#finally stared long enough at this canvas!! got something done!

[swedenis-h]

Leia and her emotional support droid (he’s the only thing she has left from Alderaan)

#finally stared long enough at this canvas!! got something done! #threepio was gifted to her by Bail to help her with senator things and the rebellion… #like. LIKE….. #THAT IS DEVASTATING….. #I bet he and artoo have recordings of bail and she just watches them constantly #I love you forever leia!! #art #fanart #digital art #fan art #my art #star wars #star wars fanart #sw #leia organa #c3po #threepio

[celtic-crossbow]

Series Masterlist

*Click here to be added to taglists.

Chapter 4

Warnings: Sexual situations

When Rick noticed Daryl lagging behind after a couple more hours, he made the call to set up camp. You had expected tents and at least blankets but what you got were bedrolls and jackets. Daryl had told you to “sit tight” while he went hunting and Rick was setting up a perimeter. 

You watched the other man with naked curiosity. You had no experiences with the dead, having been taken by Big Jazz just before the outbreak. You hadn’t even seen a “walker” in person. It was easy to decipher what the string and cans were supposed to accomplish. Perhaps if you studied these men enough, you’d be able to defend yourself should the need arise. 

For now, you supposed, you’d just stay perched on that log and wait for Daryl to return. You could use the time to psych yourself up for alone time with the archer. You weren’t as good as the other girls at interpreting what customers wanted, but you usually came pretty close with a few adjustments. 

Daryl was quiet and attentive. He probably liked a loud lover. One that would let him know he was making them feel good. He wouldn’t want to be called ‘daddy’ if he disliked ‘sir’ so vehemently. He liked being in control. He had taken the initiative to purchase you, ignoring Rick’s hesitance but you just had a gut feeling that he wouldn’t mind relinquishing that control on occasion, if for nothing more than a reprieve. 

Tonight, you’d just present yourself to him and let him do as he pleased. He probably wanted to reprimand you for all your earlier misconduct and providing the full canvas would possibly save him from explaining himself to Rick, as long as you could keep the bruises hidden. 

Thinking of being naked in front of him made your stomach flip. Men had been disappointed with your body before. Hopefully, you could convince him that you were worth keeping based on your performance alone. 

You flinched when there came movement to your right, Daryl stalking in from the shadows with a few squirrels held by the tails. You’d never had squirrel before. There were a lot of things you’d never had but especially now when most depended on hunting or scavenging to survive, you had missed out. You had been fed instant oatmeal, protein bars, and sometimes dog food for the past however long it had been. 

Daryl borrowed Rick’s knife, having offered his own up in trade for you. The guilt you felt hit you like a ton of bricks but you forced it down in favor of watching him work to prepare the meal. Each slice, each pull was done with a practiced precision. It was morbidly hypnotic, but soon there sticks through the rodents and they were being roasted over the fire on a makeshift spit. 

Daryl was sitting across from you with Rick at his side. Each of them was engrossed in something: Rick with a map and Daryl with the bolts from his crossbow. Focused as he was, you would look up to see him staring at you over the flames. You were quick to avert your gaze so as not to offend him any more than you already had that day. 

The silence continued until the food was ready to eat, Rick smiling and patting the archer on the shoulder in thanks. Then Daryl stood and made his way over to you, offering you one of the skewers. 

“Thank you, Sir.” You said quietly, keeping your eyes downcast while accepting the meat. He didn’t go back to where he had been, actually choosing to sit a little closer to you on your right. The food didn’t really have a smell other than just…meat. Still, your mouth watered. Holding the skewer over your lap, you waited for Daryl to finish eating, which didn’t take long. Had the situation been different, you might have laughed at his lack of decorum. 

“Ya jus’ gonna stare at it or wha’?” He finally said around a mouthful. You blinked at him, hoping he’d get the message without you needing to remind him. You hadn’t openly told him earlier. He had told you to eat and drink without explanation. 

“She’s waitin’ for you to say it’s okay.” Rick offered, placing his own empty skewer on the ground next to his leg. 

Daryl’s lip curled, his brows drawn inward. “Gave it to ya, didn’ I? Wha’ else would I wan’ ya ta do with it?”

Though you were skeptical of that being actual consent, you eagerly picked off a piece of meat and popped it into your mouth. It was bland but not in a horrible way. So much better than dog food. With a quiet hum of approval, you dug in, raising the skewer to your mouth to rip bites right off the source. 

“I think she likes it.” Rick chuckled, watching you with a gentle smile. 

When you noticed both men looking at you, the stick was lowered and you wiped your mouth on the back of your hand with a mumbled apology. 

“S’fine. Jus’ eat, would ya? No one here gives a shit how ya do it.” Daryl tossed his empty skewer and wiped his palms on his thighs, no longer interested in you at all. “I got firs’ watch.” He said, leaning back against the tree behind him. Rick nodded and rolled the top of his bedroll down in a makeshift pillow before stretching out on it. 

“Wake me when you get tired.” He yawned and shifted until his back faced you. 

That left just you and Daryl, and suddenly the squirrel meat wasn’t at all appetizing. After staring at it for probably much too long, you held it out to him. 

“Ya barely touched it.” He commented with a look that eerily resembled concern. 

“I, um… I don’t need much. It was really good though. Thank you, Sir.” It was hard to suppress a flinch when he stood but he bypassed you and crouched in front of his bag. 

“Give it ‘ere.” You placed the food onto his palm and watched with grand amounts of confusion as he pulled out a cloth and shook bread crumbs from it before he hastily pulled the skewer from the meat and wrapped it. “Ya can have it tomorrow if’n ya want. Or one’a us’ll eat it.”

You nodded, pulling your feet up onto the log and wrapping your arms around your shins. 

“Ya tired?”

Was it a trick question? “No, Sir.” I’m exhausted. 

Daryl closed his eyes, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Ya sure?”

“Yes, Sir.” No. 

His blue eyes, warmed by the soft glow of the flames, narrowed and gave you a once over. “Fine. Ya can sleep on tha’ when ya wan’.” He pointed to his own bedroll as he stood, going back to his tree in two long strides. 

You were so utterly confused. Did he not want to fuck you? You risked a glance at him to find him staring off into the darkness over where Rick lay sleeping. You didn’t understand what he meant for you to do. Maybe you had it all wrong and he needed you to take control? The thought terrified you. You had done it before when customers asked but to initiate it without express permission seemed dangerous. 

So, you waited. 

Just as before, you would find him watching you when you chanced a look in his direction. His expression was unreadable. And so it continued like that well into the night, until you were fighting to keep your eyes open. 

That’s when he stood. 

Your back straightened, your body reacting, ready and as willing as you could be to do what he wanted. 

“Gonna take a piss. Won’ be but a minute.” He said lowly, watching you for another moment before he disappeared into the darkness. 

You stared at the spot where the shadows had swallowed him and waited, still nervous and unsure. True to his word, he emerged only a moment later, fastening his belt as he walked. He stepped over the perimeter line and headed straight for the tree to assume the same position as before, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles with his back against the tree. 

Surely, he was waiting for you. Things might even turn out worse for you if you withheld from him much longer. 

With a sigh, you stood, taking small steps over to him and lowering to your knees next to his legs. He watched you with a curious expression but said nothing. Steeling your nerves to calm the nausea that attempted to bring up the squirrel, you threw one leg over his thighs to straddle him and began to unbutton the shirt he had given you. 

“Whoa, hey! Wha’ the fuck ya doin’?” He pressed himself impossibly closer to the tree, his hands up as if in surrender. When you were finally brave enough to meet his eyes, you found them wide and full of panic. Not kindness, but panic. 

“I thought…” You blinked at him, your small fingers frozen on the buttons of the shirt. “Don’t you want to fuck me now?” 

If his eyes got any wider, they would pop out of his skull. “Wha’?! Tha’… tha’ ain’t wha’ this is!” He had yet to move, same as you. For a few more uncomfortable moments, you simply stared at one another before he cleared his throat. “Could ya get offa me?”

You did move then, scrambling back to your log in clumsy motions. “Did I…do something wrong, Sir?” He was purposefully keeping his eyes off of you. 

“Ya should get some sleep.” He stood quickly and grabbed his crossbow, stopping to speak over his shoulder. “Gon’ check the perimeter.”

You opened your mouth but closed it just as quickly while he walked away. Once he was out of sight, you turned back to the fire, buttoning the shirt back up. What had just happened? 

#murda writes #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x you #daryl drabbles #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon imagine #daryl x y/n #daryl x female reader #daryl x you #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader smut #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon the walking dead #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl dixon #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead daryl #daryl #daryl dixon twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl twd #twd daryl dixon #Dary

[dmercer91]

i’m in a roll with luca and black cat-

anyway

black cat not knowing what to get luca’s parents, so she both gives them a few framed photos of the boys big moments, but also sketches one or two of them out on a canvas

and they’re so thankful, but don’t want yo make it awkward

and adam- because he beats luca to it- goes up to his parents while black cat goes to the restroom or soemthing an explains js how much it means fo ther to give them her drawings

and it makes luca all 🥹 for black cat and adam’s bond

i’ve come back from the dead (i’ve been gone for a day)

i was so tired last night i fell asleep on the couch and my dad had to bring me to my room like when i was 7

but i started a load of laundry so i could stay up and write (knowing something needs to be done before i sleep is the only way i can function i hate myself)

but yes!!!! she makes a series of these three moments from ushl to mich to draft day for their christmas present

but like the boys are isolated and the backgrounds are all white

the middle one she’d done for a project (nobody knows this and she will make sure it stays that way) where she had to paint something with like visible facial expressions

but she felt like that wasn’t enough so she made multiple

she showed them to luca before they left for the holidays and he nearly sobbed on the spot

like he hugged her and held her head and smooshed her hair around in excitement and told her how much he loved her

and the hug lasted so long

fantilli christmas’ | opposites attract au, lf63

you’d never woken up early on christmas mornings, you never really celebrated other than being happy to have the day off and exchanging a gift between you and your dad

you’d had trees and sometimes your dad would convince you to make cookies, but only when you were much younger

so it was definitely weird to be awake before daylight, greeted with a tree full of gifts and lucas mom handing you a plate of bacon, eggs and french toast.

your legs were laid over lucas, your head rested on his shoulder while you fought sleep, his hands gently running through your hair not helping your case.

while adam dragged himself into the room, tired and rubbing sleep from his eyes, luca tilted his head to the side to be level with you

you gave him a small grin and he tilted your head to peck your lips, moving back to his original position once adam dropped down beside him and caused a ripple in the cushions

“it’s too early for you two to be-“ adam gestured vaguely in your direction, grumbling to finish his sentence

his mom brought him coffee and his food, and then everyone started on gifts.

yours to lucas parents was buried at the back of the tree- since you felt a little embarrassed by it and wanted to put off letting them open it for as long as possible

when they finally got to it you gave a small smile and clutched onto luca, nerves kicking in full force

luca was giddy, all too excited for his parents to open up your present, so he squeezed your hand and kissed your forehead, trying to reassure you that everything would be okay

they opened it and right away, their mom looked up with a heartfelt smile while they’re dad was just staring

“you’re so talented, sweetheart. thank you,” she turned her attention back to the art and leaned on her husband, smiling.

when they both looked back up, their eyes were watering and yours went wide, looking up at luca who was beaming at his parents

adam sent you a reassuring look, so you looked back over to them.

“can i hug you?” his mom tilted her head, smiling softly while getting up from her seat.

you nodded slightly, feeling a little awkward and you untangled yourself from luca and wrapped your arms around her waist.

she squeezed you tight, cupping your face and pulling back to look at you

“thank you, y/n,” you smiled in return, nodding slightly and moving back to your seat, re attaching yourself to luca.

the five of you sat around the living room for a while after everything was out away, yourself mostly silent

eventually, you poked lucas arm and mumbled that you were going to get ready. he smiled and kissed you, mumbling an okay before taking his arm off from around you and watching you walk off

once you were gone, his mom spoke up

“she’s beautiful, luca. and she’s got the biggest heart,” all he could do was smile, his heart swelling in his chest at her praise of you

“she’s good, isn’t she?” adam beamed, nodding to the piece you’d painted that was safe on the side table until there was time to put it up

both of their parents nodded and adam continued

“she works hard, mama. she was nervous for you to see. think it’s cause she spent so long and wanted you to like it,” luca watched his brother, smile getting harder and harder to contain

“well, we love it,” she reassured, adam smiling

“she’s at michigan for art, so she would’ve had to take extra time on top of other pieces. and i know she prefers to draw, so i think you guys liking it was really important for her,” he finished, smiling to himself

he looked over at luca, who was just glowing with pride for you, and his cheeks flushed

“sorry,” he mumbled and luca shook his head

“she loves you, too, mo,”

#e’s 500 celly! #e’s blurbs! #opposites attract au ! #luca fantilli #luca fantilli x reader #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #umich hockey

[that-one-theater-kid]

Calling them “pretty boy”

Featuring! Albedo, Scaramouche, Kazuha,

Notes:MODERN AU! idk, might be ooc, old draft

| Albedo |

Last time you checked the clock it was 11:40 but now as your lover came in the door it was already 3:45.

