#ghost-maker x reader imagines

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐝

pairing: pre outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader

genre: angst, smut, romance, slow burn, mutual pining, secret relationship

series summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

word count: 4.8k

chapter summary: Your brother comes for a visit and of course, he wants to meet the Millers. Things with Joel come to a boiling point, threatening to pour over.

warnings: joel dissociating, family dynamics, criticizing of war, some angst, arguing, hints of grief, brief mention of parents being emotionally distant, explicit make out scene at the end

a/n: August is the reader's stepbrother, reader still has no physical descriptions. His face claim ended up being Oscar Isaac, ofc you don't have to imagine him that way, but I just wanted to let y'all know lmaodbf I was trying to think of what he should look like and it kinda happened

Chapter Seven || Chapter Nine

Your brother is already sitting on the kitchen stool when you walk in with silent, socked feet. He hears you though. Always does. Perking up, he turns with a smile. Your heart jumps as you notice a magazine in his hand, but  realizing it can’t be the one with Joel’s picture in it, you relax, making a beeline to the coffee machine. 

“You still like your coffee black?” 

“Yup. Just like my wretched soul.” 

You shake your head. Smiling, you grind the coffee beans, the sound breaking the peaceful silence of the morning. When you’re done, you turn to him and pour the coffee into the portafilter. You tamp it down. 

“Your soul isn’t black.” 

“Hmm?” He rests his cheek in the palm of his hand, his elbow propped up on the kitchen counter. A soft smile tugs at his lips, always amused by your rantings. “And what color is my soul?” 

“Golden. Sparkly, shiny.” 

“You’re just saying that because of my name.” 

“Why would Auggie remind me of gold?”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it. Idiot.” he grins. He leans over and squeezes your cheeks with one hand, hallowing them out. You let out a whine. “Come on now. Say it. Say my actual name and not the one you would call your sheepdog.” 

You push out your bottom lip, pouting, you glare at him. He laughs. 

“I’m not letting go until you say it.” 

“Fine,” you snap, your voice muffled. “August. There, happy? Now let me go, you menace.” 

“See, was that so hard?” he lets go and you stumble back. His strength always coming a bit of a shock. You draw your brows together, rubbing your chin. August rolls his eyes. “Why can’t you be normal and just call me Gus if you’re going to be lazy about it.” 

“Because it sounds like goose and I don’t like geese. And Auggie sounds cute,” you answer. The hiss of the coffee maker fills the kitchen and you take two mugs from the cabinet. “How’s mom and dad by the way?” 

“Not thrilled that you’re here on your own. Living with ghosts.”

Shaking your head, you place a red colored mug in front of him. Your parents had a habit of think you were drowning in melancholy. Which…was true, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be on your own. You’re about to say just that, looking at him but the thin gold chain on his neck reflects the soft morning hue and catches your gaze. Briefly, you stare at it, blinking. 

“You’re wearing it again?” 

August raises a sole brow, confused, that is until he looks down and realizes what you meant. He licks his lips and smooths his palms over the marble counter. 

“Well…no point in being mad at him anymore is there? The old man’s gone.” 

“He’d be happy knowing you still care.” 

“I always cared,” he snaps with a hint of annoyance. “Need I remind you that pops was the one mad at me. Not the other way around.” 

“He was mad because you were throwing your life away,” you level him a serious look and add. “You still are.” 

“I don’t want to do this first thing in the morning,” he groans. “You’re just saying that because you don’t like the idea of your big brother with a gun.” 

You fill his mug with piping hot coffee. Steam curls into the air. You start warming up milk for yourself, your back turned to him. 

“I don’t like the idea of my big brother being shipped off to war on a whim. It’s not a hunting trip. Don’t act like it’s not a big deal.” 

“It isn’t.” 

“You’ll die.” 

You suck in a sharp breath. You hadn’t meant to say it like that. He’s already aware that he can die. You close your eyes and keep them like that. The sounds of the kitchen fade into the background. The sound of a clock echoes in your mind. You remember the last time August was here, in this house. Your grandfather was alive then. The house was full of his voice and scent. Unlike your parents, who were somewhat distant, your grandpa hated the thought of August wasting his potential. Meanwhile, August was trying hard to prove that he didn’t have any potential to waste. You’re not even sure what your big brother does anymore. You stopped asking the day you and him buried your grandpa. 

It’s been the two of you for the longest time. Your mother remarried when you were four, August was six. Not having many friends, you were quick to leach on to him, and he seemed happy by that. He was your family, and you were his. Blood didn’t matter. And your grandfather, and grandmother, agreed with the sentiment, never separating the two of you. 

You remember when you were still in university, August didn’t tell you he was in the city. And one late night he was on your doorstep. Rain soaked through his shirt and his hair curled at the ends. Your heart breaks when you remember those times. He refused to tell you what happened that night. Later on, you learned he came to meet his mom. The exchange hadn’t gone well.  

You jump when you feel a set of hands on your shoulders. The sound of your name follows soon after, it sounds rushed like it had been repeated a couple of times before you heard it. 

Everything comes flooding back. The coffee. The milk. Your brother standing behind you. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Christ. Where’s your head at?”

“Shit—” you hiss, seeing that the milk had overflowed. You quickly turn off the stove. “Sorry, sorry. Must’ve zoned out.” 

“This is why I said I didn’t want to have this conversation first thing in the morning,” he grumbles, picking up a handful of napkins. “You need to stop worrying about me okay? I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I don’t want to constantly fight about this. I’m tired.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

You realize your answer is less than ideal but it is what it is. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, fine. You’ll at least make him highly aware of how you feel about it. 

After cleaning the stove and finally making yourself a decent cup of coffee, you sigh into the mug. “So what do you want to do during your visit? Sightseeing?” 

He chuckles, “Why are you acting like this is my first time here?” 

“I don’t know. I feel awkward now. I probably need breakfast.” 

“You’re fine,” he answers, booping your nose. Your wrinkle your nose, a soft smile blossoming on your lips. “I’ve seen your paintings, they look good.” 

You nod, silently sipping your coffee. 

“Any plans on showing them off, or whatever it is that artists do—put them in a museum?” 

“Gallery.” you correct him. “And I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Not so fun is it? Being questioned?” when you fix him a glare, he grins. “Anyway…I love what you’ve done with the room. About time something changed here.” 

You finally crack a proper smile and he quickly follows up with more series of thoughts. With a soft giggle parting your lips, you shake your head. 

“Which one was it that helped you?” he asks. “The brothers?” 

“Both helped. But the credit has to go to Tommy, he’s the one who came up with the idea.” 

“Wise man,” he hums, tongue moving over his teeth thoughtfully. “Was he the one in Desert Storm?” 

“Yup,” you answer unenthusiastically, popping your lips at the p. 

“When am I going to meet the famous Millers? I want to thank them for helping out my baby sister.” 

“Tonight. They’re coming over for dinner.” 

Another unenthusiastic response. It’s been almost a week since your date with Tommy, and since you’ve moved out from Joel’s and back into your own. You’ve seen Tommy a bunch after that, but the older Miller not so much. Guilt burrows in your heart. You might’ve been a bit too short with Joel, now that you think about it. His intentions obviously weren’t bad. But that didn’t really matter to you, did it? Your heart skips a beat every time you think of him. And you stared at his picture nearly every night since you returned. 

Meanwhile, despite seeing him almost every day whenever he came over to fix up the room, your friendship with Tommy felt…off. Some part of you thinks he knows about your feelings, and Joel’s. He never said anything about it. He hadn’t even mentioned the date, it was like business as usual. 

It was just a crush then. It has to be. You and Tommy were close, he was lonely, figured he’d ask you out. Nothing serious. You preferred to think about it that way. 

“What are we having?” your brother asks, drawing you away from your, not so fun, thoughts. 

“I was thinking chicken.” 

Joel holds a bottle of wine in hand and Sarah is holding a tupperware full of homemade brownies. Upon getting the invite, Sarah had been adamant about perfecting her recipe to bring over. Joel was not allowed in the kitchen. Deeming to be a jinx whenever Sarah tried to cook. He had no objections to that. He was more than happy to listen to his daughter hum in the kitchen as he watched TV in the living room. 

They walk toward your place with her arm crossed over his. Tommy is getting out of the truck just as they reach the porch. His younger brother meets Joel’s gaze briefly before turning his head, walking up to them. He ruffles Sarah’s hair, greeting them both with a small nod of his head. 

“Better get this over then,” Tommy mutters, reaching from between the father and daughter duo to knock on the door. 

But before he can, Sarah smacks his hand away. The gesture earns her a solid fix of Tommy’s glare. Joel’s shoulders raise, his eyes nervously flitting between Sarah and Tommy. He’d kept Sarah out of the loop. It felt like the right thing to do. Your dating life should be no concern to her. And as far as Joel was concerned, Sarah wasn’t ready to hear about his love life with another woman. 

“Sarah.” Tommy warns, the last syllable of her name bouncing off his grit teeth. “What do you think you’re doin’?” 

“You two have been so weird all week,” she chides, the crease between her brows similar to her father’s. “If you’re not going to be nice, you should leave.”

“Dammit Sarah, I—” he lets out a stuttering breath. “Fine. Just knock on the goddamn door.” 

It’s instinct. Sarah knocks on the door and at the same time Joel brings a hand down to Tommy’s shoulder. Hard. The younger Miller’s entire body tilts to the side and Joel squeezes, making sure that his fingers make dents into Tommy’s skin. Tommy tenses under Joel’s hold but doesn’t move, he doesn’t even look back at him. He just patiently waits until the door opens, warm, soft light pouring through the door. 

Sarah takes the first step, hugging you and handing you the Tupperware. You’re wearing a green dress that hugs your figure perfectly, his mouth floods with saliva. Joel already feels his cock twitching uncontrollably under his jeans. The way you smile is always so bright. 

But first things first. 

“Don’t you ever snap at my daughter like that again. You hear me, Tommy.” he says in a hushed tone, leaning into Tommy’s ear. Sarah already disappeared inside, and you’re patiently holding the door open for them.

“Your daughter?” he grimaces, taking a step back so the two of them are out of earshot. “You mean my niece? I didn’t do anythin’ Joel. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” 

Tommy takes the lead. He kisses your cheek and mutters pleasantries. Without waiting for Joel, Tommy takes his shoes off, heads to the kitchen. Joel huffs, glaring at his brother’s back. 

“Is something wrong?” 

Your voice peels him away from his anger, his hands suddenly feel foreign to him. He robotically hands you the wine. 

“Nah,” he shakes his head. “Just brothers being brothers.” 

“O…kay then. Well in any case, welcome. Thanks for the wine.” 

If Tommy being mad at him isn’t enough, it looks like you’re still frustrated with him as well. You don’t look at him. And the smile you have on is nothing other than polite. It’s a small little curve. The type you would give to a stranger walking past you in the street. He hates it.  

Thank god for Sarah. At least she’s not mad at him. 

“Don’t mention it,” he mutters, purposefully brushing his arm against yours while passing you by. He hears you letting out a soft sigh. The hairs on his arms stand with delight at the sound. 

He enters the kitchen where the dining table is at. Tommy’s already chatting up your brother, and Sarah is dragging her fingers through one of your dried oil paintings. She likes the texture of it, he told him once. The brother’s eyes meet Joel’s and he already feels his muscles growing taut. Tommy follows the brother’s gaze and nods. 

Joel nearly jumps when your hand comes around his shoulder. The brother narrows his eyes. 

“This is Joel,” you say, giving him a gentle shove. “And you already met Tommy. Joel, this is August. My brother.” 

Joel takes in the brother’s appearance. He has sharp, angular cheekbones that give his face a chiseled look, and his intense gaze is accentuated by thick, dark eyebrows. His wavy, dark hair falls messily over his forehead. He has broad shoulders and a defined jawline. He exudes a quiet confidence that draws Joel's attention.

Swallowing multiple times, Joel quickly extends a hand. A weird sense of relief washes over him when August takes it, giving it a firm squeeze. 

“Nice to meet you,” he says, sitting back down. “I heard so much about you.” 

“Good things I hope,” Joel grins sheepishly. A blush crawls up from his neck to his cheeks when the other winks. Joel’s gut is telling him that August already knows what’s going on in his head and it’s unnerving. 

“They’re all good, don’t worry.” he smiles and pulls out a chair for Joel. “She tells me you two helped her with the room. Well, you have my thanks. I was a bit worried about her moving in here after…” he clears his throat. “I’m sure you know.” 

August utters the last sentence with his eyes fixed on Joel. He shudders. 

“Auggie, stop making me seem like I’m a damsel in distress. I’m not a child that needs to be taken care of.” 

“That you’re not,” August answers. “But everyone needs help sometimes.” 

You frown, “Says the man who never accepts it.” 

The rest of the evening passes by with soft jazz music in the background and all of them setting the table together, which isn’t a five-man job, but they do it anyway. Sarah is rather bubbly, talking about school and a boy she doesn’t seem to like. He takes a mental note to ask about that later. You listen with interest, checking the rice and mixing the salad. Tommy and August hit it off instantly. Which isn’t at all a shock to him. August laughs at something Tommy says while placing a plate. Joel looks around, his pleading eyes landing on Sarah and you in the kitchen. 

Neither of them notices him. He’s left standing awkwardly between kitchen and dining room. He rubs his sweaty palms on his jeans, gaze dropping to his socked feet. 

He doesn’t want to bother anyone, so he slips away to the hall. 

Maybe he should’ve asked you first, before going exploring. But he can’t really help it. Joel finds himself in the renovated room. It’s basically done, the room fully painted and bookshelves back in place. You even have a couple of easels holding your latest artwork. He stumbles inside, the conversations fading into the background. 

It’s hard not to feel upset. He isn’t sure what he’s doing wrong. At the time, not allowing you to say what you had swirling in your mind felt like the right thing to do. Joel doesn’t know if he could’ve held back if you confessed. Even though he was rather close to confessing himself, that was before Tommy took initiative. 

He observes the first painting. His initial thought is that it looks nice. There are a lot of colors in geometric shapes. He sees a lot of red and pink. Some blue. Some white. His eyes move up and down, and as it does, he slowly begins to realize the smaller shapes form a bigger one. It’s human. A naked one. He follows the vee of the adonis belt, the softened stomach. Suddenly it’s very clear to him that this is a man. Joel takes a step back. The face hasn’t been painted yet. No eyes, no nose, no mouth. A somber smile touches his lips. Sometimes he wishes he didn’t have any of those. Maybe he won’t fuck up so badly if he doesn’t. 

Joel’s about to leave when he sees it. The smallest stain on the front of the silhouette’s hip. Tilting his head, he steps closer. His skin tight over his muscles, his breath hitches.

It’s a bullseye. The tiniest, you blink you miss it, bullseye.

He leans closer, it’s definitely a bullseye. Smaller than his tattoo, but it’s the same shape, in the same spot. 

What the fuck? 

He lifts his gaze, eyes flitting across the round shape that’s meant to be a face—his face. Is this…supposed to be him? 

Shitshitshitshit

Joel jolts out of the room and stumbles into the small bathroom that’s on the first floor. He turns the faucet so hard that his fingers ache but he doesn’t care. He splashes cool water over his face until his breathing calms down. Then he flushes the toilet for some noise.

When he opens the door, his head is spinning. The walls wiggle and dance, the hardwood floor underneath his feet slips. Joel can barely stand. His fingers itch to have something pressed against them, something that can pull him out of the fog of his mind. 

He doesn’t look inside and silently closes the door, his eyes glazed over. He makes his way down the hall. His heart is beating too fast. He can barely breathe. Some part of him believes he’s making it up. That the tattoo wasn’t there, that it was just smudged paint. He’s not an artist. It wouldn’t be hard for his brain to make something up. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

The voices grow closer. He closes his eyes, lashes touching with his cheeks. He should’ve let you talk that day. At least then everything would be crystal clear. He hates not truly knowing. The heave of his chest forces him to open his eyes. 

Everyone is already at the table. You’re serving the food, putting a chicken leg on your brother’s empty plate. His space is reserved next to Sarah, right across from Tommy and you, August is at the head of the table. Only Sarah notices him. She looks up, brows pinched together as she mouths: are you okay dad? 

Joel nods and takes his seat. His vision finally clears. The scent of chicken and roasted vegetables wafts through the air, grounding him to the present. He feels the brush of Sarah’s fingers on his forearm, she still looks worried. 

“I’m fine,” he mutters, reaching for the salad. With his tongue between his lips, his gaze follows your movements as you divide the chicken. “Everything looks amazing, tea. Thank you for having us.” 

“Yeah,” Sarah chimes in. “It looks great. I didn’t know you could cook.” 

You let out a snort and shake your head. “Why does everyone in this house think I can’t look after myself? What kind of image am I giving you guys?” 

Laughter follows, Tommy, says something but Joel doesn’t catch it. His mind still in the room with the painting. He eats silently. Biting into his fork and savoring the taste of white meat. He watches Sarah neatly wrapping the base of the chicken leg with a napkin before she starts eating, he rolls his eyes but smiles anyway. 

No one really discerns his silence. Which he concludes to be a good thing. The food is good and helps him settle down. His eyes flit between you and Tommy, a pleasant conversation taking place between the two people closest to him. 

Suddenly he sees Tommy in a tux, you in a white dress. The sun is bright and Sarah is the flower girl. He’s standing next to his baby brother, waiting to hand the ring to Tommy as soon as the priest finishes his speech. He stares at you from above Tommy’s shoulder. Your smile is wide. 

You meet his gaze and Joel fights the urge to jerk away. Your smile broadens into a grin, you wink at him. 

You look back to Tommy. His heart sinks into his stomach. 

If that ever happens, at least you'll still be close. Joel will forever have your eyes. He’ll get to stare at them as often as he wants to. Tommy doesn’t have to know. But that doesn't change the fact that Joel will still be lost, he'll still be lonely after Sarah leaves to live her own life.

He would always be searching for something more, something that he couldn't quite name or articulate. That yearning would remain, like an ache that refused to subside. He would try to fill that void with other things, other people, but it would never be enough. He would always come back to that sense of restlessness, that nagging feeling that there was something missing.

He’ll never be satisfied. 

Joel hands you a wet plate and you smile, patting off the access water, you place it on the dishrack. Soft steps come from upstairs. A door closes, and the sound of the shower softly adds to the ambiance of domestic bliss. 

Joel hands you another plate. 

It’s been a while since dinner came to an end. Much to your delight, it turned out to be a pleasant evening. August and Tommy got along swimmingly, which came as no surprise to anyone. With her stomach full and warm, Sarah was practically sleeping on the couch. Joel had to nudge her awake, and you offered to show him the spare room, but he shook his head and woke her up. Sarah was briefly confused, but she managed to make her way back with Joel. Tommy left a bit later, thanking you and squeezing your hand as he left. You were quite surprised when Joel returned ten minutes later, offering to help with the dishes. August had already gone upstairs to take a shower.

You hate doing the dishes so you had no objections to that. 

“I really should buy a dishwasher,” you say, breaking the silence. “Thanks again. You really didn’t have to.” 

His lips part with a low chuckle, his gaze fixed on the sponge that suds up the plate. “I’ve heard you complain more than I can count, sweet tea. There was no way I was going to leave you with this monstrous pile.” 

“My hero.” 

A comfortable silence stretches between the two of you, though you're not sure how that's possible. He's been avoiding you for a week and has been silent all afternoon. You're not even sure he talked to Auggie much, except for introducing himself. 

Some part of you doesn't want the stacks of porcelain to end. You internally curse at yourself for washing the pots and pans before dinner. This time, you take a bowl from him. It's slippery, and you nearly drop it, but his fingers curl around yours, tightening your grip before it can shatter against the floor.

Your breath catches in your throat. Joel's fingers remain on your hand, and a soft caress follows. Goosebumps rise over your body; it's so sudden that it tingles, a slight pain etching over your skin. Slowly lifting your eyes, you see that he's already staring at you. Joel holds your gaze, his eyes warm and inviting. A blissful sigh raises in your throat, threatening to spill, but you press your lips together.

