddenly the weight of her absence will hit him like a ton of bricks.

the currents grow more violent whenever he closes his eyes.

this evening, it had been a minuscule wave, yet it’s damage still leaves him with sweat slicked skin. he reenters the land of the living choking on his own fear and shooting up-right, hardly registering his surroundings till his feet hit solid ground. the gentle, barely-there croon of a sinatra record punctuates the room alongside the dim glow of a lightbulb which flickers with the threat of expiring and leaving naught but the moonlight to wash over the dark of the night. across from him is tess, nursing a half-emptied cup against her chest and wearing tired eyes. snoring comes from below him, where joel finds he’s a mere foot away from having stepped upon the sleeping dog, curled in on itself and laying soundly by his side.

you take up no space of this room.

neither the dog nor the drunk pay him any mind as he pushes up onto his creaking knees, stretching out his limbs in a fight to undo the tension in his aching bod. languid steps carry him out into the hall, where he freezes under the self-questioning of where he’s going.

there are three answer to this: where he should, where he could, and where he would.

he should find himself a bedroom, perhaps be ostentatious enough to rid himself of those stale clothes and let the warmth of running water wash away the sins he’d committed throughout the day. a good night’s sleep, atop a mattress where springs do not dig into his back and the sheets are clean as could be, it would do him good.

he could head towards the kitchen, quench that thirst that he’s awoken with, cottonmouth and a headache to go with it too. perhaps he’ll find himself something to eat, indulge in the luxury of readily available food just this once, he’s sure frank wouldn’t mind. bill definitely would, but that’s not something he’ll need care about when he’s miles out and heading back to the qz.

he would try find you, open whichever door it is that leads into the haven that must be your bedroom. he imagines its clean, and organised, and smells of some syrupy lavender that is bound to nauseate him as he smothers his face into your bedsheets, eyes shut, and mind relaxed, the threat of those violent waves no concern to him as he anchors himself with an arm around your warm skin. skin he’s never felt, yet he stands firm in his belief it must be the most soothing thing to touch, as gentle and inviting as the heart it keeps safe within it.

i don’t like you, joel.

those words stop him from trying.

he tells himself it’s for the best.

with a mind of their own, his legs have made the choice for him and deliver him outside the opening to the kitchen. he swallows down a gulp of his own saliva at the prospect of a glass of water. the door’s already half-opened, and joel nearly thanks christ for it as the fear of waking anyone with the squeaking of the handle is eliminated. the darkness of the night encompasses the room, even with the moon’s shine reflecting off every surface it touches: the counters, the knife stand, the metal drawer handles, the refrigerator.

the refrigerator.

it’s open, a blue light shining out of it and illuminating anything it its proximity. a subtle beeping noise rings from it, and suddenly joel’s back in his thirties, dead-beat yet well-intentioned brother stealing the food off his own plate as he beckons his pre-teen daughter back into the kitchen.

keep leavin’ this open and it’s a job you’ll be gettin’ this summer, not a dog.

she never lived long enough to get either.

he catches something move beneath the artificial light. cautious at first, it’s all the more startling to find the object of his ire and the embodiment of his desire stood leaning back against the countertop, a glass full of orange liquid pressed to a mouth that parts and welcomes in the sugary sweet delight.

“why aren’t ya sleepin’?” the words rasp out his throat, catching and scratching on the parts of him that still yearn for something to wet his tongue with.

beneath the light, you shrug, “could ask you the same thing, texas.”

he curses tess for teaching you such a nickname.

he curses himself more for the way you saying it twists up his insides.

you’re teasing him, smile a little looser and eyes less focused than he’s used to seeing. whether you’re tipsy or simply delirious with exhaustion, joel remains unaware.

he grunts, daring to take a few steps further into the kitchen. the door behind him closes over and give the illusion of the space becoming smaller, tighter, more compact.

“i asked first.” you laugh, at him. full on chest-rumbling, hand over your belly, head thrown back- so abruptly it nearly crashes against the corner of the opened cabinet door. the corner of his mouth is curling upwards before he can catch himself. he hopes the refrigerator light shows less of him than it shows of you, bare legs, and messed hair, and pointed nipples all on display for his undeserving eyes. “‘s so funny, huh?”

“nothing, nothing,” he successfully fights off the urge to follow the drop of orange juice that spills down the side of your mouth, over your chin, down your neck, disappearing beneath the collar of your dress. perhaps he is not as successful as he believes. “just never heard the joel miller say something so childish. you’ve usually got your panties all in a bunch if someone so much as looks at you for too long.”

you make way as he inches closer, sliding yourself over to rest against the island counter. a fragrance of things he can’t quite pinpoint, but enjoys nonetheless, wafts in his face as he travels down the path to the sink. uncouth and unbothered, joel opens the tap and cups his hands beneath the stream of water.

“you know there’s a cupboard full of glasses right next to you, right?” you call out behind him as the man brings water to his dry lips, splashing and just about guiding his head beneath the stream. the thirst does not budge. he hums an acknowledgement of you, yet continues with his method.

by the time he switches the water off, you’ve made yourself busy, back facing him while you work at something atop the counter, a consistent chop-chop-chop filling the silence that settles between you both.

“i’m making soup,” you state, like there’s nothing quite more logical you could be doing at whatever-o’clock in the morning it is. “make sure you take some with you when you leave. tess said she’s been fighting off a cold the past few days, need you to keep her warm and fed for me.”

would you do the same for him, if you knew he’d been the one to catch that damned cold in the first place? four days of just about coughing up his lungs, and not a single soul- not even his tess- had offered soup, nor warmth, nor sympathy. he’d not needed it, until now, when he hears you gifting it to someone else.

i don’t like you, joel.

of course you would do the same. not because you care, nor because doing otherwise would way heavy on your conscious, but because you’re nice. nice in a way he’ll never be, has never been. patient, welcoming, comforting, warm. all words that spring to mind when one thinks of you. they violently oppose the closed-off, angry, dark cloud that had rolled in years ago and casted it’s shadow over joel’s entire persona.

he straightens his back, weight shifting from one foot to another as he contemplates you from behind. the sway of your dress as you move has him in a trance, beckoning him closer before he can even realise he’s taken a step. his hands drip water onto the floor in a rhythm, and the record player sings in the distance as a reminder of tess, and your sweet out-of-tune humming fills the empty kitchen with a brightness greater than the moon, but that’s not what joel hears.

i don’t like you, joel.

i don’t like you, joel.

i don’t like you, joel.

i don’t like you, joel.

over and over, you taunt him without even trying, nailing the words into his head and heart, impaling him with your sweet condemnation. you’re not the first to say it, to his face or otherwise, yet you’re the first to evoke such a reaction out of him, to leave a lasting impression hours after you’d declared such a thing.

and, suddenly, joel’s angry. at you, at himself, at the sound of that damned knife in your hand slicing down onto the chopping board. the fog of his ire blurs his vision, rendering him to move blindly through the night.

only when he finds himself looming over you from behind does his vision clear.

a hand meets the curve of your hip and you gasp, leaving joel to wonder if it’s because the shock of his cold, damp touch or, simply, because it’s his touch. without a thought spared, he firms his grip, fingers squeezing tight enough he feels your flesh bulge between each one, a bruising promise joel gifts you.

you may leave your marks emotionally, but joel’s will always be physical.

“why,” he pulls in a breath, loading up the will to keep his voice a low rumble, a quiet disturbance in the night for no ears but your own to hear. “don’t ya like me?”

if not for the pause in your practiced movements, knife stilling midway through slicing a carrot, he’d believe you’re unaffected by his proximity. “why do you care?” 

he scoffs, “i don’t.”

“hmm,” this hum is far less delightful than the way you’d been following along to whatever melody tess was playing in the living room. “sure sounds like you do.”

“yeah, well, i don’t,” he insists, and he swears he almost feels the way it only digs deeper the hole he’s created for himself.

joel knows he cares. it’s been burning at his skin and itching on his mind since the moment you’d welcomed yourself to a little bit of unfiltered honesty, dropping the perfectly poised and eternally polite mask you’d worn since the moment he’d first met you, an attitude he loathes as much as he anticipates surrounding himself with it each time he’s tugged along for the trek to bill and frank’s. 

what joel doesn’t know is why he cares. there’s nothing to be desired about him, no traits to respect and certainly no looks to admire. he’s near crafted his entire being in a way that makes sure of this, the more undesirable his presence is, the less likely he is to be approached, be it by other people or fate itself.

maybe there was a part of him that had wrongfully imagined you being the exception.

instead, you’re stood barefoot in the latest of hours, knife working away the vegetables in front of you, dress sticking to skin beneath his damp hand, and you don’t like him.

not one bit.

joel grabs at your hips harder, his free hand curling round the shape of your left forearm. his feet shuffle forwards, until there comes a point where one would struggle to make out where you end and he begins. his chest pressed to your back, his muscular legs trapping your soft thighs, his forehead digging into the side of your head so intensely it threatens to shatter both your craniums and leave nothing but dust made by bones blown into smithereens.

he inhales, and finds you don’t smell of lavender.

“for the record,” he watches your movements over your shoulder, entranced with the back and forth sawing of the knife through unidentified vegetables. ‘s like how i sliced that raider’s throat, he thinks, and instantly regrets it. no part of him should ever be compared to you. “i don’t like ya either.”

he’s lying through his teeth, hoping you don’t notice.

the knife never ceases its movement. back and forth, back and forth. chop, chop, chop. blurs of greens, and oranges, and more greens cover the counter before you. it’s oddly soothing, this repeated and unbroken pattern, reminding joel of times he’d found comfort in the mundaneness of cooking a meal after an emotionally exhausting day. perhaps, this has the same affect on you, a momentary lifejacket to keep yourself afloat amongst the waves that haunt you awake.

the hand on your forearm travels, mind of its own, drawing up the shape of your shoulder with featherlight touches that contradict the way his nails dig deeper into the the skin you hide beneath the waistline of your dress.

“that’s not news,” you must think he’s blind to the hitch in your breath when his fingers slip over your pulse-point. 

it’s his turn to respond with a hum.

“you only like yourself,” words more untrue have never been spoken before the man who’s every moment is spent drowning in his loses. his wandering touch halts. “a little selfish, if you ask me. but, that’s just what i think.”

this strikes a nerve. fury commands his hand into a fist and fingers find themselves tangled in the tresses of your hair. the realisation of how surprisingly soft it feels barely finishes registering when he’s pulling on it, dragging your head along with, till it lays flat on his puffing chest and your eyes stare up at him. “d’ya know what i think?”

even upside down, your beauty is striking.

“no, unlike you i don’t care what you think about-” joel tugs on your hair once more.

“i think you’re a brat. a silly little girl who thinks she can smile and get away with murder.” you could. he’d forgive you as you soak your hands in the blood you draw from him. knife in the heart, bullet through the brain, bat to the face, he’d slip away easily from this life if only to have you smile as he goes.

 “you’re hurting me,” you whine, joel growls.

animalistic, beastly, a rabid animal sinking its claws into its defenceless prey. his gaze dances over your features, catching himself before he can sink deep into your captivating eyes, tracing the shape of your mouth, slipping down the peaks of your collarbones.

your dress- red, a colour joel miller will no longer associate with bleeding wounds and stained weapons- sits tight on your chest, squeezing the swell of your chest beneath the fabric, and gives away all your secrets.

“you like it,” he speaks in awe, unable to pull his eyes off the two stiff buds that poke against the red fabric.

“no, i don’-” dampness follows wherever his hand goes, fleeting as he makes the journey around your waist and up your side, crawling higher and higher to where he can feel your heart beating from within your chest. “joel.”

he retightens his grip on your hair, aiding you with the way your curve your spine and force yourself deeper into his uncaring, ungentle, enamoured touch. whoever joel had been in a past life must have moved mountains or performed miracles to grant him the luck to be holding you this way, the fingers he’d gifted with nothing but the cocking of guns and the feel of his own pulsating lust now expertly tweaking at one of your stiff nipples, all thoughts of the fabric scratching at your sensitive skin dissipating into the abyss as he realises you’re enjoying the pain.

“heard ya, earlier, in the living room,” at the time, he’d been mortified to be overhearing such intimate words between you and tess. the blood that insists on rushing to his crotch now wants you to know, to hear the admission of guilt be spoken from his own mouth. “ talkin’ bout your past.”

he doesn’t specify.

he doesn’t need to.

you give away your shock with parted lips, widened eyes, frozen eyelashes, pupils staring up at him like a wounded fawn he’s about to take his first bite out of and, hopefully, it won’t be the last one.

“tess turned you down,” the hand on your chest switches sides, donning your other breast with some much needed attention. his hand must still carry residue of the water, for you gasp and shut your eyes in the shock of his touch, your own fingers shooting up to scratch at his wrist. near convinced you mean to push him away, the pressure against his hand that pushes deeper into his unholy affection has him realising otherwise. “i wouldn’t.”

you say nothing. joel pulls harder.

“too bad i’m-” you cut yourself off as he presses himself closer to you, your poor hips bound to awaken with bruises from the counter he’s got you pressed against. with a distance so small he can hear your teeth grind, joel watches you like a hawk. the twitch in your brow, the flutter of your eyelids, the bobbing of your throat as you silence what he imagines would be an otherworldly kind of moan, a whine he’d let kiss his ears and wind up poisoning himself with the torture of it replaying in his head each waking moment till he kicks the bucket, once and for all. the want to see you fall apart evolves into a need. “too bad i’m not offering you the chance.”

joel miller is a hot blooded man, at his core, weak to emotions and vulnerable to the warmths of flesh. with notches on his bedpost and a tally of lives beneath his belt, he sees little wrong with taking what he needs.

“who said anything about an offer?”

the descent to the floor is far from graceful, with bitten back groans of pain as clicking noises resound throughout the room while his joints bend and break in an effort to get him where he needs to be, where he’s needed to be for far longer than merely this exchange on kitchen grounds: on his knees for you.

a part of him would prefer it if you weren’t wielding a butchers knife.

the other part wishes you were facing him, eyes full of that repressed anger, hatred and discontent you likely harbour for him as you point the blade down at him and threaten to paint the floors with his blood. you’ve yet to do that, and so he takes it as his queue to progress.

smoothing his hands up your legs, he admires the landscapes of your body from this angle, with legs longer than any tree in the amazonian jungle and curves with peaks that resemble the mountains of the himalayas. arriving at the top of your knees, the hem of your dress both welcomes and conceals his touch, inviting him into the wonderful world it hides beneath it yet denying him the privilege of feasting his eyes on your paradise, an island of safety amongst the open ocean of his mind.

your breathing is measured, precise, too rhythmical to be natural, the subconscious action now turned into a practiced routine you mean to maintain nonchalance with. perhaps you’re yet to realise that, while he may remain indifferent to those that surround him, joel knows how to read people. and, right now, you’re a whole novel of lust, awaiting for someone to open up your pages and drink in every lyrical prose you promise to tell.

joel finds purchase mid-way up your thighs, hands sliding around to the front of them to grip the buttery smooth skin and ground himself in the reality he kneels before.

you breathe in, you breathe out.

one knee buckles, ever so slightly, the weight of you collapsing into his welcoming hold. he revels in the feeling of supporting you, in every meaning of the word, thumbs not even waiting on a command from his consciousness to begin soothing your tingling skin with a gentle back and forth movement to match the knife in your hand.

inhale, exhale.

your legs straighten once more, a hand of his winds its way back out from under your skirt and shoots up to grab your free one, dragging it down his pits of desire.

“hold,” he’s parched all over again, mouth drier than the texan wastelands on a hot summer’s day. all he can do to survive is peel up that infuriatingly soft, red fabric of your dress, skin unveiling itself to his hunger struck eyes. with the skirt bunched up, he shoves it into your awaiting palms, pinning your hand against your own waist. “don’t move.”

where he expects protest, he receives more breathing.

lace covers your skin, a delicate shade of a colour his eyes can’t quite distinguish in the dark of the night. one flicker of his sight to the very core of your body and he notices it, that tell-tale sign that you’re enjoying this little display of attention, despite what your measured breaths may have him believe. a wet patch, your wetness. the stickiest, sweetest of honeys that only a woman like you can possess, and a man like him should never bare himself witness to.

curiosity gets the better of him- one day, joel hopes, this will get him killed- and his touch is reaching for the lacy fabric, fingers curling themselves in the waistband of your panties and the fabric that covers your right asscheek before curling his hand into a fist, tugging upwards.

in and out, shaky breathing comes from above.

the lace pulls tight on your delicate skin, no choice but to nestle itself in the slit of your cunt as two pretty soaked lips peak out from each side. a heady smell he can only begin to describe as stiflingly sweet, tongue-tingling tanginess hits his nose. he makes sure to take a deep breath, letting the blood rush straight to his head- the one that sits packed uncomfortably in his tightened trousers.

delectable as sin, you keen back into his fist, back curving ever so slightly. there’s a tremor in the hold you have on the fabric of your dress. joel basks in the visual affect he’s beginning to have on you, no need to doubt if the fabric of your underwear rubs at your likely aching clit. he wonders if the sting of the lace digging into your skin hurts. he thinks it must hurt.

his fist curls tighter, pulls higher.

“ah,” at last, a ripple in your surface. though you still wield a knife, the carrot you’d been failing to chop rolls off the counter and onto the floor, lost somewhere in joel’s peripheral vision.

“shut up,” he grunts, like it doesn’t make his balls throb to hear you whine. “people are tryin’ to sleep.”

you scoff, and for a moment you seem to have rediscovered your composure. “tess is drunk as a sailor, and the old men could sleep through nuclear warfare.”

“‘s that an invitation to see how loud i can get ya,” he’s still caught in the way you mold against the lace, slickened skin carrying a reflection of the moonlight. this, he thinks, is what all them poets were writing about in their prose of love and beauty. “or a challenge?”

“it’s an invitation to stop lecturing me on volume control,-” you catch yourself, he realises, right before you can gift him some nickname a sweet girl like you would never use. asshole, dickhead, bastard, he’s heard them all and, still, he wants them on your tongue, in his mouth, condemning him for all the brutish, oafish ways he masks his obsession for you.

as coquettish as it may be, painting a picture worthy of a front-page on some playboy magazine, the sight of lace becomes a nuisance he no longer holds the patience for. so he strips you of it, hand moving to pull the garment down, down, down the length of you, till it hits your ankles. he awaits no movement of your own, taking it upon himself to lift each of your feet individually out the leg-holes.

it’s merely impulse that has him shoving the soiled lace into his back pocket, though he’s sure he’ll make use of them on lonely nights.

“you’re drippin’” his proclamation is ego-driven, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in the full sight of your bare heat. the view is a little obscured from behind you, but with the right amount of tilting of your hips at a certain angle and the widening of your legs, he’s bound to sit front row and centre for your private show. “‘s actually a little pathetic, sweetheart. is it cause ya like it when men get mean wit’ ya?”

he can imagine the way you’d roll your eyes at his words, and it has him thinking about how you’d look with your eyes rolling back for different reasons, reasons he’s about to gift you.

but first, he curls one hand around your ankle and tugs the limb along as far as he wants it. much better, he now faces no blockage in the path up to your slit, freely letting his wandering hands ascend to his newfound heaven. perhaps he’ll revisit the life of gospel, if you promise to be the altar he prays before.

cool fingers to warm skin, you swallow a gasp a little too late for joel to not notice as he drags the tips of his middle finger up the length of your slit. soft, puffy lips part for him, until he presses against that special button that’s bound to turn on your engines.

rolling his finger over your clit a few times, he refamiliarises himself with the female anatomy, with your anatomy, memorising each soft bump and meaty lump he finds along the way.

it happens so sudden, and unwillingly, the way his mind switches to thinking of tess. he wonders what exactly it is she does to those poor things she sends home on shaky legs, where she even begins to touch them. joel imagines she makes use of what she has and starts with her fingers.

so he does the same.

working over your slippery wetness, he coats the tip of his middle finger with it, till he finds what he’s been searching for: the gateways to your heaven, your entrance. he breaches your walls with that single digit and somehow that’s enough to have you squeezing around him so tightly he wonders if blood still manages to flow to his digit.

two, three, four pumps of his hand and he’s introducing his pointer finger too, pressing them both into you to witness the ways you mould around this wider stretch, the lips of your cunt a pair of cushions his knuckles collide against each time he fucks his fingers in.