You came out of your shared room quietly to be greet by Albedo who wasn’t expecting you to still be awake, he jumped a bit when he heard your voice “Finally my pretty boy’s back.”

You could tell the nickname flattered him by the pink hue on his ears “‘M sorry for keeping you up dear”

‘Dear’. He was the only one who could you that, and now you can finally claim a nickname for him ‘pretty boy’. Endearments only you two could call each other, small things no one can take from the both of you.

You slowly approached him by the door side “what took you so long pretty?” You asked him in a hushed voice “Not much really, I just had to finish some research that Lisa needed for the new section in the library, though I could’ve done it at home” ah yes Lisa planned for a new section the library and asked Albedo to do some pieces.

“Have you eaten yet?” You asked “Nope, I wanted to finish the papers early” you expected it so you strolled to the kitchen to heat up some food “it’s not healthy to be restricting bodily needs you know.” “I know, but Lisa seemed persistent that I submit them before the deadline so I had to.” Of course, Lisa was the type to rush things even if it didn’t need to be.

After albedo ate and washed up you both returned to your bedroom. It was always so hard for you to fall asleep sometimes so you sticked some glow in the dark star on your ceiling so you could stare at something pretty most of the time, but now you get to stare at your pretty lover.

| Scaramouche |

Dates with Scara were always so nice no matter where it was, whether it was going out or just a home date it always felt so special from the last.

Today you planned a movie date in your apartment, unfortunately rain had to sweep in. You got worried, wondering where your lover was, did he forget? Is he just running late? So many questions ran through your mind.

But your bubble was bursted after hearing continuous knocking and ringing from your door, only one person you knew knocked like that, your pretty boy, who was all soaking wet from the rain. “Yo loser, sorry I was late, got caught in the rain” he apologized, still standing outside the door “Are you gonna come in or do you want me to shut the door?” You replied jokingly “Shut up” he replied in a sarcastic manner. After drying him off and changing into some spare clothes you always had for him in your bedroom, finally getting to set up on your bed to get the date started.

“You wanna know something?” You asked while picking a movie to watch “No” he replied coldly, but the way he was snuggled in your chest said something else “Aw, is my pretty boy angry?” With the pet name slipping out your mouth his head darted up to look at yours, clearing caught off guard “Wha- No im not! Just.. nothing. Just tell me.” He laid his head back down the hide his flushed face, you could feel the heat on his face. You guys had a fun night for the most part, cuddling, talking, laughing together was enough, He was enough.

| Kazuha |

Quiet time together was a serene activity you both shared once in a while, Kazuha was writing while you were painting, painting him. It was a painting of him, it was a picture of him near a lake from one of your “adventures”. Although it felt like you couldn’t capture the true essence of his beauty, to him it was one of the most beautiful things he’d seen in his life. Well he wasn’t supposed to know that yet. He took a peek when you took a break, it wasn’t a big canvas but it was almost done though, he admired the scenery, the reflection in the water, everything was so.. captivating.

Although his viewing was interrupted when you walked back in, even if he was to awe struck to take his eyes of the painting, let alone to notice you came back. “Wait- you weren’t supposed to see that yet..” you said shyly, the surprise was ruined, it was supposed to be your 1 year anniversary gift, “Why this picture though?” He asked, tilting his head in curiosity “well.. I just thought you looked pretty, thats all.” You answered, but it had a deeper meaning, that day was the first time he said “I love you”, the first time he kissed you.

“Really? You thought I’m pretty..?” He asked, pointing to himself “Of course I do, you’re my pretty boy after all” You admitted, seeing a faint blush on his face from your claim. “Yours? I like that” He kissed your cheek before laying his head on your shoulder, you set aside the canvas and other art materials in order to sit comfortably with him, it was quiet, warm, and serene. It was love.

Did you miss me?🤭🤭😋😋😝😝🫶🫶

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact albedo #genshin albedo #albedo x reader #albedo x gender neutral reader #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x gender neutral reader #genshin kazuha #kazuha x reader #kazuha x gn reader #genshin fluff

[xxaraaq]

𝙈𝙖𝙙𝙚 𝙁𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙎𝙘𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝

masterlist

wc | 0.9k

cw | nudity, suggestiveness but not actual smut

Painter! Eren x reader

A/N | I hope y'all enjoy. Not edited.

It took him ages to convince you, but you eventually cracked. He asked you what the point of dating an art student if you wouldn’t let him use his talents. It was raining outside, and you opened the window to let the breeze into the room and hear the sound of droplets pouring down onto the city as you listened from your dimly lit apartment. He never understood why you liked the sound of rain, but it was something you took comfort in, so he didn’t question you.

You laid down on the couch as he set up the eisel, squeezing the different colors onto his worn palette. A thought crossed your mind as you smiled. “Babe?” You grabbed his attention. “He hummed, a sign that he was listening as he focused on setting everything up. “What if you painted me naked, like Rose and Jack from Titanic?” You asked him, his head snapped up to face you. “He didn’t paint her, he drew her” 

You throw a pillow at him, not amused. “You know what I mean smartass, you get the idea.” You huff as he doubles over in laughter. He calms down as you stare at him, displeased. “Yeah, yeah we can do that. Take off your clothes.” He says. You smile as you lift your shirt up, breasts exposed as you lean back on the plush cushions. He smirks when he realizes you aren’t wearing anything besides his shirt. He walks towards you, positioning you in the way he wanted to paint you in. “You comfortable? You’re gonna have to stay like this for a while.” He asks, eyes scanning over your body once more before going to sit back down. You nod, saying that you’re fine.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as he starts, only the pitter patter of the rain heard in the space. You hear his soft breathing as his hand flicks around the canvas, filling the blank space with soft shades of brown, grays, and greens. You smile every time your eyes meet his. He playfully scolds you everytime, saying that you need to stay completely still or else the image of you in his head will get screwed up. You apologize again and again, but do it everytime it happens. As you sit as still as possible, you think how stupid you were for denying him in the past. You were convinced that it would be boring, but it really wasn’t bad. You were content sitting all pretty while Eren drank you in, using you as his model while he filled the empty space with the thing he loved most.

He’s so happy that you finally gave in to his biggest wish. Of course he’s painted you before, but not like this. Never with you situated right in front of him, laying on display just for him. He knows he’ll cherish this forever, but for now he just wants to be in the moment and enjoy it. He eyes you up and down, the sight of you making him want to take you right here and now. He’s seen every part of your body, but seeing you rest stagnant makes him really be able to view you all the more closer. How the stretch marks on your thighs stop just before the cusp of your ass, how the scars on your knees overlap one another, and so much more. You were so magnificent, and he finally got to see it all without pleasure clouding his mind. It was sobering, but in a good way. He ingrained the image of your naked body like this in his mind, and he prayed that he would never forget it. 

He was about halfway through your portrait when he realized how much time had passed. You had taken breaks of course, but your body was starting to cramp from staying in the same position for so long. It was still raining outside, but you closed the window anyway, having enough of it for one day. He cleaned up as you stretched, groaning as you stood up. “What does it look like? Lemme see.” You walk towards the easel, but he stops you, gently grabbing you by the waist. “It’s bad luck for the muse to see a painting before it’s done, y'know. Maybe tomorrow, okay.” He says, smiling as you kiss his cheek. You don’t think you’ve ever heard that saying before, but you weren’t going to push any further. 

“Okay, well this muse is tired and achy, so I’m going to go lay down.” You pay his chest, but he tugs you back in. “Wait a minute..lemme just look at you.” He whispers, eyes darting along your face. You smile warmly as you do the same, taking in all his features. You’ve always known this, but Eren was a pretty man. He was hot and sexy, yeah, but he really was gorgeous. He kisses you, tongue sliding in your mouth as you moan into it. “It’s weird that I’m the only one who has my clothes on y’know, it’s not really fair.” You say, taken aback by his sudden and passionate kiss. “Well then why don’t you fix it then? He chuckles, and you lift his shirt off him. He picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. You giggle as he walks the pair of you to the room.

For now, the canvas can stay half way finished a little longer. All he wants to think as of ways he can fuck you so that your face as your driven crazy with pleasure is burned in his mind so he can paint it later.

-Nene

#nene #x black reader #x reader #eren x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren x you #eren aot #aot x reader #eren x black reader #aot x black reader

[nevermoreternity]

𝗙𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥.

"Love is a vague topic, but many find

themselves exploring it. What is love

to someone who expresses themselves

within a white canvas rather than through words?"

𝗙𝗜𝗥𝗦𝗧 𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗣𝗦.

The first time you met the painter was during your childhood. Innocence and purity surrounded you, curiosity brimming with every step you took outside. Vast shades of green and yellow in the grass, to the giant blanketing blue sky above. It was all so vividly colorful. Your eyes took in every sight you could, with the wind blowing gently against your skin. Yet something even more colorful than the surroundings was the boy clutching onto a sheet of paper beside you. Originally it was simple and blank, a white void. But as a few minutes passed, an image formed like a huge burst of cheers applauding over the canvas, all done by small hands similar to your own.

Edgar - the boy's name - looked up at you with a confused expression on his face. He was a lot younger back then; both of you were. He held not a paintbrush but a crayon that day, the loose leaf paper acting as his canvas for his brightly colored drawing. "What're you staring at?" His voice was high pitched and childish, his hands gripping the most recent drawing he had created. Peering over to the paper, you noticed it depicted a portrait of a woman and child, recognizing the familial roles they seemed to have just from the way the boy drew them. Inquiring about the two human figures, you only got a simple huff and a nod for acknowledgement.

"Ella's still in bed — she's been frowning a lot lately." Edgar muttered as his gaze returned to the drawing. You watched from your seat beside the boy, the way his hands naturally moved as if driven by pure instinct, the relaxed posture he had despite the amount of curious stares he received from passing crowds. At the thought of Ella, Edgar's younger sister, one could recall that she had gotten sick just a few months ago, which eventually led to her being bedridden. As a result, you came across the young artist sketching landscapes and animals and people outside much more often.

He went outside to find inspiration, mentioning various times that Ella favors outdoor paintings despite clearly saying they're too 'boring' normally. Over time, you got more comfortable with approaching Edgar, and he seemed to feel the same, calling out to you from a distance whenever he spotted you at a park. This led to many of your hang outs, usually with the time spent simply sitting down together somewhere and watching nearby flowers sway in the breeze. It sounds a bit boring, but you were able to manage staying put or would find something else to entertain yourself with. By the time the sun went down, Edgar would pack up his materials and say his farewell. His final words before you both returned to your homes would be a small promise to meet in the same spot tomorrow.

For the next year, that is how your friendship developed. Through peaceful park meetings.

𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗥𝗢𝗗𝗨𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 𝗔𝗚𝗔𝗜𝗡.

When you meet Edgar again, your encounter ends up being within the halls of the Oletus manor. It was dusty and closed in, colors muted and bleeding out. It was stuffy and suffocating, the exact opposite of when you first met the man when you were kids. Edgar wouldn't approach you at first. You soon figured out this was an effort to purposefully ignore you, with the amount of times he ditched a room you walked into or find himself turning the other way whenever you crossed paths coincidentally. Only when time passed for a long enough time would you find yourself in a match with the brunette. Even then, he was adamant on looking the other way from your direction. The other people assigned to the team looked confused at the strange tension between you two. Emma leaned over at the table to ask if you two know each other. No matter what your answer would be, Edgar stubbornly kept his back turned, remaining quiet.