Joel inhales, and on the exhale he asks, “Your date with Tommy must’ve been a good one, I reckon. You guys came back late.”

Blood rushes to your ears. You pull your hand back, like you’ve been burned with boiling water, soap bubbles fly into the air. The bowl slips back into the sink and you hear it crack but refuse to look down. Your heart is beating too fast, too hard—shit. Why is he saying this out of the blue? Rage pounds underneath your fingernails. You’re not sure why you’re so mad. And you’re not surprised Tommy didn’t tell him anything. Those two are constipated when it comes to talking. 

Your glare and his soft gaze clashes, lighting crackling in the still air. 

“Why are you suddenly mentioning Tommy?” you hiss out. Tears sting your eyes. “And it’s none of your business. If you want to know you should ask hi—”

“I saw your little art project.” 

Your mouth dries up, the rage replaced by a childlike terror. You pull your hand close to your chest. Breathing heavily. 

“What?” 

Joel takes a step forward, leaning into you and crowding your personal bubble. You’re glued to the floor. The blood rush loud in your ears. You feel so vulnerable that it hurts, your body trembling uncontrollably. 

“It was…me, wasn’t it?” he shakes his head. “What if Tommy saw? You can’t do shit like that when you’re datin’ him. You can’t just paint another man.” 

His voice is both hushed and forceful. You’ shake your head, attempting to blink away the tears. All the emotions you feel like a balloon in your chest waiting to explode. Your head drops. You stare at his chest. It’s moving with every rapid breath. 

“Fuck you.” 

“Excuse me?” Joel sounds flabbergasted. He takes a step back and stares at you—really stares at you with narrowed eyes, as if he’s seeing you for the first time. 

“I said,” you bite out through clenched teeth. You step forward and shove him in the chest, it does little to move him and his fingers wrap tightly around your wrists. You refuse to look at him. “Fuck. You. You don’t get to shame me in the ways I heal. The art I create. You’re the one who has a girlfriend. You’re the one that allowed me to get as close as I did, saying cryptic shit knowing that I had a crush on you! So yeah—” your eyes snap up, looking him dead in the eye. His mouth hangs open, shock etched between his brows. “Fuck you, Joel Miller.” 

His grip tightens, it’s rough and it stings. A shiver runs up your spine. “I’m not dating your brother.” you say with a sense of finality. 

“I didn’t know you had a crush on me.” Joel’s thumb moves down your wrist. His hardened gaze softens, the smallest of gasps escaping from between lips. “Asha and I broke up.” 

“You did?” 

Your world starts spinning, your stomach flips in your stomach. He nods. 

“The day you came to the garden. Before your date with Tommy. I broke it off.” 

“Why?” you ask, holding your breath. 

“Because I had someone else on my mind.” 

He’s fully stroking your arm now, the roughness of his hold gone. Textured fingertips move up and down your skin, sending shudder after shudder up your very being. Heat gathers between your legs, and you feel a dampness that makes you ache. Joel leans closer and you feel his hot breath fanning your cheeks, mixed with the lingering scent of beer. You hold your breath. The kitchen doesn’t seem to stop spinning. 

Without another word Joel tugs you flush against him, his firm chest pressing up yours, a tingle starting from your pebbled nipples and buzzing throughout your body. He sucks the air from your lungs. He groans into your mouth. You feel his hands skimming the frame of your body, dipping into every curve. Joel pulls and tugs at the fabric of your dress. You hear a small rip. You don’t care about it in the slightest. But he must’ve heard it too because a soft growl emanates from his chest. He tugs at the fabric again, the following noise louder. His teeth sink into your bottom lip, pulling it along with him as he parts. You let out a debauched whine and you swear he grins, the cocky bastard. 

His hands cup your ass, kneading it tenderly. You sigh into his mouth, your hands feeling numb and weak from where they rest above his chest. He lets go of your bottom lip, pressing his mouth into the swollen flesh before moving away. 

You gasp and let out a shaky bubble of laughter. “If this ‘someone else’ you speak of isn’t me this is about to get really awkward really fast.”

“Don’t worry that pretty lil’ head of yours darlin’,” his forehead touches yours, the skin damp. He breathes heavily, the tone of his voice oddly serious and deep. “It’s you.” 

a/n: THEY KISSED! FINALLY. I think this is the longest thing I've ever written without the characters getting at it immediately, it's been a fun ride lmaodfbfd

Normally, this chapter was supposed to have smut as well. But I loved the ending "it's you" so much that I decided it was a good way to end the chapter. But believe me, the next chapter is going to get as filthy as it gets. I already have it outlined. (feel free to hop into my askbox to tell me what filthy things you want to see them get to 🤭)

Thank you to everyone who is still with me on this little journey that started out with a mere thought after seeing a bts Instagram story, I never thought so many people would be eager to read such a thing and all of you have my appreciation. I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, in all honestly I'm nervous as hell posting it. Hopefully I hit all the right parts.

Sending all of you many hugs and kisses 🧡

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x female reader #tommy miller x f!reader #tommy miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[divinehedons]

in darkness and in secrecy

pairing: raider!joel miller x f!reader

word count: ~2.1k

summary: following your escape from the corrupt system of the qz, you run into the worst person possible in the guise of a lone raider.

warnings: this is a dark fic, minors DO NOT interact! non-consensual oral (f receiving) and vaginal fingering, knife play, bondage, reader gets a little cut up from the knife.

note: thank you for 300! please let me know what you think, comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

“Good, you’re awake.” It’s the voice you hear when you feel yourself emerge from the murky depths of sweet, silent sleep. Just then, you knew that your sought-after escape was over, and you were back in the terrifying consciousness of your post-apocalyptic reality. You blink once, twice, attempt to stretch your arms, only to be stopped mid-air by the bindings wrapped around your torso, your arms, tethering you to the chair as you gasp.

You remember the late evening, panicking as you ran through the context of your pack before you slipped out of the QZ. Water, dried fruit, sleeping bag, flashlights, batteries. You look over your tiny room once more, examining for anything that would betray your escape when, inevitably, someone comes looking.

Everything was too chaotic, too dangerous. Even the people that were meant to maintain some sense of order made you more terrified than those who creep along the Earth, the lovechild of life and death producing an unspeakable hell. So you ran, creeping along sewers and diving out of sight at the first sign of trouble. Dawn finds you among decimated cities, feeling the wind pass through for the first time in years. In this silence, you could almost imagine the bustle of pre-apocalyptic life, so unaware, so annoying, and now in nothingness, so treasured.

You remember, too, the sound of the same voice that woke you now. “Well, well, well… who do we have here?”

You tried to run. Truly, you did. If you were meeting your maker now, you’d have the gall to say you fought to the very bitter end. Whatever bitter end was waiting for you. You repeat the same sentiment when your vision clears and you’re finally met with the bearded face of the smirking man holding your head up by the hair. He visibly smirks at the glint of fear in your eyes.

“I don’t know anything, sir, I just want to get away-”

“Sir? You’re just a sweet, well-mannered little thing, aren’t ya, doll?” He leans closer, and you feel him inhale your scent from the very crook of your neck, leaving you frozen and limp in his hold.

–

Normalcy now seemed such a strange word to Joel. Days of waking up to the noise of his fan on hot Texan days, Sarah and her shenanigans, laughter, so much laughter that made his jaw hurt. Those were the days of walking memory, ghosts shaken from the grave. Perhaps that was why he was so taken by you when he saw you that morning. You looked… lived in, domestic. At least, as domestic as was possible in your new modern age.

Funny, he thinks, they used to talk of the future with the hope of flying cars, time travel, endless space– and here you both were, survivors of an apocalyptic event where survival may as well mean a death sentence. Funny, too, that he takes one look at you and he's immediately reminded of those distant drunken nights with the alluring warmth of someone, nights with legs over his shoulders, squeals in his ear.

He initially thought it was the determination in your bones. It is only when he looks at you again now, in the low light of their rendezvous point with your arms bound and your lip trembling, that he realizes just what it was about you. It was your eyes. Superficially meek with the spark of danger beneath the layers. Angelic fuck eyes that would lure God to the very gates of damnation. Maybe he was imagining it. Maybe the sight of a woman after so much depravity was enough of a threshold.

Why should one deny the sins of the flesh at the end of the world?

He tries not to repeat that sentiment as he moves closer to you, letting his tongue traverse your neck, your jaw, the back of your ear. He breathes you in again and he recognizes the soft, familiar scent of femininity that emanates from your very skin. He tries to chase it, almost taste it, chuckling as you tense beneath his hold.

There is the scent of milk– like baby’s skin, rare and treasured. It speaks of warmth, of your body being alive and struggling to live. 

To survive, no matter how many skies have fallen.

He grasps for a pretense, a reason, something to assure himself that he was doing this for something— some benefit that was beyond his own. It comes to him when he remembers the ration cards tucked in your backpack.

"You're from one of those Quarantine Zones, weren't ya?"

—

"Come on, little birdie, tell me your secrets…"

He peers over you like a predator toying with his prey. You feel your knees quake as you struggle against your bindings. You shake your head profusely, begging for him to see reason, for his humanity to prevail. But when you look, you know no answer will satisfy him. 

"No? Not even to tell me where they keep the goods?" You yelp, biting your lip gently. "Or… at least tell me how you escaped?" His hands grapple with the nearest blade, levelling it to your eyesight to show it to you; sharp and stained with someone else’s blood. It was a blade that has already claimed one life; streaked in dried rivulets, metallic smell unmistakeable.

The words escape you before you can stop it. Despite all things, despite the lies you have told yourself, despite the resolutions of blowing your brains out when morning comes. Even despite all that, something inside you still begs to stay alive.

“Are you going to kill me too?”

He laughs again, tilting his head to the side as he regards you in sweet, sweet silence. Like he enjoys the trepidation and sharp fear in your voice. “I was thinking about it, but now you’re making me think about somethin’ else, doll.” He lowers the blade, so carefully against your trembling skin. Slowly, he traces the razor sharp blade against your clavicle, your heart jumping into your throat as you tried to hold your breath. He drifts it slower, making you shiver, making you quake. “Pretty, pretty girl… you’re makin’ this so hard on yourself.” He slips his blade under the front of your jeans, shearing your pants wide open as you squeal from the burning sensation nicking your lower stomach. “That hurt, huh? Let me make it better, sugar…”

He tears your shorn pants off of your legs, taking more rope to tie each leg to the legs of the chairs. He kneels before you, prone like pagan worshippers in the face of their deity. He moves closer, and you clench your entire body with a shaky breath. Then he opens his mouth, tongue tracing along the cut and cleaning the bleed until all that is left is the stark red line of where he touched you. “Naughty, naughty girl…” He sinks lower keen eyes peering between your legs, his breath confirming your worst fear.

Perhaps it was the adrenaline. Perhaps it was the expectation of the violence rearing its monstrous head in our direction. Whatever it was… you have somehow gotten wet.

“Well, well, well… now you really can’t lie to me, sugar.”

For a moment, a brief, rare moment, silence falls throughout your body. It is solitude, it is rare. You wonder if it is acceptance. Your cries, even if your mouth uttered them, were sounds you could not hear. The older man’s chuckling and needling finally fade away, even for just a moment. You take a deep breath. You shut your eyes in an effort to forget those predatory eyes and beastly smirk. They say it goes quiet in the eye of the hurricane. You sometimes wonder if this was it– the moment of no return, where you, and just you, stood at the threshold of something you dared not to comprehend. Just then, the moment was over.

You are taken back to your wild cries, your begging, asking him to stop as his warm tongue traces the slit of your cunt through the worn-out cotton panties you had slipped on the night before. It is wet, sticky, naughty in nature. He devours your cunt through the cloth with a knowing chuckle when you oscillate between wanting to move away and seeking pleasure you never had a chance to understand.

“What is it, peach? Has no one ever tasted you like this?” He hums, moans obscenely, leaning up just enough to tear down your panties with a chuckle at the terror on your face. You shake your head, only to scream as he fucks his dry fingers directly into your unprepared cunt, coating himself in your fluids before taking you by your chin, making you suck your very own fluids while he laughs. “See? Look how much you’re soaking, absolutely creamin’ f’me.”

Did you really want this? Did you really ask for this?

“Good fuckin’ girl, didn’t even dare bite my fingers.” He pulls his hands away, drifting them down to your chest to grope you, one hand pinching and pulling until you screamed. “You ready to talk for me, princess?”

Little birdie starts singing.

"Someone cut through the fence before— I'm not the first one to leave!" You try and say more, only to cry out when those same rough fingers fucked up into your aching cunt. Despite your cries, all you can hear is the rolling of his tongue over his laughter, his face coming so close that his tongue was close enough to lick your cheek. “Please, I gave you everything you asked for!”

You feel him pause against your cheek, looking at you with a small smirk.

“Oh no. Not everything, sweet girl. I still want to see you cum.”

It’s funny how you spent so much time wondering when was the point of no return. You always thought you had a hand in deciding. Of course you were wrong. Perhaps the point of no return is called as such because you became mere purveyor, mere observer to what happens to your own body. Depersonalization made sense when you watch the older man lean down, tearing off what was left of your underwear, revelling in the distant sounds of your sobbing and begging, falling to his own knees to devour you so completely, so desperately that it brings you right back, dragging you to the forefront of your very own consciousness without the option to fade away and disappear. He takes, and he takes you with him in the sudden gush of pleasure from his lips wrapped around your clit and his fingers fucking your walls wide open without waiting for you to adjust to him.

It happens too fast. He fucks you and still he remains insatiable. He cares not if his beard hurts you. Cares not if you scream and cry for every infected to hear around. He damns himself, his own life, his own safety, just to taste the orgasm of a woman, whether she wanted it or not. He literally sucks your pleasure from you, letting you bleed ichor as you moan and cry and scream and beg, taken through waves upon waves of unbelievable, incomprehensible pleasure. You swore your vision turned to white right then and there, battered and broken upon your skin as you whine.

You felt almost guilty, rejecting such pleasure as if it was so readily available for the rest of the world. As if everyone felt such pleasure so easily. As if there was little to no suffering in the world.

He watches you orgasm, struggling against your bindings, falling limp against the chair as he grins up at you, beard soaked and cheeks red from how breathless he had gotten. You try not to look at him as your eyes well with tears of shame. “Should just keep you here, doll. You enjoyed that too much, no?” You try to disagree, squirming as he pulls you by your hair and presses your mouth over his clothed hardness, a stark reminder that he wasn’t at all finished with you.

Strange, you think, that when you think of when everything changed, you would always think of this. Just this. In darkness and in secrecy, Joel returns to you from the strange workings he does. 

Strange, you think. Because you left one prison just to be taken right into another.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #raider!joel #raider!joel miller #raider!joel smut

[undercoverpena]

okay but I have brain rot for…

assassin!joel miller x f!reader 👉👈

like think assassins creed II — I blame Florence for this, @ghostaholics and @thetriumphantpanda for not telling me this is a bad idea 😂

below is just imagine style bullet points of my brain rot. they may not make sense but look, if this is something we want, the rot is there. warnings; assassin behaviour, hints at smut, Jo making people fall in love as usual.

• imagine joel discovering that his family have been executed: sarah, tommy, tess—all gone. fleeing when he realises his face is on posters, going to a distant cousin's house only to find out his heritage of being an assassin. and he wants retribution, wants blood, wants the people who made the call to pay. so he trains (think of the arms 💪🏼)

• it’s some years later, when he returns to the city to enact revenge, when he first meets you. some woman of high standing, living in your uncle’s house—learning to paint. Joel hears a disturbance and sees some guards shoving you around, your fist connecting with one before it gets nasty, and he swoops in, saving you. you leave behind some brushes in your dash to get home.

• he finds you some days later, your eye-catching sight of him as you continue to paint. “I know you’re there, assassin.” and he eventually shows himself, handing you the brushes back. you’re eyeing him, waiting until he steps back into the shade, thanking him as he makes his exit. there’s more back and forth, accidental run-ins, him spotting you in places you shouldn’t be, until one day, when his grunts and silence don’t seem to work, he asks if you have a death wish. “you’re blade is blunt.” the tip of your brush pointing at the one on his wrist, “I can help you with that, for the death wish.” you kiss him, soft, chaste—enough to render him silent and still, but not an invitation for him to do more. he declines the offer of your help with his blade, but takes your handwritten note with your address.

• joel checks in on you, tells himself its just to be sur. but he does it more and more frequently. once finding you reading at your balcony. another time painting, and he’s pretty sure you clock him again. another you’re crying, something that pulls at him but he ignores.

• it isn’t until his wrist blade snaps that he comes to your room later that night, entering via the balcony. you tell him your uncle knows a maker, someone who can help him. and he protests, that this is dangerous, but you argue back that you want to help. but he needs you to know, so he continues and continues about what he does to people, what he does to those who have killed his family—how he does it, that vengeance won’t end when the last head rolls—watching tears fill your eyes. that there is always more, more injustice, more poison to rid, and then you grab his arms, pulling him from his speech. “then rid it, Joel. remove it. make the city something to be proud of.” he’s taken back, but you kiss him. something he deepens this time. whispering you don’t care, pressing it to his lips. more words whispered between kisses, between you removing his layers: I don’t care, I understand, I get it, I’m yours. and the latter spark something, a possessiveness rising in him, as you strip the last thing from him that makes him the thing that perches on rooftops.

• secret kisses where his hood remains up, and your hands slide around the inside of his cape. tucked away in alcoves of the city, you making threats that he best show up tonight, and he never makes promises—because his line of work doesn’t allow for them—but he kisses you like he wishes too.

• pulling you into an abandoned house when you’re on the way to an event—you having ditched your chaperone, knowing he is always watching. the skirt of your dress lifted, his hand between your thighs as you ask if he’ll be “keeping a look out for me tonight?” and his ministrations increase, his mouth ghosting over your whimpers and the way you say his name, before he tells you, “best believe it.”

• it’s a lot for Joel to trust people. and while he usually doesn’t come to you when he’s hurt (just appears with new bruises and fresh scars) one night he doesn’t think of anywhere else to go. the wound is bad, landing awkwardly on your balcony—unaware you’ve been scurrying away medical supplies from the market for weeks, just in case. you stitch him, apply ointment and bandage him. eventually curling up to his sleeping frame. he wakes with a warmth on his good side, pain pulsating on the other, opening his eyes to a sleeping you—a version he doesn’t get to see, doesn’t get to experience. a stolen, perfect moment that solidifies how much he feels for you, and also how dangerous all of this is. but when you open your eyes, he forgets, pressing gratefulness to your lips. then he spots how your nightdress is stained, ruined, realising that he’s done that—poisoned it in the same way he has your life.

• one time, he’s a little late to save you from a handsy, out of control “suitor” throwing the man out the window into a hay bale so he can tend to you, not wanting you to see his violence—even if you hear about it, the entire city speaking on him. he begins to blames himself, that he’s old. that you deserve better. but you just let him ramble until he’s out of words, and then you kiss him, “because I choose you, Joel.” he doesn’t say what those words mean to him, but he shows you later. he does worry what he’s doing to you by letting you keep getting closer, knowing full well he’s doomed you, in a different way than you’ve doomed him.

• when a kid breaks into his HQs, he takes one look at their frizzy hair and dirty feet, and asks why they’re here. the girl, Ellie introduces herself, said Marlene sent her to him, that she was told he’d look after her—know what to do. that there’s still ties between the fireflies and the assassins. he tells her to bathe, while he sends a pigeon to you to bring clothes for her. you meeting Ellie, and her enamoured with you and your kindness, something Joel knows all too well himself.

• time goes on, him and your relationship never delving out of a situationship. your uncle pushing more for you to marry, Joel stealing moments here and there with you. behind statues and marble pillars, down quiet streets and in your bedroom—hand over your mouth so no one in the house knows you’re not alone as he fucks you, his praise whispered in plenty. “because you’re so good for me, always taking me so well”—you leaving half-moon marks in his side as he does so, leaving a bit of you on him, the same way he leaves bruises on your hips.