“so now you shut up. ‘s the matter, huh?” he’s contradicting himself and he doesn’t even care, too busy focusing on curling his fingers inside you, delighting in the feel of that spongy tissue they press against. “am i too borin’ for ya?”

“you’re the most infuriating man i’ve ever- oh!”

a tongue meets skin.

the knife clatters onto the counter.

you lurch forward.

his hand pulls you back.

“tess was right, ya know?” he can still taste you on his tongue, nothing more than a simple lick over your slit and your salty pleasure already seeps deep into his veins, staining his very being with the memory of his new favourite flavour. he pulls his fingers out, slipping them up to your clit. three little taps to the pulsing bud- tap, tap, tap- and he’s slipping them into his mouth, tongue working overtime to clean up every last drop of you that coats him. “that boy of yours wasn’t doin’ ya right.”

the common sense that screams at him to not feel envy over some ex-lover, someone who was likely barely even an adult at the time and no longer appears to be around, is no match for the green eyed beast that commands him to tell you, without using words, that he can do better- touch you better, protect you better, fuck you better, if you’d just let him.

‘could keep ya satisfied.

that’s a new thought, one he’s never needed before yet never wanted more, a burning ache to be worthy of your trust, affection, lust. he’ll never forget the first time he thinks it, mouth salivating at the sight of you.

“is this the part you say some cheesy line straight out a porno? what ya need is a man, a man like me!” the softness of your giggle is still sharp enough to cut through the tension, god it’s never sounded sweet, and joel finds himself freely smiling into the darkness, yet still too stubborn to laugh at the deep voice you attempt to imitate him with.

“well, was you who said it,” his mouth finds it’s way back onto your soaked heat, taking his time to work his tongue up the length of it, his saliva mixing itself in a nasty cocktail with your wetness. he imagines the air is cold against your skin, and that you like it, memory of those hardened nipples hidden beneath the fabric of your dress. “but if ya insist.”

diving in head first had always been his style, from his first lover to his last, and to now, knees aching on the kitchen floor. the tip of his tongue dances round your clit, tantalising you to grind your hips to the rhythm of his sinful touches.

licking into you, he’s reminded how much he enjoys that swelling in the chest that only comes from bringing another pleasure. 

he’d not been a perfect lover, far from it, but he’d liked to believe at one point he’d been trained by only experience that comes with age, years of touching wrong and kissing badly to learn the right ways to make those he shared a bed- or a counter, or a backseat, or a club bathroom- with see angelic white as they writhed and squirmed under his touch. you’re lucky to have him now, matured by past lovers and broadened by age, with all the knowledge he needs to open your eyes to how a man pleasures, kisses, loves.

he’s out of practice, sure, with recent years adding notches to his belt that were merely frantic, unexpected, barely undressed run-ins with strangers, in strange places, cock barely getting a moments affection before he’d be spilling his seed and tucking it, limp, back into the confines of his trousers and locking it away beneath a zip.

what a perfect excuse you are, for joel to remaster the arts of lust.

it’s messy, wet dripping down his chin and staining itself into the stubble of his growing facial hair. it’s noisy, his mouth openly groaning depraved joy into your warmth as you sing him a song of sweet euphoria, slowly building towards that crescendo on the horizon. it’s animalistic, barely human as he revokes all earthly needs such as rest, and food, and socialising, his mind, and soul, and heart, and cock all screaming in unison to spend whatever days he shall possess on his knees before you.

and all the while you writhe and wriggle, some times running away from him touch, other times rutting so far back into him that you threaten to suffocate him somewhere between your warm thighs, and sugar sweet cunt, and the two well-rounded globes of your ass. 

his only saving grace is that he can’t see you.

hearing your pretty whines, and hand-muffled moans, and heavy intakes of breath is enough to curse him for the rest of his waking days, condemned to wander the wastelands of earth knowing the noises you make on the brinks of pleasure, with a touch-starved man satiating his hunger for flesh and blood with the sugary sins of your soaked cunt.

burrowing deeper into you, his consciousness rips through the fog of his lust to curse out his perversions as the tip of his hooked nose bumps against the puckered entrance of your ass. it does nothing to stop him tearing his tongue away from your clit, flattened as he drags it over the expanse of your cunt, and over your taint, and up the crack of your behind.

“n- ah,” you can’t deny him while sounding so eager for more, the tip of his tongue now circling your back entrance, mimicking the treatment previously given to your little pearl. “no, don’t, not there.”

next time, he thinks, we’ll try that next time.

sights returned to his previous desires, he works to rip every sigh, and every whine, and every dirty little song you’ll grace him with. the sound of whatever record tess has put on in the other room becomes a safety blanket, dousing you both in the warm protection of not being overheard.

and, then, he does it, he makes the ultimate mistake.

his eyes flicker to the left and he finds himself faced with the stove that sits within bill and frank’s- and, by an extension he does not enjoy to remember, your- kitchen. there’s little that’s remarkable about the appliance, just your standard, everyday oven that he’s sure you’ve spent countless hours cooking up those comforting meals he’s come to anticipate each time tess tells him they’re due a visit.

except, the oven door is made of glass.

glass which now paints the most pornographic masterpiece for no eyes but his own. you, with hands gripping the island’s counter like your life depends on it, and the skirt of that goddamn dress he’s envied all evening for the way it got to rest against the warmth of your thighs now bunched up in your tight grip, and your head thrown back, curving your spine in a way that has him wondering about the other ways he’d be able to bend and break you beneath his touch.

 and then there’s him, down on his knees like a devotee laying himself down to worship his goddess, face burrowed in the space between your legs, mouth devouring you from behind with the help of his hands, the same ones that had strangled a man less than a day before and reigned fire down on countless others for years, that now grip the meat of your thighs to pull you back onto him, fucking his tongue into your sopping heat.

the image will haunt him more than the face of any man he’s killed.

“d’ya touch yourself, sol?” you don’t answer him, but that’s okay. in a sweet change of pace, joel miller’s perfectly fine with talking enough for the both of you. “yeah, bet ya do. late at night, right? once you’re all alone in bed. ya seem like the kind who can make herself scream.”

you back into him, smothering him under the weigh of your body. becoming his holy grail, he drinks from you like it’s the key to eternal life, and what a way of living this would be, time disregarded as nothing but meaningless while your bodies melt together in the heat of passion.

fucking his fingers back inside, he becomes frantic beneath the need to make you cry, fall completely apart with only his hands to hold you together. “let me do the honours this time though.”

you don’t scream, can’t scream, hand over mouth muffling whatever profanities and theatrical proclamations he rips from within you with the stroke of his agile tongue, the only muscle of his that’s yet to develop aches and pains. he imagines that will no longer ring true once he awakens past sunrise.

he’s unsure how much longer he works his tongue over you, slipping and sliding through the liquid pleasure, but it ends with fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him away and tilting his head up.

you’ve never looked more holy, moon casting it’s shine around you, eyes glossed with unshed tears, lips parted and swollen from the pressure your own teeth had bitten down on them with. your expression, he can’t quite read. not sad, not happy, not mad.

your eyes catch on something, abandoning his own for something closer to the floor, to which he follows and finds exactly what you’re staring at: the evidently dark patch that now stains the front of his jeans.

the discomfort of trekking back to the qz will now be tenfolds worse in the stains of his own pleasure.

“joel...” his name is nearly a beg, a prayer, an invitation. hand still in his hair, you tug, pulling him upwards off the ground. legs open wider and back arches deeper, a seductive sight that your body pleas for him with.

he swallows a groan, knees alleviated at last from the floor, and presses himself against you once more. strong arms crush you in an embrace, pulling you back into him as his head slips to rest against your shoulder. he’s capricious with the way he lets himself litter a few wet kisses over your neck, breathing in the smell of you.

“that,” you grind back into him, a torturer who takes his aged body as her victim and toys with his barely recovered cock, the cum in his trousers sticking uncomfortably to his skin. he pulls tighter on your body, grounding himself in the weight of it against his own to find the sanity to finish his sentence. “shouldn’t have happened.”

joel hopes no one awakens as he slams the door on the way out of the kitchen.

people once spoke of how the only certainties in life were death and taxes but, nowadays, the words don’t ring as true and the guarantee of life with taxes has morphed into something else entirely; a reality where death and time go hand in hand. as sure as tomorrow will arrive, death will come too, eventually. not today, however, and joel miller finds himself stood throwing a ball back and forth for a dog.

it chases and retrieves, trailing it’s happy self all the way back to him only to spit the ball down at his feet, siting and waiting to repeat the process once more. there’d been a time where this is all he’d wanted: white picket fence, dog in the yard, home-cooked meals filling a house with warmth.

that dream seems so far away now, even as he stands within it.

he cracks his back, huffing out a groan. “no, not again. my back’s fucked as it is, buddy,” with no one around to witness, joel lets himself crouch down onto his knees- both popping obnoxiously as he does so- and rakes his hand over the german shepherd’s head. it whines and makes an attempt to nudge the ball against him, protesting in the only way it can. a scratch to the ear does the trick to distract the animal, to which it tilts its head and forces itself deeper into his blunt nails. “not so bad, are ya? huh?” never in a million years did joel think he’d be talking to a dog when him and tess had set out for their routinely visit to the bill and frank’s. never would he have thought that would be the least shocking event to unfold on this trip.

he hears you before he sees you.

“you planning to make your knees familiar with every surface of this place, texas?”

he tries to rise, he truly does, but the four-legged foe he’d been petting mere seconds ago betrays him the instant it catches sight of you, charging past him and knocking him over in the process, ass to floor and head to sky.

the world above is a storm of greys, clouds swallowing one another with a looming threat of danger on the horizon and not a lick of the sun’s warmth seems to make its way through.

so instead, it sends you.

peering over him from above, hair a tangled mess, eyes a wreck of under-bags and sleepless tears, the collar of your jumper lowered just enough at this angle that he can see a tease of cleavage, you radiate a brightness like no other, more dangerous to his naked eyes than uv ray could ever be. he’s squinting again, frown etching itself on his forehead with the threat of becoming permanent soon. a few more years and his face will be nothing but frown lines and crows feet. at the very least, he considers, i’ve survived long enough to wrinkle.

the smile above him is worth a million laugh lines, a kindness laced within it that matches perfectly with the hand you hold out. when he does nothing but stare at it, you wriggle your fingers, enticing him to take a hold. he does most of the work, truthfully, but you play a part in pulling him back to his feet. upright once more, he can’t help but bask in the way he’s able to physically look down on you.

“thanks for tiring him out,” you’re the first to talk. you’re always the first to talk, and he curses you for it. “won’t need to walk him as far tonight.”

a queasy feeling overtakes him at the thought of you walking the dog alone at night, nothing but the moon to light your way. he’ll need to remember to tire the dog out next time he visits. “no problem, thanks... for feeding tess and i.”

“no worries!” you’re so kind, so good, smiling at him with a cheerful chirp in your voice. he can’t wrap his head around how you can bring yourself to treat him this way. “oh, actually, that’s why i came out here, i was looking for tess-” of course you were, when would you ever be looking for him? “hold on!”

you shoot off back inside so quickly that otis just reaches the doorway by the time you return. with an idle pet to his head as you pass by, joel once again sees, in the way such little affection can have the dog so elated, that resemblance between them you’d spoke of. in your hands, you carry an array of containers full of food- soup- each filled to the brim.

“i wanted to give you these, before you guys leave,” you’re explaining yourself, and joel wonders if it’s nerves that bring you to need constant babbling to fill any gaps of silence. he can’t imagine how he could make you nervous and therefore that thought is quick to be discarded. “i know the journey up here and back can be long, consider them a token of my appreciation towards you both for-”

“why don’t ya like me?” he cuts you off.

pathetic, he knows, but he can not stop himself, a deer caught in the headlights of your brightly burning, too-good-to-be-true, too-pure-to-be-fake personality.

you show no signs of hearing him, smile unwavering as you continue to hold out the boxes to him, “there should be enough to last you a few days, if you watch your proportions.”

it’s too much for him to handle- the food, the smiles, the sweetly glistening eyes-, and joel just has to know, needs an answer before the heat of his confusion consumes him entirely in its flames and leaves nothing but his smoking remains.

so he tries again, louder.

“why don’t ya like me?”

“and i’d probably say you’re best to heat it up, especially for tess,” you ignore him, again, lips stretching what can only be described as uncomfortably wider. “winter is sure coming in faster than last year, isn’t it?”

he grabs at your arm, fingers curling round the swell of your bicep as he speaks through gritted teeth, "answer me." like a frightened dog backed into a corner, he bares his teeth and yells his bark.

"for someone who doesn't care,” you try his patience, knowingly or not, and his grip tightens. you don’t flinch, welcoming the sting of his blunt and bitten nails against your flesh. “you sure do talk about my opinion a lot."

"answer the damn question, girl.”

“or, what?” you’ve got him there, he’ll admit, holding no real plan as to how to punish your silence. “you gonna give me the same treatment as last night?”

had he known you’d be so unabashed to mention the events on the kitchen floor so flippantly, as casually as one would speak about the weather, he’d never have dared to get on his knees. truthfully, he’d not given things a second thought, disregarding the later for the now, living in the moment with caution thrown to the wind over what the morning would bring. perhaps he’d hoped you’d been intoxicated enough to dismiss the memory as a nightmare, maybe he’d wished you’d keep away from him to free him of the volatile grip you have on his soul.

instead, you stand tall, proud, eyes fiercely staring back at his own as you challenge him to retaliate, mock you with none of those saccharine smiles you hide harsh tones behind.

joel says nothing.

“how about this, let’s make a deal, like the ones you and bill make.” inching closer, crowding in on his space and forcing him to take note of the smell of freshly cleaned clothes mixed in with your own fragrance. clean, warm, inviting, scents he’d never given meaning to before now. “you get me something, i’ll tell you what you want to know.”

he grunts out a response, hands meeting his hips as he juts out one knee, the shifting of weight between feet a perfect distraction to the rising tension in his worn-out jeans. “what d’ya want? ‘cause if it’s somethin’ like a gun, think again. i ain’t messing with none of bill’s strange politics on you havin’-”

“a dress.”

“a dress?” the statement has him quirking his brow, burning questions swimming in the depths of his eyes as he stares back at you.

“yes, and don’t look at me like that!” it’s hypocritical, he believes, for you to berate him for the looks he sends you when all you do is cast stones his way with your gaze yet shake him to his very core each time you smile. “i need a new one, my favourite one got ruined whilst making soup.”

unaware he’d even began to lean closer, joel’s quick to recoil, as if your words are bullets and his skin the target you hit on the bullseye every time. 

“joel!” his name resonates from somewhere in the house.

neither of you dare to break eye contact. again, his name is yelled. this time, he manages to identify tess as the owner of the voice. habits have him used to running to her whenever she calls, but habits have never been caught between the choice of tess or you. 

his feet remain glued to the ground.

tess yells once more and, though you speak up, you don’t dare look away. “think you might be needed inside, macho man. your missus is calling.”

“she ain’t my-”

“you two just gonna stand and stare at each other all day, or will you help a woman out already?” tess enters the scene somewhere behind you, a blur of her familiar shape standing out the front door.

only when your head spins and he no longer finds himself lost in the black of your eyes does joel take her in completely, hair clearly damp and complexion a little paled by her hungover body. in her arms, she struggles with the weight of a folded table. you approach first, he follows, his two hands aiding in carrying it out into the front yard as you retighten your grip on the boxes of soup in your arms. 

“i should probably,” laying the containers down on the now unfolded table, you fidget with the sleeves in your hands, eyes downcast with something he can only read as guilt. he decides he much prefers the fire they hold when you berate him. “go check on the food, before it burns.”

you’re in the door and out his sight before he can so much as ask you to stay.

tess and him hit the road by noon. earlier than predicted, later than he’d wished for. the bite of cold already marks the air, despite the sun heating the world with its rays. he walks a little ahead, feigning ignorance to the repeated coughing coming from tess and racking his brain for answers.

answers to why he’d never noticed how hoarse she’d been sounding till you pointed it out. answers to what awaited them both upon returning to the qz. answers to when will be their next chance to visit the safe haven bill’s created. answers to why you don’t like him.

i don’t like you, joel.

it motivates him to walk quicker, faster, racing to put as much distance between himself and that damn kitchen floor, miles upon miles not enough to rid him of the dull ache in his knees that goes hand in hand with the throb within his too-tight-jeans. if he were alone, he’d break out in a sprint. but tess is here, he’s not alone, and home will simply have to wait on the passing of time to drag him back to it.

till then, he needs to find a dress.​

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller oneshot #joel miller fic #pedro pascal smut

[satosugusandwich]

His Angel and His Brat

Part 2

Part 1 here! Part 3!!

Hard!Dom!Geto x brat!Gojo x Sub!Afab!reader

(I write my fics to be racially ambiguous! If anyone catches anything please inbox me!!!!)

Summary: Gojo is a mega-brat to y/n and Suguru and likes to push buttons cuz he can so Suguru decides to overstimulate Gojo until he thinks he’s broken. (Key word: thinks.) To add to Gojo’s humiliation, he ensures that the reader is getting princess treatment while watching Gojo suffer endlessly. But, of course, things don’t always go as planned with Satoru Gojo. Or for y/n. Geto and Gojo have… motives.

CW and whatnots: Overstimulation, facesitting, vibrators, dildoes, condescending!geto, usage of the word “cock”, gojo’s boundless stamina and cocky attitude, praise, cocksucking, angel ass reader that ends up in trouble cuz gojo can’t shut his mouth, geto is actually so mean to gojo but so soft cuz he’s actually a teddy bear dw. Use of “brat, princess, angel, cockslut, and slut.” There will be aftercare in future parts cuz imagine leaving pathetic satoru a cum drenched mess. Poor baby. :(((

More tags will be added. Part 3 will be the last part.

Satoru did not waste any time eating like a starving man. His eyes were peeled as he watched how Suguru stood up on the bed, pulling your chin to face his pretty cock. Already, Satoru was thinking of how when he cums, if you don’t catch it in your mouth, it’ll definitely fall onto your pretty tits and stomach and of course onto his own face. Suguru paid no mind to the man underneath your cunt, instead, admiring how excitedly you took his cock into your mouth.

Suguru was thinking in this moment how he truly hit the damn jackpot. A pretty obedient thing that he can be nice and soft with, gently caressing and guiding as you sucked him in versus his needy and impatient brat that he can get as rough as he wants with. Suguru has to admit, it’s not in his nature to be so mean, he’s such a kind empathetic man, but perhaps the curses in his body take over when it comes to Satoru. Right now he can’t help but think of all the ways he could press Satoru.