Once the match concluded, with the results being put out, Edgar finally approached you on a whim, in the make-shift clinic of the manor. His arms were crossed, and a frown was settled on his face, the red poncho he wore popping out from the dark walls around you. It was a much better shade of red than the thick color dripping down your hand from the wound you had acquired during the earlier match. It seemed neither of you wanted to speak yet, Edgar simply sighing before gesturing for your hand – a rather sudden request after having him avoid you like the plague. Still, you silently watched as he took ahold of your palm, looking over the wound with a tight frown before quietly patching you up. The gauze was wrapped a little too tightly in the end, inexperienced but surprisingly not lacking in care. The awkward tension hanging in the air lasted a couple seconds before the painter finally spoke. His first words to you since you spotted one another in the manor. "Why are you here?" Edgar would question with that familiar expression of his, a face he only makes that shows he demands answers. A look you'd last seen years ago.

In the end, after hearing your full explanation, he only grumbled. "That's stupid." He commented, brushing over your words. Edgar didn't explain his own reason for coming into the cursed cycle in the manor's game of life, only prompting more questions from you. In the end, he simply decided to leave with a huff, just as frowny and tense as he was when he appeared. He walked away in a series of small stomps, as if he was in a hurry to leave your presence. You noticed his hands were tightly gripping onto his own arms.

By the time the next morning came, you found yourself staring at a small piece of paper that had been slipped under your room door. The feeling of it was recognizable. Thin and flat and delicate. In the middle of the leaflet was a drawing of something you had mentioned you like to a specific someone way in the past, words that seemed more like a back-handed compliment scrawled on top of the page. It was easy to connect the dots on who had left this for you. Or well, the signature on the back confirmed everything you needed to know.

𝗙𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗚.

Maybe it took a while, or maybe you already had your suspicions. Either way, you found yourself seeing Edgar more and more following that instance in the clinic. The reserved behavior he had about you crumbled more and more as more time passed, and sooner than expected, you two were back to what you were before as children. It had come to your attention - as he reluctantly explained - that he didn't believe it was you at first, not expecting to find such a familiar face in Oletus manor, much less yourself. Denial fueled his actions, not wanting to be wrong in his suspicions but not knowing what he'd do if he confirmed it was actually you. In the end, it didn't matter, because the moment he finally came close enough to see the colors in your hair and the shades of your eyes, he knew.

With all grievances and tensions dusted away, now you found yourself with a feeling of deja vu. Sat some feet from you was the brunette, a blank canvas before the man rather than a simple sheet of paper. In his hand was a paintbrush instead of a crayon, clear care and effort shown in his grip of the painting tool. He asked you to pose for his next idea on the aspect of portraits, offering a compromise for your time in one way or another. The silence of the room after was heavy yet comfortable. Only to be broken when the seemingly focused painter utters out a curt "Sorry" from his lips. The apology escaped in a hush, lingering and dissipating like the paint absently dripping onto the floor that Edgar seemed to pay no mind to. Even the man himself didn't seem to acknowledge his own muttering of the word, eyes only focused on the image he was creating of you.

The apology may have been regarding the time that had passed between the two friends, a period of time where Edgar begun expressing a side that acted more than it spoke — or perhaps he was apologizing for the lack of things he could provide for their friendship. Regardless, your reply to the brief apology only makes his hand halt for a moment. His brow furrows ever so slightly, and his brushing over the canvas seamlessly picks up once more. Edgar wasn't the best at expressing his thoughts or feelings with his tongue and tone. Rather, he expresses his care through the quiet acts of peace he finds, away from the laminating presence of the manor and its residents. In the end, it was easy to fall back into a routine with him again, his harsh sentences proving to be nothing but a shell when it came to you.

Sometime later, he confronts you with a proposal. He insists you to be his muse; a way for him to 'make up' for the lack of time you two spent apart for the years in the past. Really, it's an excuse for him to spend time with you that you both are aware isn't as subtle as he seemed to think in his head. But when the sky outside grows dark, and you leave him alone for the evening, you find yourself in the painter's room the very next day, peacefully posing for another portrait of his, various other paintings hung up around the room, all of them familiar sights to you.

— end.

#idv x reader #edgar valden x reader #idv painter x reader #“I wanna nap” — 'Orpheus' #'Orpheus' Writes #With the help of 'Alice'

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

“Hard Boot” - Dean x Reader

Part of the “Control Panel” Series

Rating Mature

Dean x Reader (Newly Established Intimate Relationship)

Tags: Dean Angst and Self-Loathing, Inability to Word, Adult Language, Dean POV

Word Count: 2500

After one night of sexual exploration, a case lured you both back into hunting mode. There was hardly time to breathe, let alone figure out how you were collectively supposed to handle this new aspect of your relationship. Is it any wonder Dean had to go and mess it up? That’s his expertise.

Note: You don’t have to read the first part, Factory Reset, to get the gist of this “What the heck are we supposed to do now? Friends to lovers” trope. But if you’re intrigued by these two, please try it.

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "Admit it." square.

Image created in Canva (credit for photo used:  Supernatural/Warner Bros.)

The shot glass tinks atop the counter. It’s barely audible. Dean glances up and the bartender appears, summoned by the tell tale call of a drunk.

Not just any drunk. The Fuck It Up Seven Ways To Sunday kind of drunk. Also known as Dean Winchester.

The bar is deserted. It’s 1:00 pm on a Wednesday outside the touristy parts of New Orleans.

The bartender tips the whiskey bottle in her hand. Dean nods. She pours.

“So, what exactly are you tryna drown, cher? Cause it might be easier to head a little north and walk into Lake Pontchartrain.”

Dean snorts. “Trust me, that’s crossed my mind.”

All the wrinkles in the older woman’s face droop along with her frown. “It can’t be that bad. Unless you’re broke… or your heart is.” 

Dean shifts atop the stool. “My wallet’s full, thanks. Leave the bottle.”

Dean grunts at his inability to put one foot in front of the other trekking down the hallway to the hotel room. The air is spinning around him in a vortex, forcing his body to lean to the right even though his brain tries to rationally push forward. He’s in an anti-funhouse of his own creation. 

He doesn’t remember how he finally gets into the room. Just that he is. He flops on the bed. Breathes in deep and holds it. Staving off the nausea that he deserves.

You should be here. Beside him. Celebrating a win.

He closes his eyes and lets the pain and loss keep him company instead in the late afternoon.

Sleep eludes him. He tosses. Turns. Spends time with his head hanging over the toilet bowl.

He stares at the alarm clock on the nightstand as it ticks over into 10 PM territory. When his eyes peel open again, it’s sometime after 1 AM.

He sniffs the air.

He smells you.

Before he can realize it’s a mistake, he springs to sitting. The hammer nailing together a house in his head takes a back seat to the elation seeing you sat at the foot of the bed.

You look demure in your side saddle position. The patient stare has Dean wondering how long you’ve been watching him sleep.

He wants to ask. But he’s afraid anything he says is going to be wrong. So he just stares back.

Your face is void of any discernible emotion.

And that freaks Dean out more than anything. Because even when he couldn’t read you like a book, he could at least hazard a guess. Even if it was wrong, it was something.

But all he sees now is a shield. A wall that he’s caused.

“I’m gonna head out.” You state in a curt tone that leaves no room for debate.

“You already were out.” The head pounding irritation preoccupies him enough that the sass spills out, uncontrolled. Your lids slit for a second. Well, he got some reaction.

“I-” You straighten up. A sorry attempt at a laugh huffs out. “Forget it.” You’re up off the bed and snagging items dropped around the room. Things are stuffed into your bag with haste.

Dean wants the elation to return to the room. Twenty-four hours prior, you were smiling. Eager to track down the Djinn. It had been a day’s drive from Lebanon to New Orleans, with a 6-hour stop in between at the Cradle Rock Motel.

Dean would have done whatever you wanted in that motel room. All that possibility and you had him flying high on adrenaline. You’d handled him with kid gloves and given him an experience he’d cherish, even if he was still sore. He would have let you strap on Marvin again and fold him like Origami. He wanted that again. He wanted it all with you.

But all you had wanted in the end as you laid in bed was to curl up and sleep in his arms. You wanted to rest before getting back on the road in your separate rides. 

And the simple act of being with you. Static. Stationary. Silent. That was wonderful, too.

There was the promise of staying in bed for days after you took care of the monster together. Lingering lips. Suggestive smirks. Greedy gropes.

All of that was a distant memory now.

You throw the duffle over your shoulder. “Bye, Dean.”

He bungees off the bed. Rushes to the door to wedge between you and the exit. “That’s it?” His stomach roils at the exertion but he pushes it down.

Your voice doesn’t waver. “For now. Yeah.”

Dean holds his ground for another second. Two. Three. Four.

“Don’t make it worse.” You plead.

That reminds him the ownness of this whole mess is in fact on him. And he relinquishes.

And watches you walk out the door.

 

Dean clinks down the iron bunker stairs. Three weeks of hunting non-stop has joints creaking, muscles aching. He plans to beeline it to the showers and let the glorious water pressure ease some of the pain. There’s also an 80-year old bottle of Macallan in his bedroom that will ease everything else.

Sam’s out at Eileen’s. The texts back and forth earlier were short and mainly for informational purposes. Sam gave up trying to find out what was going on with Dean two weeks back. As long as he checked in and provided proof of life, Sam didn’t pester for details.

Dean marches through the war room, into the library, weaves the labyrinth of halls to get to his room.

He keeps his head down when he rounds the final corner. He doesn’t want to glimpse the door marked number 16 at the end of the hallway. It’s your bedroom. Well, whenever you crash at the bunker it’s yours.

There’s a twist in his gut when he realizes you might never sleep in that bed or cross the threshold into the Men of Letters homebase again.

He’s been avoiding returning because of all the reminders of you. The wound is as fresh and festering as it was when you left him in New Orleans. He can distract from the pain during moments occupied with cases and bad guys. This, not so much.

He opens his door, good ole number 11. 

When he left this room last, you were here with him. 

And goddammit. You’re all he can see no matter where his gaze lands.

The duffle drops onto the mattress. Another musty bed in another room in another hallway might be a better alternative tonight.

He considers it. He’ll decide for sure after his shower.

Dean grumbles when he gets back to the room.

It shouldn’t be possible and his mind must be playing tricks on him, but he thinks he catches the scent of you. 

Yeah, he can’t sleep in here tonight.

He runs a hand through his towel dried hair and peels off Tad’s robe. He toes out of the slippers and tugs on a pair of sweats and a well-worn henley. The realization he’s donned the shirt inside out takes a backseat to the more important matter of grabbing the bottle of Macallan.

He shuffles over in bare feet and squats by the cabinet under his desk. His mouth is watering in anticipation of that smooth amber-colored nectar coating his throat.

“What the fuck?” he mumbles in confusion.

The bottle is gone.

“Looking for this?”

Dean stills at the question floating over his shoulder.

The voice isn’t something he expected to hear back at the bunker anytime soon. Maybe ever.

He rises, inhales through his nose. Mentally prepares for when he turns and faces you.

When he does rotate on his heels, he purses his lips into a tight line. He can’t let the impulse to smile win out.

You're wearing one of his flannels. It’s the black, white and gray one he hasn’t worn in ages. And the way the sweatpants hang loose and baggy and obscure your feet; well, he’s pretty sure those are his, too. Leaning against the doorsill, you look as if you’re trying way too hard to appear casual about any of this. The bottle of Macallan in your grip is displayed as a peace offering.

There’s the tiniest grin quirking up your lips. You look at the bottle, then to Dean. “I was keeping an eye on it.”

Dean inspects the liquid level of the scotch as a distraction. If he stares at that mouth of yours a second longer, he’ll forgive you for anything.  “That’s about four fingers lighter than when I left.”

Your brows raise. Mouth opens. Dean knows you're ready to dispute his measurements. But something else clicks in Dean’s head and he doesn’t give you a chance.

“How long have you been staying here?”

You sigh and enter the bedroom. The bottle rests on the tiny corner table. You collapse into the chair beside it. “This’ll be my third night.”

Dean stands there. Blinks. You settling in is hopefully a good sign.

“Sam gave me a heads up that you were coming back some time tonight.”

“Why didn’t you high tail it out of here when you got wind of me?” Dean asks.

Your mouth tilts into a frown. “I came here to wait for your slow ass to return, Winchester.” You thumb at the bottle. “I may have needed some liquid courage during my stay to, you know, stick around.”

Dean crosses his arms, determined not to give an inch. Doesn’t matter how goddamn sexy you look. How your hair’s mussed from laying in bed. How his oversized shirt is unbuttoned enough at the collar to display the lovely expanse of skin from the column of your neck to the round of your shoulder. He prepares for the flailing you must have been wanting to give him so badly that you camped here for days. He tries not to think about how much he’d love to bend over so you can give him a spanking.