• when Joel discovers your Uncle is someone involved in the demise of his family he experiences a conflicting array of feelings rising in him. so much so, he interrupts you during an art class—pulling you outside to tell you, to ask you if you knew. but he can tell instantly from the way your eyes widen and shimmer, that you don’t. and so, the two of you begin to work closely together, to unravel the mysteries that is your uncle.

• until one night when you learn it all, what your uncle did to his brother—your own father—Joel in the wings, hearing it all: from the confession to the way your heart shatters. that your uncle sent your mother away so he could find you a suitor of his choosing, and it isn’t until the house goes into lockdown, do you find yourself separated, trying to find Joel, running and running until your uncle’s hand is coated in his blood and Joel is on the floor. and you don’t think, don’t even question, taking one of the blades from Joel’s belt and holding it to your uncle’s neck, a choice there, but there’s no shake in your hand. feeling, slowly, Joel’s hands come around your waist, giving you the strength.

#jo: plot ideas #joel miller x reader #joel miller au #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #assassin!joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller fanfic #jo: the assassin and the wench #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction

[the-vex-archives]

DCU Masterlist (2023)

Bruce Wayne

Fics

"My Father's Daughter" Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 ( x Step-Daughter! Reader)

@raineydays411

By all definitions you were a daddy’s girl. It’s been you and him since your mom left you both. But what happens when your both forced to face your past?

"Mercenary" Part 2 ( x Daughter! Reader)

@hells-escapees

Reader is Bruce Wayne's unofficial daughter and a mercenary, she doesn't spend much time in Gotham. Until she's paid to kill the Joker

"The Duchess of Hell's Kitchen" ( x Daughter! Reader)

@hells-escapees

Y/n Wayne the blind Princess of Gotham, meets Matt Murdock who makes it his mission to train her and help her adapt to being blind. She later goes on to become the Duchess a feared anti-hero often found working with Daredevil.

Oneshots

"Found Out" ( x SVU! Reader)

@uncpanda

"Pearl Ring" ( x Stark! Reader)

@toastedkiwi

a certain ring on a certain finger has the world believing a Stark is engaged to a Wayne and your father isn’t happy.

"Surprise" ( x Fiancé! Reader)

@toastedkiwi

the Avengers crash your date with your fiancé.

Incorrect Quotes

"Egg Donor" ( x Small Assistant! Reader)

@toastedkiwi

"Level Headed" ( x Small Assistant! Reader)

@toastedkiwi

"You Missed Our Date" ( x Daughter! Reader)

@toastedkiwi

"I Own Your Father" ( x Wife! Reader)

@toastedkiwi

"Please Don't" ( x Stark! Reader)

@toastedkiwi

Jason Todd

Oneshots

"Lightsabers"

@batfam-imagines

No summary provided

Damian Wayne

Oneshots

"Whipped Like A Motherfu-" ( x Older! Damian Wayne)

@msjaeger

The boys never thought it was possible for their youngest brother to have a soft spot for a woman. Or a soft spot in general. So how will they react when they witness their brother being lovey-dovey first-hand?

Headcanons

"Gentleman" ( x Muslim! Reader) ( x Older! Damian Wayne)

@cipheress-to-k-pop

Damian Wayne with a Muslim S/O

Incorrect Quotes

"I Own Your Father" ( x Step-Mother! Reader)

@toastedkiwi

Clark Kent

Fics

"Crash And Burn" Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Final Part ( ABO AU) ( x Lawyer! Clark Kent)

@kaunis-sielu

No summary provided

Ghost Maker

Oneshots

"I'm Aware of Your Professions" ( x Batsis! Reader)

@ragingbookdragon

Cutting his hair for him

#dcu #masterlist #fanfic recommendation #damian wayne #bruce wayne #clark kent #ghost maker #jason todd #2023

[instaspacenoodles]

A Touch Between Warriors (Magnu Kenki x GN!Reader) [Part 2]

Pairing: Magnu Kenki x Gender Neutral Reader

Word Count: 2987 Words Warning: NSFW Content⛔ Summary: It has been a few sparring sessions after that fateful day and both you and Maguu Kenki have been skirting around the elephant in the room. However, it takes you by surprise when Maguu gives you the chance to learn more about him and the mystery surrounding the puppet. And in turn, teach him about human desire.s

“Do you have any questions for me” 

 His question came out of the blue, something you didn’t expect after finishing the latest spar. Normally, after fighting, Maguu would immediately explain what you did wrong during battle -’You should have dodged instead of taking the blow’ he would sign or ‘You need to strengthen your defensive stance’ as he shows you the right stance to take. Though, he would also take the time to praise you for what you did right, which always caused butterflies to flutter in your stomach. 

Recently, the automaton has become… strangely reserved at times. It was hard to ignore when he would suddenly stop signing mid-sentence sometimes - almost like he was unsure - before continuing like nothing had happened, or the way his hands would hesitate before touching you. You even caught him staring at his hands numerous times as if puzzled by something. It was a strange situation.

“Where did this come from Maguu?” You stared at him, confusion clear on your features as you turned to face the approaching puppet. 

“The last time we had a conversation outside of training, you answered my questions about the human vessel. You had… enlightened me. It is only fair that I shall answer any that you have about me to further your understanding about my being.” 

Ah that's right.

Last… time.

Embarrassment burned through your veins as the memories from last time flashed through your mind. The ghost of his firm yet gentle touch still haunts your body - sending pleasurable chills down your spine every time it crosses your mind. You felt ashamed to admit that it felt good and… that you craved more. You didn’t even answer any of his questions, yet it seemed that the puppet came to a conclusion all on his own. It was better to leave what the conclusion was to your imagination. 

However, you did have many questions you wanted to ask him. The whole mystery behind the puppet, his maker, his abilities - it was something that often comes to mind whenever you think of Maguu Kenki. If you could get some answers to these questions, maybe you could learn to understand the puppet better. Perhaps even deepen the weird relationship between you two.

“Hmm, I guess I have some questions I have been wondering for a while.” Your eyes glanced over the puppet’s body as you approached him until your gaze settled on his helmet, “To start off, do you have a face under that helmet, Maguu?”

“Yes.” He gestured simply. 

“Wait really?!” You paused, looking at him in surprise as he tilted his head. It was as if he was surprised by your shock, “I can barely see your face, how do you even see what that thing on? Unless you use the eyes on your spooky Oni mask to see.” 

You squint as you try to see Maguu’s face through the talisman and dark shadows but alas it was covered by the helmet. You try to think back to a time where you did see Maguu’s face, either while having a conversation or in the heat of battle - yet all your memories came to a blank. You had no clue what he looked like underneath and it made you even more curious. 

“Warrior, I was created with powerful sight. The helmet and the talisman I wear does not hinder it, as you can see from our battles. I just have no reason to remove it.” 

“So it is removable! So- uh- could you maybe take off your helmet? I would like to see your true face… if you’re okay with that.” You asked, looking up at him curiously. 

“Very well, as you wish.” 

His puppet hands trailed up to where his helmet rests and you held your breath in anticipation. Maguu slowly lifted the armor from his head and pulled it off in one smooth movement - white hair pooling over his shoulders. You carefully reached to lift up the talisman and- what in the name of the Raiden Shogun!?

 Your jaw nearly touched the floor as you gazed at his true face. His eyes were a piercing blue - cold and intense like the ice he wields. Two streaks of red markings started from the bottom of his eyes and trail down his pale colored face - the look similar to that of an oni’s. You silently thanked whoever created him for giving him such a beautiful face because damn it had you weak in the knees. 

“I hope my appearance doesn’t startle you.” He signed carefully, like he was…nervous.

“You- I- It's the complete opposite! I just wasn’t expecting this.” You raise your other hand, hesitating for a brief moment, before you reach up to caress his face. You swiped your thumb across the surface - It was cool to the touch, but also had a similar texture to skin. 

“My form was modeled after the appearance of a famou oni who was the first master of the sword art I use.”

“A famou oni…” You echoed softly as your hands continued to explore his face, a soft mechanical sound left the puppet, “The oni influence I can tell by the mask and these markings, but I would have never guessed that you were inspired by a first generation swordmaster.” 

“The master’s name was Iwakura Michihiro, famed for his Tengu Sweeper technique.”

“Iwakura…like the Iwakura sword art, yeah? No wonder your sword art was so familiar, those Nobushi bastards used it. It’s a shame though; the Iwakura art has fallen from grace nowadays. But I do have another question for you, Maguu. I was wondering how can you wield the elements? You don’t have a vision right?” 

“No. I do not have what your mortals call a Vision. Instead, I can control the elements due to the talisman that I wear” 

You blinked in surprise. Normally Vision holders, elemental monsters, and the Nobushi (which is a special situation) could wield the elements. Maguu is a puppet but he gets his power from… a slip of paper? You wonder if it's similar to the charms that the Narukami Shrine maidens use.

“Huh? How does that work?”

“This talisman is the product of a mystic art from the Kamura Clan. With their art, you’re able to create seals that can infuse your weapon with elemental energy. However, the tailsmen I have is more advanced than their normal seals which grants me greater power over the elements and allows me to wield two - Cryo and Anemo.”

As he signed, you brought your focus once more to the ragged talisman that hung from his forehead. The brush strokes were somewhat clear on the paper despite being decades old, but it was written in a script that you could not understand. You couldn’t believe a simple piece of paper could grant something so much power yet it is the very source of his elemental abilities. 

“Can you tell me how you use it? Like do you have to think about using it or channel something? ” You asked as you lifted the talisman up once more, eyes gleaming with curiosity as you looked at the back of paper. 

“I-” He pauses, a few mechanical sounds leaving him which make your eyes shift over to him in concern. His eyes were glued to yours before they quickly glanced away, “It has become second nature to me, however I will try to explain to the best of my abilities-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” You interrupt him, your thoughts and concerns from the past few weeks spilling from your lips, “Maguu, what’s been going on with you? You’ve been acting strange lately, almost like your… upset or something. Did I do something wrong?” 

“I do not understand how I feel. I have previously thought that I do not have the ability to feel the way that humans do since I was not created that way.” His hands paused, as if he’s trying to figure out what to say next.  “However, ever since that day you taught me about the human vessel, I have been plagued with… emotions I have no prior experience in dealing with.”

“Emotions…”

“Yes, emotions that only occur in your presence. Similar to longing, but not quite. I often find myself lost on this subject with no answer in sight.” 

As you process his words, you suddenly understand his situation. It wasn’t possible for a puppet to become so sentient, yet here he was experiencing human feelings and desires. A voice whispers from the back of your mind, encouraging you to take advantage of the opportunity in front of you. You could explain to him no- show him how powerful the feeling of desire and emotions could be. 

“I think I know the problem. What you’re experiencing is called desire. There are different kinds of desire that humans feel such as the desire for needs and wants,” You let your voice drop to a whisper,”  But I think I know which one you’re feeling... the desire for me. So, I guess, I’ll have to teach you more about the human body.” 

“…I see.” He signed slowly. 

You smiled at him as he agreed, excitement coursing through your veins, “Do what you did to me that day and test your desires - maybe you can figure your answer that way” 

“I see, you want me to pleasure you once more. As you wish, Warrior.” 

The world spun and suddenly your body was pushed against the huge Oni Mask that materialized behind you. One of his hands rested heavily on your shoulder while the other was positioned above your head - perfectly pinning you against the wooden surface. You could only glance up at the puppet with a small gasp falling from your lips. Maguu’s blue eyes wandered down your body carefully before glancing back up to catch your glaze. Those intense eyes seem to stare directly into you, exploring the depths of your being as if you’re the only thing that he wanted to understand. You broke the stare, eyes quickly looking away as heat creeped up your neck. 

The hand on your shoulder pulls away and it's suddenly on your chin, gently pulling your attention and your eyes back to his. Butterflies that were lightly fluttering were now fully swarming in your chest. 

“Please, keep your eyes on me.”

“Okay” You whispered, nodding wide-eyed at his command. 

The puppet made a light noise in response - a noise you knew meant that he was satisfied at your answer. A gentle breeze blows near your body and the anemo element condenses next to you in a flash of light. In the corner of your eye, the anemo Maguu phantom appeared floating by your left side. 

This… This was new. 

“Phantoms?” You gasp in a mix of surprise and disbelief.

The Anemo phantom cages you in, pressing against your body. The winds licking at your skin made goosebumps appear all over your arms and legs. A shiver runs down your spine as your sex starts to tingle. You swallowed heavily at how helpless you felt - stuck between a puppet and his elemental phantom. 

“It would be most efficient to make use of them to ‘test my desires’ as you instructed.” 

Maguu moves to gently grab your wrists with one hand and you let him pin your arms over your head in one smooth motion. You can tell he was being gentle with you - just like he was that fateful day. His eyes were studying your face for any reactions as if he was hoping to understand what you were feeling. His firm hands were switched with ghostly chilly ones - ones that were cold as ice. You could see it from the corner of your eye as the air had grown colder. You knew that the cryo phantom had materialized as well. 

“I feel something, but I need to experiment more,” He stopped to sign his thoughts , “Let me continue my actions.”

Like before, the puppet let his hands wander over your body, but this time they were joined with the sensations of cryo and anemo hands. You watch him intensely as he explores your body with his hands and his eyes. His huge hands found home on your waist where they rested there heavily. His thumbs rubbed circles into the area, slow and steady. His eyes watched that movement carefully. 

A moan escapes your lips as the anemo phantom caresses your side, slipping its fingers underneath the fabric of your shirt to touch your warm skin. The feeling of anemo spread throughout the exposed area, like a powerful gust of wind hitting all the right places. Heat pooled downwards in your body, flooding your veins with the tingle of pleasure as your legs started to tremble. The anemo phantom’s fingers continued to dance their way up your body. It only stopped when it found what it was looking for - the nipples on your chest. 

“Your body is trembling, is this to your satisfaction? Is this reaction the desire you feel for me?” He slowly sighs before continuing the motion. All you could do was whisper a quick yes - voice shaky. 

Meanwhile, with its free hand, the cryo phantom had begun to trail it down your back side. The coldness was welcoming against the burning sensation of arousal. His fingers lightly ran across the dips in your back, tracing muscles that tense under its touch. It felt like absolute heaven and you longed for more. His fingers soon stopped at the spot on your lower back, icy digits dragging deliciously across the area in random motions. It causes another shiver to wreck your body. 

The sensations were nearly overwhelming. Your body squirming, voice whimpering against their greedy touch. You couldn’t stop your back from arching against the rough surface of the oni mask. You were forced to endure all of it from every angle. The core inside of you was burning, yearning to be stimulated, and you definitely felt some kind of wetness down there. Maguu was absolutely driving you crazy.  

“Fuck! Nggh.. Maguu… ” You moan loudly, your logical mind growing fuzzy and overtaken by the cloud of arousal. 

Maguu’s eyes snapped back to yours - quick like lightning. His blue eyes catch the pleading expression upon your face. It was the way your eyes keep squeezing shut, the way your eyebrows shoot up at every swipe of fingers across your hot skin, and the way your lips kept singing those sweet, moaning melodies; He wanted to memorize it all. It all made Maguu better understand the emotions he was experiencing. His desire to please you, pleasure you, do whatever he could for the warrior that wormed their way into his mechanical heart. 

“I understand, I shall continue just like before.”

The touches of the cryo and anemo phantoms retreated for a brief moment and you had a chance to just breathe. Your hands fell back down to your side to rest on your heaving chest as you sucked in breath after breath - heart beating in your ears. Then, just like before, he slid his hands underneath your clothes. His touch gilded downwards until he found your sensitive sex, absolutely slick and twitching. Your body started moving to the rhythm he set. 

However, the phantoms weren’t done yet.

Their hands pulled down your pants together, exposing your lower area to the cool air. The Anemo hand began massaging your thigh, running its breezy hand over the skin which caused your legs to quiver in pleasure. The gentle winds aided in stimulating you further until you had no choice but to surrender to your lust. The Cryo phantom instead turned its focus back on your upper body. It's chilly hand brushing over your stomach and waist - the temperature changes making your body more sensitive. Your back arched into their skillful hands and your eyes fluttered shut.You couldn’t help but let out a loud moan at the combination of their touches. .

“Maguu..faster please!” The beg slipped from your mouth as your mind continued to further be clouded with desire, “It’s so good.” 

Maguu Kenki continued to massage your sensitive area, playing with it with more confidence than before. With every flick of his hand, it caused you to squirm in pleasure and your sounds to grow louder. Your heart was beating like a drum in your ears. 

Heat pulled more and more into your lower body. The familiar tightening in your core becomes known as you get closer and closer to the edge. The Anemo phantom and the Cryo phantom’s pressure have gotten more intense and Maguu’s speed has increased. You were starting to lose the rhythm that was set as your body chased after the incoming orgasm. 

Pleads drip from your mouth, your breathless moans growing louder and louder in volume. At this point, it wouldn’t be a surprise if someone heard you.

Though, Maguu Kenki sensed your desperation and who was he to deny his warrior. The puppet added more pressure and with one last firm touch - you finally spilled all over his hands. The orgasm hit you like a truck and knocked the breath out of you. You barely stood there, knees shaking as waves of pleasure crashed over you. It was good, it was intense, and it made you feel like a million mora. 

Your body twitched in Maguu’s grasp. The phantoms pulled back yet again and in a blink of an eye - disappeared just as quickly as they appeared. Now it was just you and the puppet that had made you cum once again. 

“That..was..” You looked up to the puppet’s handsome face, clearly pleased, “That was perfect Manguu, I enjoyed that so much.”

The puppet nodded and signed with its dirty hand, "I too enjoyed this experience, you have done well. I believe I now have an understanding of this kind of desire. It’s the desire to pleasure you…"

"The desire for you, my warrior."

#genshin bosses #genshin smut #genshin x you #genshin x reader #maguu kenki #maguu kenki x reader

[c-ones-adults-only-club]

Slowly, Slowly

Crosshair x GN! Reader (no descriptions given)

Rating: E. Minors DNI

Contains: Slow sex, Crosshair being his usual endearing self…

“Take it easy with me, please. Touch me gently like a summer evening breeze. Take your time, make it slow.

Andante, Andante, just let the feeling grow.

Make your fingers soft and light, Let your body be the velvet of the night. Touch my soul, you know how.

Andante, Andante

Go slowly with me now…”

The sheets are bunched up in your fists, hair sticking to your forehead as sweat glistens in a delicate sheen on your skin. Your legs are trembling underneath you as they try to support your weight. Your breath is leaving your body in desperate pants, whines and whimpers intermingling with each ragged exhalation.

Gentle fingers trace your arched spine, before changing direction and lightly caressing your quivering sides in slow, almost tickling, sweeps. They brush down to ghost over quaking thighs and dance over the globes of your buttocks.

All the while, the hard shaft of your lover is rocking into you in torturously slow increments. It feels like it's been hours since you began, and you can feel your release building.

But its just not building fast enough.

"Sweet Gods, Crosshair… please… " A breathy chuckle is your only answer, but he doesn't speed up. Instead, he leans down over your back, dragging his lips over your shoulders and up the nape of your neck, nipping at the skin. He shifts to breathe in your ear, the new angle making him slide against a particularly sensitive spot deep within you. You gasp and whine, clenching and trying to rock back against him, trying to force him to pick up the pace.

Not that you can move very much, pinned as you are underneath him.

He laughs again at your attempts to speed up.

"You wanted slow, cyare. So I'm keeping it slow." You shudder as the silken hiss of his voice dances in your ear.

There are times that you wish you could keep your mouth shut.

This, all because you'd insinuated that Crosshair couldn't do slow and steady, that he only knows hard and fast. You really should know better than to challenge the sniper.

"Is it too late to take it back?" You ask, your voice already husky with breathless need. He chuckles in your ear again, and you can only imagine the smug smirk on his face.