He could edge him instead and leave him unsatisfied until his brain goes numb. Or maybe just leave him there, not giving him the orgasm he so desperately craves.

Overstimulating him has been fun, Satoru being so greedy has really made his punishment so enjoyable. His sensitivity is addictive, perhaps he could use that against him. Shame that Satoru has such a high pain tolerance, he’s limited to overwhelming him with pleasure.

Or a different type of pain. Would his ego be bruised too much if he worked to humiliate Satoru further? How would he respond to degradation? Knowing Satoru, if you call him a slut, he’d only work to embrace the newfound identity.

Difficult brat indeed. Perhaps the best way to punish him would be to ignore him… yes, that’s what Suguru would do. He’d use the other male’s greedy and needy nature against him.

“That’s right pretty girl.” Suguru mused, resting his hands on your head. “Finally seems as though my cock can fill your pretty throat completely. You’ve done well to learn how to take me right.” His praise is warm and flowing down to your core. “Want me to move your head or do you want to do it?” He coos.

You shake your head and move on your own, bobbing back and forth on his pretty cock. His mouth parts as you suck him so well, knowing Suguru’s favorite rhythm by heart. Meanwhile, beneath you, Satoru is slurping along, wanting to find out how he can distract you from focusing on pleasing Suguru.

Unbeknownst to either of you, Satoru had an idea from the moment he saw how you watched him receive his punishment… you seemed rather invested, much more than usual.

So, wanting to peeve Suguru to enact his plan, he whined. Very loudly.

“Clearly you need to suffocate him, y/n.” Suguru huffed.

You hesitated in putting more weight on him, but at the same time, what would be worse? Denying Satoru of being able to breathe or potentially invoking a punishment from Suguru? You decided the latter. Satoru couldn’t really be upset, it just gave him a bigger challenge!

You ground your cunt further onto Satoru, making sure his nose wasn’t entirely covered, but that his mouth couldn’t make a peep.

Suguru closed his eyes for a brief moment and now… Satoru just pinched his calf.

“Satoru!” Suguru pulled his cock from your mouth only to shove it back in, the suddenness making you gag. Suguru’s eyes snapped down to see the man beneath you shaking with laughter while the sound remained muffled into your cunt. The vibrations from Satoru’s chuckle made you tremble.

Satoru and Suguru’s eyes remained locked as Satoru made a pinching motion with his fingers. Suguru stepped on Satoru’s wrist, making you pull your mouth off his cock as he changed positions. Satoru only laughed more and used his other hand to slap your ass once, your body jumping from the unexpected impact.

“Ow!” You exclaimed, now hovering above Satoru’s mouth, giving him the ability to speak clearly.

“Thought I’d punish her since you didn’t after I whined!” Cheeky bastard. And poor you. Why’d you get stuck with these two men?

“We really need to stuff your mouth shut, don’t we Satoru? Need you bound entirely too. Never thought you’d put our princess in this position.”

It’s Suguru’s fault too!!!!! He should’ve just let it go in the first place!!!!!!!

“Our princess never gets punished, she’s too sweet, don’t you think that’s unfair? She gets away with everything! Don’t you remember last time you said you’d punish her if she came without permission? Well, she came and you didn’t even do nothing!” Satoru yapped on and on. “All she has to do is make a cute face and say sorry baby, wah wah!” He mocked you, looking at your face. “Suguru, you punish me all you like but you don’t punish the one who really needs it…” Satoru’s voice lowered.

Suguru briefly looked to you, eyes watching your reaction. “What’s he talking about, y/n?”

“He’s lying, of course!” You huffed. “I don’t disobey you when we fuck. Don’t try to get our positions switched, Satoru!” You were tempted to sit back down on his mouth but at the same time… you wondered what’s gonna happen.

“As much as I want to believe you,” Suguru dropped to his knees on the bed, releasing Satoru’s wrist and getting eye level with you, “me and you and you especially know just how much Satoru loves to be punished. Why go through this effort to try and avoid his favorite thing?” Suguru now held your chin, running his thumb back and forth. “Continue, Satoru.” He didn’t even look at Satoru whatsoever, wanting to see every tiny reaction from you as your other partner spoke.

“A pretty angel like her can’t help but avoid disobeying, that’s obvious, but have you ever considered that she wants a taste of your punishments?” Satoru raised his hand up to toy with your clit, rubbing it in slow, soft circles. “You should feel how wet she is from watching me cum over and over under your iron-clad heel, our angel here likes to pretend she’s all about being a good girl, but she’s desperate to act out and piss you off.” Satoru’s mouth continued to run and your eyes stayed fixed on Suguru, too afraid to look away. “You really should’ve felt her pussy while you had my tight little ass stuffed, it’s a miracle she didn’t cum from watching!”

A smile ghosted across Suguru’s face. “Are you sure she’s not a bit of a sadist too and just enjoys seeing you suffer?” His hand was traveling down your figure, going to feel your wetness as it hovers above Satoru’s face. “What do you think, angel? Do you want to get punished? Just for fun?”

When Suguru’s question processed through your head, you felt his fingers dip inside your cunt, finally you after clenching around nothing for so long.

Satoru sped up the circles around your clit. “Come on, speak, angel. Or is this your way of guaranteeing a punishment?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his comment, feeling your cheeks flush.

Suguru’s eyes opened wider and he cocked his head. “You like that idea, huh?”

“She does!”

Sometimes you forget these two are notorious for their attitudes when they’re together. You’re too used to seeing the softer side of them.

“Come on princess,” Suguru urged you.

“Tell him, baby.” Satoru followed.

“I—“ you were really embarrassed, the most certainly are cornering you. “You two are mean.”

“If we’re so mean, why are you smiling, you like it don’t you?” Satoru pushes every button he can find when it’s presented to him.

“I don’t think that was the question, sweetheart.” Suguru’s fingers pulled out of your dripping pussy and he raised them to his lips. “Do you want me to punish you? Give you a taste of what Satoru has to deal with?” He sucked your wetness off his fingers, delighting in how you shyly averted your eyes away at the sight.

“If you go easy on me.” You answered.

“Safeword?”

“Uh, sunglasses for chill out for a sec, bangs for completely stop.”

“That’s our girl.” Satoru chuckles. “So Suguru…what do you have in mind for our princess?” He blows cool air onto your clit to make you jump.

Suguru lifts you off of Satoru quickly and lays you on your back. “If she was so aroused by watching you cum until you collapsed onto me then why not do the same?”

Your eyes widen at the proposition, thinking if you can take as much as Satoru did. You’ve been overstimulated before but have ever been at it for more than a few minutes? Satoru did 30+… could you even handle 10 after the first orgasm? How many times did he cum? Like 5? Could your body take that? Well actually, he’d definitely make you do more, people with dicks have a much more sensitive refractory period… what if they double it and take you to 10?

Suguru licked his lips, growing harder at the fear in your eyes. “Oh don’t worry baby, I’m gonna make it easier on you, I won’t have you crouch like I did Satoru, can’t have your knees feeling sore and numb.” Shit, you’d rather go numb and sore than take whatever Suguru has in mind.

“How are you gonna do it?” Swallowing a lump in your throat, you realize you haven’t been this nervous since you first fucked them. You even want to cover your chest and squeeze your legs together the way they’re both looking at you.

Gojo looks absolutely enthralled in your torture, eagerly awaiting the start. “I think we should focus on your clit and if we’re feeling merciful—“

“Hush Satoru. Your mouth still needs to be stuffed shut. Our angel wants my punishment. Not yours.” Suguru glares at him while raising your wrists to be above your head. Turning his attention back to you, he briefly licks at your clit to get a taste of you and taking in the remnants of Satoru’s spit into his mouth. “Despite Satoru’s unwavering blabbering,” he raises his eyes from your weeping cunt to your face, “I think we should focus on your pretty clit. I would love to watch your cunt beg to have something inside it, so I think we’ll wait to stuff you later.”

You nod. “Yes sir.”

His attention shifts back to a pouting Satoru. “Aw, jealous again?”

“No.”

“If I recall, earlier you said something about wanting to have your cock in her mouth, right?” Suguru slapped your cunt, a cry escaping you accompanied by a sadistic chuckle. “Well, personally, since she can’t stuff your mouth any more to keep you quiet, how about I stuff that throat of yours instead?”

If Satoru was a cat, it’d be like his ears just perked up. He gives a cheeky smile and leans up. “As long as my mouth is occupied, then I’d be forever grateful.”

Suguru smiles. “There’s my good boy, I knew he was in there somewhere.”

You and Satoru sit together, awaiting your dom’s next moves, both eager and one of you a little scared. Suguru crouches down by the bed and you hear rummaging from your toy box, then when he pops back up, your heart rate is already increasing. He holds a hitachi in one hand and a sizable dildo in the other.

Satoru looks extra excited. “You’re really gonna bring out the dildo too? Thought you weren’t gonna stuff her up? Is it to tempt her with what she wants?”

Suguru’s grin remains intact as he settles back down on his knees in between your legs. He cocks two fingers at Satoru to call him over and the other male begins to crawl across the bed. When he leans down to try and take Suguru’s cock in his mouth, he yanked by the hair and left with his mouth open.

“Eager per usual. But when did I say that I was gonna use my cock to stuff your mouth? No, you cockslut, this dildo is your gag for the time being.” His word are biting and harsh. “I wanna focus on our angel for now. If you can suck that cock for the duration of her punishment then maybe I’ll let you lick my cum off her pretty pussy? After all she cleaned up for you didn’t she?”

Fuck, he’s so fucking cruel.

Satoru is hard again anyways.

Now, for you, Suguru flips the toy on and presses it to your swollen, aching clit, having been passed from mouth to mouth, it’s like you’ve been toyed with for hours. Suguru knows this and he knows Satoru just as well. He anticipated Satoru wanting to see you get put in your place just as much as he anticipated you asking for it.

Now it comes down to what he said earlier. Treat the angel, ignore the brat.

He smiles sweetly, the sound of Satoru lapping at the plastic cock unimportant as your legs shake.“Remember princess, you asked for this.”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk #jjk smut #satoru gojo #cockygojocockygojocockygojocockygojo #jjk gojo #jjk geto #satosugu smut #satosugu x reader #satoru x suguru #suguru smut #geto smut #geto x reader #geto suguru smut #mean geto

[inklore]

Laur I see we’re talking Aemond and I need to join bc asdfghjkl that man had two minutes of screen time in the latest episode and he has me in chokehold already

like I’d push down my leo pride for him, let him degrade me, idec anymore

I just know he’s so thorough when it comes to fucking you, like deep and hard and with purpose, like that man fucks with his entire being ya know, I just, I need him I need him bad

asdfghjkl um yeah anyways hi ily and I hope you’re doing well🫣

pairing: king!aemond targaryen x queen!reader

warnings: eighteen+ content, p in v, deep penetration, porn with feelings, biting, scratching, everything is really brief.

etc: told myself i wouldn’t care nor did i care about this man and yet here i am thirsting over him like a fool lmaosks. i’m glad i’m not the only one thoughhh! ily and i’m suffering from this damn show but i hope you’re good bby <3

You’re his Queen and deserved to be treated—and fucked—as such. He likes when both of you are taking enjoyment in the part, it’s not just something he takes from you. It’s a pleasure you both receive, feel, love.

The time he takes to make sure you’re wrapping your arms around him to pull him to your chest, tightening your legs around his hips pushing your pelvis up into his so his cock runs over your wet cunt as you ask him nicely. Beg so sweet because you want him, not because he has to force it out of you.

You really want him.

As much as he does you.

Your body sings and trembles and reaches out for him. Your cunt taking him in perfectly, the stretch around his cock making you both sigh in relief. Feel almost high on him finally sliding home. From the push and pull of his hips as he encases you with his arms, as his mouth bruises yours with his—everything he takes he gives back.

Every hard thrust met with your nails digging into his shoulders; pain for pain.

Every dirty word spilling from his lips met with an agonizing cry for more from your lungs; ache for ache.

Every bite and hard press of his mouth met with your teeth in his bottom lip; mark for mark.

The only power he holds over you is in status, throne, name. A name you now share with him, a name you wear, bare with honor and grace. A name you’re proud to have and he’s happy to give.

Any other power is held in the mix of your shared breaths, moans, fingers intertwined—plans to rule, take, and claim side by side.

You don’t shy away and he doesn’t cower from you knowing all. Seeing all. Seeing him for who he truly is.

With your leg in the crook of his arm, bent just enough to have him going deeper into you, the slow methodical roll of his hips, the deep grunts against your tongue as you mewl and cry and he swallows it down—he fucks you until neither of you can breathe unless it’s from the others mouth. Your insides sore and raw and perfectly tender.

“Does my queen want another?” He asks when he’s made you come for the third time, the smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth nothing if not promising. For he’d give his Queen anything, she need only ask.

#aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen headcanon #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fic #house of the dragon smut #aemond targaryen one shot #aemond targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon fic

[yurmomsawh0r]

𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 - 𝐩𝐭.𝟒

*•*•*• 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 - 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐄𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝?

𝐀 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜! 𝐄𝐫𝐞𝐧, 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐮𝐩 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐩

Part 3 here

*•*•*• 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - 𝐈 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐢𝐭!

The strip club was packed tonight. Neon lights gleaming with low vibrant tones as smoke clouded the room. Women dancing or spinning on a pole for the enjoyment of their patrons, trying to earn some extra money for the night.

Eren sat amongst his group of friends. They cheered and laughed while he sat back and smoke the rest of his unfinished blunt. He was quiet. Distant. Not really paying attention to what was being said.

“Why the face handsome?” The dancer next to him ask. Her jumbo sized breast pressed right in her face.

“Don’t mind him. He’s been a bit grumpy tonight”

Damn straight he was. It had been 7 months since the last argument you had and soon you’d be ready to burst any day with your daughter.

It was scary for him to have another one but he’d love her none the less . Eren didn’t really know how to approach the situation any more.

He was tired of fighting with you over this. He just wanted to be a family but his anger wouldn’t subside and let him out his pride away.

He hated how vulnerable he felt when you left. Hated that you didn’t even think to trust him. Things could’ve been different.

He allowed you to have your space. Not bringing up the subject again but you could tell he was different. More closed off and aggravated.

It was always between the two of you but Eren never let you leave.

Even when you tried, he made sure you were escorted to anywhere you needed to go. He moved out of the room to give you a sense of privacy.

He barely even looked your way these days.

Eren stood from his spot knocking the woman back slightly. He took out a few hundred bills and slapped it on the table before walking out.

He had a lot on his mind. Scared to go home and confront you. To actually let this go and move on.

You were also feeling the same. It didn’t help that your hormones were raging and making you an emotional mess.

To stubborn to apologize and take accountability for your part in his feelings.

His insecurities. Although you did it for yourself and child (and you’d do it again.),

You know you still hurt him. Leaving Eren in his time of need. You were ready to apologize. More than ready. You were ready to be a family again.

-

Eren made his way into the foyer, closing the door behind him, turning the lock. It was quiet, save for the tv he could hear faintly from upstairs.

He climb the steps barely making it to the top when you round the corner. Belly low and swollen. A painful look on your face as you waddle to the rim of the staircase. Eren loved seeing you like this.

You looked beautiful and glowing.

Full with his child. He was swooning. Over the course of these past 7 months, nothing made him more happier than seeing you here with him.

He wanted to reach out and rub your belly, but he made sure to keep his distance.

Not wanting to upset you even more, since he’s forced you to stay.

“Hi.” You softy spoke. It looked like you had been crying. The puffiness of your eyes giving you away.

“𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠.“

Straight to the point. Eyes pools of nothing. Emptiness. Seeing him look so dead only made you feel even worse for your part in this story.

“I wasn’t crying.” You lied. Already feeling the tears welling up and falling over just from his simple question.

Eren sighed and made his way up to you. Reaching out to caress the heaviness of the love you both created.

‘Ren I’m-“ “I’m sorry.” Before you could even get the words out, it was like he had stolen them from the tip of your tongue.

More tears flood your waterline. Heavy sobs racked up from you.

“I was hurt, and I wasn’t ready to let go.”

“I’m so sorry.” He apologized again, pulling you to his as close as he could. You wrapped your arms around his neck. His scent filling your nose, only making you cry harder than before.

“I’m sorry too Eren. I shouldn’t have been so stubborn.” You cry. “The least I could’ve done was acknowledge that I hurt you.”

“I-“

Lips mashed together. He silences you with a kiss. Pouring all of his love into it. You missed this. You missed him.

Eren picked you up bridal style, belly and all, to your bedroom.

-

Soft moans and grunts could be heard from down the hall.

Eren thrusted softly into you. Careful not to be too rough. The gentle kisses he peppers on your neck has you squeezing his biceps.

He could feel you clenching on his girth. One clench in particular has him sucking harder. His soft strokes now getting a litter faster and vigorous.

“It’s so good baby.” You turn your head to the side in order to kiss him. The both of you lying side ways. The best possible position for you as your belly was in the way and missionary made you sickly.

You loved the way his dick rubbed your walls lovingly.

Your moans increasing with every thrust. “Yea mama this shit feels so good.”

You loved how vocal Eren was. He always let you know the power you had over him. “Oh shit!” Your orgasm was a strong one. It had been so long since your body had been touched so this was a euphoric feeling. You could hear your juices sloshing out of your pussy the more he pound into you.

“Keep going baby. Fuck!” Eren could feel you about to cum again. This only egged him on into cumming with you.

His thrust sloppy but still perfect enough to satisfy you.

Slow stroking, his cum shot into your canal spilling out from the sides.

The both of your breaths heavy and heaving. Eren went on to kiss you tenderly. Love sparkling in his eyes. He finally felt whole again. The weight of his anger no longer present.

“I love you.”

“I love you to ‘Ren.”

Sorry it’s so short guys. This is the last chapter. A lot has been going on and it was really hard to even write this. Hope you enjoyed l!❤️

@slayy697

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#smut #anime smut #mature themes #read #aot x y/n #Aot smut #eren x black reader #eren x y/n #eren jeager smut #eren x you #eren jeager x reader #eren smut #pregnancy #aot onyankopon #aot x black reader

[mechanicalpiper]

Spiciest one I've done yet, I think! Enjoy :3

Hero beats Villain in a fight, and the latter can't hide their fluster over Hero being in control.

CW: VERY suggestive.

Snippet #7

It was the most tense fight the two ever had.

Hero and Villain continued to trade blows, weaving around one another's strikes and staying on their feet despite the pain.

What made it tense wasn't the fight itself, necessarily- it was the stakes. It wasn't simply Hero foiling a plan or Villain trying to capture them- there was no destructive machine to destroy, information to gather, person to save, nothing.

There were no stakes. That's what made it so tense.

The two had just... stumbled across each other. It was late at night, and both were simply taking walks through the city. There wasn't anything to accomplish- they just knew they couldn't just ignore one another.

Since there wasn't anything to formally accomplish, the winner would simply... win the fight.

The winner would just have the loser physically defeated. Anything could be done to them in a weakened state like that, and knowing one another, it almost certainly wouldn't be good.

So here they were, scrapping in an alleyway with the same ferocity as fighting for their life.

Hero landed a clean blow, staggering Villain back a little. Hero generally looked much less beat up- Villain knew they were going to lose. The pressure was on them as Hero continued to strike, putting Villain on the defensive without enough breathing room to make a strike back... they just had to weave around or block enough strikes to get their opportunity.