You stare up at him from the chair. “Oookaayyy.” Palms run over cloth-covered thighs. “I wanted to explain myself. Back in New Orleans.”

Dean shrugs, his crossed arms lifting up with the movement.

“We were a mess on that hunt.” You start. “All sorts of wrong. Second guessing. Getting in each other’s way. That Djinn got the upperhand on us because we were sloppy.”

Dean scoffs. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You tackled it while I was about to kill the fucking thing.” You counter.

“You were getting choked out WHILE it was lighting up like an electric smurf.” Dean’s voice rises.

“I had the silver knife to its throat UNTIL you hip checked and then rolled around with Mr. Sandman doing the horizontal mambo.”

“Who was trying to pull it off me only to get a nasty throat punch?”

You raise both hands. “Look, my point is we were off our game. And I’ve never, ever had to worry about you having my back. Until that hunt.”

Dean rolls his shoulders like he’s ready to take flight. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Do you think I’m a good hunter?” you ask.

“What the hell kind of question is that?”

“A simple one.” A tap on the table precedes your rise. You stroll with purpose towards him. “Do you think I’m a good hunter?” you repeat.

“Of course I do. You might even be the third best hunter on the planet.”

You smile and, dammit, Dean melts a little. You clear your throat and the smile fades. “Then why didn’t you let me do my job?”

Dean stills. He watches your frame relax. The bravado seeps from your posture.

“Things are different between us now.” You sigh. “I hoped that what we did would bring us closer. More in sync on a hunt. But it did the exact opposite.” Another step brings you right up into Dean’s space. You latch onto a forearm. “Your head wasn’t in that hunt with me.”

“It was.”

You shake your head. “No. Your heart was. And so was mine.” Your voice breaks a little. “All I could think about was how I needed to protect you.”

“When do we not think about protecting a hunting partner?”

“That’s gotta go hand in hand with the mission, though; not take over.” The warm fingers drop from Dean’s arm. “I told Sam what happened.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “And what did Mr. Know It All have to say?”

Your shoulder lifts and almost touches your ear. “He said ‘welcome to the club.’”

“Huh?”

“Sam said you must care about me an awful lot if you were constantly undermining my ability to actually get the fucking job done. That sacrificing yourself is part of your DNA.” A full-watt smile - the one that makes Dean’s insides warm up - graces your face. “That you’ll die a hundred times over to prevent the recipient of all that care and concern from even getting a splinter in their thumb.” The snark in your tone is sharp and cutting. “Admit it.”

“Well, that’s just a flat out exaggeration.”

Suddenly, all of the playfulness in your expression is gone. You frown. “You don’t care about me like that?”

“What? No. I mean, yes, of course I care about you like that.”

“Good.” The smile returns. “Because I know for a fact that none of that is an exaggeration where Sam is concerned. You’ve figured out how to make it work with Sam. You and I are going to have to make that happen, too.”

Dean’s grinning back. “Any suggestions?”

“You could follow my lead and do what I say at all times.” You offer.

“I’m all about that in almost every scenario. Except when we’re hunting.”

You nod. “We’re not hunting now.” Dainty fingers clasp over his hand. “I’m sorry I ran away.” You whisper, staring into his eyes.

Your small frame belies your strength and formidable capability when it comes to a hunt. And though Dean’s only had one taste of your dominance in bed, you handled him with care and exerted contained control. But now Dean needs you to know how much he intends on proving his worth to you. He’s more than a deft hand wielding a machete. More than reliable backup. More than a decades long friend who can keep up with the tequila shots. He wants to be more than all of that for you. 

He wriggles from under the grip to clutch your face with both hands. “I wanna tough it out with you.”

Your head tilts up and down in his hold. “Me too.”

You raise on tiptoes as he dips his head. Your lips meet in a gentle brush of skin. Dean’s skin tingles all over.

It’s only a peck. Dean pulls back so he can witness the bliss on your face. Eyes closed, mouth parted. You release a sigh. “Can we…” you start to ask.

“Anything,” Dean murmurs.

“Can we go to sleep? Start fresh in the morning? I missed you.”

Dean thinks his face will crack at the force of his smile. “Absolutely.”

#jacklesversebingo23 #dean x reader #spn fanfiction #angst with a happy ending #dean x you #dean x female!reader

[dixonlvr-online]

Mine to lose Part 3: "Leah"

Pairings: Daryl Dixon x Reader, Daryl Dixon x Leah

Genre: Angst

Summary: A love triangle story inspired by Taylor Swift's songs betty, august, and cardigan

A/N: if you'd like to be on the taglist please reply or message me :)

masterlist | previous, next

Leah couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

The afternoon sun was streaming in, bathing the room in light and warming her skin. She was sitting at the dining table, peeling carrots from the garden, which had been prosperous in recent months. It was a good day.

But still, she was bothered. 

Daryl had been gone most of the day, leaving before she’d awoken. She knew it was to visit Alexandria, though he never told her so. She could see it in his face when he mentioned leaving for a day. It never escaped her notice when he evaded the subject. Sometimes he couldn’t say the name at all, only “the communities” or “my people.”

He still called them his people. And yes, Leah knew about Y/N, his “person.” At least, his person before he came to live here, with her.

Now, Leah hoped, she was his person. They spent everyday together, had been living together for months, had built a life together. That meant they belonged to each other, right?

She was startled from her thoughts when the door opened, Daryl stepping through. He nodded in a way of hello, depositing his gear by the front door. Leah smiled, standing to greet him.

“How was your day?” she asked, leaning in to kiss him. He kissed her back, he always kissed her back, but he pulled away quickly this time.

“Alright. Nothin’ special,” he grunted. Daryl placed a gentle hand on her waist as he moved around her, heading for the kitchen.

She watched as he picked an apple from the bowl and bit into it ravenously, devouring the thing in a minute or two. The pair sat in the quiet, the only sound between them the crunch of his apple. When he finished, Leah spoke up.

“Did you go to Alexandria?” she said. Daryl paused, hand still up to wipe the juice from his face. He swallowed thickly, rigidly resuming the motion.

“Yeah, I did. There a problem with that?” he said. 

Leah shook her head. “Just wondering. You see everyone?”

Daryl finally met her eyes. “Saw Michonne. That’s it. She’s good,” he said.

“Good,” Leah smiled. The air was thick with tension, the two of them staring at each other without a clue of what to say. Leah took a tentative step forward, hoping to lighten the mood.

“You tired?” she asked, reaching for his hand. Daryl shook his head, no. “Good,” she smiled, placing his hand on her waist. 

She leaned in to kiss him, placing enough pressure there so he’d understand her intentions. He only hesitated a moment before reciprocating, walking her back to the bedroom.

No matter how tense things got when words were involved, at least they knew this worked.

–

Some time later, Leah studied Daryl in his sleep, admiring the way his long hair fell down his face, the way his lips slightly parted as he breathed.

She yearned to reach out and touch him, but when she’d done that in the past he’d woken up with a start. Hunter’s instincts, she assumed. She got it. She was always alert and ready, too. But she’d mellowed a bit when she met him, his presence making her feel safe.

She pulled her eyes from him, leaning her head back on the pillow. The ceiling was a perfect canvas for her racing thoughts to spill onto. Thoughts of Daryl, of the first day they met, their first conversations, their first kisses. She smiled at the memories.

They’d shared so much, given everything to each other, it felt natural to believe he was hers and she was his. She wanted him and he wanted her. Could it be any simpler?

Daryl shifted in his sleep, breaths quickening. Leah turned to watch him again, noticing the way his eyes fluttered in dream state. Surely, he wouldn’t let his guard down like this to someone he didn’t intend to keep?

“No, no,” he mumbled in his sleep, voice low and agitated. Leah shuffled closer, leaning in to hear the words. He was breathing the words out, most unintelligible, but one word had Leah frozen in an instant.

“Y/N,” he whispered, over and over. Leah listened closer, hoping she heard wrong, but her fear was confirmed when he said it again. She bit her lip to stifle tears, willing herself not to shake him awake right then and there.

“Y/N,” he dreamed, “Y/N…”

----

taglist: @thefemininemystiquee

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #twd #the walking dead #norman reedus #mine to lose series

[ofallthingsnasty]

generosity

Pairing: Kai Chisaki | Overhaul x GN!Reader Tags: noncon piss/golden shower but nothing sexual, physical abuse, forced boot worship, verbal degradation, nail biting Word count: 2.5k Summary: God, you disgust him. Note: The piece that got me into writing darkfic for bnha last year - finally finished! Overhaul wears some proper shoes in this and not those canvas abominations Hori gave him, haha. Please be gentle with any feedback on this one, I've had it with me for too long. Requests are open!

It’s a genuine mistake. 

You’ve tried time and time again to stop biting your nails- but all the bitter tinctures, nail polishes and rubber bands on your wrists have never been enough to deter you. Not when it’s a form of self-soothing you’ve adapted due to stress, a pesky little habit you’ve nurtured for years. You know it’s almost compulsive at this point and you sure as hell know that it’s not good for you- but the subconscious touch of your fingers against your lips, the soft bites into your fingertips redirects worries, busies your mind for a few precious seconds when the pressure gets to much, when that familiar itch jumps in your chest again. You could probably stop if you weren't so stressed all the time, if your head wasn’t swimming with a million things constantly.

Working for him isn’t helping, either. You hadn’t known how anal Overhaul was about hygiene when he plucked you off the streets - a filthy little vermin, only good for your quirk, really - you just readily followed him like a little lap dog, happy to be given a purpose, happy to be at least halfway accepted by someone, to have a purpose, a place to be. And it wasn’t that big of a problem at first - you wanted to get on his good side, when working under him was new and exciting. But your mind had settled, your body had gotten used to the little pang of fear that surged through you when he directed his attention at you. The habit returned when you figured out how to get away with it, tucking your fingers into your palms after biting them, choosing to wear gloves from time to time. Before you knew it, your fingernails were reduced to stumps again, always tender from constantly biting and picking at them. Really, any other villain wouldn’t give a single shit about it as long as you got the job done. It’s like you’re on autopilot. You realize your mistake the second you press your pinky against your incisors, the snap of a nail so terribly loud in the otherwise silent office. The moment passes and you hurry your hand away from your mouth, hoping he didn’t notice. You can only stare at the back of his head anxiously, watch him as he slowly puts down some documents before his shoulders relax and he takes a deep breath. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Shit. “Nothing, sir-”, you squeak out, way too quickly. He hums in contemplation and you don’t have to see him to know that he’s making a sour face. Lies are bad. Very, very bad. “I see”, he says and for a second you think you might be off the hook, pinching the bridge of your nose through your mask with a shaky breath. Then the chair swings around. “Do you really think I didn’t notice?”, he asks, sharp eyes wide and arms open. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, those familiar nitrile gloves reflecting the light with a dull glow. It's not a question. You duck your head in shame, face hot and heart cold. He has his mood swings, you know as much - mood swings that can end up deadly for the offending party. Those are usually reserved for grave offenses, but who knows where the line between ‘excusable’ and ‘unforgivable’ blurs. So you shake your head, throat too tight to answer.

“On your knees.” He sounds clipped. Your mind races with a million possibilities- maybe he’ll make you beg him for mercy, maybe he’ll do something worse. You’ve never been on the receiving end of any of his punishments and the uncertainty is eating away at your chest.

He scoffs as soon as your forehead hits the cool, tiled floor. And for a moment it’s just your labored breathing, the fabric of your mask and your heartbeat in your ears while he studies you from above, prolonging the torture. A rustle, then a metallic noise, the clear sound of metal on metal. His belt. It’s his belt.