"Too late to take it back, yes. Never too late to beg for mercy." He nips at your shoulder, before clamping his teeth and sucking a mark into your skin. You whine as the slight pain ignites your arousal further.

"Please, Crosshair…"

"Please what, Doll?"

"Faster… please…" He hums in your ear.

"No. I think slow and steady is the way to go. I'm enjoying taking my time with you." He pushes himself into you to the hilt, carefully grinding against your sweet spot with pinpoint accuracy and taking you further to the edge.

And then begins his torturous rhythm again.

"Maker… Crosshair…" You lean forward and press your forehead into the sheets. You can feel everything. Every vein, every shift of skin, every nerve-ending lighting up. Its so intense, slow as it is. It's too much, yet not enough.

You try to move your hand down beneath your body to touch yourself, give yourself some relief, but he notices and wraps his long fingers around your wrist, pulling it up and behind your back. And then he does the same to your other one. You whine at the now complete helplessness of your position.

"You come on my cock or you don't come. Think you can do that, sweetheart?" He angles himself again, this time constantly pushing against your sweet spot. He stills, making you shift and keen.

"I asked you a question, cyare." You know he won't move until he gets an answer, though you find it difficult to re-engage your brain.

"Yes…" He grinds against you.

"Yes, what?" he whispers.

"Yes sir." He kisses your neck before lifting himself up, keeping your hands in place.

"That's good. You're so good, aren't you cyare. You're so good to me. Are you going to come for me, now?" He keeps his thrusts slow but somehow manages to ramp up the pressure against your point of pleasure. You can feel your end approaching, you can already tell that it's going to be the most intense it's ever been.

"Oh, sweet Gods… oh Maker… Cross… Crosshair… please… yes… oh Gods, yes… Crosshair… Crosshair!" He bends and presses his head into your shoulder, growling your name.

And that's all you need for the dam to break.

Your release hits you, harder and more intense than it ever has before. You're certain that you're screaming, but you barely hear anything above the white noise of your climax. Your vision whites out, and you feel like you're floating miles above your body. You hear a guttural wail above you and feel wet heat spreading through you.

And then, you both collapse, your hands pinned between your burning, sweat-slick bodies. Crosshair pants into your ear. You're both trembling from the intensity of it.

It feels like forever before either of you can move. You whimper as the sniper slips out of you and rolls to the side, trying to catch his breath. You weakly shake out your hands and lay against him, basking in the heat pouring from both of your bodies. You feel an arm wrap around your shoulders and a kiss press against your crown. You respond with a kiss to his chest.

"Wow… just… wow…" you say. He chuckles softly.

"Yeah. I know."

"Didn't… didn't think it would be so… intense ."

"Me neither." You lift your head to look at him. He looks back at you with a half dazed expression, like he's still trying to figure out what hit him.

"It was good though, right?" He strokes his fingers over your cheek.

"Very good." He brings you down for a slow and sensual kiss. You groan into it. He grins up at you when you break the kiss.

"We're doing that again." You nod.

"You bet your life we are."

"Just not yet."

"Nope. Need to bring myself down from space, first." You still feel like you're floating. His grin softens, pulling you down into a comforting embrace.

"Take your time, cyare. I'm not done with you just yet." You shiver in his arms.

"Oh? And what do you have planned for me, ner ram'ser ?" His chuckle takes on a strangely dark yet exciting tone.

"Let's just say that your voice is going to be hoarse from screaming." You drag in a shaky breath.

This is going to be a long night…

Dividers by @galacticgraffiti.

@kaminocasey @moonstrider9904 @grinningnexu @nxctuaryninetythree @botherbother-blog @stardustbee

#crosshair x reader #gn!reader #inspired by an ABBA song #of all things

[pinkrose1422]

A jinx x reader fic based on the song "don't you dare make me fall in love with you"

So jinx being reluctant to engage in a relationship with y/n who is making it very clear they're interested

💖Note: I originally wanted to make this with the reader flirting at The Last Drop and Jinx enjoying it but backing off but than I thought.. flirting isn’t the only way you show someone you care, like or even love someone. Being there for them, helping them, and giving your support in the any way the other person needs it shows your love for them.

💖 Pairing: Jinx x (Gender Neutral)!Reader

💖Summary: Jinx struggles with her own inner turmoil when it comes to understanding and accepting feelings she wishes weren’t there.

💖Song link:

On YouTube 🎶

On TikTok (shorter version, where I use these specific set of lyrics in the fanfic) 🎶

💖Material I used:

Don’t you dare (Make me fall in love with you) by Kaden Mackay

Gif maker from IOS App Store called “lmgPlay” (first app I saw for gifs so I downloaded it. Easy to use so far.)

Gif is made from the video Worlds 2021 Show Open Presented by Mastercard: Imagine Dragons, JID, Denzel Curry, Bea Miller, PVRIS (on YouTube)

Eye gif from this post

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️:

Mentions of (smoke) bombs

Falling from skies (metaphorically)

Mental illness

A few lines describing depression

Self doubt and self paranoia

💖💙💖💙💖💙💖💙💖💙💖💙💖💙💖💙💖

🎶

“You hungry?” You smiled at Jinx as she turned around in her chair after another colourful smoke bomb went off in her face. She wanted to try and incorporate colours into her smoke bombs, but so far they all keep leaving a residue that’s brighter after it settles on a surface rather than when it goes off.

“You didn’t have to bring me food! I still have my sandwich over there” she pointed behind her to a half eaten sandwich that laid on lose papers as she walked closer to you.

She meet you half way on the metal fan blade that was a bridge from the outside world into Jinx’s mind, or better known as her workshop.

“ I know, but I saw that spark in your eye when you said you wanted to improve your smoke bombs and that enough for me to know you’ll postpone eating until you’re done.” You smiled but than laughed softly as Jinx came closer reaching for the bag of take out.

“What’s so funny?” She raised an eyebrow at your sudden chuckling and stopped the motion of freeing her dinner from the styrofoam imprisonment it was confined in.

“You have something on your face haha, guess your mask didn’t cover completely, huh?” You kept chuckling but soon turned into a louder laugh as you saw Jinx aimlessly whipping at her face, completely missing the spot of powder that was on her forehead.

“Not there… here, let me” you reached your thumb forward and brush the powder from across her forehead in a swiping motion from left to right. “There!” You smiled back looking straight into Jinx’s eyes

She smiled back at you, “anything else on my face?”

🎶 Don’t you dare… 🎶

You smiled at Jinx and slowly raised your hand to brush away traces of dirt and powder that weren’t on her face to begin with, “nope, all clean.”

You let your hand softly ghost her face, your finger tips barely kissing the freckles that laid on her cheeks in perfect scattered constellations.

She felt her stomach jump, not out of fear, but comfort. She wants this comfort, she needs this comfort. No matter the type of day she was having, she always wanted to be held.. being held meant she was wanted.

And after all.. she wanted you.

🎶 Make me fall in love with you 🎶

Jinx smiled and ever so slightly relaxed and leaned in to your touch. She sighed out a breath as she felt her worries lessen. She had someone here for her; right in this moment.

🎶 Don’t you dare enchant me with those eyes 🎶

Jinx couldn’t stop looking into your eyes.. they were always so sincere when looking at her. Never held malice or evil intentions like so many people in Zaun. She trusted your eyes for truth…

She trusts you..

But trusting can hurt..

Jinx stepped back and turned around to start walking back to her work shop. As her boots thumped against the metal of the fan she can hear you following after her.

Jinx sat down in her chair, already grabbing something else to start to tinker with, as you set down the food on the table.

“Hey.. you okay?” You asked Jinx.

Was Jinx ever okay? Even on the best days there’s always a cloud forming or lingering in her mind.

She nodded her head as she kept moving wires back and forth; her mind and fingers just wanting to do something to distract her from what she was afraid to face.

Afraid? She was afraid?

Jinx pinched a wire in her fingertips as wondered that sudden realization.. she looked up at you as you kept facing her. She just stared. You know Jinx at this point and you knew she was making calculations and connections in her head. Wether it be a new invention or her figuring out something else, she’ll watch and calculate until she figured it out. If she was confused on something, she’ll ask-

“If I fell would you catch me?”

You stopped grabbing the take out from the bag and snapped your attention back to her, she was thinking and calculations something about you?

“Of course I would.” You respond right away.

You responded so quickly that it left no room for a single shadow of doubt to pass by in between the question and answer of the conversation.

Jinx furrowed her eyebrows slightly and seemed almost to whisper with uncertainty and something else.. discomfort? Worry? Fear..?

“If I fell through your skies, there’s no way you would catch me..”

You titled your head at Jinx.

The workshop was quieter for once, having turned the music down when you came in to properly call out to the blue hair girl.

The music wasn’t the issue; you had heard her, but you feel like you didn’t understand her.

“What do you mean? And what did you mean by ‘Your skies’?” You crouch down to Jinx and moved slowly closer. You wanted to make yourself smaller and move predictably so that she can feel less intimated and make space between you two if she wanted.

Of course you knew she can hold her own, but doesn’t mean in a time for comfort you shouldn’t show vulnerability to enforce that you’re there for her; not just for the goal of discovering what she was talking about.

🎶 There’s a tear in my heart, but your patch wouldn’t match me… 🎶

Jinx frowned slightly.. you can see her slowly losing herself in her mind as she remained quiet.

“Hey..” you whispered. Sometimes whispering can be the thing people listen to the most.

“Whatever is going through your mind, I’m here. I’m not sure what you mean by falling through my skies, but no matter what I’ll catch you, Jinx.” You raised your hand and brushed your finger tips on her hand that was closing into a fist at her desk.

“And if you ever fall when I’m not there, I’ll still be there to hold you through it all.”

You fully held her fist now in your own hand, not moving it off the desk but resting your own on top. You slowly rubbed your thumb back and forth on the back of her hand, she wore gloves so there was a layer between you two, but you knew she can still feel your touch and comfort; even if skin wasn’t touching skin.

Jinx slowly looked at you..

🎶 Being near you still adds to the size of my sighs 🎶

You softly smiled at her, your smile not reaching your ears.

You wouldn’t push her to talk but you still remained there waiting non the less. You were there for her even in silence.

🎶 There’s still seismic events at hellos and goodbyes 🎶

Jinx’s eyes flickered back to around her work desk.

She needed to stop staring at you.

When ever she catches your eye it leads to her feeling like she can tell you everything and nothing at all.

Knowing you, you’ll even listen to her silence as long as it was coming from her.

🎶 And I still need reminders of why it’s still unwise… 🎶

Jinx hadn’t moved her hand away from you.

You had stopped rubbing your thumb against the back of her hand but remained holding it.

You gave a squeeze of reassurance and slowly got up from your crouched position next to Jinx and turned away to pull a spare chair up near her; you wanted her to know you were still going to be present with her, even if she speaks or not.

Jinx quickly grabbed your wrist in a firm grip as if she thought you were going to disappear.

You turned around quickly and looked at Jinx in surprise, you were clearly walking and already reaching for a chair that was in clear sight but maybe you should of whispered to her your intentions; that you were staying with her and not leaving her.

As you opened your mouth to speak you slowly closed it again.. Jinx was looking at you. Her eyes a swirl of emotions more dense and fogged than the rivers in Zaun.

All Jinx could do was stare at you..

🎶 …To stare… 🎶

Trusting eyes.. that’s all Jinx ever saw when looking at you.. no matter what swirled in her head..

You trust her…

You never leave her…

🎶 So don’t you dare…don’t you dare make me fall in love with you 🎶

#arcane #arcane league of legends #jinx #arcane netflix #arcane jinx #arcane lol #fanfic #arcane fanfic #jinx x reader #netflix arcane #reader x jinx #kitty post

[ragingbookdragon]

How about 92 with ghost maker? Thank you!

I hope you know I spent like fifteen minutes looking between webpages on men's haircuts >:(

92. Cutting their hair for them

***

“I hope you know,” she started, holding a loose grip of his hair between two of her fingers, shears pointed sideways, opening to start cutting, “that I’m a classically trained pianist and model, not a hairstylist.”

He didn’t even bother to open his eyes as he replied, “I’m aware of your professions.”

“So, why do you want me to cut your hair when there is someone who can do this without fucking up?”

“Because I trust you to not fuck it up.”

“K, sweetheart, that’s not how this works,” she stressed, using the comb to brush out the strands she had just cut, making sure the length was even. “I don’t know how to cut someone’s hair.”

“You cut that Lantern’s hair.”

Her brows furrowed. “What Lantern?”

“The pilot.”

“Oh! Hal!” she waved the hand holding the comb, snipping another length of his hair. “That was an undercut. Those aren’t hard to do. Keep it long at the crown and top, threes on the sides.” She combed her fingers through the vigilante’s brown hair. “You’ve always kept it shorter on the sides and longer on the top. Sort of a mix between a slick back and sweep.”

“Uh huh,” he drawled on, kicking his legs up on the coffee table and she gripped the scissors.

I could do it. She thought. I could just cut a chunk right out of the center of his head, and he’d have to shave it all off to make it even. Her lips pursed. Oh God, never mind. I remember what he looked like with a buzz-cut. It was horrible.

“You stopped cutting,” Ghost-Maker noted. “Something on your mind?”

“Just denying myself the urge to stab you in the jugular with my fabric shears.”

“So depraved of your inherent violence, Miss Wayne,” he tutted. “I don’t know how you live day to day.”

“Meditation and silence are both a given,” she shot back. “Maybe try it sometime.”

“Touchy touchy,” he noted, clicking his tongue and she almost snarled at him as she tugged his head to the side with a section of his hair.

“I have very sharp scissors in my hands, K. Mock me at your own peril.”

#batfamily x batsis imagines #batsis x batfamily #batsis x batfamily imagines #batsis imagine #batsis imagines #batsis x batfam #batfamily x batsis #batfamily x reader imagines #batfamily x reader imagine #batfamily x reader #batfamily imagines #batfamily imagine #ghost-maker x reader #ghost-maker x reader imagines #ghost-maker x reader imagine #ghost-maker imagines #ghost-maker imagine #ghostmaker x reader #ghostmaker x reader imagines #ghostmaker x reader imagine #ghostmaker imagines #ghostmaker imagine #ghost maker x reader #ghost maker x reader imagines #ghost maker x reader imagine #ghost maker imagines #ghost maker imagine #ghostmaker #ghost maker dc #ghost-maker

[whirlybirbs]

WE’RE GHOSTS.  ----  A.M. ;

summary: you, on a flight of fate, buy a journal belonging to an A. MORGAN. turns out it’s haunted. based on this plot idea i threw out into the world this morning. word count: who knows, this is v. freeform, i did not count pairing: ghost!arthur x reader, w/ a twist a/n: me? a ghost fan? yea. so far, this is a stand-alone fic. the end is loose, so if folks want another part, leave a lil comment, send my dumb ass an ask, i love ghost fics.

The journal comes with more questions than anything.

The withered pages are rich with personal history. quick, sketched-out drawings of places visited are accompanied by the smudge of fingerprints along the dog eared pages. The words, in practiced script, are incredibly human -- loss, heartbreak, happiness...

And then it just ends.

There’s pages left to be filled at the end, at-least twenty or so, and you find yourself wondering what in the world happened to A. MORGAN.

Things start moving.

It’s... little things.

Like, the can of beans from your cabinet is suddenly on the counter one morning. Your knife drawer, you find, slides open randomly. You blame it all on forgetfulness and loose hinges.

An old photo falls off the wall one night, scaring you half to death -- you pull yourself from the sheets, bleary eyed from sleep and confusion, to find the frame in the middle of the hall.

The snow around the family of deer glints in the light of the moon.

You blink, swearing you saw a reflection in the glass.

You ignore it. You put the picture back on the wall and move on.

It’s nearly winter.

The house creaks more, lonely and quiet, but full to the brim with something you can’t quite put your finger on. It feels heavier and you stoke the fireplace wondering if some time away from your family’s cabin would put you at ease.

The house was passed down to you when your parents moved south, chasing retirement and heat. You didn’t have the heart to let them put it on the market. Too many good memories.

But, now? Those are being snuffed out by nameless anxieties.

The noises haven’t stopped -- in fact, they’ve only gotten worse.

Things have started to move in the attic. You don’t have the heart to go up there. Instead, you lay in bed, as still as you can, while old furniture shifts above you.

The tinker of spurs on the floors up there is like bells in the wind.

The kitchen.

The sounds are coming from the kitchen.

It’s the shattering of glass that separates this from all the other incidents. This time, the baseball bat in your hands is gripped with a ferocious need for protection -- and you pad into the kitchen quiet as a mouse, fight or flight driving your hands to shake and eyes to dart.

When you pass the threshold of the kitchen, your jaw drops.

A bottle of Jack Daniels is spinning on its side on the quartz island, whiskey pouring from the bottle. Three shot glasses lined up and full, one shattered on the kitchen floor. Every drawer is open, as if someone had been searching for something...

And the journal sits, open, on the kitchen table. It’s on an early entry. One about the town of Valentine and a rowdy night in the local saloon.

“How the fuck --” you utter, reaching to touch the journal.

And as your fingers skim the page, all the lights in the kitchen strobe in one big flourish, bulbs shattering like gunshots in glittered little filaments as you screech, jumping six feet in the air.

Then the drawers, ramming back and forth and you realize it’s the knife drawer again -- and suddenly, a butcher knife sails across the room and embeds itself in the wall beside your head.

Right through a canvas painting of a white tailed buck in the snow.

The guy at Home Depot didn’t say a word when you bought four whole packs of new light bulbs, plaster, and chains at check out. The look on his face was sympathetic.

You get an extra shot in your coffee order on your way back to the Antique Store, journal in hand.

Well, not in hand. It’s rubber-banded shut in the backseat, weighed down by an old bible you found in a drawer in the guest room.

“All sales are final,” says the owner, shaking his head, “I finally got rid a’ that thing --”

“Yeah,” you bite, “And I haven’t gotten a wink of sleep since.”

“Here,” he says, cashing open the register and handing you a ten dollar bill, “Have your money. But, I ain’t taking that thing back... Why don’t you go burn it?”

Your eye twitches.

“You’re kidding.”

“Just burn it.”

You gawk at your friend, eyes pulled wide as you stab your steak.

“I can’t... I can’t do that --”

“It’s haunted, dude.”

“Yeah, but it’s... history.”

“Haunted history,” she muses over her wine, “It’s ruining your home --”

She gestures to the fresh plaster over your shoulder. The knife had left a good hole. Across from you, the pantry is chained closed and so is the drawer belonging to the aforementioned knife.

“ -- So, dowse it in holy water and burn it.”

“You’re kidding.”

She wasn’t. And the owner of the Antique Store wasn’t either.

The internet agrees with them.

You’ve been doing a lot of research.

Your knee bounces, lip pulled between your teeth as you eye the journal sitting before you on the kitchen counter. You’re worrying, torn between a deep regret of burning lost history -- I mean, the guilt of destroying A. Morgan’s life... the last living document of it...

The pantry door creaks open behind you.

“Will you stop?” you snap finally, words hiking in irritation, “Stop it.”

A moment’s pause.

And then it shuts.

You gawk, eyes darting to the journal as you round the counter. Your eyes narrow, finger darting out. 

“Listen up, Morgan --” you mutter, “I dunno who you think you are --”

The faucet behind you turns on.

“I pay the bills,” you say slowly, “I live here, and you’re more than welcome to stay but you need to stop scaring me.”

The faucet cuts abruptly in a cough. You spin, eyeing it in bewilderment.

“I’m going crazy,” you breathe, “I’m talking to a book.”

Suddenly there’s a hand on your hip. Like someone trying to pass by. 

You let him.

You step out of the shower one morning and there’s a hand-print in the steam of the mirror.

“If you’re tryin’ to peep on me in the shower,” you say quietly. “I’ll kill you.”

You swear you hear a laugh over your shoulder.

Humming. 

It’s like the fading of a song, in and out, and you can’t tell where it’s coming from. It pulls you from your sleep and as soon as you open your eyes you feel the weight of the bed shift.