Hero feinted an overhead attack. Villain, in a panic, held their arms together and in the way of the strike to block it... giving Hero the perfect opportunity.

Villain noticed just barely too late. They shut their eyes to brace for impact, but... no strike came.

Instead, they felt Hero grab their wrists, pressing them back into the wall of the alleyway.

They cautiously opened an eye to process what exactly was happening. Hero was in front of them, leaned in slightly with a smug lil grin, holding Villain's wrists against the wall above them.

"Checkmate! I win~" Hero taunted.

Oh, dear god.

Villain squirmed slightly. Wow, this position was evoking some feelings. Pinned against the wall by Hero, of all people?? A mild blush formed on their face. Hero noticed.

"D-Don't sound so cocky!" Villain snapped. "We're not fighting over anything, t-this doesn't have meaning!"

Hero gave a teasing little grin in response. "Oh? Really now?"

Villain glared back. "Obviously!! There's no plan to meddle with!"

They struggled angrily, but they knew they were far too weakened to resist Hero's grasp. Weakened because t-they were beat up, of course. Nothing else. Nada. Zip.

Hero grinned. They found it so cute how badly Villain was hiding a bit of enjoyment here. That blush was glowing bright, some of those squirms were of flustered embarrassment, and they'd never stuttered like that before. They'd never seen Villain in such a helpless state like this- it was absolutely precious.

"Hmmm? Oh, all the Agency ever wants me to do is fuck up your plans, but they're not involved right now, are they~?"

Villain's entire expression showed flustered surprise for a moment. That completely took them off guard... the thoughts rushing through their head only got more frequent and detailed. They knew there was absolutely no way this would play out like that, though. No way.

"W-Well, no, but what else IS there to do?? I can't think of a damn thing this gets you besides throwing me back in that barely-qualifying prison to escape overnight!" They shot back, hiding their embarrassment under anger.

"Oh, honey, don't lie~♫"

Villain completely froze for a moment.

Their expression became complete surprise as they looked at Hero, their blush covering their entire face.

holy shit.

Did they hear that right? Was Hero just mocking them? Did they misinterpret it? They scrambled for an explanation- ANY explanation. Because surely, SURELY this wasn't actually happening.

Hero let out a giggle watching Villain helplessly squirm under them at a complete loss for words. It was so, so fucking cute to see such an intimidating, notorious rival just fall apart in their arms like this.

"Well~? Anything you'd like to say?"

Villain couldn't find the words. They squirmed, stuttered, grit their teeth in frustration... a pathetic display the Hero couldn't get enough of. The glare they shot back at Hero was filled with the most precious little mix of frustration, uncontrollable fluster, and embarrassment they'd ever seen.

"Awww, having trouble speaking, Villain~?" Hero taunted back. "What's wrong~? Where's all that dauntless charisma, hmmm~? You're not hiding a damn thing, sweetheart~"

Villain was practically falling apart at the seams.

Their thoughts were less coherent, just filled with so, so much fluster. They couldn't believe this was actually happening. They couldn't have been happier.

"I'm not surprised you're so subby, really~! It fits you quite well~"

Their struggles were long gone by now, replaced with desperate squirms. Not desperate for escape. They'd never been such an absolute mess before

"So... why don't you be good for me and come on along as I head back home~? I've got time to kill."

Villain's response was almost subconscious. "...P-Please..."

There was a long night ahead of them.

#heroes and villains #writeblr #writing snippet #creative writing #suggestive #writing #short story #villain x hero #heroxvillain #hero x villain

[lurkingshan]

I Feel You Linger in the Air: Novel vs Drama 

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

Happy IFYL special day! While I wait (not so) patiently for the special episode to become available for international viewers, I thought I would stop being lazy and get around to writing up my thoughts on the adaptation choices of the drama now that I’ve finally had a chance to read the original novel. 

First, let me just say: the novel is so fun. I’m so glad folks like @clairedaring and @pharawee talked about it on here and @waitmyturtles read it first and told me to jump on it, because I’ve had a really hard time with poorly translated y novels before and was definitely skeptical. But the story was excellent and the English translation was really solid, so a great time was had by all and I wasn’t even salty about spending eighteen American dollars on it. I didn’t think the novel was perfect (turtles can attest I had a few LOUD complaints) but it was a very enjoyable read. Shoutout to @bengiyo, @neuroticbookworm, and @wen-kexing-apologist as well for listening to me rant about Tee’s choices as I made my way through the novel. Bonus: if you have the chance to read this novel while vacationing in Thailand surrounded by plumeria trees and romantic scenery, I highly recommend. 

So, with that established, let’s talk about the adaptation! Adapting novels to a visual medium always comes with a lot of choices, and it’s not easy to make everything translate effectively. On the other hand, a live action drama can make some of what’s on the page feel even more vivid and new elements can be introduced that add to the canon. I’m on the record as both loving this show and feeling like there were some significant missteps in the writing, so I really wanted to understand the source material and how some of those choices were made. So here’s your spoiler alert for IFYL’s adaptation: it’s a real mixed bag of choices from our dear frenemy Tee Bundit, and all in service of one clear goal. 

I Feel You Linger in the Air, but Make It Sadder!

I’m going to break down the details below, but this is the TL; DR right here. Every choice Tee made in this adaptation was in service of transforming a relatively light and often comedic time travel romp into a story of deep melancholy and a thorough examination of queer pain. This is Tee’s whole schtick, so we can hardly be surprised; and yet I was kind of taken aback by how stark the difference in these stories felt even as a lot of the plot stayed the same. During the drama’s airing @respectthepetty talked about how this show was just too damn sad for her, and I gotta say, she was definitely picking up what Tee was putting down. YMMV on how sad you like your romance, but Tee Bundit is a very sad boy indeed.

Jom

gif by @junghaesin

Let’s start here, because this is definitely my biggest grievance with Tee: he removed most of Jom’s personality from the book in order to give us a flatter, sadder version of him that fit better with a much more melancholy vision for this story. As it turns out, Jom was originally written to be smart, sassy, and very funny (h/t to @stuffnonsenseandotherthings whose post on this really got me interested in reading to see the difference). Novel Jom is a smartass who never misses the opportunity to work in a salty comment or express his frustration when things aren’t going his way, and he’s such an active character. He does not just sit back and let things happen to him; he thinks and he struggles and he tries. By comparison, show Jom just feels… vaguely confused, mildly depressed, and wildly passive most of the time. This is by no means a knock on Nonkul, who is a fantastic performer—these are clearly writing and directing choices and he is interpreting the character as instructed.

And it’s not just the removal of his core personality, either. Jom in the book has emotional intelligence and a stronger sense of connection to others. For one, he actually cares that Eung Phueng is his sister! Throughout the book, we see him dedicate time and energy to finding ways to care for his sister despite their different social stations; this dynamic is completely absent from the show, where Jom doesn’t even seem to remember Eung Phueng has his sister’s face most of the time. This was a major hole in the show and I still don’t really understand why Tee dropped the ball on it when there was so much material to drawn from in the book.

Winner: The novel, hands down. If you take nothing else away from this post, please take it as a recommendation to read the novel so you can experience Real Jom in all his sassy glory.

The Mythology 

gif by @chickenstrangers

Now, I can’t really claim that either the novel or the show does a fantastic job with the mythology, because there’s a lot of hand waving in either case and some definite plot holes. But I will give the book credit for being upfront from the start: it didn’t really intend to explain it beyond giving us a little preamble about wormholes (yes, wormholes!) and for having Jom actually notice and care (and get very amusingly frustrated) that he didn’t understand what the wormhole wanted him to do or how to control it. He actually tried quite a lot in the book to figure it out, rather than just sitting around gazing morosely into the distance. In the end, the book tells us that Yai vowed to love Jom at first sight in every lifetime, which is a vow he made after the wormhole brought Jom to him but somehow affects the times that had already happened from our perspective. It’s a paradox that doesn’t fully make sense, but it is at least an explanation.

The show, by contrast, intentionally added layers to this mystery that it had no intention of resolving. The drawings opening up connections to the present, the ghostly visages haunting the characters, the glimpses of Jom in the future doing things we never saw in the original timeline, Mustache Yai kissing Jom in the water—all show inventions, and all setting up an expectation that some sense would be made of these clues. Which of course, never happened. Instead, these things were used to contribute to the spooky scary vibe and make everything feel sadder, and the show offered no explanation at all for why any of this happened.

Winner: It’s a draw since neither really did it well, but I’m staying salty with Tee for fucking with me.

Family Drama 

gif by @thii-nii

Here is where we get into some of the stuff Tee added to the story that actually worked pretty well. One very smart adaptation choice: he made Yai and Eung Phueng siblings so that Yai would have a reason to be more involved in their household and able to interact much more with Jom in the early parts of the story; in the novel there is no connection between the households and Yai and Jom barely interact for the first several months after Jom arrives in the past. He also added a lot of family drama in the back half of the show: the struggles with Yai’s father, the shady uncle, the plot to force Yai to marry, and the big confrontation over Robert’s misdeeds are all show inventions, likely added both to pad out the story and make the relationship harder and sadder, and because he was looking for an alternate source of conflict since he was not doing Part 2 of the book (which takes place once Jom is yanked away again and shot back to the Commander Yai time period). 

Another major change from the novel to the show: in the novel, Yai’s plans to go study abroad were already set before Jom even got there, not something he won as a consolation in a negotiation over marriage. Which has some implications I’ll get into in the next section.

Winner: The drama, where the family dynamics were much more thoroughly explored. 

The Romance 

gif by @loveisactivated

As I mentioned above, Tee made a smart choice in bringing Yai more firmly into Jom’s orbit early in the story, but unfortunately, he didn’t do much with that advantage and actually failed to use some of what the novel gave him to work with. In the novel, Jom is much more aware of the attraction between him and Yai, very attuned to Yai’s flirting and their age gap, very aware of his own growing attachment to Yai, and thinking through the implications of all of it as it grows, which is a more natural and believable build up to their romance than in the show, where Jom seems distracted and unaware of Yai’s affections until they suddenly start jumping each other. That lack of romantic development in the show (which we discussed even as it was airing) was not because the material was not there for Tee to use in the book; he simply had other priorities and neglected to build it properly in show time.

That said, I have to give major credit to Tee for how he handled the romance once our leads were together and intimately involved. First, he really brought some of the scenes that were in the book to life in a way that still has me shook, like Yai’s drunken poetry recitation (credit must also be given to Bright for his eye work in that and many other scenes, what a stunner). And on top of that, the drama has some of the best physical intimacy scenes I have ever seen in any drama, full stop, and that is nearly all Tee and his creative team. He used elements from a few scenes in the book, but he remixed and amplified them to be a lot more powerful, and certainly much more artful and sensual than the sex scenes in the book. That olive oil masturbation scene? The show gets full credit, and the way the direction, editing, and performances so vividly painted their attraction to each other still gives me shivers when I think about it.

But anyway, back to bitching about Tee: one of the scenes that really stuck out for me like a sore thumb in the romance arc in the show was when Yai learns he will be going abroad and he and Jom discuss it in a curiously flat and emotionless way, with Yai acting like it’s no big deal for them to be separated for three years. I mentioned above that this was a change from the book: in the novel Yai was already set to go abroad before he ever met Jom, it was not a new surprise that came about after they were together. They discuss Yai’s impending departure twice in the book; once when Jom is still only Yai’s majordomo, and then once again when they are lovers. As you can imagine, the emotional tenor of these two scenes are quite different. And Tee used the wrong one for the show! I almost threw the book at the wall when I realized I was reading the verbatim dialogue from that scene in the show in the context of Yai and Jom hardly knowing each other yet, and then again when I got to the second conversation that was actually appropriate for two lovers who do not want to be parted. That has to be one of the most senseless adaptation mistakes I have ever seen. Tee Bundit, what is wrong with you!!

Lastly for this section, I will just note that the very long, drawn out goodbyes between Yai and Jom are also a show invention. In the book, Jom gets yanked to the next time period with no warning shortly after they get together and begins his next adventure with another Yai. Since Tee was ending the show here in this time period, he went in a different direction, having Jom and Yai much more aware of Jom fading and anticipating a separation so that he could (say it with me) make everything sadder. His choice to wallow for two entire episodes in sorrow and melancholy and to put much heavier focus on Yai’s despair was entirely his own, and so very on brand.  

Winner: It’s a draw. The book definitely writes the romantic arc more holistically and doesn’t have any of the missteps the drama does, but the show is so artful and the parts it gets right are so good I will remember them for the rest of my life. And I can’t pretend I’m not an angst monster at heart, so Tee’s sad af vision totally worked on me.

Sides and Queer Community

gif by @my-rose-tinted-glasses

Here is where Tee’s adaptation really shines, and I know others have discussed these changes before so I won’t go too deep on the details. But I absolutely have to give Tee props for taking tiny threads for these side characters in the books and building them into whole people that we actually care about. Especially in the case of Ming and Fong Kaew, Tee really made something of their extremely thin book stories to turn them into fan favorite characters with real growth arcs. I do think the book was better in the way it handled the fated connection between Fong Kaew and Khamsaen, but everything else about Fong Kaew’s story was deepened by the show. And Tee gets credit for adding so many meaningful stories for women characters in the first place, let alone developing a lesbian romance for Eung Pueng and Maey. He picked up on a tiny bit of subtext for underdeveloped characters in the book and ran with it, and it really enhanced the story. 

He also used side characters as a means to make this story feel all around more queer, not only by including additional queer romances but by building out a real sense of community and solidarity among the queer characters. Not only the addition of nods to real queer history, but the speakeasy, James’s explicit queerness, and Nuey the Green Queen are all Tee additions to the canon that really enhanced the story.

Winner: The drama and it’s not close. Well done, Tee!

That Ending

gif by @dragonsareawesome123

One of my biggest interests in reading the novel was seeing how the ending with modern Yai is explained in the original source material, because I found the drama version of that scene so lacking. Well, it turns out, the novel did pretty much the same thing! The ending sequence of the book is even shorter than the scene in the show and similarly offers zero explanation for this new version of Yai or how he knows Jom before they jump each other and the story concludes. The main narrative ends there and the book then tacks on an epilogue explaining who this new Yai is, and it reads like an afterthought. Honestly, it felt to me like the writer ran out of steam and just didn’t bother to finish the story, and Tee did exactly the same thing. Which is kind of infuriating, because being able to fix stuff like that is one of the best things about a good adaptation. 

Winner: Absolutely no one, my kingdom for a proper ending to this story.

gif by @pharawee

So, my conclusions? 1) Tee Bundit is the saddest creator in Thai bl, hands down; 2) It’s a draw between which version of this story is better. The novel and drama both have different strengths and significant flaws, but both versions are compelling and had me on the edge of my seat. I highly recommend the book to anyone who is missing the show and wants another chance to revisit these characters, plus the added bonus of seeing Jom wrangle Commander Yai, something we are unlikely to ever see on our screens (though hope springs eternal besties!). If you do decide to give it a read, come talk to me about it! 

#i feel you linger in the air #ifylita #shoutout also to all the excellent giffers for this show #the tumblr gif search is hopelessly broken but i wanted y’all’s beautiful work in this post anyway #thai bl #shan shouts into the void

[10liver]

Kirishima fucks up and Bakugou and Kaminari are there to sweep up the mess and fix you out of your feels.

Cw; fluff, Café worker au, light hurt/comfort.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

You and Kirishima had been friends throughout middle school, and it stayed that way. The light and happy feeling of being with your best friend. The soft smiles and the silly laughs, it felt great. Heavenly even. That was how it was.

Until you introduced them.

"Hey, I'm Mina Ashido! I've seen you around before, haven't I?" She said with a bright smile before sticking her hand out to the blank spikey haired boy.

Kirishima froze before clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck with a smile, "O–Oh, yeah! Nice to meet you, I'm Eijiro Kirishima." He replied with a sheepish grin.

You watched silently at the greeting, smiling at the smooth greeting, it seemed pretty nice. You were somewhat excited, you were thinking of being the awesome trio at Mustafa Private Middle School.

But that wasn't the case. Not at all. You never expected to be the one left out on hangouts let alone left behind. You never thought you'd be the one to feel that prickling pang of jealousy and pain as you watched your bestfriend and your other friend laugh and share a popcorn bucket at the movies. You were stuck on the end side as both of them sat by eachother, laughing and giggling at the movie loud enough for several people to give them dirty looks.

It wasn't as fun when you were on the butt end of it, was it?

This went on and on, and each time, you felt little bits and pieces of your enjoyment that was there before, shatter and fly away. It hurt, so bad, more than anyone could imagine. And it didn't help that you liked your bestfriend too.

You sighed before getting up off of the round, metal Café chair and grabbing your belongings. You had been mulling and thinking too much. People had offered you several little snacks when they caught you shedding a couple tears, which made you feign a smile. But the thankfulness and prick of gratefulness didn't last forever, which is why you decided it was better to just sulk at home and not embarass yourself.

You were about to ditch the Café before you heard someone yell. You whipped your head back at the voice, which was apparently the Café counter.

"Hey, you." A blonde guy called out with both palms on the counter as he looked at you. You glanced around before pointing at yourself and slightly tilting your head.

The worker nodded and grinned, "Yeah, you, c'mere." He motioned for you to come closer before dipping behind the small glass panel that slightly hid the drink he pulled out from behind it.

You slowly walked closer, clearly confused on why you were called out. Maybe it was because you stayed too long. You really didn't hope so, you were definitely in no mood to get an earful.

"On the house, hate seein' pretty people like you sob in here." The blonde said before sliding a [Favorite drink] to you with thin caramel lining that made up a small happy face.

You stared at him for a brief minute before pursing your lips, trying to decide if this was worth your smile right now or not. If you could even muster up one.

But, after a couple seconds, your body decided for your as a warm smile tugged at your lips causing an instant reaction from the blonde boy as his grin got wider.

"I– T.. Thank you." You said softly, taking the drink and pulling it closer before taking a sip and immediately feeling a tad better than you had before.

He tipped his little worker visor before flashing his amber eyes down at you with a soft smirk. "The names Kaminari. Denki Kaminari." He said softly.

You chuckled quietly, "[L/N], [F/N] [L/N]." Kaminari perked up before snatching an order paper and grabbing a pen from the table and writing down his number.

He slid it against the table towards you with a soft grin, "Use it however you please." He mumbled softly before making soft eye contact with you.

"Dunce face, God damn it! You better not be flirting with another customer again." A voice boomed from the back before a loud slam was heard. Everyone, including you and Kaminari whipped their heads over to whatever made that noise.

Another worker came from behind the wall before his eyes instinctively met the front of the counter, soon finding their way up to your slightly flushed, puffy face and just as puffy eyes.

He sucked his teeth before dipping back behind the wall and coming out with a duck themed sugar cookie and sliding it across the counter before stopping right in front of you.

"Damn Bakugou, didn't expect you to be the–" The darker blonde was quickly cut off with a cough as the other worker shoved an elbow into his abdomen, effectively shutting him up.

"Don't be goin' to a Café just to mope around n' not buy anything. That's just bs." The ash-blonde mumbled the last part before going back behind the wall with his hands shoved in his Café designed apron.

Your eyes followed him until he was no longer in sight, you were clearly slightly baffled with the mixed signals. Your attention was quickly snagged away from the ash-blonde to the Darker blonde that was clutching onto his stomach.

"Don't mind him, he's always like that." He wheezed out, giving his best attempt at a grin as he stared at you for a moment.

You chuckled for a moment before clearing your throat and straightening up as your expression took one of worry and concern, "Are– Are you.. alright?"