It shoots a panic through your body you've never experienced before- you’re expecting a beating, the use of his quirk- but your blood turns icy at the thought of him making you do anything sexual. He wouldn’t do that, right? With someone as mysophobic as him, he wouldn’t ever go that far, right? “If you think I’m going to lay even a fingertip on you, you are severely mistaken“, he tuts above you, while you can’t contain the shake of your shoulders. “Disgusting filth like you doesn’t even deserve to be touched.” It’s a minuscule relief, you figure- but the sudden hate in his voice makes your stomach drop further. Whatever he’s planning on doing to you won’t be pretty. “Take your mask off” You obey while still keeping your head down, slowly peeling the loops of the signature black piece of fabric from your ears, then setting it aside, blindly. He hums and there is another rustle, like something being pulled down. His belt buckle creaks with the movement. “Keep your head just like that. You don’t even deserve to look at me right now.” A couple of seconds pass as you stare at the tiled floor with bated breath. Then he sighs - it’s a soft, almost inaudible sound through his mask, so different from his voice moments ago. Not even a second later something hits you, warm and wet and right on the top of your head. A precise stream that flows down your temple and down your face- it stings, it smells weirdly salty and it tastes so- He’s pissing on you. You barely keep the retch down when you realize it, your lips already wet with his waste. It tastes almost like plastic as it settles on your tongue and you will yourself to swallow to chase it away. The rest runs further down, down your chin and neck. It ruins your shirt and pants, leaving a warm, heavy trail as it pools on the floor beneath you, growing steadily. But you stay put and take it, eyes and mouth clamped shut with everything you have, silently praying for it to end. It takes him an eternity to finish, or at least that’s what it feels like. When the last drop hits your head, you say nothing, just wait for him to command you to get up again. Surely, he’s done now, surely this has been the most humiliating thing he could have done to you. Wrong. "See, all you had to do was take it", he says instead. "But you got it on my shoes." Of course. “Head up”, Overhaul orders and you obey, even when your hair is heavy with all the soaked-in piss, even when his urine is getting into your eyes now, the ends of your lashes adorned by tiny, amber-colored pearls. You don’t dare to hold his gaze, focused on his knees instead.

He takes a step forward, shoving the leather into your view. Indeed, there are droplets hanging from the cusp of the toe cap, where the light from above reflects on shiny leather. It’s certainly not your fault, but why would he care? You spare him one look, afraid of a gloveless hand reaching for you, but you only find silent rage in his face.

"Clean it up", his eyes are so far above as he looks down on you, the light spilling around him almost blinding you. You don't answer.

Your clothes have started to turn cold and soggy, a nuisance as you drag yourself forward on your hands and knees like some creature, leaving streaks of fluid in your wake on the tiled floor. His shoes seem to be a mile away, your movements small and slowed down by his piercing eyes. You’re an ant, a bug beneath him.

You don't even dare to touch the material, but you don't need to. He holds perfectly still as you open your mouth and jut out your tongue to press it flat against the shiny surface, the specks of piss gone with one lick. The taste is somewhat chemical, remnants of the shoe shine he had used earlier mixing together with the salty taste of his urine. You're just glad they aren't dirty or muddy, soiled with something indefinable from the streets above. You lick around the sides for a bit to placate him and then move over to the next one to do the same, your eyes focused on the shiny leather and your mind intent on forgetting about the taste. Finishing the second shoe with a generous, wet touch of your tongue, you look up to him, the silent question in your eyes clear as day. 

Is that enough? It isn’t. Your head is shoved down into the tiled floor until the cartilage of your nose bends around the edge of your nasal bone. It hurts, but the shame burns brighter than any pain ever could. The smell of his urine burns into your nostrils as he rubs his shoe back and forth on top of your hair, much like one would do with a doormat. He’s cleaning the piss off his soles with your hair. Back and forth and back again, the force of his soles against your scalp so intense he almost wipes the floor with your face. You try to steady your breath as the thin bone of your nose strains dangerously with each movement and you pray he hasn’t suddenly developed a taste for stepping on you.

"Even the dirt beneath me is better than you”, Overhaul says as if he’s simply talking about today’s weather and not a living, breathing person. He clicks his tongue behind the mask and switches shoes. By now your hair is mussed and filthy with dirt and urine and you don’t want to know what you look like at this moment, even though it’s probably the least of your problems. “You disgust me”, he spits out, anger making his voice sharp. The cusp of his shoe dips down with the curve of your head and presses into the nape of your neck, right through the thin skin and into your spine. “That you would stick your dirty fingers in your mouth - in your body, even”, he says, fake disbelief making your cheeks burn. “Do you know just how filthy they are?” You know it’s a rhetorical question, but still shake your head as best as you can, not wanting to disappoint. You are rewarded with a swift kick to the soft spot between your shoulder blades and you can’t conceal the gasp of pain that escapes you, right into the puddle of urine underneath you. “Of course you don’t”, he mutters as he grinds your face against the ground again. “I granted you a new life and you only have to follow my rules - and you can’t even do that, you disgusting pig.” With your nose pressed into a puddle of his own piss, you can believe his words. There is only him in this moment and he might as well kill you once he’s done with this tirade. His foot leaves your head only to crack down onto your back again seconds later, heel-first and with enough force to make you properly cry out this time.

“You are nothing more than a repulsive animal without any discipline or thought”, he glowers from above while your cheek rests in cold, rancid urine. It touches your lips and it gets in your nostrils but it’s too late to make you sick- not when you’ve already bathed his shoes with your own mouth. Maybe you’re really turning into a pig. “Scum of the earth”, he sounds almost breathless as he lifts his shoe off your back. “You’re lucky you’re useful to me.” You feel neither lucky nor useful. 

  He gives you another kick before he finally, finally stops. Just one more and you would have blown bubbles of snot into his piss from the pain. You’re already ugly crying as silently as you can, praying he doesn’t mind it. “Up with you”, he says, all casual again as if he hadn’t just lost his composure. You obey and heave yourself back to your knees, soaked clothes spilling rivulets of piss onto the ground. You stink, you look deplorable and your face is contorted as you silently cry, even though you can see his brow twitch at the sight. “Don’t look at me like that”, he snaps and you immediately lower your eyes. “Clean this mess up and make it quick.” Your heart stops for a beat. You might have been able to lick his shoes spotless without throwing up but if he wants you to do the same to the puddle surrounding you, you don’t know if you can keep down. And puking would only make him angrier, no doubt. The silence lasts for a second too long and your head is shoved down again, this time marginally gentler. “Clean. It.” You stick your tongue out slightly and start to lick, start to coat your taste buds in his waste as best as you can. Tears burn in your eyes - it’s disgusting. It’s gone cold and already has started to smell of ammonium and there is so much of it. You can barely hold in the snivels as you move your head up and down in the tiniest motion, your tongue scraping over the smooth tiles with every upward movement. The taste is vile. Salty and cold and pungent, you can feel your stomach churning as the urine covers every inch of your mouth, slides down your throat with your thick saliva. The tiny droplets on his shoes were nothing compared to the puddle around you and you can barely suppress the gag that climbs up your throat as the smell burns through the delicate skin of your nose. He is deadly silent as he watches you. You don’t dare to look up, but you still can still feel his golden eyes burning on the back of your head as he dissects you like some exotic specimen while you bathe in his waste. He knows just as much as you do that you would need to slurp it off the ground to ever clean it with your tongue alone. But you wouldn’t dare- maybe it’s the tiniest sliver of your pride you’re trying to save, maybe it’s a hunch that you practically slurping his piss would cross a final line. An eternity passes between the two of you, nothing but the sounds of your crying and licking filling the room. You haven’t even made a dent in the seemingly endless amount of liquid when a shoe on your head stops you once again. You don’t look up. One snap, then two. His worn and dirty nitrile gloves land on your head as he rids himself of them, then the pressure of his foot on your hair ends. “You will report your weekly progress to me”, he says as he turns around, steps wet with urine. “And if I catch you with your disgusting fingers in your mouth again, you know exactly what happens now.” He clicks his tongue on the way out as you’re left behind on the floor, wet and cold and reeking of another’s piss.

#overhaul x reader #kai chisaki x reader #bnha x reader #tw.piss #tw.noncon #kinda? i mean this is non-s/xual #but better safe than sorry haha #tw.boot worship #/overhaul

[strifethedestroyer]

Painting Session

Such intimacy is a rare occurence, and few have the luck to ever encounter and embrace it, even for a short amount of time.

It doesn't need to be openly profound or formal in its ways, it doesn't need to be filled with extravagant vocabulary and over-the-top gestures for it to be a sacred and unbreakable bond between two individuals.

It can come in the simplest of ways, be delivered in the gentlest of acts. Such as a painting.

"You know, Ezio, I've been unsatisfied with my works lately," groaned Leonardo, fumbling with his chin while staring with squinted eyes towards his empty canvas that he wanted so desperately to fill with something colorful, heartfelt, and yet nothing came.

"And why is that?" answered the assassin, brushing dust off his armor.

"I don't quite know myself, there's just.. something missing to me. Sure, I can paint something, but what is the spirit behind my brush stroke, the motive behind my hand that drags the brush over the canvas? It is lacking. I paint now, the result is satisfactory to the oblivious onlooker, but to me it lacks depth. Emotion. Drive." he said, looking at his brushes and picking one up to toy with its hairs, then setting it back down to stare blankly again at the canvas.

Silence. Ezio was looking for the right words to say to comfort or inspire his friend, and he thought he was at a loss until a brilliant idea struck him.

"Why don't you paint me?"

"Hm?" responded Leonardo, turning around to face his life-long friend. He was too lost in his thoughts and needed Ezio to repeat.

"Why don't you try painting me? Whatever the result, there's sure to be emotion behind it. I'm your best friend, after all."

"That's actually.." Leonardo paused, squinting once more at the bare canvas to envision what he was going to be creating, "not a bad idea! Come, come, sit down!"

Leonardo quickly organized his various brushes and shook his jar of water, checking if it was still full meanwhile Ezio straightened the wrinkles in his attire and pulled up a stool to sit on.

And with that Leonardo began to paint.

The windows were open, fresh air and sunlight streaming in as the birds in the trees and skies sang happily in the name of the tender afternoon.

Leonardo began to hum a tune contentedly, realizing he was making a few mistakes in his painting but not obsessing over them as this was a time during the day to aknowledge one's errors yet not belittle oneself over them lest they fall while doing so instead of learning from them and moving on.

An hour, two hours..

"I'm done."

"You're done?"

"You can move now."

Ezio was ecstatic to finally get off the stool and stretch and straighten his back. As peaceful as it was to sit there listening to the world outside while your friend illustrated your likeness for pure enjoyment, it took a toll on your body and mind, as Ezio was not one renoun for being able to sit still in one place for long.

He quickly strolled to where Leonardo sat to see how the painting looked.

"I made a few mistakes," began Leonardo before Ezio could even say a word, "like here, in the face. And here, the nose is a bit too small.. The eyes are a little too far apart. I don't know if it's any good, looking back on it."

"I don't understand art and its intricasies like you do, Leo. I just know how to appreciate it, at least on a surface level. And whatever anyone thinks of this, whatever you think of it, Leo, despite its errors in your eyes, I think it's beautiful. And is that not enough?"

The painter smiled, "I suppose you're right. I suppose it is enough."

--------------------------------------------------

Aaaand I'm back with another, the fifth. This one is my first Ezioleo!! I just randomly got this idea and thought it was too good to just let it rot in my brain. So here.

#assassin's creed #ezio auditore da firenze #leonardo da vinci #assassin's creed II #my writing

[jujulebee]

"I'll just... try again tomorrow, I like... I don't have the energy for this right now."

So crushingly boring. But why? She'd been looking forward to this for like. Weeks. Her schedule was clear and she didn't have anything else to do so... why was even staring at the digital canvas trying to figure out how to sketch something up just so... boring?

Dolls and Jules are both fast asleep by now, surely, and Sam doesn't get off work for another five hours.

I'm not about to encourage Aurora to do drugs just so I can get a fix and abandon her halfway through the night to fuck some stranger. Diana is a hard no, I'm never drinking from her, not a chance. Johnny and Lily were never even options. Almost everyone at the Red Room is kindred, so it's not like I can drink from them. They'd need to drink from someone else first to get fucked up anyway.

Neri's kindred. Lyn's kindred. Noah and Sammy too. None of my online friends are options.

Maybe I can hit up one of my twitch mods? Probably not. I know Day's been sick for the past few days, I don't want to bug them. Fersen's too far away for this time of night, same with Darren. Audrey's a possibility but she's usually busy with work at this time of night.

Frustration finally boils over and she pushes herself away from the desk, dropping her pen in the process. She watches it uselessly clatter to the floor as she slowly slides across the floor, stopping when her chair wheels hit the fluffy carpet near her bed.

"I'm hungry."

There's no one in the room to hear her speak. She stays there for a few silent seconds before she groans out loudly in frustration.

"I'm so sick of being mopey! One day is, like, way too fucking long!" She stands suddenly and stomps towards the master bathroom, flicking on the lights and suffering a mini-final-death when the vanity bulbs burn away the darkness of the room.

If she can't drink off her friends she'll just party sober.

Dress how you want to feel Honey Bonnie Azrael. This mopey shit isn't you. You're a fucking ray of sunshine strong enough to be weaponized against kindreds!