Silence.

Things quiet down.

No more shattered glasses, no more flying knives, no more exploding bulbs. The pantry stays closed, but the beans keep appearing here and there -- which you don’t really mind.

A. Morgan’s journal has it’s own spot on your kitchen table now.

The touching happens more often. Most recently, you’d felt a hand on your shoulder while you’d sat and watched television in the living room. 

You look over the back of the couch.

“... Hello?”

Silence.

Things in the attic, however, are louder than ever.

You still don’t have the courage to go up there.

You settle on bundling up, after all it’s winter. And you need the coats that are up there. But, there’s something holding you back. You worry that going up there will shift the dynamic you’ve seemed to have settled into with the other guest in your home.

“You know,” you say politely in the direction of the journal as you’re cooking dinner, “I wish you’d keep it down up there --”

The attic floorboards creak and a bang! resounds through the house.

Your hand flies to your heart.

A low rumble of laughter carves through the dining room.

It’s a frigid Sunday morning when you decide to brave it. You pull the hatch down in the hallway, attic ladder folding out as you heave a sigh and try to keep your wits about you.

“I just need my jackets --” you say gently as you ascend the steps slowly, flashlight clicking on in your hands, “I’ll get them and get outta your hair, Morgan -- I...”

Your jaw drops.

The attic is...

“Oh my god.”

A mess.

“What the hell have you been up to...?” you breathe, stepping over mounds of clothes spilling from box overturned on the floor.

The furniture is old -- passed down to your mom’s mom by her mom. Inside are old dresses, old shirts, furs and scarves and hats and... the doors to the wardrobe are open, exposing the now bare mahogany of the back. It’s been emptied, and you breathe a soft exclamation of shock as you near it, stepping over the pastel fabrics pooled on the floor.

In the back of the dresser, there are scratches.

WHERE AM I?

As you read it, your breath curls around you.

You feel like you’ve been shoved into an icebox. Behind your eyes, a shallow grave in the middle of winter flashes like a bad dream. 

There’s a sound over your shoulder then, like a cough, and you spin -- eyes dilating in the dark as your flashlight follows. The whole attic has been torn through.

It smells like tobacco.

The doors to the wardrobe slam shut then with a desperate rattle and you jump, eyes peeled wide as the mirrors fixed to the outer doors glimmer back at you.

The man in the reflection looks scared.

And then he’s gone.

You ask your coworker to help you move the wardrobe one afternoon.

“Nice piece a’ furniture,” he’d remarked as he helped you maneuver it down the ladder, “Where’s it going?”

“My room --” you say, straining to lift the heavy piece, “I felt guilt having this up there in the dark.”

“Nice place.”

You nearly jump out of your skin.

You’re working at your desk when you hear it, head snapping to the sound -- it’s gone in a beat, fading into the back of your mind and you’re left wondering if it even happened.

And... then you smell the tobacco.

Smoke curls in the rays of the winter afternoon sun pouring through the windows.

The reflection -- it’s not you. It’s him. You freeze, eyes trying their best to memorize the figure of the reclined outlaw. He’s on your bed, like a man out of time, hat tipped low to hide everything but the cut of his jaw. He’s looking at you, you realize, and when you turn to look at the spot on the bed, you see there’s an imprint. 

“Thanks,” you says slowly, “You’ve certainly settled in.”

A laugh. In one ear, rattling around and out the other.

Blue eyes meet yours in the reflection.

There’s blood on his collar.

And then he’s gone.

“Who’re you?”

You pull your eyes up from his journal. 

In the wardrobe mirror, his reflection paints him long and broad and rugged. His hat is in hands, calloused and bruised, and he looks pale; his cheeks are gaunt and eyes a bit hollow, but you can see the handsome cut of his profile more clearly now without his hat obscuring the view. He’s hunched over the side of the bed. 

A. Morgan is scared.

“I, uh... I should be asking you that, I think.”

“Arthur.”

Silence. The smell of tobacco is all that lingers behind.

You buy a book -- GUNSLINGERS & THE WEST, a collection of biographies by Theodore Levin. It’s the only thing you can find that mentions Arthur Morgan, aside from a few old newspaper clippings that briefly mention a man of the same name from a town called Blackwater. 

The history is a bit muddied, the newspaper articles only giving you pieces of the picture.

The book helps.

He was a member of the Van der Linde’s... some gang from back in the day. Son of Lyle and Beatrice Morgan. Surname is Welsh. Born in 1863. It doesn’t tell you much more than that., only that Arthur helped Levin composite some of the images and stories in his book.

How nice of him.

“Y’ still didn’t say who y’ are.”

You jump fifty feet in the air.

The bathroom mirror is dark, but you can see him there over your shoulder as the faucet runs -- the glow of a lit cigarette hangs from his lips. There’s the smell again. His spurs jingle as he settles against the sill.

You rub at the sleep in your eyes. 

It’s 3am. 

“Am I dead?”

You don’t know how to answer him. 

He disappears in an exhale of smoke.

On the table in the kitchen, pages of his journal begin to turn.

Without prompting, you tell him your name.

You’re chopping carrots for stew as you speak.

The pages stop.

“I think you’re dead,” you say softly, “I think -- I don’t know. I think you’ve been dead for a long time... I’m sorry, Arthur.”

Your house is quiet for a few days. 

Eerily so.

You’d become used to the weight of someone else’s energy in the house for so long that... well, you’re a little worried that your words in the kitchen the other dat had maybe been cause enough for him to move on.

And that’s when the dreams start.

Laughter. The burn of whiskey bubbles in your throat. There’s a smile on your lips and a hand dragging you to the fire and sweet words being chirped into your ear. 

Suddenly, you realize, this isn’t your life.

“Wha’s wrong, sweetpea, huh?”

Blue eyes glimmer with worry, lacking hollow divide.

The faces around the fire have no discernible features. When you think you’ve nailed them down, they melt into a changing river of expressions. Blurred. Running like rain. Panic rises in your throat.

Arthur’s face is the last thing you see before you wake up.

You’re not supposed to be there.

“I know you.”

You think maybe he’s right.

His hands are on your skin, searing and hot and dangerously tempting. They hike up your thighs, mouth pressed hotly to your own -- the moments twists like a knife in your gut and you’re pushing it away, hands shoving in a flurry of confusion.

This isn’t right, this isn’t your life.

Arthur’s face is flooded with concern. 

A beat passes. Heavy breaths linger between you both. Finally, from above him in his lap, you speak.

“You do know me.”

“Who is she?”

Arthur clears his throat. He’s coughing, heavy and wet, into his arm. Blood runs down his chin. It hurts, the mere sound of it, and his breath runs ragged.

“I was gonna marry her.”

“Is that how you know me?”

He doesn’t need to say a word. You know the answer already.

Fate’s a funny thing.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan imagine #rdr2 imagine #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x female reader #time travel fic? #kinda? #ghost!arthur #arthur morgan headcanon #if anyone knows the gif maker pls lemme know #rdr2 headcanons #arthur morgan

[theshireisburning-so-mordoritis]

Hi! For the 12 days, no. 8 and Din w/ f!reader please? I can imagine his armor would be too cold to keep on 👀

Things We Reveal In The Dark

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Prompt: #8 - The power is out and we need to cuddle for warmth.

Warnings: None.

A/N: So for some weird reason this ask wouldn't show on my phone so thank fuck I decided to treat myself to a laptop! Also this completely went the opposite way to what I expected but I enjoyed it and I'm considering expanding on these two characters further.

You’d warned him not to come after you - told him, sweet as syrup, that you would lead him to hell and back if he didn’t ditch your puck and forget the bounty on your head. He’s the only one you’ve been unable to shake - every other bounty hunter to take up the task to detain you has either given up or died, whether by the treacherous places you choose to inhabit or by your own hand.

But not this one. 

He’s different - your Mandalorian shadow -  smarter, more calculating and controlled than those who take the jobs to stoke a power complex and often meet a violent end as payment for their ego. He’s in it for the credits, it’s nothing personal he tells you and you believe him, at least maybe until you dance just out of his leather-gloved reach just one too many times with a delighted grin - a teasing wink and the honey-sweet purr of your voice on the wind. Better luck next time Mando.

Yeah, he comes for you a little bit harder after that - loses that professional detachment piece by piece as every meeting that follows feeds the charged tension growing between you, each new spark of contact painted with just a touch more ferality than the last. 

Now it’s a challenge. 

There’s no discussion anymore, any attempt at reasoning a simple, quiet capture long forgotten because you’ve initiated this little game of cat and mouse through the galaxy and apparently woken something within the previously stoic hunter. He attacks quick and ruthless when you’re hiding on Maldo Kreis - a ghost in the shadows of the darkest frost-bitten cavern you could find - sure there was no chance he would follow you here, let alone find you, until he’s suddenly right there. Behind you, snatching at your waist and yanking you tight against the sharp, broad width of his chest. 

He’s got you locked to him - thick arms like a band of steel around you as the clasp of worn leather encircles  your wrists before your fingers can so much as twitch in the direction of your weapons. You buck and writhe but it’s useless, he’s too large - heavy with muscle and the strength of his armour hunched over your frame. If only you could have a moment to think - slightly difficult with him crushed to you in a way that makes your already racing pulse jump erratically - you can’t throw your head back like you normally would, there’s no soft flesh or fragile bone for you to hit, just unforgiving metal that promises the worst fucking headache known to man if you decide to be so rash.  

You take in a steadying breath and test the waters but it’s like he can sense your thoughts. Like he’s so deeply attuned to how you think after spending maker-knows how long following you through the galaxy. Any ideas you have are burned up, turned to ash and carried away on the icy wind the moment you enact them as he blocks and parries every single attempt to hit out at him, keeping a secure hold on you despite your savage clawing and kicking. And it’s not until your muscles ache, your breath hitched on a quiet pant whilst you sag back into him that to add insult to injury, you realise his grip on you isn’t as restraining as it should be. It’s almost light - gentle even - taunting.

He’s trailing soft circles over the tender skin of your wrists, the rise of his chest deep and even against your back. Everything about him is calm, collected - self assured and bordering on smug. He knows you can’t get away from him, that he’s got you for good this time and is simply amusing himself by watching you jerk and thrash and snarl in fury. 

“Fuck.” You huff.

He chuckles then - the sound like rough velvet  and it’s impossible to not give in to the shudder trying to slip over your spine, to lean back into him when he presses closer and  dips his chin to your shoulder - the cold kiss of beskar against your cheek and the deep rumble at the back of his throat drifting through the modulator in his helmet to curl around your ear like smoke. 

“Better luck next time mesh’la.”

That fucking voice.

**

But now it’s your turn to be smug. 

After all there’s a reason you chose a planet like Maldo Kreis to hide on - it’s not like you're here for the entertainment, although watching the typically quiet Mandalorian grow steadily more agitated as his ship fails to regain power has been quite the satisfying experience for your wounded pride. 

He might have caught you unaware but the capture is only half of his mission and it’s looking pretty impossible for him to complete the remaining part when he has no way of hauling your ass out of here. You’re at a stalemate - the arctic climate working in your favour to trap him whilst he’s been preoccupied trapping you. 

There’s ice everywhere - creeping through the Crest like webs of frosted glass - burrowing inside the already temperamental mechanics of such an old ship and with the loss of light as the dark stretch of night slips in there’s no sign of things being fixed before morning at least. Something that you're sure has already become irritatingly obvious to him given the way he stomps back and forth as he secures your home for the evening. 

With every piercing howl of frigid wind that cuts through the cockpit he curses - his shoulders tensing that much harder and tone dragged through with grit as he hastily shoves another threadbare blanket into your lap when you begin to shake before throwing himself into the pilot’s seat and trying the controls again with no more result than he had ten minutes ago. 

“You need to stay warm.” He casts a sideways glance at you, grunts. “Otherwise you’ll die before we get off this fucking planet.”

You blink in surprise before grinning through the click of your chattering teeth. “ I didn’t realise you cared, Mandalorian.”

He goes silent - his helmet tilting an inch as he stares at you but your eyes are drawn to the minute twitch of his fingers on a switch - the soft creak of leather as his hands subtly flex and clench whilst he watches you watch him until a thick tension blooms in the air. When he eventually breaks it - slashes through it like a knife through a balloon full of water making you nearly gasp as if you’d been drowning within it - his words are detached, clipped, and maybe you’d believe them if it wasn’t for the echo of a strain they’re shaded in. 

“I get paid less if you’re dead.”

“Right, yeah of course - that’s what it is.” 

**

It only grows colder - the type of chill that hooks into your bones and bites deep. 

And Mando must see it on your face - the discomfort  - the stabbing ache of your insides turning to brittle glass beneath your skin - because he’s suddenly on his feet. Grabbing your wrist in the broad circle of his hand and dragging you quickly behind him - balling the blankets beneath his other arm as he leads you to an enclosed nook with a thin mattress inside. 

You both seem to stare at it for a short cluster of awkward seconds before he gestures towards the bunk - a jerking, almost insecure movement that you gather is from showing you something so mundane, yet so personal. And you get it. It’s becoming more difficult to simply see him as your hunter and you his bounty when he’s giving you all of this - his protection and his kindness (even if it is buried deep under a mountain of grumpiness) and now the place where he’s most vulnerable. It makes your gut twist strange, creates an odd tickle in your chest and draws a shaky breath past your lips as he clears his throat.

 “It’ll be warmer for you in here.” He mutters. “Get in and close it after you.”

You frown. “What about you?”

He makes a non-committal noise - a shrug. “I’ll be in the cockpit if you need me.”

“You can’t be serious?” You protest, concern bleeding through your tone before you can bite your tongue and a chirp of disbelief sounding from the back of your throat when he stares at you blankly in return. “Maker, Mando it’s practically frozen over in there, are you trying to tell me you’d prefer to suffer a miserable, icy death in that pilot chair rather than share a bed with me?”

That startles him - visibly - somewhat comically - this warrior, who’s imposing presence can terrify so many, choking on an abrupt cough before he shifts uncomfortably enough to  convince you he’d rather bolt right this fucking instant than answer that question. Hs reaction makes you wonder if he’s ever just simply shared a bed with someone or if that’s a tenderness he can’t allow himself to indulge in his line of work, your treacherous mind conjuring a hazy, soft edged image of him wound around you, of all those sharp edges moulded to the velvet plush of your skin as his hands stroke your cheek, your arms, your belly. 

Fuck, okay that’s enough of that.

There’s a flush of heat blooming in your face before it’s thankfully snatched away by the sting of ice in the air. Mando is quiet - the pitch dark blankness of his visor trained on you before his fingers twitch and he crosses his arms over his chest. 

“It’s not th- I don’t- it’s not necessary. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” He eventually murmurs but he sounds different than before - huskier. 

You gulp as it slides over you -  as that tension from earlier in the cockpit seeps between you once again, thick enough to make your skin itch and your lungs feel tight and if you don’t break it now you might do something very, very, stupid. 

So you joke instead “Isn’t sharing body heat like the first rule of survival in this kind of situation? It’s because I’m a bounty isn’t it? Well then I hope the bastard who sent you after me didn’t plan on gloating when you take me back - he’ll probably have to defrost me first. 

He moves towards you - a single step before he seems to restrain himself, amusement briefly colouring his tone. “He did say I could bring you in warm or bring you in cold, my choice.” 

“Ah so you chose the ice cube option, wonderful.”

In response he nearly makes you swallow your own damn tongue - he reaches for you and cups your chin - brushes the skin just below your lip with his thumb as his voice pitches to a low rasp. 

“No, I prefer you warm.” 

Oh. Maker help you.

**

He relents after that - after your eyes go round and wide and your breath shudders from your lungs. You had almost swayed into him, your fingers itching to curl into his cape and pull him to you as things better left unsaid clogged up your throat, the beginnings of molten pleas that you shouldn’t be asking someone who intends to hand you over for credits. 

That effectively douses you in cold water - the reminder of what you are to one another - enough for you to take a step back out of his reach and attempt a strained smile when his hand drops and silence stretches between you.

“So are we bunking together or not because I’d really like to get some sleep sometime soon.” You say flippantly.

 And it’s not exactly a lie - you are exhausted, bone-tired from everything that has lead to this moment right here - but you know Mando picks up that it’s not the full reason for your abrupt reroute of the conversation - the unnatural lilt in your voice as you strive to appear unaffected by his touch - the heat coiling in his words

His visor is on you, the blankness of it somehow piercing as he regards you - tries to figure you out. To decipher what’s made you shift and draw in on yourself when you’ve always been so unflinchingly honest with him. But this is different, this is something you can’t be upfront about because where that path could lead is not somewhere you can go. 

“Sure,” He finally says. “If you’re okay with it, if it’s what you want.” 

It isn’t, not even close.

**

There’s something you hadn’t considered when opting to share such a tight space with a fully armoured Mandalorian - something that would have been great crossing your mind before your skin felt like it wanted to peel itself back from the searing pain that comes with touching frosted metal.

Beskar, like other metals, turns excruciatingly cold when exposed to such a glacial climate - a fact you miserably discover when Mando slides in next to you, the length of his body - that chill-bitten armour - pushing close to your back.

“Fuck, fuck, stars that’s fucking cold.” You hiss, your body bowing and twisting in a desperate attempt to get away.

But there’s nowhere for you to really go in what’s essentially a narrow hole in the wall, the ridiculousness of the situation eventually getting the better of you as the two of you try everything you can think of to not be in some kind of contact. It’s a drawn out few moments of wriggling - of practically trying to crawl up the wall amongst the echoes of your startled noises everytime you feel that shock of cold and Mando’s guilty muttering of “shit, sorry.”

You start laughing, you can’t help it - a delirious giggle spilling past your lips. He’s a Mandalorian and you’re a criminal - you both have this reputation that makes you formidable, makes people think you're tough - dangerous - if only the galaxy could see you now. You feel like teenagers. Especially when after a moment of stunned silence he joins in, a low, warm chuckle that grows into a beautiful, true laugh, drifting through his modulator to wrap around the pounding flesh of your poor, unsuspecting heart. 

How can someone’s laugh be that fucking attractive.

Nope, no, not going there - focus. 

“Okay, this obviously isn’t going to work.” You mumble, sensing him turn to you in the dark when you sit up and pass a weary hand over your face. “I’ll go sleep in the cockpit.”

“No.” There’s the sound of him moving then his fingers catching yours - the heat of him radiating through the leather. “You said it yourself, it’s frozen over, there’ll be no way for you to stay warm enough - I’ll go.”

And here we go again.

You roll your eyes, a teasing edge to your voice. “Mando I’m not kicking you out of your own bed - I might have some questionable morals but I’m not that rude.”

He snorts before his hand jerks. Stilling at the short, hesitant slide of your fingers up and down his - the motion of it tangling them together further as he inhales sharply. “A thief with manners - cute.”

“I try.”

They both slip into silence then, falling quiet to the gentle exploration of the other’s hand - the swell of warmth blooming outwards from the links of their fingers to encase them whole. 

He’s watching you - not that you can see - but you can feel his gaze, the weight of it trailing over and over and over every inch of your being until you feel almost certain he’s somehow managed to see inside of you too. All the soft fleshy parts, the fears and the insecurities, the secrets you bury deep along with those thoughts you have about him.

“I could take it off.” He says quietly. 

What? 

You're confused for a few seconds, your brain attempting to backtrack the last few moments for something you must have missed whilst you were too far in your own head. "Take what off?"

He swallows hard. "The armour." He murmurs. "I could take it off if it would make you more comfortable." 

Oh. 

That punches you somewhere deep, knocking the breath right out of your lungs as you whip your head in his direction to stare at him, incredulous. You don't know much about his culture, just tales and rumours, but you're positive that what he's offering to do for you is no small thing. 

"I thought that was forbidden for a mandalorian." You whisper. 

"We don't remove the helmets." He replies softly, clears his throat as he crinkles the sheets in the tense, iron grip of his other hand. "But it's our choice to remove the rest of the armour in front of another." 