"Don't worry, 'm fine– He always does this." He spoke before coughing and straightening up. He cleared his throat before smiling warmly. "What I think Bakugou over there was tryna say is, don't be upset, everything's gonna turn out fine. Well, whatever youre goin' through will be." He shrugged with a hum sounding like the words 'I don't know.'

You smiled softly before nodding, "If that's the case, send him my thanks." You gave a farewell nod before turning around and making your way towards the Café doors.

"Will do." Was the last thing you heard before the small bell at the top of the double glass doors rang. You felt lighter than before, a little out of the dumps. You glanced down at the drink and little snack with a soft smile before taking a sip.

Maybe today wasn't going to be as bad.

And from that day on, you became a regular, always going back to that same Café to see those very blondes. At one point, they began to memorize your favorite drinks almost by heart just by simple glance at your expression.

You'd always pick the table closest to the counter so they'd always have the chance to start up small talk at times, and Kaminari took all the chances he could get.

Bakugou on the other hand, acted as if he didn't want you there which would normally hurt– if he didn't occasionally sneak you a couple cookies and small cups of whip cream.

"So how is our lovely regular doing today?" Kaminari asked with a soft grin as his chin resting in the palm of his hand for support atop the soft beige marble counter.

"I'm doing okay." You replied, making your way to the blonde as your other favorite blonde walked around behind Kaminari while making drinks for the other stray customers.

"Glad to hear." He beamed you a closed eye grin before spinning on his heel and making his way over to the drink station. Presumably to make your drink.

"Whaddya think you're doing, idiot. Go talk to them, I'm making the damn drink already." A harsh whisper was heard from Bakugou as his hands quickly worked at what looked to be a latte.

Kaminari silently mocked him before rolling his eyes and walking back to you. His expression shifted to one of softness as he saw you glancing up at their temporary sanrio menu.

"Thinkin' of buying one of those chibbi thingies from our menu today?" He asked, placing both of his palms on the edges of the counter as he leaned forward ever so slightly.

You pursed your lips in thoughts before smiling softly and nodding, "Yeah, can I get a... [Favorite sanrio character] themed bubble tea? Along with a [F/S/C] sugar cookie?"

"Coming right up beautiful." He responded with a wink before dipping in slightly behind the wall and shouting your order to Bakugou. Whom responded with a very vocal, "Don't yell at me, damn extra!"

You chuckled before glancing behind you at the sound of the little bell ringing as people entered. You were always a nosey one.

And then, your heart dropped.

You watched in slight horror and both Kirishima and Mina walked inside the Café arm in arm with cheerful smiles. You practically froze in place as you slowly turned your head towards the counter, praying to every deity there was that they wouldn't recognize the back of your head.

"Woah, what's wrong with you?" Kaminari questioned, cocking a brow as he stared at you with your sugar cookie in hand. His expression started to lace with concern as you remained silent and frozen.

"[L/N]–" You quickly shut him up before he could finish calling out your name by sending him a death glare that could send a small shiver down Bakugou's spine.

Kaminari quickly stayed silent before hesitantly glancing behind you to welcome the new customers before he too, froze in place.

He laughed nervously before pursing his lips, "Oh– Uh, hey! Your shift started 5 minutes ago [False name], come on." He ushered you over to the little gate stiffly, and you quickly complied.

You quickly, yet semi cautiously made your way over to the gate before pushing your body into it as it allowed you inside. You booked it behind the wall that always hid the rest of the small storage area only to be met face first into a thick pole.

"What the hell?! The fuck're you doin' back here? And watch where you're going!"

You glanced up at said pole that had two drinks up in the air as he beamed you a confused scowl. You quickly backed up before placing a hand over his mouth and glancing behind you where Kaminari stiffly took the pair's order.

Bakugou stayed still for a moment before placing both drinks on a nearby counter and grabbing your wrist. "What the fuck is going on." He said in a harsh whisper.

"The– Youknowthosepeopleitoldyouaboutthatleftmeforeachotherafteriintroducedthem?yeahwelltheyrehereandkaminarihel–"

"God damn it– Slow down idiot!" Bakugou said as he covered your mouth with his hand. He sucked his teeth before slowly retracting his hand from your mouth.

You remained silent for a moment before taking a calming breath and looking up at him, "Remember when I came in here crying?"

"Yeah, you looked like a fuckin' pimple with all that puffiness." He teased with a grin before clearing his throat and allowing you to continue.

You gave him a sharp look before huffing and continuing, "Well that reason why I was crying is here and talking to Kaminari."

Bakugou thought for a moment before pursing his lips in hesitancy. His expression of thought quickly turned into a narrow one as he shoved you out of the way and left from behind the wall.

You watched in terror as Kaminari tried to hold Bakugou back from blowing the whole counter along with Kirishima and Mina away. If this was a clean show, all you'd be hearing was that annoying beep.

"Bakugou– C'mon bro, fuck! Calm down!" Kaminari shouted, holding Bakugou by his the crooks of his neck as the ash-blonde's hands started sparking and popping. All you could hear was loud, violent I'll kill yous and Bastards along with streams of something that sounded like it could come out of Satan's mouth himself.

"Bakugou.." You said under your breath, walking slightly towards the chaos behind the counter. Both blonde's heads whipped towards your direction and froze.

What you didn't know, was that you walked a bit too far and you were now in view for both Mina and Kirishima to spot you and also freeze.

By now, all customers either began recording or scrambled away as far as they could from the very lively Café. But that was the least of your worries the moment you heard his voice.

"[Name]..?"

Your head whipped towards the voice with an expression that could break a man's pride. And well, it did. Throughout all Bakugou's stream of curses, all you could hear was Kirishima's small curses about how crazy your blondes were.

You stared at him as if he were crazy, insane, an outcast, like he didn't belong, like you didn't know who he was, like you disgusted by him, like you hated him. At this point, you could care less about the terrified Mina behind him, the only thing that went through your mind was the betrayal and the fact Bakugou lashed out on someone on his shift. For you.

"Get out."

"What?"

"Get out."

"[Nam]–"

"Get. OUT."

All eyes and phone cameras were on you now, your shout having gained the attention from everyone. You pointed towards the double glass doors and sent him a glare of despair and hatred.

Kirishima recoiled at your sudden volume before Mina stepped in front of him and looked at you with confusion and sorrow. "[Nickname], what's going on with you..?"

You ground your teeth within your mouth briefly before turning away from her and walking behind the wall again. All you could hear afterwards was Kirishima beginning to call your name before getting stopped by a loud slam on the counter and a loud "Get the fuck out."

You sat quietly on a chair in the corner as you stared blankly at the wall infront of you. You counted atleast 104 cracks in the wall and about 3 faded ash marks on that very same chunk of wall.

"[Name]."

You flinched at the sound of your name before instantly calming down at the sight of Kaminari and Bakugou standing by you.

"Are you– Are you okay?" Kaminari said softly, coming closer to you and placing a warm hand on your shoulder as his eyebrows furrowed with concern.

Bakugou came closer before shoving his hands in his pocket and leaning against the wall in front of you with a soft scowl. "If you're worried about those bastards, I scared 'em off 5 minutes ago. Damn extras are so damn persistent."

You chuckled softly for a second at his last remark before clearing your throat and glancing up at both Kaminari and Bakugou. You slowly nodded before sighing, "Yeah.. Yeah, I'm okay. But, I just– I just wanna thank you both for what you did back there.. Helping me and stuff.. Just– Thank you. I really appreciated it."

"Don't be getting all sappy on me now, [Name]." Kaminari teased before ruffling your hair and grinning softly at you. "Plus, it was the least we could do for our favorite customer. Don't tell Amari I said that, she always tips me an extra five bucks whenever she comes here."

You laughed for a moment before smiling softly at both of them, "Noted." You let out another content sigh, feeling lighter than you did during the scenes of drama.

"Tch. Whatever, they deserved it. Wasn't like I was doin' it for you anyway, I got a lotta pent up rage dealing with those damn complaintent customers." Bakugou scoffed before turning his head away to look off to the side. "N' don't worry bout the Café cause I know damn well you will. Our manager will deal with the shit that comes with our mishap."

You couldn't help your smile as it widened at Bakugou's choice of words. After becoming a regular and always speaking with the two, you've come to learn what Bakugou truly means with his words. And this one meant, you're welcome and it's okay.

You stood up slowly before turning towards Kaminari and standing in front of him, just keeping eye contact before wrapping him up in a tight hug.

He grunted quietly in shock before grinning and instantly wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer. "God, I thought I'd never be able to do this." He whispered.

After a couple moments of content, you slowly pulled away and grinned at Bakugou, who was scowling harder than he was earlier.

You laughed before leaping forward and wrapping your arms around Bakugou's neck in a warm, happy hug. Bakugou grunted as well, a little louder than Kaminari before scoffing and hugging you back tighter with his arms around your waist.

"You're welcome nerd." He whispered in your ear as he leaned his head towards the crook in your neck.

Kaminari stood there with his hands on his hips, giving Bakugou an I-know-you-feel-it-too look before straightening up and clearing his throat as Bakugou glared at him.

You and Bakugou had a little bit of a longer moment as you both hugged in silence before you pulled away. He took the chance to ruffle your hair before shoving his hands in his pocket and leaning back against the wall.

"So.. whose up for a festival night?" You ask with a soft grin.

#ao3 #fanfic #my writing #bnha #anime #oneshot #bakugou x reader #mha #kaminari x reader #kirishima eijirou #mina ashido #cafe #different au #non hero au #fluff #angst #light angst #light hurt/comfort #gn reader #gender neutral reader #teenagers

[midnightmoonkiss]

Bloody Kiss

Wednesday Addams X GN! Vampire! Reader

Blood was something that never bothered Wednesday, in fact.. she’s become quite accustomed to the taste after having been dating you for almost a year now.

You who drinks blood for lunch, and maybe as a treat after dinner.

You, a vampire.

Or, well, more accurately a ‘hybrid.’ Blood and human food, you required both to live.

Of course, it’s only pigs blood. As if Nevermore would allow it’s more fang-y occupants to consume human blood on a day-to-day basis, it’s far too expensive.

Besides, Nevermore is already on rocky terms with Jericho, no need to worsen it with the knowledge that donated blood would go to them and their blood thirsty residents.

Fake blood and pigs blood are the only options, of course they bring out the real deal for parents weekend but alas, thats once a year.

And so here you are, stuck consuming pigs blood as it doesn’t contain that artificial tang you’ve grown to hate.

Normally other kids stay away from the vampire table during lunch because of the nauseating scent of iron, but not Wednesday. No, sometimes she’d even sit with you. That, or she’d give you a look from across the quad or cafeteria that screams “come sit with me.”

How could you refuse?

She’s basically got you on a leash at this point, not that you minded.

Your lips could be stained a deep red and yet still.. she’d take your breath away with her own plump ones.

It was hard to tell if she liked the kiss or the taste of blood on your tongue more.

You discovered her lack of care for the crimson liquid a few months ago. You had been teasing her when she requested a kiss, taking a big swig of your drink before showing her the redness of your tongue and teeth, thinking it’d freak her out or cause her to rethink herself.

It’s not like you didn’t want a kiss, you just wanted her to know it’d be bloody.

And boy, did she not care.

She didn’t care for that bratty attitude of yours nor the implication that youd think she’d give a damn about something so insignificant. As if blood could deter her when she knew exactly what she wanted.

So, she grabbed you by the back of your head, instantly wiping that cocky smile from your face and replacing it with shock as she crashed her lips against yours. It was almost as if she was trying to prove a point with the way she practically licked all traces of blood from your mouth.

You would’ve been grossed out had you been a normal person. But as a vampire.. she was intoxicating.

You were even more wrapped around her finger from then on.

Her kisses always made you dizzy, but there’s something different in those specific ones. Passion burned like hot embers behind them, you always felt as though you could pass out either from them or the look in her eyes you’d see if you were to open your own during the kiss.

She doesn’t even mind kissing you with human blood on your tongue.. or more specifically, her own.

Wednesday was never one to back away from morbid curiosity, and with a vampire as a lover and her own twisted enjoyment of pain, you knew full well she’d eventually ask you to bite her.

However, she knew just how intimate of an act that was.

Vampires may be ancient, but there was always passion behind a bite. Even if that passion lead to someone’s demise, it was seen as taboo in communities to bite someone without that flare.

So, you’ve never bitten someone before. You were a fang virgin, as weird of a term that was.

The night she decided you would taste her own blood was a moonless one, the stars in the sky being the only things to light up the inky black abyss.

Candles lit up her dark and empty dorm room, prepared and ready for you to sink your teeth into her flesh, the atmosphere beyond romantic.

She whispered poems of devotion against your skin as she pressed gentle kisses against you, relaxing you as she slowly guided your mouth down to her neck.

The second your sharp fangs sank into her pale skin.. she knew she’d be addicted to the feeling for the rest of her life.

The sharp sting, the feeling of blood gushing into your awaiting mouth, the bubbling pleasure and passion from the venom that burned her skin, Wednesday couldn’t help but cradle you against her.

The second you pulled away, gazing hazily into her clouded black eyes, her lips were once again on yours.

Human blood tasted very different from pigs.

Wednesday Addams would never let romance die if it meant she could continue having you just like this.

You’d do anything for her, and the devil himself knows just all the sins she’d commit for you.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday x you #wednesday addams #suggestive #wednesday #wednesday x y/n #vampire reader #gn!reader #tw. blood #blood #dom wednesday addams

[sneezeplease]

Angel Undone

Hello fellow queers or Haz/bin enjoyers, and welcome to the results of my poll!! I had a ton of people choose option 2, and while I'm such a sucker for Huskerdust this fic kind of got away from me and this is mostly Angel whump.

Tw: Cannon-compliant Valentino Abuse, slight mess, references to ep. 4

Enjoy 2k words of Angel with a bad cold, although he does get some help in the end//

“Amorcito! Dressing room, now!" Despite how lightheaded he felt, Angel struggled to get up out of the bed, grateful that he was just doing a simple gangbang. His hands were shaking far too much to be able to untie anything, and he doubted the other “actors” were anything but disgusted with him right now. The spider tried his best to seem unafflicted, but it was rather hard when even standing up caused the room to spin. He ran a hand through his hair, and must have looked pitiful enough that some new actor helped him to stand. 

“Are you okay?” the guys voice was deep, and although he had long since made an effort to forget the name and face of the dozens of people he worked with daily, he remembered starkly where the guy was from, his breath catching in his throat and causing him to cough weakly. 

Charlie getting yelled at, looking so apologetic and teary-eyed. Valentino turned back to Angel, Angel knowing he had caused her so much pain for no reason, that he had led another one of his friends to be hurt by the cruel man who used to be so kind to him. That was when Angel really knew he couldn’t stay like this anymore, that he needed to fight back in the smallest ways so Val could lose interest. 

“Not really, can you- help me to the wall?” His voice was quieter than it ever was while he was performing, but he really didn’t want to get the man sick after he had been at least decent to Angel. He knew that the only person in the industry who really liked him was Valentino, and he was fucking fine with that. He had to be, there was no way he could change that when Val was so fucking controlling. 

[in the back of his fever-addled mind, Anthony was able to recognize that he had never wanted this life. The sinner was manipulated into it, and his feeling of helplessness is what caused his deeply rooted desire to forget everything, to numb the pain of his bleeding heart for even just a moment]

"Here… you look way… out of it. Did ya start using again?” Despite his aching throat, Angel scoffed loudly. 

“Of course I didn’t! It’s just- some cold I picked off from the prin— from where I live, alright? it’s nothing else!” He didn’t bother to say that he had sworn to his best friend that he could stay away from drugs and didn't feel the need to explain something like that in such an open environment. Instead, Angel tried to stumble forward to the door. He was so- so close, when that terrible tickle got even worse in his head. His stuffiness switched to a twitching, lingering itch, and despite rubbing it slowly, it did nothing to help. 

The spider felt his breath catch, almost like a moan, as he began to sneeze? No, he wasn’t sneezing yet, but it felt like he had to sneeze so much that it was making him gasp and whine, teasing him much worse than an orgasm ever had. “Uhhhhh’kSHIEEwww!! Uhhhh’PTChhh!! Ehhhhh’Tshihhh!” he managed to bring an arm up to sneeze into, only moving it down to grab the doorknob. “It doesn’t sound like any cold, but if that's what you want it to be it can-” the man shrugged before walking away from Angel, leaving the spider sinner to take a deep breath in. he knew what was waiting in the dressing room, but he also knew that he had to face Valentino. Hopefully, it would be quickly over with, but Angel Dust wasn’t going to count on it. 

He opened the door nearly silently, then winced as he saw Valentino sitting down on his chaise lounge, smoking like he always did. “Angel Dust, someone isn’t looking too good. Tell me, did you finally come to your senses? Or is this just the consequence of being around such filth at that damned hotel?” Before Angel could even speak, Valentino’s face twisted into something sinister and angry, the rage he usually concealed displayed as he stood up and walked closer to the other. 

“Perhaps… you’ve gotten terribly close to Lucifer’s bimbo daughter, haven’t you? Or the old-timey overlord that Vox can’t stand? You probably got sick from whoring yourself out again, without my permission!” Angel winced at the accusations, his arms crossing over his body to defend himself. Despite how much progress he ever thought he had made, it always faded away in this forsaken dressing room, where his confidence and self-esteem had been destroyed so many times before. 

Still, Angel knew the repercussions of not filling the silence, knew the blows he would be getting for being cowardly if he didn’t even attempt an excuse. Between the fever and the panicking, all Angel could manage was a shitty, overused excuse: 

 “Val, I didn’t mean to get sick, I swear!”

“Really? You didn’t leave me just so you could find some other bitch to control you? To make you feel good?” His leash materialized suddenly as Valentino yanked him closer. The pressure from the collar on Angel's throat caused him to cough harshly, whining as he finally got his breathing under control. 

“I haven’t! I just help out at the hotel, that’s all! Someone probably wandered in while— while!!” He tried every trick he could think of to stop himself, even putting his tongue to the roof of his mouth. constrained as he was, he knew he was too close to Valentino to not sneeze on him. 

“While?” Valentino blew a puff of smoke in his face, and that was what did it. Any control Angel had fought for was quickly taken away from him, the usually clingy scent from his cigarette now invading his nostrils and causing him to lose his breathing. 

“HEhhhHHH’GSHUEWWWW!!! EHHHHHH’TCHuhhhh!!! HAhhhhh’CHIEWWWWW!!! AHhhhhh”PSHOOOO!! Uhhhhhh’TSHUEWWWWW!!! IHHHHHH’KSHIEHHHH!!” The sneezes caused him to pull against the restraints with each one, and they were definitely loud enough to hear from outside the room. Valentino first looked intrigued when Angel seemed to be moaning, but now he looked nothing short of disgusting.  

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to Snehhhh-EIhhhhh’TCHIEHHHH!! HIHHHHHH’KSHUHHHH! EHHH’PTSHUEWWWW!!” The tickle was far too overwhelming for Angel to even attempt to cover or hide them, and all he could really do was sneeze, the perfume from the smoke setting his nose aflame. 

“Fine!” The chains released as Valentino threw them aside. That caused Angel to stumble and fall, barely being able to shift and fall on the couch, even if it was face first. “I’ll call off the team for today, but you only get three fucking days Angel! Three days to get rid of that disgusting illness.” The door slamming shut only made Angel's headache worse, but at least he could get dressed now, right?