It takes an hour but she's fixed up the quick slopjob she'd done earlier on her makeup. Another 30 and she's dressed, hair pulled up in a messy ponytail. She grabs her backpack and bat and stomps towards the door, pulling it open with every ounce of unpacked aggression in her body barely contained.

"Oh!" Lily stands, hand raised to knock, flinching back when the door swings open. Him living there is still so new for them both, it's not too surprising that that fact escaped her mind. They stand there blinking at each other for a moment before they both untense. He's the first to speak, quiet and reserved. "I uh... I d-didn't realise y-you were goin' out, um."

Damage control goes into overdrive and she flashes a bright smile, hooking her bat in her backpack so she can wave both hands, "Nah nah nah, not for anything important! What's up Lily?"

He narrows his eyes just a bit, almost imperceptibly, untrusting in her honesty. He watched her develop that smile. He knows when it's not real. He's the reason that smile exists, for better or worse. "... Do you want to check out the car show nearby? It ain't very far. I... heard they've got some cool neon stuff I think you'd like."

There's a panic that rises in her chest when she watches her little brother shrink in on himself slightly, unsure, reclusive. She doesn't hesitate to answer, excitedly accepting, "Yeah of course! That sounds supes cool!" He relaxes a bit at that, and she'd breathe a sigh of relief if her chest didn't feel too tight to make the empty motion, "Do you know all the cars that are gonna be there?"

"Y-yeah I think so!" He looks a bit excited by the question, following her as she moves past, "I-I don't think ya even need t'change clothes, really, t-the folks I saw online seemed t'be in that kinda crowd. A-an' if I do see a car that wasn't talked about on the website," He continues, grabbing a leather jacket she'd stolen from their Uncle years ago, "I'll definitely know it."

"Ooooh, Lily over here with the super cool knowledge of all things cars!" Honey says, her grin finally genuine, at least for the most part. "You're gonna tell me all about'em right?"

"Yeah! Absolutely."

She giggles and waits for him to don the jacket to open the door for him, following out behind and locking the door as securely as she can.

This is by far the better option for how her night could have gone.

#action post #artsy shit #long post #alcohol mention #drug mention #lilyyyyyyy 🥺 #not viewable ic

[homoeroticvillain]

hey do you guys remember that i write sometimes? yeahh me neither anyways i got bored so i just wrote what is easiest for me aka random 2nd person shit. 500 word drabble below the cut i guess

You stand in front of a beautifully overgrown garden. Flowers spread out farther than was originally intended. Vines tangle with flowers in a way that you wish you were smart enough to have done yourself. Rose bushes prick your legs as you stare ahead of you. You can’t help but watch as honey bees hover by the lavender. The lavender that overwhelms your nose every time you breathe in. You move to look closer at peonies erratically spread out around you, tempted to even pick one but you’re able to restrain yourself when you notice the ants crawling across the pink petals. You try to head deeper into the garden but you find something stopping you. It feels as if someone is tugging you away. You turn expecting to find a face looking back at you, perhaps someone finally having gone looking for you, but all you find is your jacket caught on the rose bush you had left behind you. You can’t help letting out a laugh as your heart rate calms down and you start to untangle yourself from the rose’s thorns. You yelp as a stray thorn draws blood from your finger, you’d forgotten how truly sharp these things were. A drop of blood falls onto a daisy peeking out from the field of plants. You suck at your finger as you finally unhook yourself from the offensive flower. You berate yourself for not bringing band aids with you when you left as you walk through what was once a path through the flowers. While trying to dodge stomping one of the darling violet flowers near your feet you fail to notice the stray rock you trip on. You had always been a clumsy child so thankfully your body instinctively knows to land on your knees and hands rather than getting a mouthful of dirt and probably inedible purple flowers. You mourn your thoroughly scraped up hand, both attacked by rose bushes and your own stupidity in the same couple of minutes. Before you can haul yourself up you notice a flash brown in front of you. It appears your tumble had frightened a bunny that had most likely been eating its lunch. You apologize to the long gone ball of fur under your breath as you stand yourself up. You brush the dirt off your clothes but it would definitely stain nonetheless. Perhaps you should have asked your mother how she always used to get the grass stains out of your clothes while you had the chance. Well it’s no use now, and a little stain wouldn’t hurt anyone. You look up at the sky as the sun beams down at you, the sun had something against you personally as it shined right in your eyes. You felt your coat blow in the brisk wind and you raised your hand to block out the sun as you looked at your surroundings once again. It really was beautiful, and the smell reminded you of a better time. Of playing in your mother’s yard with friends you forget the names of and of days filled with bright smiles. You wish you could capture this moment somehow but you’re not an artist and it wouldn’t have mattered if you were anyways due to the lack of paint and canvas with you right now. All you had was your eyes and your memory so you decided you would let yourself explore the area more, it's not like anyone was waiting for you to get back home. 

#not really edited i literally just wrote this to get me used to writing again #2nd person is all i can write i swear to god #specifically 2nd person descriptive drabbles #anyways please tell me if you like it im so bad at judging my own writing #klepto talks to himself #klepto's writing tag

[susantbraithwaite]

My Unexpected Six-Month Break

Hi there!

Thanks for coming back to the blog after my unexpected six-month break. It’s crazy to think it’s been that long since my last writing-related post!

So, you’re probably wondering what the hell happened. Especially after everything was going so well. A quick recap of what was going so great: I’d finished writing Running the Asset way ahead of schedule, racking up insane daily word counts, and then I decided to dive straight into the editing stage.

Yeah, you’ve probably guessed what happened. If you followed my daily updates, you could probably see it coming.

Me, nope… well… even if I did, I ignored it.

The Dreaded Burnout

Until I burnt out hard, even though I didn’t want to admit it at the time. I’d pushed myself so hard during the final stretch of writing and editing that my body gave out. I had a major Complex Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS) flare-up that made it impossible for me to even look at my planner, let alone do any work. But, eventually, the flare-up subsided…

But I still couldn’t get the work done. No matter how the guilt of not getting any writing done ate at me, I couldn’t make myself write. Instead, I sank all my energies (the same level of energy I’d put into finishing the manuscript early) into the household things I’d put off or ignored when I’d been focused on writing. I was convinced that once I’d caught up on all the household chores I’d been neglecting, I’d be itching to get back to work.

But that didn’t exactly go according to plan.

The Worst Flu Ever and Etsy

My body had other ideas… enter the flu. I’d never felt so terrible in my life as I did during that bout of the flu. I decided that the best way to get better, faster, was to keep myself occupied for the month I was sick. I’ve always enjoyed using Canva (a graphic design app from Australia), so I played around with that… and might have gone a bit daft with it.

My Timing Sucks!

As much as I enjoyed working on the shop, my characters were calling to me.

I’d ask Siri to play music, and then bam, songs from the soundtrack to Running the Asset would fill the room. Teasing me. (Yes, I’ve got a soundtrack for the book. And, yes, it’s fucking awesome—if you love hard rock, metal, and a wee dash of alternative rock.) Or, I’d be looking for some lost notebook and find Adam’s character sheet staring back at me.

That was it.

I was finally mentally ready to get back to work.

I’d had enough time away from the story.

That’s what I’d needed, wasn’t it?

It was great. For the first time in years, I could leave work behind and focus on enjoying the scenery and the sound of the waves lapping the shore as we walked for miles each day.

The Worstestest Flu Ever

And then, just as I thought things were finally turning around, I got hit with the flu again. This time it was the kind that made that ‘worst flu ever’ seem like a mild cold. I lost all sense of smell and taste, and my hearing went with them. No amount of testing said that it was COVID, but I’ve avoided being near others.

I’m happy to report that I’m on my way out of it now. I can taste things with a strong flavour, and if something is shoved under my nose, I can smell it in one nostril, and my hearing is starting to clear up.

The Break is Over. I'm Ready!

During this time, I’ve come to believe the universe was telling me to slow down and take a physical break. That just changing where I unleash my crazy laser focus isn’t how to take a rest. So, instead of diving into a full schedule of rewrites and edits, I’m easing back into working on Running the Asset--allowing myself a bit longer to get each stage done and taking days off to physically and mentally relax and recharge.

Thank You

I’m going to end this post with a big thank you for your messages asking how I was while I was AWOL. They really meant a lot, and hopefully, I’ve responded to you all personally by now, but if I haven’t (I’m sorry), thank you for your messages.

I’ll be back with a new post on Monday. Remember to hit the follow button to get updates and to see my posts in your Reader feed.

Until then, have a great day! Susan.

This blog was originally posted on https://susantbraithwaite.com/2023/01/04/my-unexpected-break/

#burnout #crps #kirkcaldy #running the asset

[storms-path]

Day 18 - Illustrate (Extra Credit)

Arashi had suffered many horrors in her twenty-eight summers. World-shattering revelations, creatures far beyond her worst nightmares, almost losing her life and soul more times than she cared to count. But none compared to the interminable boredom of having to sit perfectly still for hours on end while Alphinaud Levellieur painted her portrait.

Arashi’s nose had been itching for the past half a bell. It had taken immense effort not to scratch it. While Alphinaud was much to polite to scold her for moving during the painting, his sister had no such restraint. Not that she was particularly still herself, pacing and stretching and generally being as active as possible. Every so often Arashi caught her smirking at her. Evil woman. She was sitting opposite Arashi now, just out of view of Alphinaud so as not to disturb his painting, chatting merrily with Lyse, who of course had to be present to offer critique.

Arashi could feel her legs going numb. She had been at it for hours, holding the exact pose that she had initially struck several days ago thinking it would be a quick, easy job. Alphinaud had assured her he was a speedy artist, and his quality obviously spoke for itself. But as it turned out, speedy for an artist and speedy for the Warrior of Light were two entirely different definitions. Were Arashi a less patient woman, or had Lyse not been the one commissioning the portrait, Arashi would have left the room in a huff days ago. But she so hated to disappoint her wife, not to mention poor Alphinaud. He had lit up like a bonfire when asked to paint her. Idly Arashi wondered if he was regretting his excitement, having had to politely ask Arashi to please stop swishing her tail more times than should have been necessary.

“How much longer do I have to hold this pose?” Arashi had gotten very good at speaking out of the very corner of her mouth, minimising movement as much as possible to avoid Alisaie’s ire. For the most part it hadn’t worked. This time, however, she was too pre-occupied catching up with Lyse to notice. Arashi could only imagine what they were talking about, to have such animated conversation.

“Just a little longer!” Alphinaud assured her, not even pausing his brushwork. “I’m almost done with the final touches.” Arashi steeled herself for another several bells of imitating a statue. Her tail was aching something fierce, the longing to stretch becoming overpowering. But after a few minutes, Alphinaud put down his brush with a triumphant grin. “Done!” he declared.

Arashi couldn’t quite believe it. She could move again? After an eternity of stillness she could regain her mobility? At last. Sweet relief washed through Arashi along with pins and needles as she slowly got to her feet. It took some determined stretching and clenching of muscles, but she managed to restore circulation soon enough. Alisaie and Lyse were already cooing over the painting, Alisaie offering some rare praise. Let’s see what all the fuss is about, then. Arashi had, of course, not been allowed to see the work in progress. Alphinaud claimed it would influence the overall work if she saw it too early. But now she could see it with her own eyes. Arashi manoeuvred herself around to…

Gaze upon the most beautiful rendition of her that she had ever seen. She practically glowed on the canvas, Alphinaud’s brushwork managing to emphasise her best features while downplaying her worst ones. It was as if she was looking at the ideal version of herself, another Arashi who had never suffered the traumas she had, who had been free and happy her whole life. Arashi could say nothing, only stare at the painting and drink in every last detail.

“So, what do you think?” Alphinaud’s tone was a typical mixture of hopeful and dreadfully nervous. Dimly Arashi supposed that her opinion was likely the most important, considering it was her likeness being immortalised. Still, the words were difficult to bring out. Her throat kept tightening on her, the traitorous fiend. Finally she managed to get out:

“It’s perfect.” Then she was embracing Alphinaud tearfully, emotion fully overwhelming her. She ignored his squawking about not getting tears on the painting. Perfection like that could handle a few stains.