You allow that to sink in for a moment, a little dizzy with it - this trust he's willing to tentatively slip into the trembling cup of your hands despite the muddied history you share, the time you've spent not necessarily as enemies but certainly rivals. 

"I don't - I'm not - I, fuck," He's struck you completely fucking dumb, tongue tied in some impossible knot with his waiting gaze fixed upon you. "I don't want you to do anything you're not comfortable with." You manage to breathe out eventually. 

His fingers draw away from you and your mourn the loss, the sudden emptiness as your heart drops somewhere by your toes. 

Have you upset him? Offended him somehow? 

But no, there's the faint brush, a whisper, of leather over the swell of your cheek almost to quick to recognise before he's moved by you and opened up the cosy little nook to the blistering chill. 

He cuts a terrifying figure as he looms over you but when he speaks his tone is gentle, shy almost. 

"I want to." 

** 

Is it rude to look or is it somehow more rude to look away? 

Fuck, you don't know. 

You quickly decide when he begins the process of removing the armour, choosing to fix your gaze to your lap because it seems like the right thing to do, respectful. For a Mandalorian you imagine removing the armour is like removing a layer of their being, baring themselves in some significant way that isn't simply just physical. 

It feels private - vulnerable and intimate - and you don't want to cheapen the moment by gawking at him like he's some exhibit in a museum. 

When the final clink of metal hitting the floor fades into an echo there’s a rushed exhale to follow - an expulsion of relief-tinged anxiousness - that you subconsciously mirror. You wonder if his palms are a little slick like yours, if his heart rate is that little bit too quick to try and convince himself that this isn’t going to change something monumental in whatever your relationship is.

“You can look at me.” He says gently - touched through with a whisper of fear. “I’m pretty sure you won’t turn to stone or something.”

It defuses the tension you’re brewing within your own bones just enough that your lips quirk slightly, your eyes flicking up before you can stop yourself and then you’re biting into the thick of your tongue until the coppery taste of your own blood floods your mouth just to prevent the gasp rattling in your throat. 

He’s just as breathtaking as he is with the armour - maybe even more so. Because now in addition to the broadness of him - the curves and ridges of his thick muscular body that you’ve witnessed exhibit a type of strength that can be explained as nothing short of intensely powerful - there’s just this smidge of softness to his makeup now, this glimpse of him that is so obviously human and so heart-stoppingly endearing that it feels like a herculean effort to not reach out and touch him.

It feels like your heart is jammed up in your windpipe as you offer a shaky smile - a timid offering of reassurance. “Good to know you actually have a body.” You muse, lips splitting into a broader grin when the Mandalorian seems to stare at you in a way you read as utterly confused. “I was beginning to think you might just be a soul attached to the armour or something.” 

He’s silent, a blank slate - but then after a few beats he huffs, drawls exasperated and somewhat fond. “You have some fucking imagination, you know that.” 

You wink at him, patting the flimsy mattress beside you teasingly. “If you hurry up and get in here before I turn into an ice block, I’ll tell you some other theories I’ve had.” 

“Can’t wait.” He remarks dryly, dipped in the shine of a grin. 

He climbs back in - closes the hatch and slides up to stretch himself alongside you and then it’s like neither of you dare move. You lay side by side with only the faint sounds of your breathing and the burning heat of his arm nudged up against your own to convince you this is really happening. 

And when you shiver he feels it reverberate through his own body, rolls onto his side in this tight little space where the action of it brings him close enough that had he been helmetless, he would be able to watch the way his breath stirred the long sweep of your lashes. 

“Are you still cold?” He asks. 

“Just a little.”

He makes a soft noise of an acknowledgement before you feel movement against the mattress - the slide of fingers over the sheets as he reaches to tangle them with your own and tug slightly. 

“Come here.” 

Your heart stills, seizes up, and then fucking pounds like the heralding cry of a war drum. Yet your body has a mind of it’s own - his words are a warm, low rumble through his chest sinking into the vital parts of your own, hooking into clumps of tissue to reel you into him. And you go - of course you do - because whatever power you have, whatever innate strength the maker gifted you at birth, it was clearly never meant to hold up against him. Not when he asks you like that. 

You go like you were made to do so and he seals himself around you like he was born to fit with you. And in the perfect pitch dark off the cot the simple act of it is everything. It’s the heat of him at your back, ridges of firm muscle pressed tight to the curve of your spine and the way you move in time with his every soothing breath. It’s his chin notched atop your head, the fact it’s somehow weirdly comforting when he speaks and it vibrates through the base of your skull. 

It’s his hands. Stars, his hands. He gives you his bare hands and they steal your breath away, these hands that have dealt pain and death - calloused with unsavoury deeds yet still so lovely - threading through your own with a gentleness you could never imagine he was capable of had you not felt it firsthand. 

All of it feels so soul-shatteringly natural - and that, you think, is the scariest fucking thing in the galaxy. 

You absolutely cannot allow this, it’s impossible this amount of peace in his arms without having to tear some part of yourself and leave it behind when you inevitably decide to make your escape again. And you don’t want to give any more pieces of yourself out into the galaxy, to someone who could take that piece and tear it to shreds, roll it in glass and set it on fire until there’s nothing but ash. 

You are a criminal and he is a bounty hunter - how else could this possibly end.

Move away. Just move away from him now and you'll be fine, there’s no damage done yet. 

But it’s like he can sense your unease - your sudden desperation to flee. “Sleep.” Mando chastises softly. “I can practically hear your brain whirring.”

“But what about all the theories I promised to enlighten you with.” You struggle to keep your tone light, praying he doesn’t notice and it seems like maybe for once today, luck is on your side. 

There’s the huff of his laugh as he curls around you tighter and squeezes your hands between his. It’s so fucking tender that you feel like sobbing. “Tomorrow. You can tell me all the theories you want tomorrow.” He murmurs - brushes a thumb over your knuckles. “Sleep now mesh’la.”

And because it’s warm, because you feel safer than you have in a long damn time, lulled by the deep, rhythmic breaths at your back, you do. You tell yourself that this is fine, that it’s just one night in his arms.

No harm can come from just one night.

Right?

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Pedro Taglist: @outlawedmando

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #mando x you #mando x reader

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Babies | J.P

Paring: James Potter X Wife!Reader

Summary: James really doesn’t want his babies to leave.

“Leia! Harry! Come on!”

Two heavy steps of footsteps thundered down the steps and leaving a set of twins in front of their mother. Their beautiful crooked smiles and gleaming bright eyes. They were so perfect, beautiful, gorgeous, hearts of gold, the both of them. 

Y/n knelt to their level, cupping Leia’s cheeks, “Merlin, you both look like your father.”

“You say that all the time.” They groaned, and she just smiled, “Because I love you and your father very much.”

Harry looked crestfallen, “Where is dad?”

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

“But he’s gonna miss on going on the train!”

Y/n smiled gently and pushed his hair away from his forehead, “James wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“Now, what house do you think you’ll be in?”

Leia smiled, “Hufflepuff!”

“And you, Harry?”

“I dunno.” Harry looked down at his feet, “I don’t wanna be in Slytherin, though.”

“Why, honey?” Y/n asked looking at her nervous son. 

“Dad always says they’re evil.” 

She scoffed and cupped his cheeks, “You, my love, are not evil even if you get in Slytherin, and they aren’t evil. Your father is an idiot.”

Both children chuckled, “He really is. Every house is amazing in its own way. Slytherins are ambitious and resourceful. Those are two beneficial skills. Gryffindors have chivalry and are super courageous. Hufflepuff’s are loyal and patient. Ravenclaws are creative and imaginative.” 

“You two are my children no matter what, okay? Even if you get in Slytherin.”

Leia and Harry hugged her tightly. It hurt that Harry felt prejudiced towards the Slytherin house just because of James’ history with them. In a way, she hoped that one of them did get into Slytherin. Slytherins were clever and witty. Y/n didn’t want to let her children go though, all she wanted to do was snuggle them like newborns again. 

Harry and Leia both had their things packed as they made their way to King’s Cross for their first year at Hogwarts. When they had gotten to the platform, James still hadn’t shown up, and it was dampening the kids’ moods. Especially Harry, who was definitely a daddy’s boy. It was just nearing eleven when an out of breath, James arrived with flowers in his hand and a gorgeous white owl. 

“I’m- I’m sorry I’m late.” He huffed, “But I had to get you these things for you.”

James smiled sheepishly, handing the flowers to Leia and the owl to Harry, “I'm sorry I got here a little late.”

Leia smiled and hugged him tightly, Harry doing the same. James had tears in his eyes. He really didn’t want to let them go. It seemed like just yesterday that Harry was crying in his crib because he wanted to be held, and Y/n was too tired to leave bed to take care of him. 

The wails were deafening. They were only a month old, but they were such a handful. It was late at night, and Y/n had finally fallen asleep after taking care of Leia. James struggled to stay awake, but he had to do it. Y/n was constantly tossing and turning, trying to ignore it, hoping that James would take care of it. 

Gently James kissed her forehead, “Get some sleep, love. I’ll take care of him.”

“Thank you.” It was murmured and barely heard, but he smiled gently. 

James turned over and placed his glasses on the bridge of his nose. He moved the comforter off him before leaving the room quietly. Inside the nursery, Harry was wailing loudly, and it made James’ head pound. Regardless, James picked Harry up, placing his head on his shoulder. He sat on the rocking chair in the nursery, holding his son close to him. 

“You’re okay, bud.” James cooed, “C’mom, it’s okay. You have to be quiet for momma. She’s trying so hard to sleep, ya know?”

“Momma loves you, baby, but she also needs sleep. She spends all her time with you little rascals because I’m at work.” Harry’s cries calmed slightly by hearing James’ voice, “I love you, you know? You’re gonna end up just like me, I can tell already. You’re our little trouble maker, aren’t you?”

He smiled, “Yeah? You gonna find yourself a Padfoot and a Moony to fool around with? Make dad proud?”

James nuzzled his nose with Harry’s, “I love you, baby. Love you so much.”

Harry was finally quiet after calming from his father's voice. James held Harry securely as they both ended up falling asleep together. Leia was always calm and slept through most nights, but Harry always had difficulty. Y/n could remember seeing them together the following day, knowing she’d have two idiots to look after.

“Bye Harry! Bye Leia! We love you!”

“We love you too, mum and dad!”

James had tears streaking his cheeks, silver trails along the flushed skin as the train departed. Y/n smiled and kissed his cheek. She stood in front of him, wiping away the ghost trails of tears. James smiled sweetly at her. 

“You think he’ll cause mischief like me?”

Y/n snorted, “I know he will.”

#james Potter #james Potter x you #james potter x reader #James Potter x y/n #James x reader #James x you #James x y/n #marauders #marauders era #marauders imagine #marauders fluff #marauders x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #Remus Lupin imagine

[firstofficerwiggles]

As promised, I'm sending in a request. Hehehehe. Hmmmm.... now for the request .... Wolffe comforting reader after being rejected, because reader was told they're not enough. Not pretty enough because she has no boobs and no butt. Not funny enough. Not memorable enough.

No pressure, love. If you want to write something cool. If not, no worries.

Oh Wolffe, my beloved! He would absolutely be amazing at comforting you after being rejected. I’m really into this idea because I really feel like he would be the best at this. After all, under that gruff exterior is a heart of gold.

A Decent Man

Pairing: Wolffe x female reader

Rating: T

Warnings: rejection, body image issues, mild swearing, jerks being jerks

“You should come out with me and my friends tonight, it’s going to be great, and I’ll introduce you to my friend Thad, I’m sure he’ll like you,” your friend Yasda insists. She’s the only other non-clone officer on the bridge of the Triumphant. The two of you joined the GAR around the same time and you were glad to be working with her. You’re particularly lucky that her station is right next to yours too. She’s a cheerful person, a real social butterfly, always inviting you to do something fun, especially when you have leave. Although she is also a perpetual match-maker and terrible at it.

“I don’t really want to go on another one of your blind dates, Yas,” you sigh. You know she means well but you haven’t had the best luck with men since you started dating. You know you’re never going to be the type of woman that stops men in their tracks, but you at least thought there would be someone out there for you. Lately though, you’ve felt sick of the whole process. Everyone was always encouraging you to keep trying, your friends, your sisters, and your mother. She had even been excited about you going off to join the GAR because maybe there was a chance you’d catch some soldier’s eye.

“Come on, it’s not like that date with Royce was that bad, your personalities just didn’t click,” she replies.

“Didn’t click?” you ask incredulously, “He told me I wasn’t funny or memorable enough to date him.”

Yasda winces, “Ok, you’re right, he was a jerk, I’m sorry about that one. But I have a really good feeling about you and Thad. Pleeease?” She’s nothing if not persistent.

“Alright, fine,” you acquiesce, knowing that she’ll just keep begging you anyway, “I’ll go with you, but if it doesn’t work out with Thad, promise me this is the last set-up.”

“Ok, deal!” She nods her head and smiles wide at you.

Commander Wolffe allows the briefest ghost of a smile to pass over his face as he hears you agree to your night out. He never used to be one for idle chatter, but since he’s been on the bridge more and working closer to you, he’s found it oddly amusing. Well, listening to it anyway, he doesn’t ever participate. He enjoys hearing the little snippets of your life, a world he’s never known. Truthfully, Wolffe has been drawn to you almost since the moment you met. You’re a talented officer, hardworking, and excellent at creative solutions. He makes a habit of asking for your opinion in briefings, trusting your judgment. He wishes he could meet that Royce you were talking about just now. He’d like to give the idiot a piece of his mind, and maybe a swift kick in the keister, for saying such an asinine thing to you. Only a real dumbass would say that you weren’t memorable. For just a moment, he imagines what it would be like to go out with you tonight. He wonders if you’d agree to a date with him. He’s always thought you were pretty, and he likes the way you smile at him, even when he’s grumpy. His thoughts are interrupted by his comm though, and he swiftly turns his attention to the important message.

You’re out of your GAR uniform and wearing one of the few dresses you have. Yasda is next to you, preening and adding last minute touch ups to her make up. You give yourself a once over in the mirror. Looking at yourself with a half smile, you think you’ve done pretty well tonight given what you have to work with. You’re in good spirits boosted by Yasda’s buoyant mood. She’s been bopping around your quarters ever since she arrived to get ready with you.

“I told the guys to meet us at the hanger, so you’ll get extra time with Thad,” she says excitedly.

“Ok, I hope that turns out to be a good thing,” you respond. You’re already nervous, your stomach fluttering as you think about meeting Thad.

When you’re finally ready to go, you’ve given yourself a good pep talk and you’re laughing with Yasda, looking forward to a fun night off and the possibility of meeting a nice man. As you walk towards the hanger exit, you see two civilian men hanging around. You recognize the one as Yasda’s boyfriend, and the other must be Thad. He’s rather good looking, a little short but he has nice hair and a fairly nice looking smile. Unfortunately his smile starts to fade as you get closer to him. Yasda greets the men enthusiastically and makes the necessary introductions.

“We’ve each got a speeder bike, if you girls don’t mind hanging on,” Yasda’s boyfriend tells you with a wink.

“Sounds like fun!” Yasda replies and she quickly heads to one of the bikes. Her boyfriend is eager to join her and before you and Thad are even on his bike, they’re waving goodbye. You stand there awkwardly for a moment and you hear Thad sigh.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, wondering what it could be since you’ve barely said two words to the man.

“Nah, it’s fine, I’m sure you have a great personality, right?” he says flatly.

“Excuse me?” you ask, taken aback by his brusque comment.

“I mean come on, what was Yas thinking? She knows the type of women I usually go after,” he replies. He looks you over, nodding his head up and down, “I mean you barely even look like a woman, you’ve got almost no tits or ass.”

You stare at him in shock, how in the hell are you supposed to respond to that mean comment? Thankfully you don’t have to.

“That’s not how you speak to a lady,” Commander Wolffe’s deep baritone growls out. He strides up to Thad and looms over the shorter man. His jaw is tense and his eyes are narrowed.

“I don’t think she’s much of a lady, bud,” Thad retorts, an ugly sneer on his face as he looks up at Wolffe.

“Apologize to her, right now,” Wolffe grits out, his fists clenching at his sides.

“Why should I? She’s not worth it,” Thad says smarmily to Wolffe. You suspect he instantly regrets it as Wolffe’s fist makes contact with Thad’s nose.

“Ow! Dammit!” Thad clutches at his face with one hand and tries to punch Wolffe with the other. Wolffe easily deflects Thad’s pathetic attempt and lands another blow to his cheek. The jerk crumples to the ground, his hands coming up to shield himself, “Alright, alright, man.”

“Apologize.” Wolffe looks down menacingly at Thad.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, okay?” Thad gets out weakly.

“And what are you sorry for? Tell her.” Wolffe is not making it easy on him.

Thad rolls to his side so he can look at you directly, “I’m sorry I insulted you. We can still go to the club if you like.”

“She’s not going anywhere with you,” Wolffe states. He reaches down and hauls Thad up to his feet by the collar of his shirt. “I don’t ever want to see your face around my base again.” He points to Thad’s bike and gives the man a shove when he doesn’t start moving fast enough.

The commander makes his way over to you. You’re standing there practically shaking from the shock of what has transpired. When you look up at Wolffe, you try to thank him, but instead you find yourself blinking back tears.

“Aw, none of that now,” he says to you, his voice soft and gravely. He looks at you with a small smile and then surprises you by pulling you into a hug. One of his strong arms supports your back while the other comes up to rest on your hair. You bury your face into his broad chest, wanting to hide away. He’s being so kind to you that you can’t stop a few rogue tears from sliding down your cheeks.

“It’s alright now, he’s gone,” Wolffe’s voice is soothing. His hand rubs soft circles into your back and you feel yourself calming down.

You lift your head up and lean back a little so you can look at his face, “Thank you, Commander, no one has ever done anything like that for me.”

“I only did what any decent man would do,” he replies. He reaches up to brush the tears from your face. “Where does Yasda find these idiot boys?”

“Boys?” you ask confused.

“Yeah, she’s set you up with some real losers,” he tells you. His arms tighten around you a bit, pulling you in close. He can tell you’re still upset and he wants you to feel that you’re safe.

“You’re right, this guy was completely rude and disgusting, a total loser,” you respond, “But how did you know about the other ones?”

“Do you think I don’t listen when you speak? The bridge isn’t exactly private, you know,” he tells you with a chuckle.

“I didn’t think you listened to stuff like that.” You smile at him, feeling better already and only a touch embarrassed.

“I always listen to what you have to say,” he tells you. He pats your hair softly, smoothing his hand over it, before he lets you go.

“Well, thank you.” You had no idea he was paying that much attention to you, but something about it makes you feel good. You look at him, still awestruck by how this night has turned out.

“You know they’re wrong, don’t you?” he asks, looking more serious again.

You shrug at that, “I guess I do.”

“No, they are wrong about you.” His tone is insistent. He reaches for your hand and looks into your eyes. “You are an intelligent, entertaining, and beautiful woman. Any decent man would be lucky to have your attention.”

He speaks with such conviction and earnestness that you know he believes what he says. Besides, Wolffe isn’t the type to give out insincere compliments. His honesty makes you bold and you lean in and kiss his cheek.

“Thank you, Commander.” You give him your nicest smile and you squeeze his hand for a moment before you move to step away. His hand holds onto yours though, keeping you close to him.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he replies, “Now come on, there’s still plenty left of this evening and I don’t want to waste any more of it.”

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“To dinner. I think it’s time a decent man took you out on a date.”

Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed this little fic.

Tag list: @rexsjaigeyes @onabouteverything @kazthedestroyer @spaceydragons @boomtowngirl @beskarprincessjenny @kavecika @misogirl88

#commander wolffe #commander wolffe x reader #commander wolffe x female reader #commander wolffe fanfiction #star wars the clone wars fanfic

[ryosmne]

Three brats??