He tried to get dressed for fifteen minutes, having to pause between his skirt and shirt to muffle another wrenching fit. Each sneeze was taking away energy Angel Dust simply didn’t have and caused him to cough afterwards. The usually high-spirited spider was barely functioning, and he grabbed a black robe to cover himself with, as an added layer of heat (not that he could keep warmth well anyways).

Angel dust isn't quite sure how he got back to the hotel, but the spider was close to tears when he finally opened the door. His entire body felt like it was freezing and overheating at the same time, the fever that had given his fur a notable pink flush getting worse as he pushed his body to the -

"Angel? What happened? Charlie came up to him, her hand hovering like she waited to support him but waiting for his consent, and Angel only pulled himself together long enough to give her a plastic smile. 

“Nothing Toots. It was just a long day at work-" his second set of arms appeared again to steady himself as he tried to hold off the sneeze long enough to make sure he wouldn’t get Charlie-

“hhh’EhhhhhhTch’ieWwwww!!” The one time he had wanted not to make an entrance, and his body couldn’t even listen to him. his sneezes were typically over the top, and while he didn’t find the sensation good or bad, he wished that just once he could sneeze quietly. 

“Damn you! Are you feeling alright?” And now Charlie sounded way too sympathetic. Angel had to resist the desire to bang his head against one of his arms, he knew there was no way to hide his sickness now. 

So he did what came most easy to him when feeling his shittiest: put on a good performance. “I feel great Tootz! Just amazing, ya know?” he racked his brain to think of something, anything, that could make him sneeze like this, but besides one that could get him kicked out of the hotel, nothing else came to mind. 

“You look ill, my effeminate fellow!” Alastor was smiling like usual, even though Charlie was currently attempting to help Angel to the foyer couch. He fell on it dramatically, batting his eyelashes a couple of times. 

“I’m not sick, just had an extra-long day of work. Val’s going on some “honeymooning” weekend with that TV head and the other one, so he made me work for my time off. Nothing I can’t handle, I’ll be fine with some rest–” his voice cut off at the end of his perfect performance, the tones and inflections making his piss poor excuses actually believable.  Angel couldn’t even remember the last time he felt this sick and miserable from something other than trying to quit cold turkey.  The spider couldn’t even turn his head before coughing his lungs out, and it must have sounded bad enough that Al slipped back into the shadows, leaving just the two of them.

“Here you go Angel,” Charlie gently placed a cup of water into his hands, which the sinner gulped down eagerly. 

“Thanks Toots.” Angel couldn’t keep up any sort of act anymore, and he opened his eyes slightly to see Charlie hesitating to run a hand through his hair. “You are a lifesaver, I tell ya.” he drank the water as fast as he could, gulping it down. It barely did anything for his nose, but at least now he could actually say a few words. 

“I could get you some medicine, or an ice pack, or a heating pack but Nifty took that somewhere so it might take awhile, and actually-a-thermometer-would-” Angel laughed softly, but he appreciated how much care Charlie showed to him. Right now, after he had just been belittled and mocked by Val, most of his cares flew out of the window, including any personal touch.

Charlie had just felt his forehead and compared it to her own when Angel felt his nose twitching once again. He wished that it would just stop, that he could force all of these aches to go away and just be able to sleep. “Toots, ya should try to m-move…” Charlie pulled back quickly, although she seemed confused as to the reason. “Is something wrong? I can get you an ice pack or more water–” Charlie’s worried ramblings were cut by Angel lifting a finger, his breath catching a couple of times. It sounded ragged and desperate, but he couldn’t control it. “Ahhhhh’Kihhh’SCHOOooo!! Hahhhh’TCHIewww!! Iehhhh’KCHUHHHH!! HeHHH’SHuHhhhh!!” The fit even sounded tired, and Angel groaned lightly as he did so. “Angel, are you sure you don’t want some help to your room? I could see if Vaggie or-” Charlie stopped talking, looking over Angel's head. All the sinner could do was grumble, hiding his face in the pillow. 

“It’s fine toots, I’ll just fall asleep right here. No need to mess with that room stuff,” A deeper chuckle came from behind Angel's back, and he didn’t need to look back to tell Husker was there. He hid further into the pillow, determined to keep another person from seeing him like this, especially one that Angel had gotten so close to. 

#snz #snz kink #snzblr #haz/bin hot/el #angel/dust #snez #snzfic

[venuslcver]

RELENTLESS PT. 2 ⋆

pairing: pushyex!rafe x kook!reader

synopsis: just as you plan on letting loose at a party, you have, yet, another encounter with your ex, rafe cameron.

tw: feminine described character, ex-lovers, hands described as slim, pining, toxic love (no use of y/n)

any type of interaction including likes, comments, and reblogs is appreciated! but ultimately not necessary. let me know if im missing any warnings!

the hangers that held your most prized clothing pieces moved with speed, as you searched for a particular top that mia was practically begging on her knees to borrow. she would be at your beachside house in a mere 5 minutes, to get fully ready for a party, that a close kook friend would be throwing this afternoon. and after your exchange with your ex-boyfriend, rafe cameron, earlier this week, you needed a chance to get completely wasted.

hearing the slamming of your bedroom door, you could easily infer that mia had arrived, based on the door-slamming person's lack of manners.

"you don't even know how fucking long it took me to get over here"

considering your whole upper body was completely engulfed in the expensive materials of your costly garments, you could barely even hear a word of what mia's current yammering on was about.

feeling the presence of mia's body pressing against your large closet door, you drew yourself out of the, now, piled up clothing, that was previously pristinely hung, onto your knees, then stood up fully, "first, i didn't hear a damn word of what you said. and second, i can't find that top anywhere"

"you mean this top?", mia asked theoretically while she pulled the top off of the most in-sight place in your hefty-sized, clothing-stacked closet.

"oh screw you!" you yelled as you walked back into your bedroom and sat on your linen-covered bed, slipping on the dress that you had just recently bought, dying to wear out.

mia and you had been out of your house in a record time, only taking an hour to get the rest of the way ready.

slamming the drive door of your shined mercedes-benz, you stood hand in hand with mia ready to concur the worst species to ever be invoked, frat boys. on the bright side though, when they aren't spewing nonsense and put their mouths to good use, they are actually enjoyable. which explains rafe being your ex..

walking into the chalet that belonged to topper, or rather his parents, you began to experience a full-body tense at the earsplittingly loud music. the, already, drunken bodies of people you knew, pushed up against you as you guided mia through the crowds of people.

swiping a couple cups of the booze packed punch, you finally found a small area, out on the patio, by the pool, which wasn't crawling with people.

it had been almost an hour since you first arrived, you didn't even have to move to chat with people, they just naturally gravitated towards you. leaning against the heavy-duty banister, you began talking to an acquaintance or two, "ohhh i know, i can't stand them at alll"

"all they do is just come to an event or two, and judge us"

you began to not be able to escape the rather sudden feeling that all the alcohol, you drank in the past hour, caused. hitting you worse than a ton of brinks. hell, you'd much rather feel the pain of that ton of brinks than this feeling.

seeing the discomfort on your face, your friend spoke, "hey... if you need to use the bathroom, don't let me stop you"

"yeah, yeah i think that would help"

walking past the friend that you just having a meaningful conversation with, you patted her on the shoulder, "thank you"

"n-no problem"

now feeling pressure against your bladder, you made with haste towards the inside, searching the entire second floor of topper's house for an unoccupied bathroom, you began to feel restless as you rushed down the narrow stairs, walking towards the large living room.

"finally", you thought.

seeing a free lavatory open up, you made strides towards it, just as you were about to walk into it, a tall slender guy slid right past you— slamming the door in your face with a smirk.

"douchebag!"

not realizing that you were being watched, a voice spoke up, "the only person i have heard you call a douchebag was me"

shit shit shit

taking a moment to breathe, you turned around to see rafe selling his usual concoction of drugs on the coffee table, while splayed out obnoxiously on the couch.

after a pregnant pause, rafe knew damn well that you weren't going to acknowledge him any more than you already had; pointing to a white powdered line on the maple-colored coffee table, "want'a line?"

finally giving him some sort of acknowledgment, you stood arms crossed, frowning at him, choosing to walk over to the couch and sit on the armrest.

"no rafe, no i wouldn't"

"ohh come on, it's on the house", rafe said still endorsing his "business".

very little acknowledgment was given to rafe, just eyeing him up and down, in complete and utter disgust, "it will be just like old times"

looking back towards the bathroom, and seeing that it was empty, you got up, not before speaking sarcastically thought, " thank you soo much for the offer but i have to use the bathroom"

you lolled your eye as you heard him speak again, "j-just let me know if you need my help in there"

#outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe x you #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #rafe imagine #⋆ rafe cameron fic ⋆ #pushyex!rafe

[thechibilitwick]

going on a tangent about stupid little milgram details that are probably unimportant or wrong yippee

one detail i like is how side character lack features or are different from the focus character, and what it actually means in each MV. The reasoning can vary from character to character, but the general idea is that it's supposed to emphasize their role in the character's eyes and also changes the level of humanness(?) they have. (idk it's hard to phrase)

two really good examples of this are muu and kazui's MVs.

in After Pain, the only other character besides muu who has a full set of facial features is her classmate rei. Every other character is seen without eyes, which let's the audience understand how muu believed her actions were perceived without actually making the background characters feel 'human' or 'real'. Rei having no alterations also implies the importance of her to muu, and also might be muu trying to tell the audience "hey look, with the way she looked and was acting, i had no other choice right?" (muu enjoyers apologies if i'm reading into this wrong i'm not too invested into her character i just really like after pain)

then we move on to INMF, where her previously eyeless classmates have now turned into bug people, while rei remains unchanged. Her classmates being subordinate bugs while she's the queen represent how she views them as 'below' her. Her classmates also do appear as they looked in AP, but here their appearance seems more to represent how their importance to muu kinda boils down to social image and validation (or smth like that). Rei is still rei, and we see her looking on at muu and her group with disgust, we see her dead again, and then at the end we see her decided to fight back. I need to get more into muu, cuz damn her relationship with rei really is interesting considering the fact that her appearance doesn't alter at all whatsoever. Like damn what was their relationship actually like?

in Half, there are only three side characters shown: hinako, the bartender, and the lady from the bar. And oddly enough, the only one with an actual face is the lady. Both hinako and the bartender lack facial features (mainly their eyes). Considering that half is more or less kazui lamenting on his mistakes that led to hinako's death, it'd make sense he'd want to kinda 'block out' anything related to the incident. Which if that's the case, it implies the bartender had enough significance for kazui to want to 'block out' (haha gay) while the lady didn't and thus she's just as is. (so it's kinda like the opposite of muu in a way?)

moving on to Cat, hinako has a face now! (and she's really cute!!) No one else does, though. This is most likely to emphasize how kazui's focus has now shifted from the sadness and grief of the entire ordeal to why and how everything came to be. Hinako herself is basically in the center of it all, being the victim to kazui's deceit, so it'd make sense that we'd get to see her emotions (tho it's from kazui's perspective). Hinako being happy throughout kazui's lying and only turning to shock and distress when kazui is honest is most likely just kazui trying to tell the audience that lying is the only way for him to live life without troubling others. Also mr. bartender makes an appearance again and still has no eyes, which probably implies that he's related to something that kazui still hasn't come to terms with yet (cough homosexuality cough cough)

but yeah that's my little rant, it'd be cool to go into a little more detail for this feature for everyone but idk if i have the mental capacity to at the moment lol

#milgram #milgram project #muu kusunoki #kazui mukuhara #i love rambling about insignificant things that people probably already thought of in a way more coherent way #unfortunately tis the way my brain works #milgram brainrot is more important than school #also be glad that there's no shidou in this otherwise i would've psychoanalyzed everything #like how i psychoanalyzed his birthday art (somehow) #anyways milgram said wlw and mlm solidarity woo!! #chibi's ramblings

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

"get me a damned matcha" | Chapter 24: May II

{{ Chapter 23: April I | Chapter 25: June III }} Chapter Directory

here's the official art that inspired the flowers uwu

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✧ pairing ➼ levi ackerman x fem!reader, college x coffee shop x roommates!au ✧ summary ➼ After you find yourself plagued with misfortune due to struggles in your personal and family life, you find yourself needing to move last minute. As a junior in undergrad with little money and little social support, you considered yourself lucky when you found a sublease that was close to campus and was relatively cheap. Unfortunately, it seemed that your roommate did not seem to be so excited regarding your presence. ✧ content/warnings ➼ hurt/comfort, explicit mentions of grief, levi being comforting in his levi way, happy ending tho :3 ✧ word count ➼ ~5.7k

Graduation was exciting, but also overwhelming. Given the shitshow that was your undergrad experience, you were more than ready to finally receive that piece of paper that indicated that you had earned your degree—but the ceremony itself was more burdensome than it was enjoyable. The ceremony was boring, the weather was too warm, you got little to no sleep the previous night due to the anticipation, and you wore a horrifically uncomfortable dress, which was only exacerbated by the heat and the cheap graduation gown.

This wasn’t a sentiment that was isolated to you, but most of your friends were able to get through it by being motivated about going out later in the evening. While it sounded exciting to you at first, the thought of socializing and masking for literally the entire day sounded more exhausting than if you had to completely repeat the semester. You respectfully declined, and suggested grabbing brunch in the morning instead if your friends were really adamant on spending time with you. 

You were more than exhausted by the time you got home. You had been sitting out in the sun for hours and although you were proud of yourself for finally graduating, part of you wished that you had opted out of walking. You immediately disappeared into your room, throwing off that annoyingly uncomfortable dress and changing into your oversized t-shirt and pajama shorts. As soon as you were in more comfortable clothing, you collapsed onto the couch, immediately sticking your head in Levi’s lap, not caring that the paper that he was reading was technically being held right over your face.

“Bit eager, aren’t we?” he mumbled as he raised the packet and looked down at you.

You scrunched up your nose at his comment and lightly smacked his shoulder in retaliation.

“Figured you’d be going out,” he noted, going back to reading his paper, although he held it off to the side so that he could see you in front of him.

You sighed, turning your gaze from him and up to the ceiling.

“They wanted to go bar-hopping,” you grumbled, clearly annoyed at the conversation you had with your friends earlier. “Needless to say, I wasn’t interested. They were being a pain in the ass and trying to pressure me into going. Ruined my mood.”

You looked back over to Levi and saw the slightest hint of an upward turn at the edge of his lips, in addition to an amused look in his eyes as he glanced down at you.

“What?” you asked in a somewhat defensive tone.

“Nothing,” he said, looking back over to his paper. “Just glad you’re standing up for yourself now.”

You immediately sat up, raising your eyebrow at him. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Levi sighed and set his papers down on the other end of the couch.

“It means that you used to let people push you around to no end,” he mentioned, looking directly into your eyes. “Remember that dick that ran into you when you were picking up the pastries for the very first time?”

You looked down at your lap, recalling that day nearly a year and a half ago. Someone had run into you and then started publicly scolding you as if you were the one that was in the wrong. At the time, you just kept your head down and left. If that happened today, you’d probably happily tell him to fuck off. Levi had a point.

Pouting, you laid back down onto his lap, trying to ignore the unamused look he was shooting your way.

“Am I wrong?”

It took you a little bit to respond.

“...No,” you eventually grumbled reluctantly, frowning after he didn’t respond for a few seconds. “What?”

“Quit being dramatic,” he scolded, flicking your forehead immediately afterwards. “It’s a good thing.”

You scrunched up your nose at him, let out a quiet ‘hmph’, and then rolled over so that you were facing away from him.

Levi simply sighed and picked up his paper again to continue reading, although he was a bit more distractible now that you were lying in his lap.

You shuffled backwards to lean into him a bit more, the pout staying persistent on your face until you noticed a familiar piece of mail on the dining room table. You reached out for it, sitting up once you started reading it.

“What’s this?”

He looked up at you for a split second before looking back down at his paper.

“Lease expires in two weeks,” he mumbled. The piece of mail was a renewal notice. You still had a few days before it was due. “Didn’t want to fill it out yet.”

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Why not?”

“Wasn’t sure what you were doing after graduation.”

“...Oh,” you said quietly, looking down as a bashful smile crept onto your face once you realized that he had been waiting for you to make a choice before he signed anything.

“Looking for another roommate sounded like a pain in the ass,” he continued, “so wanted to wait and see what you were going to do first.”

In reality, the last thing that Levi wanted was to have you move out, but he also didn’t want to force your hand if you really did want to move out and pursue post-grad opportunities.

“Well,” you started, pausing a bit to think about what your plans actually were. You hadn’t really thought about it. Your entire goal was just to graduate. Your endeavors after graduation were never at the forefront of your mind. 

“I was actually thinking of sticking around to flesh out my book,” you eventually said. It was true. That was probably the most realistic choice for you. There wasn’t anything else you could think of that you actually wanted to do.

“Guess I’m stuck with you for another year then,” Levi grumbled, although the slight upwards tug on the edge of his lips gave away his true thoughts.

“Don’t be a grump,” you protested, sitting up and taking the papers out of his hands, immediately eliciting a tut of irritation out of him as you set them down on the coffee table. You immediately placed your hands on his shoulders and threw one leg around him so that you were straddling at him as you looked at him straight in the eye.

“Unless you want me to move out,” you said with a sigh of feigned frustration, sticking out your bottom lip into a pout. “I can start looking for other places. I don’t have to stay in this boring little town full of those ‘annoying undergrads’.”

He raised his eyebrow as you poked fun at his propensity for dismissing any undergrad that dared to cross his path.

“You’ve barely moved on from being an annoying undergrad,” he muttered with a frown. “Now you’re just annoying.”

“Well, then I’ll annoyingly look for another apartment, I guess,” you grumbled as you rolled your eyes.

You let out a squeak of surprise as you felt his grip tighten on your hips, before pushing you both off to the side, effectively flipping you over so that he was now the one on top of you.

“Don’t you dare, you little shit,” he scolded as his voice dropped in pitch, a dark look entering his eyes as he saw your shit-eating grin steadily grow on your face.

He was only able to hold his scowl for a few seconds before it broke and he leaned forward to press his lips against yours, although part of you thought the kiss was primarily to stop you from forming a sarcastic response.

The kiss was preferred anyway, so you weren’t in a rush to form that response, electing to bring your hands up to his cheeks and hold his face as you kissed him back, moving your lips gently against his, the corners of your lips turning up into a smile as you fell into his embrace.

The feeling of him pressed against you always felt electrifying regardless, but his touch was so much more euphoric now that the stress of school was off your plate and you were actually able to relax without any immediate worries. It allowed you to focus on him and only him.