#ff14 #final fantasy 14 #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #ffxivwrite2022 #ffxivwrite #arashi washi #alphinaud leveilleur #alisaie leveilleur #lyse hext #the artist alphinaud strikes again #because who else could the warrior of light get to paint her if not him #the answer is nobody

[stressedemoblackbratz]

break it off

pairing: billy loomis x reader

request: can you do a billy loomis x reader where they get into a fight?

warnings: swearing, mentions of cheating, and death.

a/n: there was no specific for the fight listed so this is what I came up with. I hope you all enjoy!

words: 1,724 + not proofread

part 2

one day I just wanna hear you say “I like you.”. what’s stopping you?

the school day started early and that was enough reason for you to be upset. also with the increased killings you were on edge. walking to your locker you went and got all the items needed for your first four classes.

“well aren’t you dressed up?” Sidney said as she slid by you, Tatum, Randy, and Stu in tow.

your makeup was done, you had finally got your nails redone after Stu made you mess the color up, then the dark brown halter dress with a black cardigan and canvas platform shoes combo. there was even a slight curl to your hair. you weren’t one to just look horrible everyday however you just looked extremely good today.

“well we don’t have a long day today. Himbry called everyone with jobs early this morning saying school was going to be over early today so we could clock in early. I’m dressed up so me and Randy here can sell some movies.” you explained tugging at the sleeve of your slightly thin cardigan.

“yeah. who’s gonna resist a hot chick telling them about the greatness of horror movie soundtracks?” Randy asked raising his brows and obnoxiously smacking on gum.

“hell! I know I wouldn’t!” Stu laughed while sticking his tongue out. Tatum quickly turned to him and smacked him in the chest. “whatttt? I was only joking…or was I?” and with that the two began bickering. Sid, Randy, and you then started talking about the weekly gossip.

past Sidney’s head and then the two mops of blonde, that were Tatum and Stu, you could see Billy walking through students. his gaze set on you.

you excused yourself and headed off to class early in an attempt to ignore him.

you felt his hand tug on the bottom of your dress as you walked past. rage slowly started to build in your chest as you passed students to head to English. eventually thoughts of last night came into your mind as you got situated in your class.

you had been in the middle of doing your math homework as Zero by The Smashing Pumpkins started playing on your radio. you heard a knock at your window, whipping around to see Billy standing there. you rolled out of bed and went to let him in before heading back to your spot between papers, a calculator, a half eaten snickers and some pencils.

Billy crawled in beside you trying to carefully miss the papers spread out every which way. you all sat in silence before the Billy spoke up in the middle of the song.

“I have to tell you something and I already know you don’t want to hear it, but“ he started before sighing and playing with the hem of your night shorts. “I can’t leave Sidney right now.” and just like that you finished the last problem on your paper before quickly picking up all the stray ones on the bed.

you laughed before giving a response. “you think I didn’t know that? Billy let’s be honest, you weren’t going to leave her to begin with.” you said turning to him finally. him saying it to your face felt like getting germ x in an open wound. “that was never your plan.”

“come on y/n.” he groaned staring at you. “her dads missing and the police think I tried to kill her. her moms death anniversary is coming up this week too. I can’t just leave her right now.”

“you can never do anything Billy.” his eyes widened at that. “you can only flirt with me, touch me, lead me on, but you can’t be with me. you just wanted somebody who was always available and my dumbass thought it was something more like love. I should’ve known that it wasn’t.”

Billy looked furious when those words came out of your mouth.

you started stuffing the papers into a binder before stuffing that in your backpack. when you went to grab your calculator Billy grabbed at your wrist. turning your eyes to look at him you could tell he was angry.

“don’t you ever say that shit to me again.” the glare in his eye was something dangerous. “i’m in love with you y/n. I get it, it was fucked up doing this with you while in a relationship, but it happened. we’re in this now and i. want. you.” he said shaking your arm at each accentuated word.

you felt like he was telling the truth. you really did. you couldn’t accept that though. not when you were always put in a bad predicament so he could live a double life.

“Billy I’m tired.” you simply told him.

“you’re tired of this or you want to go to bed?” he asked raising a brow. moving his hand from your wrist to now hold your hand.

his touch didn’t give the same spark. it kind of made you feel sick. anxious even.

“both.” you whispered before pulling your hand away and crawling under the covers. you laid down in silence. after who knows how many minutes you felt some of the weight leave your bed. Billy lent over and kissed your forehead then you heard him go out of the window.

finally, a breath you didn’t know you were holding was shakily released and you started crying into your pillow.

the whole situation was fucked up.

after surviving all 4 classes you started leaving to go to lunch. on the way though you saw Sidney run out of the bathroom hysterically crying and heading straight into Billy’s chest. it was like she was drawn to him. she just knew where to find him for quick comfort.

that sealed it for you. Sid needed Billy way more than you did. sure she was still skeptical about him, but you knew deep down she knew it wasn’t him that tried to kill her that night.

Billy’s eyes pulled from her and over to you watching them from afar. giving a tight lipped smile you felt someone place a hand in your shoulder. turning you noticed it was Randy.

“hey can we skip lunch? you think us going in right now means we’ll get a few extra dollars?” Randy asked looking down at you. the idea wasn’t bad at all. you needed to get away from your best friend and her boyfriend.

“yeah come on.” you said dragging him to your car. Stu somewhere behind you both yelling about a party and Tatum saying something to Sidney.

you just wanted to be as far away as possible.

you could feel a shift in the video store the second you saw blonde hair and a patterned shirt along with brown hair and a white tee.

you were in the middle of telling a costumer about how you all had finally been able to get ahold of the Candyman, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and Halloween movies that had came out the year before.

“no seriously. why isn’t he dead yet?” the costumer asked leaving you both in a fit of giggles.

you caught the sight of Billy and Stu shoving Randy behind their head though. you finished ringing them up, looking behind them ever now and again to see what was going on.

the boys eventually left and so did your costumer.

“come back soon!” you said to them with a wave. your fake smile leaving before turning to Randy who was quickly approaching.

“what did they want?” you asked him. his clothes were disheveled and he looked a bit red in the face.

“there’s a party tonight at Stu’s. you gotta come or it’s my ass y/n.” he said staring into your eyes trying to get his point across.

“Randy I really don’t want to go. there’s a serial killer on the loose and I rather just be at home with my family.” you tried to reason with him.

“listen, I get that. I truly do, but whatever the fuck they want with you needs to be dealt with. they just scared the shit out of me. plus, with all those people there the serial killer would have a hard time getting to anybody. everyone’s gonna be together. please just go.” he said. he genuinely looked scared.

if Billy wanted to talk to you he could’ve. there was no reason for him and Stu to bring Randy into it.

this whole thing was starting to piss you off now.

Billy and Stu had both decided on keeping Randy and Sidney alive once they saw you enter the party a bit late. they genuinely thought you weren’t going to come, even after they both had harassed Randy into getting you to. Tatum however was a lost cause since she was caught up in the garage at the moment, but you weren’t involved in anyway and they really didn’t want you dead.

however as soon as Billy was finally able to get close enough to you there was a fight.

Stu watched it all unfold as he leaned against a wall nearby, engaging in a conversation with a few randoms from school.

“we’re over Billy.” you said walking straight towards him.

what? this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. he brought you here to tell you it was going to be over sooner then he thought and it would be just you and him.

“baby please.” Billy pleaded with you. you shook your head at the mention of his pet name. he couldn’t lose you like this. everything was a falling into place now.

“don’t call me that.” he reached towards you as you shook your head. “bab-“ he started again before you cut him off.

pushing his hand down and backing up you repeated your words. “Billy, I am begging you, please don’t call me that.” you said looking up at him.

“it’s done. we’re done. all of whatever this is,” you said gesturing between the two of you. “is over.”

he didn’t know what to do in that moment, but in reality he knew what he needed to do.

but seeing the tears in your eyes as you turned away from him and went towards the door pushed him over the edge.

tonight was the night and you were finally going to be his final girl.

forever.

#billy loomis #ghostface #scream 1996 #sidney prescott #slasher x reader #randy meeks #tatum riley #stu macher #billy loomis x reader #billy loomis imagine #billy loomis x you #billy loomis x y/n #slasher imagines #slasher fandom

[babblydrabbly]

Distracted (Peacemaker x Reader) Smut

Pairing(s): Peacemaker x F!Reader; Brief Javelin x Reader

Characters: Peacemaker/Christopher Smith, Amanda Waller, Javelin

Rating: M

Word Count: 3.5k+

Warning(s): Smut, language, mentions of blood/violence. Choking, cream pie, semi-rough sex.

Summary: Out on a Task Force X mission, Peacemaker notices you're acting... different. He generously offers to help with what's distracting you. Asshole.

A/N: What's this? Baby's first Peacemaker fic? Takes place before The Suicide Squad (2021). Metahuman!Reader has super strength/speed abilities. Also, what kind of vanilla name is Chris Smith.

---

"Again?"

Amanda Waller arched a brow at your perturbed expression.

"My apologies." She droned. "Am I not stimulating you with enough variety, [L/n]?"

You scoffed, folding your arms in deference. It wasn't about that— It was about the deliberately repeated pairings with Christopher Smith. The dynamic that was becoming a pattern. You never would have worked with someone like Peacemaker on the outside. As much as you appreciated the job always getting done with him, you still bumped heads with him too much on the way to the finish line. He was frustratingly serious and flippant at the same time.

You decided to shut your trap before Waller decided she didn't need you anymore.

"You've got one skillset useful to me, [L/n]. I suggest you get used to the prospect of being paired up with Smith on a regular basis— While you're still around."

You nodded when she dismissed you. You had gotten used to it. You were seeing so much of Peacekeeper you were practically partners.

So, you pointedly sat to next the one called Javelin on the helicopter out of Belle Reve, as far away from Smith as possible. You were about to spend over twelve hours with him— It didn't have to start right away. While Colonel Flag gave you all the spiel on the mission, you glanced over and saw Javelin toss you a nod.

"You're Team B," The thrower noted over the whir of the helicopter. "[L/n], yes?"

"Yeah," you said. Your eyes flitted over the muscular squad member. He looked more like a superhero in his light blue and yellow get-up than the rest of you. You personally kept the lower half of your face covered with a black hard shell mask— Your armor from before you were incarcerated (Yes, you've heard the 'Baby Bane' jokes from the others). Even if you had to get used to working with a bunch of weirdos, you could at least conceal your face from them while you did it.

"You move very swiftly." He complimented, and you didn’t know how you were supposed to take that.

"Thanks," You tried, "I like your... weapon of choice?"

Javelin held his namesake in his arms, his legs spread wide to accommodate it as he rested it against his inner thigh. The innuendo normally would have had you rolling your eyes, but today they lingered, and you wondered if he still looked as broad and muscular without the suit on.

You frowned. Without the suit on?

Were you still staring down at his thighs?

You supposed he was a goddamn Olympic athlete at one point. And prison didn't seem to stop him from his regimen. —There it was again. You blinked and looked away, thankful nobody seemed to notice. Javelin seemed content with the brief introduction, so you left it at that.

Okay, so maybe it had been awhile since you...

You reprimanded yourself. These were not recreational outings. As much as you liked feeling free every once in awhile, you were never in a position to consider doing something so stupid. The last few missions were some of the closest calls you had while on the task force, but now that your job today was more about recon, you could at least let your mind wander to the less... imperative things. You crossed your legs at the ankles in front of you and let mind drift for the rest of the trip.

But christ had prison been rough. And a little boring. You didn’t have to think about Javelin moving closer to you for long— Pressing up flush against you— Before you were imagining yourself against a wall— Hell, right here on this bench— hooking your legs around his waist as he thrusted into you. You pictured him going for two, three rounds, that stupid suit lying on the floor with your back on top of it. You pictured him going down on you too, a handful of his wavy blonde hair in your grasp as you pressed your thighs around his ears. You swallowed behind the mask, glad it was there to hide your face.

You get dropped off an isolated point a few klicks outside the target area, the rest of the team traveling further in to handle the bulk of the mission. You lug some extra equipment in a canvas bag— Guns, surveillance tech— already annoyed by the heat.

The heat of the jungle. Definitely not the heat you'd been feeling in the helicopter. You walked a half mile in total silence just trying to focus on the mission again.

"What's got your tactical suit in a twist?" Smith finally uttered as you got to your destination. You almost forgot he had dropped down the rope onto the ground after you. He stood out against the green around you in his obnoxious red shirt and white pants.

"Nothing." You lied, and you could tell from under his helmet that Peacemaker thought you were full of shit today. Great.

You set up inside a small building— An outpost long abandoned. Whatever organization you were taking down for Waller, they clearly had to downsize over the years. You kicked open the metal door, sending it flying off its hinges. Smith entered first, clearing all the rooms before you joined him. Upstairs, you begin setting up the equipment together. Peacemaker started with standing up a rifle by the window, aiming it at the road below.