Dad!Sukuna x f!reader

So this is basically a comfort fic, featuring dad! Sukuna because the brainrot was too much. Ok so, the reader and Sukuna have a son together, yes their son is Yuuji, I know this is usually the single father Sukuna trope, but I wanted to give it a go, feedback is always appreciated. Thanks for brainrotting with me @likeab-o-s-s cause this is the reason this exists. That's all from me enjoy reading.

Warnings: none really, just family, heartwarming fluff.

The air was crisp and fresh, unusually refreshing for the beginning of summer. Parents were already gathered outside the daycare, Yuuji, y/n's and Sukuna's son attended, patiently waiting for their kids to run in their arms again.

Sukuna arrived a couple of minutes before the final bell on his motorcycle, he took off his helmet, leaned back on his bike and waited for the familiar little pink head of hair to come wobling to him.

The three mothers next to him, scooted a bit closer to him to get a better look nothing he's unfamiliar with and no one can blame them, Sukuna is a sight for sore eyes. Leather jacket with the sleeves rolled up, extenuating his board shoulders, exposing his tattoo covered skin, v neck white t shirt, allowing his toned chest and even more of his tattoos to show and a simple black pair of pants hugging his muscular thighs in the best of ways.

In the past some of the bolder ones had mustered the courage and asked him if he was a single father since they had never seen his son's mother, but with a laugh Sukuna brushed them off telling them how his lovely wife was a working parent and her schedule just didn't match the daycares. Maybe the very unconventional wedding rings they got weren't the best idea in this situation, even though they were extremely beautiful and unique.

"I really admire the work you put in the little guy" Sukuna's gaze met a woman who attempted to strike a conversation, oblivious to what she had meant by her statement he replied, maybe these three minutes would pass faster talking about normal things and not stressing about work.

"Don't we all put work on our kids?" He spoke calmly with a slight smile that he always wore when talking about Yuuji.

"Yeah, we do, but it still must be hard I can't imagine what you're going through" Sukuna's mind went to the worst scenario. Was Yuuji a trouble maker at school? He is a very well behaved child, both him and y/n made sure to teach him proper manners and how to be polite, that couldn't be it right?

The bell rung, and kids made their way out of the daycare, Yuuji in the blink of an eye was hugging his father's leg, exited to see him after the hours he was gone. In a swift motion Sukuna put Yuuji's little backpack on his own back and scooped the boy up in his arm.

"Yuuji's a pretty good kid, hes never been difficult" Sukuna smilled again resuming in the short conversation with the woman next to him. "Single father's like you don't get the credit they deserve". She spoke again smiling sadly down to the little pink haired boy who seemed too fixated on the earrings his father was wearing.

Sukuna finally understanding what this whole thing was about, chuckled, this had happened before after all, he should've known.

"I'm not a single parent, speaking of that your mom said she has a big surprise for you after dinner" he said directing his attention to his son again, the woman next to him quickly fumbled an apology for missundertanding, to which Sukuna replied to with a simple 'dont worry about it'. He placed Yuuji on his bike, put on both his and his boys helmet and drove off.

Y/n was still stuck at work, thankfully her husband would cook dinner tonight cause overtime was killing both her and her mood, good thing she finally had a day off tomorrow.

Y/n checked her phone to see how close she was to going home only to find a text that Yuuji's teacher had send her that was obviously meant for her husband.

Hello Mr Itadori, this is Mrs Laura from the day care. I was wondering if you wanted to get launch with me after school tomorrow, you can bring little Yuuji too, I'm awaiting your response, have a nice night.

What the hell was that? Well y/n's number was in Yuuji's contact information, she chuckled at the words displayed on her screen but she couldn't really blame the teach, Sukuna was a walking temptation, she knew that first hand, hell she fell head over heels for the dangerous looking guy who hid a heart of gold under his hard exterior, but the teacher could at least check who the number belonged to.

Y/n run her last errands and made sure to pick up Yuuji's surprise before heading home, she even tipped Sukuna off so their son wouldn't know what hit him.

Y/n made her way inside the family house, tossing her keys somewhere on the living room couch.

Yuuji immediately after hearing her car in the driveway came rushing down the stairs, jumping around her like he always did when she came home.

"Mom, mom you're home." The happiness was evident in the boys face, his smile was wide when y/n dropped to his level to pick him up and spin him around

"Yes I am little devil, did you give your father hell like we agreed?" She spoke in the happiest of tones with Yuuji still in her arms. Another set of arms engulfed her frame making her halt on spinning the little boy.

"So you're telling him to be a little brat now huh?" Sukuna's breath tickled the side of her neck and ear as he rested his head on her shoulder and wrapped his strong arms around her waist. "Welcome home love" he spoke again giving her jaw a ghost of a kiss.

"Daddy is the food ready" Yuuji spoke from y/n's arms, Sukuna only laughed at his son's appetite, and directed both him and y/n to the kitchen where he had already set everything up.

"Mommy, what is a single dad?" Yuuji asked in the middle of dinner in typical fashion of his, any question he had from something he heard through the day would always come up during dinner.

"Well Yuuji, single fathers are the fathers who raise their kids alone." The young boy seemed to think about his mother's words before speaking again. "So its just a daddy ?" Yuuji asked again with his eyes growing a bit sadder, his mother nodded, and Yuuji's eyes started to water.

"Baby what's wrong?" y/n asked. "Hey buddy what's going on?" Sukuna was growing quite concerned too. Yuuji burst in tears leaving his seat, climbing up his dad and hugging him tightly. Sukuna was rubbing his back to comfort the young boy and y/n's hand was stroking the kids hair in an effort to calm him down. "B-but why did that lady c-call you that, is m-mommy l-leaving?" Everything seemed to click for Sukuna, y/n was still confused but in the calmest sweetest voice said "Yuuji, baby look at me, I'm not going anywhere ok?" And the boy left his father's arms and clung on to her like his life depended on it.

Sukuna cracked a few jokes and lightened Yuuji's mood so he could enjoy the rest of his dinner, which went pretty well, he was his smiling adorable self very soon after his parents reassured him that none of them were ever leaving his side and the boy was now drawing with crayons in the living room. He seemed to have completely forgotten about the surprise his father mentioned when he picked him up.

Y/n and Sukuna were doing the dishes in the kitchen, each one talking about their day, Sukuna explained the awkward conversation he had at the daycare that sparked Yuuji's sadness, y/n took a turn in talking about how her son's teacher, basically asked Sukuna out on a date but messed up and texted her. "How about you set up a date and you show up? I mean it's you she texted right?" Sukuna joked "Babe, that's cruel" y/n chuckled at her husband's mischievous nature.

"So you've got everything ready?" Sukuna asked. "yeah who'll bring him over?"

"You do it I'll keep Yuuji busy."

Sukuna joined Yuuji on the couch. "What are you drawing little brat?" Y/n heard him ask their boy in the usual sweet tone he had with him. She made her way down the basement, where she kept the surprise since she came home. Yuuji was going to love this, Sukuna was too, she knew she was already in love as well.

Y/n climbed the stairs quickly, and snuck up behind her son, who was occupied by his dad, she gently tapped the boys shoulder.

"A PUPPY" Yuuji announced exited making sure his voice was still soft not to scare the eager dog that his mom brought to his arms. Yuuji gently held the puppy that was licking his face as he was in a fit of laughter and excitement. Sukuna was as exited as his son and y/n had a huge smile on her face too. Their son had begged and begged for a dog ever since his best friend, Megumi got a black German shepherd puppy. Of course y/n and Sukuna wanted to comply to Yuuji's request right away, but they took time to teach little Yuuji everything there was about the responsibility of owning a dog. They took him to dog cafes and shelters, so he would be the perfect little dog owner, they taught him patience and responsibility beforehand. Sukuna visited the local shelter and decided with y/n on a white Shepard puppy that Yuuji always pointed out in your visits because 'he looks like Megumi's puppy they can be friends like we are' who can say no to that little adorable devil?

The puppy momentarily left Yuuji's arms to lick Sukuna's face. "Now we've got two little brats and a big one in our house." He laughed, enjoying the moment.

Y/n was admiring her son and husband as well as the newest member of the family with a smile plastered wide on her face, life was indeed beautiful.

The next day, both Sukuna and y/n were waiting for Yuuji to finish school, since y/n had the day off. Sukuna had his arm protectively around her because this time, others were staring at what was his, but he was proud to show her off to everyone, even in a place as mundane as his son's daycare.

#jjk sukuna #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen drabbles #au ryomen sukuna #au sukuna #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x you

[rek1s-headband]

I'd really like to see some headcanons for a polyamorous relation between y/n, kaoru, and kojiro because I just want these boys to hug each other and me.

Thanks for the request! This was fun to write, because I too would love to be sandwiched between these two. Enjoy!

➯ random boyfriend headcannons

➯ characters: cherry x joe x reader

➯ warnings: none! Just fluff for now. I do swear a bit in my work though, please tell me if this is an issue!

-Yall literally take turns annoying the shit out of each other around the house. You’ll sit on the counter while Joe attempts to make dinner, you and Kaoru mixing his spices around and sticking labels on the wrong packets. You’ll rest your head in Kaoru’s lap while he attempts to get some calligraphy work done or make some adjustments to Carla, Joe talking the ear off him while he tries to concentrate.

-Joe has caught you and Kaoru in the parking lot of a McDonalds on more than one occasion.

-You and Kaoru will go on “dates” to Joe’s restaurant while he works, and pretend you have no idea who the man in front of you is. The two of you will go so far with it too. Joe has had to sit through “birthdays” (yours wasn’t for another eight months), marriage proposals(the poor man had to bring the two of you cake), fake breakups where one person would storm out and cause a scene in the restaurant, the list is endless.

-On the other hand, you and Joe will go to Kaoru’s exhibitions, and absolutely mortify him. The two of you will be shouting various words of encouragement(?) at him, while the poor man just tries to do his work. Yes you’ve gotten a few stares. Yes you’ve been kicked out by security on multiple occasions.

- “WORK THAT BRUSH BABY” “WRITE MY NAME😩” “GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME WE WERE JUST BEING SUPPORTIVE”

-Idk how many of yall have seen that tweet where someone got a label maker and labelled everything in their pantry stupid shit like “mini bagels” (Cheerios) and “ghost broccoli” (cauliflower) but that’s 100% something you and Kaoru would do just to piss Joe off when he’s trying to cook.

-The three of you regularly make shitty edits of Adam in those ghetto clouds every time he gets into a new scandal and make memes out of pictures you take of him every time he shows up at S.

-Joe would carry you around this house at his side and ask you stupid questions while you reply in a robot-like voice to mock Carla and piss Kaoru off

-“Hey Clara(cause yall are original), can you tell me where Kaoru is?”

-“Hello Joe, Kaoru is in the corner reading a book like a little nerd”

-He acts like he hates it, but you and Joe find it hilarious, so even he can find himself smiling at your antics.

-The three of you will sit in a line sometimes, you in Kaoru’s lap, and him in Joe’s, and yall will just sit and braid each other’s hair while watching TV. Sometimes you and Kaoru will take turns trying to put mini braids in Joe’s hair, sticking bows and clips in it anywhere they’ll stay. The two of you have given Joe hair extensions before, and he absolutely adored them.

-Joe and Kaoru are already awful when it comes to skating together, so if you can skate, you can imagine the absolute chaos the three of you would cause at S. Instead of acting like a mediator, you’re just as much of a little shit as them, yelling stuff like “BEAT HIS ASS” or “place your bets now folks!” If you’re not joining in on the fighting as well.

-The three of you sleeping can go one of two ways.

-One, a triple spoon(I’ll let you decide who’s where, maybe you swap) or yall will just be overall comfortable. No kicking or shifting in the night, just pure peace.

-Two, an absolute free-for-all of limbs and heads. Maybe your head will be on Kaoru’s chest, maybe your foot will be in Joe’s armpit. Someone nearly always ends up without a blanket, or on the floor.

-Carla has a charging port in your room, and when she randomly says stuff in the middle of the night you’ll shoot up in bed, scaring the shit out of yourself and the other two. That place quickly becomes a panic room of “WHY ARE YOU SCREAMING” “THAT DAMN ROBOT” “the forecast for tomorrow seems to be cloudy, with a chance of rain.” “BE QUIET CARLA” “sorry, I couldn’t find anything for ‘night garden’, would you like me to search again?” “CARLA”

-Joe is awful for snoring. You and Kaoru will take turns beating the shit out of him with a pillow until he shuts up long enough for the two of you to fall asleep. If he doesn’t stop, you need to violently shake him to make him wake up, this man is a DEEP sleeper. He does that dad thing when he wakes up yknow the big inhale through the nose and the bleary eyes.

-Your house is decorated from top to bottom with artwork. Most of it is because Kaoru liked how it looked, other times it’s simply because you and Joe thought it looked funny. You’ll have various pieces of art hanging in your house that Kaoru thought you and Joe just liked the look of, when in reality the two of you thought it looked like a dick.

-idk how many of yall have seen that TikTok (if not I’ll link it here) where they’re ordering McDonald’s and start fighting in the front of the car while one person vibes in the back, but yall have done that multiple times unironically. I’ll let you decide who’s where, because it changes OFTEN.

-Your birthday cakes are always TOP NOTCH. Joe pours his absolute heart into baking them, while Kaoru helps decorate it and make it perfect for you.

-The three of you are banned from Target because you and Joe decided to mess with the kids toys and set off an alarm.

-Yall regularly do that thing where two of you will be together and the third (usually Joe) will come up to you and start screaming like “HOW COULD YOU?? I LOVED YOU AND YOURE OUT HERE WITH SOMEONE ELSE? GO TO HELL.” And storm off.

-Yall fight over the front seat of the car. Like, the two who aren’t driving are sprinting towards the car, shoving each other out of the way like little kids. Yelling “shotgun” means nothing to yall if u manage to get there first. Whoever’s driving won’t unlock the car for ages, letting the other two battle it out watching from a safe distance.

-The three of you had to make a chore list because of how petty you were. Once the trash went without being taken out for like a week because you’d just keep piling shit on top, trying not to make it collapse.

#sk8 the infinity x reader #sk∞ #sk8 the infinity #Jerry #matcha blossom #cherry blossom #kojiro nanjo #kaoru sakurashiki #kaoru sakurayashiki x reader #kojirou nanjou x reader #joe x reader #joe x cherry blossom #Joe x cherry x reader #matcha blossom headcannons #sk8 headcannons #headcannons #sk8 x reader

[tlcwrites]

Consequence

A birthday gift for @paper-n-ashes

Summary: When you steal the Supreme Leader's sweater, there are... repercussions.

Word Count: 3483

Tags/Warnings: Kylo Ren x Fem Reader. NSFW, 18+. MINORS DNI; PIV sex, unprotected sex (no glove no love), oral sex (m receiving), fingering, heavy dom/sub dynamic, praise kink, breath play, I'm probably forgetting other kinks but I finished this at 3AM last night and I'm not even sure that I used real words let alone remember what I wrote so if I missed any let me know and I'll update the tags, smuuuuuuut for daaaays, canon what's canon The Rise of Skywalker can go fuck itself mostly except for that beautiful white set of rooms on the Steadfast.

Author’s Note: It's my hetero lifemate @paper-n-ashes' birthday today (at least in my timezone for a few more hours so IT COUNTS sorry Sarah at least you got to read it yesterday) and she has been waiting SO patiently for me to finish this damn fic. I started writing it back in like November? Maybe even October? and have struggled so fucking hard with finding the mojo to finish it. Then out of the blue this week, said mojo came back and I figured Sarah's birthday was the perfect deadline. So, voila. And don't forget to go tell her how awesome she is.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY SISTER IN THIRST AND SHAMELESS HOEING. I couldn't actually get you Kylo so I got you this instead. #throne room hair is the best hair forever the end

You’re perched on the sofa, open book on your lap, when the comm chimes. You can’t help your soft smile; it’s finally that time of the day cycle.

You don’t bother answering the comm, since it’s an alert, not a call. Closing your book, you rise and return it to the bookcase set into the wall of the lounge. With a gentle press, the hatch closes, and the bookcase disappears into the stark white expanse of the rest of the room, precious cargo hidden. Books are an expensive indulgence, even for the Supreme Leader.

Or whomever he choses to share them with.

You cross to the base of the stairs that lead to the chamber’s entrance and open a small compartment, also a part of the structure of the room. You toe off your slippers, setting them carefully inside the cubby. Your soft leggings pants are next, folded carefully. You start to remove your sweater as well, but hesitate. It is chilly. For all of the technology the First Order has amassed, you’d think they’d have figured out how to keep their Destroyers at a comfortable temperature.

You leave the sweater. He’ll definitely have an… opinion about it.

Now bare but for the sweater and your bra, so scant it hardly deserves the term, you take your place at the base of the stairs. The hem of the sweater brushes your thighs. Standing tall, feet together, hands clasped loosely behind you, you wait. You keep your eyes on the blast doors.

When the doors finally open, you smile softly. “Good evening, Supreme Leader.”

His cape billows behind him as he descends the stairs (he’s clearly inherited his family's flair for dramatics). As he reaches the bottom, you respectfully drop your gaze. His boots stop in front of you, your bare feet looking so small compared to his. But then again, everything looks small compared to him.

He raises a gloved hand and strokes the back of a finger down the collar of your sweater. “What’s this?” His voice is throaty and deep. As usual, it sends a thrill through you.

You keep your eyes downcast. “A sweater, Supreme Leader.”

“Clearly.” His finger continues down from the collar of the garment, caressing the soft rise of your breasts. “Perhaps I should rephrase my question.” His finger catches your nipple, and you can’t help but gasp. “What is my sweater doing on your body, when your body doesn’t have permission to be wearing anything?”

You finally risk a glance up. His face is impassive, but there’s a glint in his eyes. He’s amused.

You raise your chin. He loves when you’re confident. “It was cold.”

“Cold.” The finger continues to tease your nipple through the fibers. “In space.” The tease turns into a flick, and you barely smother your gasp. His lips twitch. “Imagine that.”

He’s in a good mood. You decide to toy with him. “Perhaps I simply need something substantial to keep me warm, Supreme Leader.”

One eyebrow raises, ever so slightly. He’s going to play along. “Do you find my care unsatisfactory?”

“Of course not, Supreme Leader.” His finger has shifted to your other nipple. You take a shuddering breath. “I would never dare to question your wisdom.”

He shifts almost imperceptibly closer to you. “And yet-” He brings that accursed finger back up your sternum, tracing up your neck and ghosting over your jaw. “-is that not exactly what you’ve done by ignoring my directive?”

Kriff.

He passes the leather-wrapped digit over your lips, stroking the soft skin. “Nothing to say, pet?”

You drop your eyes again. “My most sincere apologies, Supreme Leader.”

His hum of approval reverberates in your chest. “I imagine they will be.” He applies the barest hint of pressure to your lips. “Open.”

You comply immediately, opening your mouth enough to allow his finger entrance. The leather tastes so different from his skin. He presses the thick digit inside, and doesn’t have to say a word as you begin to suck obediently. He adds a second finger and you can’t stifle your moan.

“Good girl.”

Two words. Just two words, hummed in that honeyed voice, and you can practically feel your arousal dripping down your thighs. You glance up once more.

He’s watching you, his pupils blown wide with arousal. Maker, you love his eyes. You can always read him through his eyes. He tries so hard to bury his emotions, but nothing can be hidden in their cinnamon depths. And right now, his eyes say that he’s about half a standard second away from losing what’s left of his famously little control.

Hmm. Time to have a little more fun.

You deliberately graze his fingers with your teeth, the leather of his glove supple under your bite.

His cheek twitches and you know instinctively he’s chewing on it. “You’re playing with fire, sweetheart,” he warns you.

Pulling your mouth off his fingers with a ‘pop’, you smile serenely up at him. “Whatever do you mean, Supreme Leader?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” he purrs, dragging his spit-soaked fingers along the edge of your jaw, his own clenched as he tries to keep himself in check. “Careful you don’t get burned.”