Despite the shitshow that led up to your graduation, now that you were here, life was generally good.

~~~~~

Levi made good on his promise to visit Isabel and Farlan once a year. He had taken them to the local amusement park last year, but he chose to drive home himself this time, although there was a more personal reason attached to it as well: visiting his mother’s grave.

Being in that little break between graduating from school and beginning any type of full-time job, you decided to tag along. Plus, having been in an official relationship with Levi for a little over six months at this point meant that you were itching to meet the two people that he could legitimately call his found family.

You looked out the window as Levi drove through his hometown. He clearly knew it well and while it wasn’t exactly “well off”, you at least saw that it had a sense of community, which generally meant more than anything else when it came to the state of the neighborhood. 

Levi didn’t really get to experience that community as a kid. He got taken in by his uncle after his mother died and got cut off from it throughout the rest of his childhood. It wasn’t until meeting Farlan that he was finally able to experience it, although he was already an adult by that point in time.

Part of you expected them to be as uptight as Levi seemed when you first met him, but that wasn’t the case at all. Farlan was chill, charismatic, and impressionable. Isabel had a shit-eating grin that rivaled your own and seemed legitimately fascinated over the recent developments in Levi’s life, even if they seemed insignificant to him.

You and Farlan immediately hit it off and you were somewhat fascinated that someone as friendly as him got involved with Levi, whose personality was somewhat abrasive towards people that didn’t know him. You knew that you were certainly put off by his personality when you first moved in.

Levi continuously shot unamused looks in your direction as you chatted with Farlan, with you both somewhat making fun of him, although it was all regarding things that both of you mutually found endearing about him—his need for cleanliness that was taken to a whole other level, but translated to him making things as least chaotic as he could; his harsh commentary in addition to his inability to tolerate people, which translated to him being much more authentic around the people he did want to spend time with; and of course, his short stature, which he honestly couldn’t really be bothered to truly care about.

The four of you spent the morning and early afternoon together, ending your day at the local park. It was conveniently on the way back to Farlan’s apartment, so your entire group sat around and chatted for a bit before heading your separate ways.

You were confused when you didn’t head towards Levi’s car, instead being brought in the opposite direction. You didn’t mind. You assumed that it was Levi’s way of wanting to spend alone time with you—you did enjoy your romantic walks, after all.

You had your arm looped around Levi’s, hugging his arm as the two of you walked down the street. You figured that he just wanted to roam around his hometown for a bit until you saw that he seemed to be directly headed towards a flower shop. Instead of walking past it, he made his way inside. 

“Flowers?” you asked, unlinking your arm from his so that you could fit through the narrow doorway.

“Mother’s Day,” he whispered back towards you, looking at you over his shoulder before heading towards the back, seeming to know exactly what he wanted to grab.

“Oh…” you responded quietly, trailing off, immediately understanding why he was here. 

You knew what this day must have meant to him, and you didn’t question it. It brought up confusing emotions within you as well. You hadn’t even really had the chance to think about how Mother’s and Father’s Day would hit differently once your parents were gone. You had been too busy drowning in your own grief to even register whenever the holiday had arrived.

Levi knew exactly what flowers he wanted to pick out, making a bundle of yellow poppies, red carnations, and pink gladioli. It was clear that he had done this before.

You waited as he formed his bouquet, your eyes scanning the flowers on display, although it wasn’t exactly the presentation of the flowers that was on your mind.

You hadn’t gotten a chance to memorialize your parents. Sure, it had been a few years, but your aunt wasn’t particularly good at handling or communicating over these types of things and you had spent all your energy trying to suppress your grief to properly mourn them. It brought up complicated feelings within you.

You were silent as you walked with Levi to the local cemetery. Although your head was a swirl of mixed thoughts and feelings, you kept silent, knowing that right now was an important time for Levi to process. That was the singular thought you held onto when your thoughts wanted to spiral down into a shitshow of chaotic feelings.

Once you got to the tombstone, you noted that it was significantly more well maintained than the other ones were. This didn’t come as a surprise, knowing Levi, and you watched as he brushed off some of the debris that had gathered over the tombstone before replacing the former dead flowers with the new ones he had just bought. You read the engravement as he stood back up, seeing that his mom did indeed pass quite a while ago, and that Levi would’ve been just a small child when she did.

“She got sick a lot,” he muttered.

You looked over at him, your eyes widening a bit. Levi wasn’t one to really directly talk about these things, and you appreciated the fact that he was able to be vulnerable around you, especially in regards to this topic. He had mentioned this a few months ago during his birthday, but the pain and resentment in his voice was just as severe.

“It was just us, so she worked more,” he continued with a sigh. “A lot more.”

He shuffled around, placing his hands in his pockets in the way that he usually did when he felt either awkward or uncomfortable. 

“I was too little to really help out,” he mumbled as he looked back down at her tombstone. “It wasn’t until later on that I realized that’s why she was always sick.”

He paused, staying silent for a few seconds, and you struggled to read his expression.

“Never appreciated that enough as a kid.”

You noticed a brief hint of resentment enter his eyes as he gazed over to the grave next to his mother’s. It was also clean compared to the others in the cemetery, but not nearly as tidy as his mother’s was. Upon seeing the name carved onto the other tombstone, you were able to deduce that it belonged to his uncle that had taken him in after his mother passed—Kuchel and Kenny Ackerman, Levi’s mother and uncle, and although they were both blood relatives that raised him as a kid, he had vastly different experiences with each of them, which was reflected in the maintenance of their tombstones, with Kuchel’s being clean and tidy as if it was brand new, and Kenny’s being a bit less well kept, although it was clear that at least some effort was still being put into maintaining it.

“...You must miss her,” you eventually said. “It’s been so long.”

After a while, he took a deep breath.

“Yeah.”

You stood in silence for a while longer, allowing him to process the emotions that must have been coming up as he stood in front of his mother’s grave. Your gaze fell on the tombstone again, and your mind wandered to the case of your own parent’s death. 

You tried to imagine being able to do some type of memorialization to get closure for your parents, and your breath got caught in your throat when you realized that you couldn’t really. They weren’t able to be properly buried and therefore couldn’t have a proper funeral. The fact that even that basic act was robbed of them—and your ability to find closure robbed from you—made a pit in your stomach grow that threatened to swallow you whole.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts that you didn’t even notice when Levi started to walk away. All of your memories with your parents that you had repressed throughout the past few years came flooding back. You remembered having a generally happy childhood, with your parents always being able to comfort you when you were upset and provided you with the support that you needed, sheltering you from the horrors that the real world came with. You had mixed feelings about the sheltering, knowing that it made your adjustment period significantly more difficult, but it provided you a sense of comfort as a kid that you haven’t really been able to get as an adult.

You let out a shaky breath as your grief threatened to take over you again, as if there was literally a storm cloud surrounding your body.

You had no closure for your parents and they were just gone in a flash. A part of you even felt guilty for not being closer to your aunt since she was your last living relative, although your resentment towards her helped to mitigate some of that guilt. You realized that your parents had missed out on all your milestones: prom, high school graduation, college acceptance, getting dropped off at college, and then college graduation.

You remembered watching your classmates, both in high school and now college, get celebrated by their parents while you were either forced to be alone or be in the extremely unpleasant environment that consisted of being around your emotionally abusive aunt. It was a mix of grief over your parents’ absence and saltiness towards your classmates as they shoved the happiness that was robbed from you in your face.

They had missed all those milestones and would continue to miss them, and although it was much too soon for you to even begin thinking about marriage—they wouldn’t be able to go to that either.

Your thoughts began to manifest into the tears that were gathering at the corner of your eyes and you desperately tried to pull yourself back before you ended up having a meltdown on the spot.

You didn’t even notice when Levi had called out your name after noticing that you hadn’t moved from your spot. He eventually placed a hand on your shoulder, slightly shaking you to see what was going on. The motion startled you, causing you to flinch, with a stray tear escaping from your waterline to begin running down your cheek.

“Sorry,” you said quietly, quickly wiping the tear away and hoping that he didn’t notice. “Got distracted.”

It was Levi, so of course he noticed. He didn’t know entirely what had happened in your head, but he could tell that something was wrong, although he didn’t push it, unsure if you were in the right headspace to talk about whatever it was that you were trying to process.

The two of you were originally going to head back to campus after the visit to the cemetery, but Levi saw that you were being very quiet. Your mood had clearly changed and it wasn’t something that you’d be able to shrug off. It was important enough to have pulled you into your head, even as you desperately tried to claw your way back out.

He bumped into you a bit to get your attention, and the slight amount of contact allowed you to somewhat orient yourself, although the world still seemed murky around you.

Levi motioned towards a small building at the end of the street.

“Come, lemme show you somewhere I went to a lot as a kid.”

~~~~~

Ice cream shop plus kid Levi was not something you would have immediately put together. You thought it would have been some type of secret hideout or something along the lines of that, but he just ended up taking you to a local ice cream parlor. You would have been able to predict it if you weren’t so completely wrapped up in your head—you do gravitate towards food when stressed, after all.

The two of you sat at a small table at the inner corner of the shop, so you weren’t particularly bothered by people coming in and out. He ended up ordering a small bowl of pineapple sorbet that he was steadily eating, while you poked at your mint chocolate chip bowl without really eating it.

“You’re moping.”

Your passive stirring of the melting ice cream halted and you looked up at Levi with a frown.

“I’m not-”

You paused as a pout formed on your face, your bottom lip sticking out a bit, although there wasn’t a playful pretense attached to it this time.

“-moping.”

“Well,” he said with a sigh, sitting back in his chair. “There’s only been one other time that I’ve seen you not eat.”

It irritated you that he remembered that one night when you first moved in after you had a shitty phone call with your aunt that resulted in you moping around for the whole night instead of eating. You remembered him dragging you out of the house and taking you to a diner that night. It was one of the first positive interactions you had with him.

“...I hate you,” you grumbled. You both loved and hated how observant Levi was. He could always tell when something was bothering you, but it also meant that it was next to impossible for you to successfully mask in front of him.

“It’s your parents, isn’t it?”

You immediately averted your gaze, knowing that you’d be one step closer to having a meltdown if you looked directly into his eyes.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Levi,” you mumbled, clenching your jaw.

He didn’t push it—something you were silently grateful for. Levi always offered the space for you to talk if needed—which you generally took and accepted—but he never once made you feel like you had to talk. He simply continued leaning against the back of the chair, although there was a slight hint of concern in his eyes.

You brought a small scoop of the ice cream to your lips, with the dessert being more liquid than it was solid at this point.

“...We didn’t get to bury them,” you said quietly, almost hoping that it was too quiet for him to hear. You looked up and saw that he was looking directly at you, indicating that he was listening.

“...They died overseas,” you explained, your voice getting a bit more audible. “They had left for vacation. I didn’t go because I had school. I was expecting them to be home in two days and then they were just-”

Your breath got caught in your throat as you looked down towards the ground, getting more upset as you were pulling up the memories. 

“They were just gone,” you whispered, your voice dropping in volume again. “We had to put an empty coffin into the ground—twice.” 

Mentioning the events surrounding the time of your parents' death brought all the grief that you had been suppressing back again. You thought it had gotten better. You were able to talk about them for a while without immediately falling into a slump, but you were still here in turmoil upon remembering.

“It’s been years,” you hissed, your tone having a mix of sadness and anger within it. “It’s been years since they’ve died. It’s been years since it’s happened, so I don’t know why I-”

You heard your voice begin to break as your breath got caught in your throat. You immediately stopped talking and gave yourself a minute to breathe to prevent yourself from having a full meltdown in the middle of an ice cream parlor.

“...it’s been years, so I don’t know why I still feel this way.”

You were never given a proper chance to grieve the death of your parents. You never got any closure and were forced to instead internalize all of the pain without a single clue over how to move on.

“...I’m sorry,” you said quietly after Levi didn’t respond for a while.

“Don’t be,” he muttered as he got up from the chair, collecting both your ice cream bowls and tossing it into the trash behind him. He gently placed his hand on your shoulder and nudged you to stand up.