You fiddled with a tablet; You went downstairs to put a sensor on the door frame and on the rusted gate blocking the road outside. They were supposed to warn you when any vehicles were approaching, but when you came back up, it lost signal. You did this twice; You batted at the little screen, vexed. There were probably signal jammers over at the main compound that could still reach all the way out here. You thought about how Team A was doing— So inevitably, your thoughts drifted back to the damn Javelin guy.

"Jesus!" You snapped. You were grateful when you didn't break the small screen in half with your strength.

"Okay. What the fuck is wrong." Came Peacemaker's voice from across the room. You stood there without turning around. You took a breath, tossed the tablet onto the bag at your feet.

"Nothing is wrong, Smith. Fuck off." You said. You reached up and unclipped your vest. Beneath it, you felt the cool air of the shelter hit your jumpsuit. You tossed the vest on the floor, then turned around. "When are they supposed to get here?"

He quirked a brow, as if proving his point. Since when didn't you remember the mission details? Rather than give him the satisfaction of thinking you were slipping you waved your own question away.

"God, never mind."

He scoffed. You watched him remove his helmet and gloves, setting them down carefully next to his own pack. He'd made his own area across the room from yours, another tablet showing him a view of the road propped up against the wall. Smith took a seat on the floor; The two of you were going to have to play the waiting game now.

In silence. The thought made you pinch the bridge of your nose right above where your mask stopped.

"You know, I've been at Belle Reve for four years now." You finally relented. You leaned back against your wall, folding your arms over your chest.

"Yeah? So?" Smith retorted. You rolled your eyes.

"So," God— You were really confiding in Christopher Smith. That's what it was coming down to. "I haven't had sex in four years. It's... not a big deal— Nothing's wrong. That's just what I was annoyed about earlier, you know? Consider me over it."

"That why you were ogling the Javelin in the copter today?"

Shit. Shit!

You dropped your arms. "You piece of garbage. You saw that?"

"I'm garbage? You're the one sexually harassing our fellow teammates with your eyes."

"I was not sexually— Nope. I'm done. You're ridiculous." You said. You reached down and went back to your tablet, busying yourself with it idly.

Peacemaker did the same. From the corner of your eye, you just knew he was doing it smugly.

"You know," He said after a few minutes, "If that's all you're bitching about, we can just get it over with."

"Excuse me?"

"You and me. Target's not coming in for another six hours, by the way. You don't need that much time do you, 'four-years-dry'?"

You stared at him from across the room. When you didn't reply, Peacemaker set his screen down so damn casually you consider just shooting yourself in the head.

"You're off your game. I'm not going to let you compromise our objective."

You threw your hands up. "There it is. You're like a broken record."

"What? Am I fucking wrong?"

"No, you're fucking crazy."

"Get over here." Smith instructed in a low voice.

The words shot up your spine, sending a very mixed signal to your brain. Directly across from you, Peacemaker was pinning you with an expectant look— One that was clearly a challenge. It pissed you off.

It was the look he used when he said you couldn't rip a guy's spine right out of his back— It dared you. And when you did succeed, you would shoot him an equally smug look in return. Your back and forths were always crass, always a test of who would back down.

You weren't normally so brutal when you worked alone, but something about Peacemaker brought it out of you. Whenever you were paired together, it was like your powers weren't something you had to hold back. They were something he was always prodding you to embrace. The jabs, the snark— It made you want to punch him in the face.

Standing up, you crossed the room. Smith didn't move as you stepped over his legs, as you leaned down to straddle his waiting lap. He simply watched you shift around until you're comfortably seated, your hands resting on his shoulders. He moved to place his own on your thighs but didn't do anything more.

"Well?" You said.

He shrugged, "Your call."

"What am I gonna do? Dry hump you?"

"Hey, if that's what it takes."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Fuck."

Finally, you reached up, unclipping the back of your mask.

"Whoa, wait—" He started, finally reacting to this ridiculous situation, but you already had it off, in your hand.

"I—" He stared at you. You shifted, feeling nervous as you stared back. It occurred to you that you'd never seen him shocked before.

He blinked. "I've never seen your whole face before."

That wasn't true— was it? You tried to think. "What about in Cuba? We camped out for like three days. I had to take it off to eat at least."

"I didn't look."

"You didn't look."

"I don't fucking know! You wear that fucking thing everywhere. When you took it off to eat I assumed you didn't want me looking."

"Wow. How courteous."

"Fuck you."

"Well, isn't that what we're doing here?" You said, putting your hands on your hips stubbornly. Smith's were still resting on your splayed thighs.

"I can't wear this when we— How am I supposed to...?"

He snorted softly, "Don't tell me you're a romantic, [L/n]."

Nothing about this seemed romantic. Least of all with him. Still, if you were going to take the opportunity, you were going to do it your way. You looked him over.

He had a few tufts sticking out from wearing his damn helmet earlier. You reached up and brushed some of it back into place at his temple first. Smith blinked up at you, his brows pinching together.

"This okay?" You heard yourself asking him. He eventually nodded once, watching you as you placed your palm on the side of his face. Finally, you leaned down and caught his lips with yours in a long kiss. You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to know his reaction.

But you felt him return it. Slowly at first— Then he was kissing you back. You moaned somewhere in the back of your throat as he ran his large hands up and down your legs, his fingers folding to grip your ass tightly. You were already reacting, already so touched starved. His lips parted, and you felt him swipe his tongue across your bottom lip, over the front of your teeth. You opened for him, your tongue darting out to meet his hungrily.

You tugged at the front of his uniform. Without a word he reached down to pull it up over his head, the fabric dropping off somewhere beside you. You glanced down at his bare chest. You ran your hands over it, dragged your nails down his pecs experimentally. When you looked back up he was still watching you.

Your mouths crashed to meet again, this time with a fervor that threatened to split your bottom lip with every bruising kiss. You felt his hands on you again, pressing into your sides, your waist. He didn't move to take off your clothes, so you drew your hands to your own chest, pulled the zipper of your suit all the way down to your stomach.

He took the invitation, and you gasped when he roughly reaches in and cups a hand around your breast; He kneaded it, brushing his thumb over your nipple. His other hand worked at your shoulder, yanking the rest of your suit off of you. You reached back and tugged the sleeves off, finally exposing your upper body.

You felt the clasp at your back come undone, and Smith was tearing your bra off next. A muscular arm came around to scoop you up by the waist, bringing your chest closer to him. He leaned down, took one of your nipples into his mouth.

"Smith—" He bit you roughly, and it sent a shock of electricity up you. He palmed your other breast again, tweaked at your nipple until your back was arching into his touch. You squeezed your thighs around him.

Then he was back in your face again, bruising a kiss against your lips as you took a breath. Your eyes flew open when you felt the press of his fingers to your mouth. You shot a look at him, but didn't object when he pushed his index and middle fingers past your lips. You sucked them hungrily, your eyes fluttering shut again.

"Fuck," Peacemaker murmured, feeling your tongue swirl around the digits. You slurped sloppily until they were soaked, until he was pulling them back out with a light pop. He brought his hand down to the base of your suit, where the zipper stopped just above your pelvis. A pair of black panties peaked out from the V shape there, the same shade and material as your bra. You gasped when Smith finally pushed down past the layer of cotton, gripped his bare shoulders when you felt his wet fingers dip right into your cunt.

"Fuck," He said again, because you didn't need any help down there. "You're so fucking wet."

You expected to feel humiliation— To hear a joke about how it really had been while. But all you felt were his warm, thick fingers; He ran them up and down your slit, pressed them in small circles around the peak of you a few times. You cursed, your head falling back. Smith leaned up to kiss your throat, teeth dragging across the base of your collarbone. He bit you some more, daring to take your meta-human skin between his teeth. You cried out, your arm reaching to wrap around his head in pleasure.

Smith slid his fingers up into your pussy. He crooked them, scissoring them inside you. Your hips bucked, unable to resist meeting his short thrusts. You felt him grin against your neck. "Damn, baby."

"Shut up." You whispered, letting your hips rolling down to fuck yourself on his fingers some more. When he slipped in a third you moan loudly.

"Fuck! Fuck me." You demanded, yanking the short hair at the back of his head. A groan left Smith's lips, his head jerking back. Quickly, he removed his hand from your suit, pulling the rest of your clothes further down your waist. You lifted yourself off him, but Smith didn't wait. He picked you up and lifted you both off the floor. You grabbed at him as he laid you down on your back, his body between your legs. Then he was ripping off the last of your suit, tearing your boots off.

"Watch it," You snapped— If he fucking ripped anything you—

"Oh please." He huffed, and your thoughts stopped in their tracks as you watched him lean back on his knees above you, undoing his white pants. His cock sprang free from a pair of just as white underwear, his arousal already thick and ready. You stopped yourself from expressing how the sight of him made you even wetter.

He took a moment to drink in your face, a hint of that smug smirk forming. You growled, pulling him down by the neck again before he ruined the moment with speaking. Smith caught your lips again, his hand running down your naked body. He gripped one of your legs and nudges them apart, planting his knees between you.

Despite his earlier preparation, it was nothing compared to the feeling of his cock pushing inside you. You groaned as he entered you, your walls stretching around his length. Your back arched as you took him in, eyes rolling a little into the back of your head.

"Fuck— Chris—" You shuttered. His hands squeezed your thighs at the sound of his name leaving you. You heard his breath shake, his hips remaining utterly still as you got used to the size of him. Opening your eyes, you looked up to see him waiting for you; You nodded once, another moaning already escaping in anticipation.

It was like a brick wall knocking into you. Smith didn't hold back as he began fucking you— Knew you could take it— what with your powers and all. The idea seemed to drive him, and he began hammering into you, his hands moving to bracket your hips so he could fuck you better. Faster. Your legs wrapped around his waist.

Fuck— You couldn't think. You arched up off of the floor as you rolled your hips to meet Smith's. It felt like he could keep up this pace forever the way he wasn't stopping. Your breathing turned to panting, a high whine escaping you when he shifts just right— he picked you up again. You arched up into his arms, holding yourself up from around his neck as he fucked up into your soaking cunt. You bounced on his cock, a sheen of sweat blooming across your skin.

When you opened your eyes, Smith was still watching you intently— witnessing every little expression on your face while he fucked you. You could hardly discern what he was thinking. All you could focus on was him ramming you, the feeling of his cock hitting and stretching you out.

“Choke me.” He said, and you have just enough wherewithal to oblige. You wrapped your hand around his throat, pressing firmly on either side. You felt the tightness of his skin shifting under your touch. His pulse beat a fast rhythm in time with his rough thrusts. The strength of your grip was a little vice tipping Smith over the edge.

The look on his face, his eyes closed as he tried to control his breathing sends a jolt up you. You used your other hand to slip two fingers down between your folds. They found your clit, making quick work of bringing you to close to climaxing. You shuttered as you felt the tight coil of it building. Finally, with a cry you were coming, squeezing your legs around him as your hips rolling through every wave of it. Smith groaned, picking up the pace, fucking you through your orgasm until your walls were fluttering from the unrelenting stimulation.

“Going to—“ He warned, and you squeezed the hand around his throat harder, making his eyes roll up. You whimpered as you feel the hot spurt of him fill you, his hips finally locking as he pumped you with his cum.

You both took a moment to catch your breath, your hand releasing from Smith’s neck so he could take in a long gasp. His skin was reddened along his throat and chest. You saw the beginnings of your handprint bruising around his Adam's apple, your fingers a mark on his skin. You hung onto him like that, your arms back around his shoulders for balance.

“Fuck.” You finally said. Out of habit, you checked your watch to assess where you were on the mission. He took your chin in his hand, drawing your eyes back up to him. You saw that his hair had fallen back into his eyes, his face glistening with sweat.

“I’m not done with you.” He said. It sent a shiver through you. You felt your walls flutter again, some of his cum leaking out with his half-hard cock still firm inside you. You gasped as he pulled you off of him, guiding you down until you were turning around on all fours on the floor. You glanced over your shoulder, already craving the feeling of him filling you up with his cock again.

And fuck it, you two do take the whole six hours.

#peacemaker #peacemaker x reader #peacemaker x you #Christopher smith #dceu smut #dceu fanfiction #I don't know what happened; I had ideas for some dialogue between peacekeeper and reader and it turned into thiS #peacemaker smut #smut #mywords*