“C'mon,” he said, motioning over towards the door, also noticing that the parlor was starting to get a bit noisy. “Let’s get you some fresh air.”

~~~~~

The silence was appreciated—you weren’t in the mood to talk. You couldn’t even mask. Even if Levi didn’t already know what was wrong, you wouldn’t be able to hide your distress from him.

Plus, you felt absolutely terrible for getting as upset as you did. 

Today was supposed to be Levi’s day to visit his mother’s grave, and yet he was the one providing you comfort. While you knew that you couldn’t help feeling what you felt, part of you was still upset at yourself for not being able to mask better.

You were quiet for the entire walk to the park, looking down at the ground in front of you with your hands tucked into the pockets of your jeans. You had a blank expression on your face, but Levi knew that “blank” was that last thing that you felt. 

The two of you eventually arrived at a bench and you followed Levi’s lead as he took a seat.

It was getting late in the day. The sun was going to go down within the hour and most of the children had been picked up and taken home. Thus, you were more than a little annoyed when you heard a commotion from across the park.

When you saw what it was, you got even more annoyed.

It wasn’t anything bad, per se—but it provided you with a punch to the gut. 

You scowled with resentment in your eyes as you saw a group of high schoolers getting picked up for prom, with them all dressed in their silly little formal outfits as they gathered in excitement for pictures and to ride their expensively rented limousine to the prom venue. Some parents tagged along as well, no doubt celebrating their children’s path to graduation.

Given the context of what you had to deal with that day, seeing this sight left nothing but a sour taste in your mouth. Sure, you had attended prom and put on a smile throughout the whole thing, but that was the last thing you felt. You went out of a sense of obligation and you didn’t even get to fully experience the joy that was supposed to come with it. It was just a waste of time and money at that point.

Your scowl did not go unnoticed.

“It’s normal,” Levi said, sitting forward so he could see you better. His voice dragged you out of your clouded thoughts and you were able to finally remove your sultry gaze from the pack of overzealous high schoolers.

You looked over at him, unsure as to what he’s referring to.

“To be pissed at them for having what you don’t.”

Your lips parted a bit, having not expected Levi to be perspective enough to even observe the minute details of your chaotic and resentful thoughts. You frowned again and looked away towards the ground, glaring daggers into the wood chips.

“I’m serious,” he spoke again, nudging you to get your attention. “You know why I was pissed at undergrads for so long?”

You glanced over at him, but otherwise remained silent.

“Watching all of you running around without giving a single shit about anything,” he continued. “Only caring about what party to go to, or what fraternity to get accepted into or whatnot—it pissed me the fuck off.”

“Is that why you were always so grouchy?” you mumbled dryly, recalling how sour his mood always was when you first moved in.

He nudged you in retaliation for your comment.

“My piece of shit uncle made sure that I wasn’t able to get that college experience that you all glorify so much,” Levi muttered, clearly still holding resentment towards his lack of an enjoyable undergrad experience. “So yeah, I found myself more than a little pissed when I was forced to be exposed to it all the time when working.”

You knew what he was getting at. The underlying theme between what he was sharing and what you had been feeling throughout the latter half of the day was resentment.

Levi was saying that he understood your resentment and more importantly, that you shouldn’t guilt yourself for it. It was normal.

After a few seconds of silence, you slowly opened your mouth again to speak, looking up to meet his eyes that had a touch of concern hidden behind them.

“How am I supposed to live with this?” you asked, your voice merely a whisper. “Every time it’s brought up, I feel myself get upset—and every time, it’s getting harder and harder to push away-”

“Then don’t,” he immediately answered, barely giving you enough time to finish your sentence.

“What?” you asked as your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Don’t push it away,” he reemphasized, shuffling in his seat so that he was facing you directly, his body turned towards you so that you were right in front of him. 

“Look at me,” he sternly commanded, grabbing your shoulders and turning you to him as you began to stare at the ground again, before lifting your chin so he could look directly into your eyes.

His gesture, tone of voice, and words were all making it so that the emotions you were trying so hard to keep in check were rapidly bubbling up within you. It made you feel like you wanted to throw up. It was a horrible feeling and your immediate instinct was to push them away again, but that was the exact opposite of what Levi was trying so hard to get you to do.

“It’s okay to miss them,” he spoke with determination in his voice as he looked at you, his gaze unwavering. “And it’s okay to grieve them.”

Those were the words that you both dreaded and needed to hear. It was the final crack that forced the wall that you had built around your grief to come crashing down on you. Your eyes began heating up as tears gathered, and that’s when you knew that any further efforts to suppress your emotions would only end in failure.

Seeing your reaction, Levi immediately wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in, allowing you to cry into his shoulder, his fingers gently running through your hair as a small gesture of comfort.

It wasn’t until now that you’ve realized that you never let yourself fully cry about your parents’ death. It was always triggered by or channeled through something else. You never once gave yourself the grace to allow yourself to just feel your loss and learn to make room for it.

“You’re not alone,” he whispered into your ear, planting a quick kiss on your head.

This was what you needed. Levi provided you a space to just…cry. No further words really needed to be exchanged. Words of comfort were welcome, but not needed. All you needed was literally just a shoulder to cry on, and to have space to finally process your grief and the years of pent-up resentment and pain within you—and Levi provided you with exactly that.

After a few minutes, you felt your breathing stabilize as you pulled away, wiping the remaining tears off your cheeks, and rubbing at your eyes that were now slightly swollen. A part of you felt embarrassed for crying in public, but Levi was literally your safe space, even in a public park where anyone could technically pass.

“...I’m sorry that I probably ruined your day,” you said with a sniffle as you continued to rub your eyes.

Levi blinked at you as his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

You gave him a sad and sheepish smile, although it looked more like an expression of guilt.

“It was your day to visit your mom’s grave and then I ended up being all grouchy about my own grief,” you mumbled, your voice dropping to a whisper. “So…sorry for ruining it.”

Levi tutted in disapproval and then sighed.

“You’re so stupid,” he scolded as he flicked at your forehead again. The gesture had become endearing over the course of the past year. You had pouted and grumbled the very first time he did it, but now it was his way of reassuring you that things were occasionally not as bad as your mind made it out to be, or that you’d be strong enough to cope with it even if it was.

It was an endearing gesture, but it did occasionally get annoying whenever you were seriously upset, which resulted in a pout appearing on your face. Your bottom lip stuck out as you frowned at him, but you didn’t avert your gaze this time.

“I’ve had time to process,” he said with another sigh. “You haven’t.”

You looked away again, hating that he could make you feel so exposed, yet understood, and horrifically uncomfortable while also providing you with the exact comfort that you needed.

He immediately reached out and grabbed your chin again to force you to look at him.

“It’s okay to grieve,” he said sternly, as if this wasn’t a topic he was willing to budge on. “You didn’t ruin my day, and I’m not mad.”

You looked into his eyes as you let out a shaky breath, trying to convince yourself to believe his words. Levi wasn’t one to sugar coat or lie just to make you feel better, but you still had trouble letting go of that guilt you felt over the events of the day.

“Plus,” he said with a shrug, “it’s not like Mother’s Day was reserved only for me. So quit shaming yourself for something that’s not even a problem.”

Levi had the somewhat fascinating ability to be harsh and immensely comforting at the same time. He was blunt, and it was offensive sometimes, but it also fed into your ability to really trust him to be there in the way that you needed him to be. You knew that his presence, harsh personality and all, was exactly what you needed to be able to process your grief and finally take that first step forward towards moving on.

#: @levisbrat25 @gothgril69 @sckerman @berrijam @notgoodforlife @meowjaa @averysmolbear @roseofdarknessblog @bejewelledd @hhighkey @ayame236 @sad-darksoul @velouria17 @kamyru @l1zk4 @layenacreates @lamees004 @whoami-72 @highgoon69 @chaotic-on-main @levishotgf @nube55 @chosos-mascara @heichoucleanfreak @svftackerman @v4mp-wife @moonchild-angel @astri-ackerman @auriuswolve @noctemys @you-always-made-me-blush @raginginferno267 @sugurusdiscordmoderator @jennamelinda12 @noodlejitsu @nalu-trashytrash @creigh-h @gina239

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi heichou x reader #captain levi x reader #levi #levi ackerman #levi heichou #captain levi #fics: matcha #modern!au levi #coffeeshop!au levi #college!au levi #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk

[beepbeepstop]

Stop the Tension

Summary: After getting your hair braided for the summer Oscar helps you rub oil on your scalp to relieve some of the tension Pairing: Oscar x Black!Reader Genre: Fluff Visuals

I watched as all the houses we passed by blend into a blur through the window. I wasn't able to truly focus on the environment that we were driving by. All I could focus on was the tight sensation on my scalp. Each part having its own different level of tension, and the braids having a slightly heavier weight that was almost unfamiliar. Whenever I move my head the slightest bit the weight shifts and the sharp pain takes turns on which side it wants to travel to, but at the same time I hear the nostalgic click and clack of the beads as they bounce off of each other. I lean my head against the window of the passenger window of Oscar's car and close my eyes. I feel his warm hand rub circles onto my exposed thigh.

"You okay, Mami" Oscar asks with a hint of concern in his voice.

"My head just hurts"

"I don't understand why you keep going back to that shop, knowing damn well that they be braiding tight as hell" he said slightly annoyed

"I want them to last Oscar. I don't have the time or money to be sitting up in a chair whenever I need my braids refreshed, because that shit was all loosey goosey"

"I have the money and time to take you to someone who isnt gonna braid your thoughts to the point where its gonna give you a headache" he chuckled

"They got the touch Oscar. You know them African Aunties be gripping with the strength of the ancestors whenever they braid"

Oscar and I made eye contact as we pulled up into the driveway of his house, and all we could do is laugh and smile at each other.

"You stupid for saying that" he said flashing his beautiful smile at me as he tries to hold back more of his laughs.

"Nah nigga you stupid. 'Braiding my thoughts' who fucking thinks of that" I say lightly hitting his shoulder as I laugh

"We're both stupid so get your dumbass in the house and I'll rub oil on your scalp to help loosen the braids up a little bit"

The moment the word oil left his lips I was already unbuckling my seatbelt and halfway out the door.

"Damn where you going" Oscar said grabbing my hand

"You said you were gonna rub oil on my scalp"

"Yea but why you rushing" he chuckled

"You dont gotta tell me twice. Hurry up papi"

The way I was rushing to the door you would've thought that Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Freddy Kreuger, the fucking Candyman or whatever scary shit that haunts your dreams was chasing me. All I know is that I was way too fucking excited for Oscar to put his fingers to good use on my scalp. The feeling of oil being rubbed into your scalp is an already enjoyable experience whether it be done by yourself or by someone else, but it's just something about Oscar that takes the feeling to a whole new level of almost ecstasy.

"Chop chop you got work to do"

"Damn patience is virtue (y/n)" Oscar said walking at the slowest pace I've ever seen. At first glance you wouldn't think he was moving until you see the dumb look on his face.

"Why you playing with me"

"Just be patient I'mma get there" he chuckles

"In like 40 fucking years, by the time you get here i'll be old ass grandma with a bunch of grandkids"

"Do you think our grandkids would be cute"

"Who said they were related to you. Keep this shit up and I might start homie hopping"

In the blink of an eye Oscar was towering over me on his porch

"That shit ain't funny (y/n)"

"Oh now you wanna stop playing when I wanna joke around"

"That didn't sound like a joke it sounded more like a warning" he says as he unlocks the door

"Good then you got my message loud and clear" I say smiling at him

"Hurry up and get your ass on the couch"

I giddily skipped over to the couch and sat down waiting for Oscar to bring over the oil. He walked out with a dropper bottle of the Mielle rosemary and mint hair oil.

"Oh okay I see you Mr. Big Baller bringing out the expensive oil. I feel all special"

"Shut up it was 15 dollars"

"Yea but look at this tiny ass bottle. I could've bought 3 bottles of wild growth with that money"

"Do you want your scalp oiled or no"

"Okay I'll shut up, go ahead and do your job"

I turned around and instantly felt the slick oil travel along the parts on my scalp. As Oscar moves the braids out of the way to get to different sections he rubs his fingers in a circular motions working the oil into my scalp. It felt heavenly the way his fingers glided between my braids. The cooling sensation of the oil easing the tension whilst lifting the pain leaving nothing but the feeling of his strong hands massaging my scalp.

"This is how bitches fall in love you know. You over here massaging you manifestations into my brain"

"So that means I should do this more often if I want you to stay in love with me"

"Yup, do this shit once a week and i'll be putty in your hands" I say closing my eyes

"You're already putty in my hands"

"Nigga shut up"

#oscar diaz x black oc #oscar x oc #oscar diaz x reader #spooky diaz #spooky x reader #black reader #oscar x black reader

[mishwanders]

• The Devil’s Teeth • AMERICAN HORROR SHOW •

Summary: Things get weird in the lab with Wesker. Is it the lighting? No, it’s the damn virus again.

Characters: RE4R!Wesker x GN!Cannibal Reader (No.031)

Warnings: Smut. Minors, DNI with this one.

Author’s Notes: With the revival of Wesker in the Separate Ways DLC and the release with SNOW WIFE’s Queen Degenerate album, I felt possessed to write about the evil old man with my favorite little infected cannibal. I hope you all enjoy! Written by Mishwanders - pls do not repost.

Wesker was seated in front of the large screen, the pale blue glow of it washing out his features even more as he continued to read over the data of the mission at hand, the same one Ada had found herself roped into to retrieve the Amber.

You, however, decided to stay behind this time. You would have gone if he had asked and you were of half a mind to go anyway, considering your friendship (situationship) with Ada Wong, but Wesker was intent on keeping you closer these days, especially now that you both were being hunted by the remaining few of the S.T.A.R.S. team and their newly built empire of anti-bioweaponry.

To say that things were tense, that Wesker’s mind was bogged down with layers of plans, would be an understatement at best. Which is why you found yourself here, in the lab, attempting to ease some of the tension.

Besides, you both could feel the pull in your blood from the virus, calling out to one another. It was one of those moments that you always found so hard to resist, especially when he rested against your gloved palm like this, in a simple caress, lips grazing the small patch of skin between your glove and your sleeve. You wouldn’t necessarily call it a moment of weakness, no it was a moment of intimacy for the two of you.

He could feel the softness of your skin, the veins, and tendons against his lips. Although he could resist at his own will, he still wanted nothing more than just to have a taste of what was sitting before him. He looked up at you through the thick sunglasses. It was almost as if he were making a silent plea for just a taste, something to help him get through the rest of this mission with some semblance of peace from this rising craving at least.

You gazed down at him, watching him, sensing what he wanted. So, you moved to sit in line in front of him, just enough to cover his face from the glow of the screen, gently removing his sunglasses from his face so you could see his red and gold eyes shining up at you. They began to glow ever so slightly as you removed your glove with your teeth before proceeding to roll up your sleeve to the bend in your arm. You brought your hand back to his face, fingertips gently sliding down the hard line of his jaw, palm against his cheek, as your thumb softly rubbed over the surface of his high cheekbone.

Your smile was soft as you gazed down at him, watching his breathing grow deeper at the tender touch. “Go ahead, drink. I want to watch.”

The glow in his eyes became stronger with your simple request, one he couldn’t refuse. You were offering and he was so willing to take it. He reached out his hands to your arm, holding it in place as he bit down on your wrist, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh with ease. You bit down on your lip to stifle the sound of pain that dared to escape you at the initial sting of it, but hearing the soft groan of pleasure escape him as he drank your blood, you were trying to stifle the sound of arousal that was creeping up your throat. It was rather difficult to do though, seeing as how in this small moment in time, he didn’t have a care in the world as he drank you in like a thirsty dog. It was rather enjoyable seeing the stone cold monster that he was soften and succumbed to his need, to drink his fill of you.

You couldn’t help the small smile that cracked your own exterior as you watched, whispering in such a soft, teasing tone. “You’re such a good boy, doing so good for me.”

For the moment that his eyes had closed, enjoying the taste of you, they had now snapped open at the sound of your words. His eyes dilated as he unlatched his teeth from your arm, allowing what was left to drink from the corner of his lip, down to his chin with a devilish grin. It was as if history was repeating itself, as if he were tempting you to come to him again, to sink your teeth into him for a taste.

God. Fucking. Damn. It.

He knew what he was doing in this small stand off, waiting on your next move. He tempted you to taste what you were like on his lips, to know what his favorite ambrosia was like. The tension between you both was thick as you stared each other down. Your breath caught in your throat, as if you were too afraid to breathe in his presence, while his own was steadily growing with each passing second.

And with just the small movement of his tongue across his bottom lip, licking up some of what remained of you caused your body to spur into action, reaching out for his face to pull him up to you. He stood out of his chair, placing his hands on the desk to keep him steady as your lips latched onto his, breaking the skin so you could run your tongue over the space, tasting the mix of you and him together.

You had to admit, it to die for.

Wesker wrapped one hand around your thigh, drawing you closer to him while the other found its way to the back of your neck, keeping you in a tight grip, guiding you where he wished and willed. That didn’t stop you from wrapping your arms around him, entangling your hands in his hair just so you could tug on it and hear that deliciously dangerous growl escape from him as you wrapped your legs around his waist, keeping him flush against your body, trapped neck to you.

He didn’t mind though, he liked it when you tried to fight for some control in this little dance of yours.

To counteract your actions, he laid you back on the cold hard desk, ripping your shirt collar enough to expose your neck and collarbone to him, placing hot kisses down the length of your neck until he reached the spot between it and your shoulder, sinking his teeth into you again, taking more of what he craved.

You groaned at the sensation of his teeth digging through the muscle in your shoulder, hissing a curse as your back launched off of the desk, sending your chest straight into the brick wall that was his own. You were practically clawing at his vest and the holsters at his back as you tried to find something to anchor yourself through the waves of pain, griping on tightly to it, proceeding to roll your hips into his, grinding against his body to try and lessen some of the tension that had been painfully seated between your thighs. Wesker groaned in response to your actions, his voice sending vibrations through your body which caused you to become more vocal as well.

He released your shoulder from his teeth, licking up the remains as his hand slid down your clothed body, moving over every dip and curve, feeling every rise and fall of your breath until he reached the metal clasp of your belt, making quick work of unbuckling it so he could have access to you.

You gasped as his hands slid down your pants, causing him to chuckle at your reaction as he played with you. “That bad, dearheart?”

You hissed as his hand went to work, playing with you in the ways he knew you liked. “Fuck you.”

He smirked at your little act of defiance. “Don’t worry, we’re getting there, pet. I just want to make sure you’re more than ready to take me.”

His hands continued to work you up, causing you to squirm underneath him at each eager touch. You pressed your cheek against his neck, burying your face into the place where his shirt didn’t close, hot breath beating into his skin as you whined, begging for him to stop teasing you with you, but you knew he enjoyed watching you make a mess of yourself before his cock even had the chance of touching you.

His other hand reached for the waistband of your pants, pushing them further down your legs, leaving you exposed to the cold air and desk. He could feel, see, smell just how aroused you were and that devilish grin plastered itself on his face, enjoying every second of how you looked. You were his sweetest and most loyal pet, succumbing to his will, just as he wanted. And just as you were drawing closer to the edge of release, he stopped, removing his hand from you and placing it on your hip instead, being returned with a whine instead.

Without warning he took the unbuckled belt from their place on the loops and flipped you on your stomach, pulling your hands behind you, folding your forearms over the other before tying them up with your belt. You pulled hard on the taut leather that kept you bound, feeling the stretch of it.

“This won’t hold me forever.” You stated, “You really think this will keep me under your control?”

“Long enough for me to do what’s needed.” He stated, sinking to his knees behind you. “Now, stop struggling before I stuff your mouth instead.”

Wesker kept his hands against the flesh of your ass, spreading you wide as he gave you a generous lick. He watched as you arched close to him, a moan escaping you. You never said another word or acted out against him, becoming so much more pliable to his demands now that he had you before him, eating you out like you were the last supper. His fingers dug into your flesh as he kept you open, tongue dragging and dancing roughly against your sensitive skin, sharp teeth grazing against it, keeping your attention on his every action. He knew he could take a bite out of you at any moment and make this even more dangerous for you, because at that point he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from sucking and drinking your soul away, eating you like a cannibal.

With the building pleasure you felt like your mind was swimming with every sensation flowing through your body, the tug of the devil within wanting to break out and the tug of the man between your thighs both bidding for your attention. Your breath grew deeper, faster, uncontrolled as the moans slowly spilled out over your lips and down to Wesker’s ears like an unholy song made just for him.

“Wesker -” You begged, fighting everything to keep from falling apart.

He heard your plea and was amused by it, willing to indulge it as he pulled his lips away. “Yes, dearheart?”

“Release me.” You demanded

He chuckled, giving you another generous lick to tease you. “Now why would I ever do that?”

A gasp escaped you in response to his actions, with a soft. “Please.”

He knew you well enough to know that when your voice turned soft that you were desperate. Besides, he wasn’t done with you yet, he was far from allowing you to cum, not without his say. Wesker picked up his sunglasses in, placing them on before flipping you on your back. He took a glance at the screen, seeing that Ada was occupied too in the midst of her endeavors of retrieving the amber. He still had some time to play with you. One of Wesker’s hands quickly snaked their way up your shirt, kneading the soft skin of your chest, thumbs rolling over your nipple while the other wrapped around your neck, keeping you in place. You let out a huff in response, allowing your head to fall back to the desk as you whined. “Is this really necessary?”

He didn’t answer you, only returning your question with rutting up against you, hot breath painting your skin, soft groans escaping him and reaching your ears.

You groaned as he continued his work against your body, teasing you to the point of begging. “Wesker-”

“Tell me how much you want it.” He whispered.

“Please!” you begged, squirming in his grasp.

“Please what?” He asked, his tone stern. He leaned over you, lips pressed close to your ear. “Talk to me, Dearheart. What do you want?”

“God - please just fuck me.” You muttered.

He tugged on your hair. “Say that again. Louder.”

“Fuck me, please.” You begged.

He smiled against your ear, his voice low and smooth in tone. “Well, if you insist.”

You huffed at his cocky reply, but let it go because at this point you were desperate and willing to comply, which is exactly where he wanted you to be.

Wesker freed his cock from the confines of his clothing, pressing into you and sliding inside. Your back arched off the desk, but was quickly pushed back down with his hand over your chest, keeping you in place as he pressed deeper inside. You let out a deep groan as he stretched you open, just barely giving you enough of a chance to adjust to the size of him before he began to rock his hips back and forth, sliding his cock in and out of you over and over and over again as he picked up the pace.

Between the sounds of your moans, his grunts, and the slap of skin, the room was filled with unholy sounds, but they were always his favorite, he loved having you like this. Wesker laced his fingers through your hair, pulling your head to the side by it as he continued to rail you, just so he could watch you unravel even more beneath him. Nothing else hardly mattered when he had you wrapped around his cock, his mind and body hell bent on pleasuring you in those instances, deriving his own at your state beneath him.

It was his favorite sight, his little monster that was so eager to take him.

You were so completely absorbed in the pain and the pleasure you were feeling, you craved him, needed him, body and soul. He made you feel terrible and good, like a deity and a dog. He made you feel wanted and as if you were everything he ever needed. You knew he craved you in the same ways you did him, begging for your body, for your blood even in the silence.

You felt the tightening in your stomach, that ache before the release. Your body trembled underneath him as the wave came crashing down on you, your voice picking up in tone as you came. You were more than spent but Wesker wasn’t done. He continued to thrust deeper inside of you with each hard stroke. Before you knew it he was slowing down his pace, abruptly stopping when you felt his cock throbbing inside of you, filling you up with his warm release, spent and drained. He collapsed over you for a moment, keeping himself up with one arm, catching his breath before finally pulling out and putting himself back in his pants.

He untied your arms, allowing you to be free from the stretched binds of your belt before placing a gentle kiss on your temple, holding you close to him as you regained yourself from the endeavor.

“Thank you, Dearheart.” He whispered, “Now get dressed. We have a job to do.”

If you enjoyed this, feel free to check out the completed story of these two little freaks here [The Devil’s Teeth Masterlist] or here [The Devil’s Teeth on AO3]

#resident evil fic #resident evil fanfiction #albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #albert wesker x you #series: the devils teeth #mdni #spicy writing: albert wesker #Spotify #dbd wesker #wesker x reader #re wesker #wesker x you #wesker

[yanderes-galore]

Can I ask for a short where Frank (The Legion/Dead by Daylight) pretends to be a fellow survivor in order to mess the newcomer (Darling)? (Maybe use the prompt 26 from your list?)

This actually makes sense due to The Legion DLC! Sure! Another yandere fic of mine where I explore the beginnings of the obsession instead of jumping to the middle of it.

Here's where I got my idea from and probably where the requester got it from too.

Yandere! Frank Morrison Prompt 26

"Look! We're bonding, just the two of us!"

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Violence, Manipulation, Deception, Sadism, Blood mention.

The realm can be so disorienting to newcomers. That's usually where the best prey come in. Survivors not yet used to their role in this realm....

Frank always found this the most enjoyable. He and his crew of misfits had mastered the art of deception in this game. Sure, they were killers...

But they played damn good survivors.

Frank never usually harbored feelings towards these survivors. Their whole purpose was to die at his hands. However, this first encounter was what hooked him for the remainder of his trials....

Keeping the disguise was easy. He simply had to pocket his mask and keep his face visible to you. You'd never know the difference, would you?

You were so gullible to his lies it was adorable. Once the trial started he had put off his hunt to find you. When in his sights he dashed to you, looking all frightened.

He had no knife or mask visible. With his clothing he looked very survivor-like, hood over his head. He looked like your typical delinquent who was dragged to this hell.

"You're new, yeah? Let's stay together. We have no idea where this killer is...."

You ate up his words.

You gave him a nervous smile and agreed. An expression he found cute... similar to unsuspecting prey. He grins back, excited to corner you.

Frank was not expecting to be so caught up with you. He feigned generators with you, just wanting to gain your trust. He just couldn't get enough of looking at you.

You looked attractive now... yet he wondered how atrractive you'd be covered in cuts. He wants to see you under him... begging for mercy. Frank wants you to know he's predator and you're prey.

Frank has always been good with hiding his intentions. When you expressed your fear of the pain you'd go through with being caught, he nearly laughed. Still, he pulled you closer and rubbed your back in a friendly gesture.

"Don't worry... you get used to it. Trust me. Stick with me and you'll live."

Frank's the embodiment of being a wolf in sheep's clothing. He gained your trust so easily. Even managing to make you laugh when "doing a generator".

"Look! We're bonding, just the two of us!"

He seems so light-hearted. You thought he'd make a great friend... looking so friendly and welcoming. Yet all games must come to an end.

Slipping away for just a moment when you weren't looking, Frank puts his mask on and unsheathes the knife from his pocket. By the time you turn around he's upon you. Your scream echoes through the trial like a reminder...

You're all prey in this game.

Frank breathes heavily from behind his mask. The knife hovers threateningly over your neck while he straddles your waist. You stare up at him like a cornered animal....

"You're way too trusting. Maybe that's why I like you apart from the cute expressions you make."

Frank leans forward, covering you with his stature. The way your heart pumped underneath him excited him. He then pulls down your shirt collar, knife not leaving your neck.

"Scared, aren't you? Feeling betrayed?" Frank teases, pressing the knife just below your neck. "Don't worry, I'll keep my promise to you."

"What promise...?"

"You said you were scared of the pain the killer would cause you, right?"

"...."

"Don't worry..." Frank murmurs, caressing your cheek and pulling away the knife. Blood drips down the sharp blade....

"I'll promise not to hurt you too much since you're so cute."

#yandere dead by daylight #yandere dbd #yandere dbd legion #yandere dbd frank #yandere frank morrison