Your smile becomes less teasing, and more sincere. It’s okay, you think, knowing he’ll be able to feel your emotions. You never guard yourself around him. I trust you, Master.

There’s a split second when his eyes search yours; for permission, for acceptance, for confirmation of that trust that you hold in him and that he holds in you. It’s a breath of a moment, but he leaves his raw self exposed.

He’s affection starved, your Supreme Leader, even if he’ll never admit it. Deep inside, where even his former masters couldn’t reach, is that little boy he once was; still desperate to please and be praised by those too focused elsewhere to pay attention, and terrified of disappointing those who do. It breaks your heart that he’s spent his whole life feeling so alone.

Your dynamic fills that void in a way he feels safe with. It’s on his terms. He needs your adoration; needs your worship. He craves the affirmation. No more abandonment and fear from those he should be able to trust most; no more abuse and gaslighting at the hands of those who are supposed to guide him.

Just trust, and love. Pure, unconditional love.

He presses his lips to yours.

You whimper into his kiss, pressing a hand against his massive chest to steady yourself.

In the next moment, he scoops you up, pressing you against the window and hooking your legs around his waist. You yelp at the coolness of the transparisteel against your back, even through the sweater, but he swallows your cry as he plunders your mouth.

“Kylo,” you whimper when he lets you up for air, but he ignores you, sucking a line down your neck to your collarbone.

“Get this off,” he growls, tugging at the neckline of the sweater. “Or I’ll take it off for you, and it won’t survive the removal.”

You let go of his shoulders, grasping the hem of the top and practically ripping it over your head.

His mouth is on you in an instant, those plush lips teasing one nipple at a time through your lacy scrap of a bra.

“Maker!” you gasp, flinging the sweater in the general direction of the floor and bringing both hands to grip his hair. Frantic fingers twist his dark waves. You could write sonnets to his hair. “Kylo!”

You feel the clasp of your bra come undone. He rips his lips from your breasts, and with one barely-there flick of his fingers, the undergarment is on the floor next to the sweater.

“Did you just-” It’s next to impossible to smother your giggle when you realize what he’s done. “I can’t imagine the Force is meant to be used for that.”

Kylo ignores you, although you’re positive you can detect the barest hint of a blush on his ears. But then you’re not paying attention to his ears, as he’s sucked one of your nipples back into his mouth and is grazing it with his teeth. Your moan turns into a shriek when he hooks his arms under your legs and hefts you higher against the wall, so it’s easier for him to feast on your flesh.

He shifts your weight to one of his massive arms, that paw of a hand gripping the opposite flesh of your rear as he brings his other hand back up to your mouth. “Open,” he commands once more.

You take the two still-gloved fingers as deep in your mouth as you can, gagging slightly as he presses on the back of your tongue.

His dark chuckle is breathless. “Such an eager whore,” he murmurs against your chest, your answering whimper going straight to his cock. Pulling his hand back, he nips the skin at your collarbone at the same time he drags the fingers you’ve just drenched straight through your swollen folds below.

“Do you even deserve my fingers, Pet?” He smirks as you drop your head back and moan. “Such a wanton little thing you are.” He teasingly traces a circle around your clit with just a fingertip, satisfaction growing at the sound the movement elicits from you.

“Master,” you gasp.

Without warning, he twists you away from the window, carrying you with ease to his desk. When he drops into his chair, he’s unable to suppress a sharp intake of breath as he settles you on his lap and brings your core into direct contact with his cock, hard and throbbing beneath his trousers. The contrast of your nudity with his still-clothed body is intoxicating. He guides your hips to roll against him again, your moans simultaneous as your cunt makes slick the leather stretched taut over his arousal.

Already closer to his breaking point than he'd prefer to admit, Kylo clamps his teeth down on the inside of his cheek hard enough to break the skin, the pain working as usual to allow him to refocus his energy and reclaim control of his passions. Unhinged as his reputation is, there is part of his life the Supreme Leader rules with meticulous care- you.

He knows you love him, and you’ve declared time and again it’s unconditional and without reservation. Your submission is a gift he knows he will never truly be worthy of. Maker knows he adores you with every part of his long-shrouded heart. But the fear never leaves him. Decades of distrust and broken promises means he lives in terror of the day his tenuous temper snaps, and he horrifies you or, stars forbid, truly hurts you.

That dark voice lurking at the back of his mind teases him with a possibility somehow perversely worse than fear or injury: abandonment. That you’ll inevitably see him at his most honest; broken, contemptible. Unworthy.

He loathes himself all the more, because he knows if it comes to it, he couldn’t survive letting you go. He isn’t strong enough to endure the loss of the only light he still has.

Unaware of his internal torture, you grip the front of his gambeson and try to rock your pelvis against him, whining as you’re foiled by his hands still gripping your hips. “Master, please.”

Your voice jerks him back to reality, and your begging makes his cock twice as hard. “Something you desire, Pet?” he purrs, grateful you were too wrapped in lust to notice his momentary lapse.

“You, Master.” You can’t help a frustrated whimper as you try once more to undulate against him and are again prevented from doing so. “Please, Kylo, let me please you.”

He reburies his anguish, and smirks at you. “Very well.” He releases your hips. “Please me.”

As soon as he lets go, you’re sliding off his lap and on to your knees, scrambling to unhook his belt. He obligingly helps you open his trousers. You make quick work of the placket and draw out your prize, salivating as you pump his already-leaking cock.

He hisses as your mouth engulfs him. “Yes, just like that. What a good, good girl you are.”

A lewd moan escapes around his length as he fists his hands in your hair.

He doesn’t need to say another word. You can read it in his eyes, every filthy, dark thought as you bob your head on his shaft. How good it feels when you take his cock in your throat; that he knows exactly how hot and wet it makes you when he fucks your mouth; how knowing you’re waiting in his quarters to be used as his personal whore is the only thing that gets him through the day. You moan again, and one corner of his mouth twitches.

You know him well enough to recognize it as a smirk.

“As delightful as this is, Pet,” he finally sighs, a slight waiver to his voice the only indicator of how close you already have him to release, “there’s a different part of you I desire at this moment.”

Releasing his cock with a ‘pop’, you continue to stroke him with your hand as you beam up at him. “As you wish, Master.”

Your mouth and chin are wet with precum and spit. He drags his thumb through the mess and brings it to your lips, his cock jumping in your grasp as you wrap your tongue around the digit.

“Up,” he snaps.

Rising immediately, you can’t help your squeak as he spins you to face the desk and pulls you back onto his lap, impaling you on his cock with one hard thrust. You gasp, unable to cry out as all the air is expelled from your lungs. Your arms are wrenched behind you by invisible bonds, the posture thrusting your breasts out. You hear his low chuckle as he tweaks both nipples while simultaneously bucking his hips, eliciting a shriek from you.

Thick fingers twist into your hair, pulling you back until you're flush with his chest. His breath is hot against your ear as he snarls two words that have your cunt clenching in anticipation: “Ride me.”

No further encouragement is necessary. He works your body over as you rock in his lap, reducing you to a burbling mass of arousal. Releasing his grip on your hair, his hands make their way down your body, the leather feeling so kriffing good as he caresses every inch of you.

Plush lips drag against your jaw as he leans forward, pressing his chest closer against your back. He trails his fingers up your thighs while simultaneously dragging his teeth along your earlobe. The noise that escapes you is undignified at best, and positively libidinous at worst.

The bastard’s smirk is obvious against your heated skin. “My beautiful Empress,” he murmurs, licking a stripe up your neck.

You can’t suppress your panting as he nips at the sensitive spot just below your ear. “I’m not your Empress,” you manage, your voice breathy with arousal as you continue to move.

“Mmmmm.” Kylo hums as his right hand trails up your abdomen to gently cup your left breast, those elegant fingers plucky at your nipple and making you moan. “Not yet.”

“Oh.” You squeak as he latches on to your pulse point, his teeth scraping over your skin as he marks you. His other hand drops to your core, fingertips stroking your folds as deftly as a musician plays a hallikset. You cry out as he deliberately ignores your clit, but your cry becomes a gasp as he abruptly slaps the inside of your thigh. “Kylo!”

“Feel how wet you are, little whore.” He pulls his hand from your cunt and wipes your slick across your cheek. “Only the most depraved whores drip like this.” When he wraps the same hand around your throat, you sob in euphoric bliss. His chuckle is low. “Look at you, reduced to a needy slut who wants nothing more than to be filled by her Master.”

You can’t help but moan as he tightens his grip, the other hand on your breast squeezing hard.

“Speak, Pet.” His order is hissed in your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “Tell me how much you want my cock.”

“Need you, Master,” you gasp, deliciously light headed from the lack of oxygen. “Need you to- oh, Maker!- need you to fill me, need you to fuck m-me oh!”

A squeal erupts as he abruptly thrusts up, hard, and proceeds to set a brutal pace. Helpless to do anything but take what he gives you, all you can do is wail and enjoy the desperation in his movements.

When he stands and surges forward, shoving you against his desk while still buried in your swollen heat, it’s just enough to send you over the edge and you crash into your climax with a scream.

Over your shoulder, you hear Kylo tsk in admonishment. “Oh, princess,” he chides, as you feel your Force bonds tighten even more, “you know better than to cum without permission.”

With that, he shoves you forward, pressing your chest flat against the thermoplastic and using his knee to spread your legs. You willingly comply, relishing in his hiss as he pumps into your wet, waiting warmth. He finally releases your throat, and the sensation of your cunt clenching as you cough is too much for him. His pace becomes blistering, each thrust sending your pelvic bone into the edge of the desk; speech is now beyond your power, incoherent babble all that remains as he obliterates your cunt.

The lewd symphony of your coupling is punctuated by his growls and your cries. You can already feel the crest rising anew and you beg for salvation. “Master, please!”

He grips the back of your neck, anchoring your head, snarling as he takes you with rapid, deep thrusts. “Do you think now you'll be able to follow instructions?”

You nod frantically, trying desperately to stave off your orgasm. “Yes, Master!”

His voice is deeper than ever, trembling slightly as he uses your body to chase his own end. “Tell me, my little slut; who owns you?”

“You, Master!” You can’t hold back the shriek that erupts from your lips as you feel that subtle tickling of his powers against your clit.

The sounds you’re making have him right on the edge. “You’re mine, all mine,” he sneers as you cry out once more. “Say it.”

“Yours, Kylo,” you gasp. “I’m yours!”

“You need to cum again, sweet little Pet?” When you frantically nod, he fists your hair and yanks your head back. “Do it,” he hisses next to your ear. “Cum for me. Now.”

You explode around him, screaming your pleasure. His echoing roar is your only warning before he slams into you a final time, ripping himself from your heat and snatching your body off the desk. You land on your knees just in time to receive his spend, splashing across your face and chest as he pumps his length.

---

It takes several moments before you can even start to become aware of your surroundings once more. In that time, Kylo has bundled you in your favorite cozy blanket, and cradles you in his lap as he smooths your hair back and murmurs sweet words of praise. His seed still decorates your body, and you preen as you feel his hands, finally ungloved, gently rub it into your skin as one more claim of his ownership.

Your contented sigh is what alerts him to your consciousness, and he can’t help his proud smile as your eyes slowly flutter open, or the chaste and caring kiss he presses to your temple. “How are you feeling, princess?”

A beaming smile is his reward. “Wonderful,” you sigh, and then giggle. “And filthy, in the best possible way.”

“As requested,” he slyly teases.

You notice that sometime during your torpor, he’s shed his gambeson and trousers, replacing them with soft lounge pants and  the stolen sweater. Hooking your fingers over the neckline, echoing his own earlier actions, you tug gently. “Thief.”

He laughs, your favorite sound in the galaxy. “The Jawa calls the Ewok short.” Your answering eye roll elicits another chuckle and another brush of his lips. “Happy birthday, love,” he murmurs against your forehead.

“Thank you, Supreme Leader.” Your smile is soft as you raise your face, content when he understands the overture and leans down to press his lips to yours. A/N: Alexa, play "I Want Kylo Ren To Rail Me on a Desk" by Beyoncé or someone.

Likes and reblogs feed my dirty, dirty soul. I always want to tag mutuals but then I feel like that would be super presumptuous even though I love being tagged, so IDK I guess send me an ask if you want me to tag you in new writings?

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren smut #kylo ren oneshot #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren #kylo x reader #kylo fanfic #happy birthday queen of cliffhangers #these are the things we do for our ride or die #we write filthy nasty smut about their favorite characters #love you boo #my writing #throne room hair is the best hair forever the end #cw: unprotected sex #cw: breath play #cw: power dynamic #adcu #adcu fanfiction #adcu fic rec

[juletheghoul]

Into The Dark (Part 1)

I literally cannot be stopped and at this point I'm just accepting the fact that my brain is an asshole.

This is basically a murder mystery with supernatural elements. for the purposes of the story - reader cannot be the usual vague vehicle for projection but I still wanted it to be as inclusive as I could be. If you're not into that - no worries I totally understand - we can still be friends. Hope you enjoy!

Reblogs are appreciated

Pairing: Javier x F!(named)reader / Isabella Gonzalez

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: TRIGGER WARNING; readers twin is a missing person / murder victim, grief, language, implied depression, supernatural elements / reader can see ghosts (nothing graphic) slow burn

----

Fifteen minutes left

The whole day dragged by, the hands of the clock felt like they were moving at half speed and it always seemed to slow even further when you reach that final stretch. That last hour pulled apart, quadrupled.

The bell above the rusted old door jingled as Tom, the town historian, walked in. He gave you his usual friendly wave before making his way towards the back.

“Made it just in time.” You called out after him as he shuffled as fast as he could to the back of the store towards the pharmacy.

“Yep, came right at closing just to make you miserable dear.” He threw a wink over his shoulder at you and you watched as the pharmacist handed him his meds.

Seven minutes left

Might as well sweep up before I leave.

You grabbed the big broom and got to work, ignoring the eyes that followed you silently.

---

The door was always unlocked as a rule and your mother would hear nothing on the subject no matter how many times you broached it.

It hurt to see the little hope she somehow still managed to carry dim slightly when she saw it was you.

“Come help me with these, Theresa dropped them off this morning.” She was holding a stack of papers, more missing posters, you noted her hands were bone dry, full of paper cuts and fragile. A huge contrast to how you remembered them being as a child, long elegant fingers with perfectly manicured nails - those days were gone. Another thing stolen.

“How is tia Theresa doing?” You hadn’t seen your mothers sister in a few months and you knew why.

“Good, keeping busy.” Ignoring me her curt words seemed to say.

“Where’s dad?” The house was deathly quiet just like it had been for years. No loud music, no sports games blaring from the tv in the living room, no signs of life.

“In the garage.” She said it with a sigh and you didn’t broach that either; emotional landmines were to be dodged at all costs. Instead you studied the missing poster. The girl in the picture was smiling, braces on display. A teenager you could imagine gearing up to start highschool. On the cusp of puberty, boys and gossip- beside it was a composite of what she could look like today and it might as well have been a picture of you.

“Let’s go out and put some posters up before it gets too dark mija.” She was wrapping the cardigan tighter around her middle, eyes shining with manic energy, curly hair more white than the black it had been when you were a child. She was standing off in the corner, ever silent - wearing the same sweatshirt she’d been wearing the last time you saw her alive.

She never said anything, none of them ever did but you saw her staring at your mother and it was on the tip of your tongue.

Let it go mom, she’s dead.

“Mami, maybe we should -“

“Leave the door unlocked, just in case.” She swept past you.

“Yes of course, just in case.” You sighed, following her out the door.

—

He couldn’t help but study the office while the Sheriff read his file. It wasn’t a silence that filled the small building, more so a drone. An amalgamation of different things that contributed to the soundtrack of this space, the ac unit was old and by what he could gather, it was working overtime. There was a muted clicking of a typewriter somewhere, a coffee maker sputtering out a fresh pot. He could make out a clock ticking and the soft voice of the secretary outside taking a call.

The rustle of his file brought his attention back to the Sheriff and Javi watched as the man read all about everything he’d done back in his time chasing Narcos in South America. He could imagine which excerpts were putting that expression on his face and he had to turn away. Instead he noted the nicotine stains on the walls and the faded certifications; the state flag on the desk in front of him.

He could get used to the pace here.

“I gotta say son-“ the older man put down the file on the desk between them, his voice full of apprehension. “You’re qualified to take my position. You sure you want to work here? You could easily get into one of the bigger precincts, Dallas or Austin.” He leaned back slightly, shifting his attention back to him.

“Thank you Sheriff, I could but I think this is more what I’m looking for right now, I need a change of pace and I want to be somewhere I can really focus.” The man watched Javier as he spoke and he knew that although older in years, his eyes were sharp. He was studying Javi like he would a suspect, gauging the truth in his words. He seemed to believe him because after a moment's pause he held out his hand to shake.

“Well, welcome to the Sheriff's office Javier.”

—-

Despite how this whole endeavor was essentially a downgrade, he was eager to start. Colombia had been a rigorous test, a brutal marathon with mortal complications and risks and Javi had had enough. He was ready to throw himself wholeheartedly into this community.

Chucho -his father- although a little shocked, was supportive. The son who had at one time been eager to leave and see more of the world was now just as anxious to come back and work in an even smaller town.

He didn’t expect a particularly big welcome on his first day, and he didn’t get one.

What he did receive was a lukewarm smile from the secretary and some cautious looks from the couple of deputies standing by their desks, steaming cups of coffee in their hands. It was only natural.

Even in small precincts like this there had to be the metaphorical dick-measuring contest. They could have it, he wasn’t interested in competing with these guys. He just wanted to dig in and make a difference, however small it might be.

The sheriff had given him a tiny barebones office where all he had was a telephone, a typewriter and an ashtray.

I could work with this.

“I know it’s probably not what you’re used to.” The older man was standing in the doorway as Javier set his stuff down.

You have no idea what I’m used to.

“But it’s what we have to work with - you’ll find there’s not a whole lot to do. Pretty small town, not much noise. We may get a speeding ticket here and there, drunk and disorderly but aside from that.” He left the rest unsaid, Javier understood.

“It’s perfect, thank you sir.” He was being honest - this is what he wanted. A quiet office, quiet work. The older man inclined his head and turned to leave. “Oh sir - wait. I was thinking about maybe taking a look at anything unsolved? Maybe a fresh pair of eyes could help with anything you might have.” He saw a dark look pass over the sheriff at his request.

I touched a nerve there.

“Oh, well.” He sighed loudly. “Yes - there is a particular case you might want to take a look at.” He gestured for Javi to follow him. “There was an abduction a little over a decade ago, a young girl. Not much to go on - few suspects but nothing concrete. No body was ever found and it’s gone cold.”

Javier listened with a frown as they made their way down the hall to the records room.

“No leads at all?” He reached up to grab the box the Sheriff pointed at.

“No, the suspects were interrogated but there wasn’t enough evidence, too many variables and the DA didn’t want to pursue anything without a body.” Javi could hear the anger in the man's voice, this was something that had been haunting him. “You take a look and I’ll help with whatever you need. Hopefully you’ll have more luck than we have.”

----

Javier spent almost his whole first day reading over the case. He was absolutely engrossed. It seemed on the surface to be absolutely solvable.

She had gone missing from what seemed to be a local meeting place for all of the teenagers in town. A quarry just south of the main residential area.

I should go and check it out on my way home.

Her name was Gabriella Gonzalez and she was sixteen when she’d gone missing. There had been an extensive search done of the surrounding area as well as door to door canvassing. There were mentions of the water being dredged but nothing had been found. This girl had disappeared without a trace.

He had to speak to the sheriff about this.

“Sir - I’ve read over the file and I have some questions. Mind if I chew your ear for a few minutes?” He stood at the precipice of the open door - file in hand and he noted the apprehension in the sheriff's face. He definitely took this personally - he imagined it was hard not to in a small town like this.

“Sure - come on in.” He gestured to the chair.

“I can tell this one hurts - what are your thoughts on it? At first I thought it could be solved but the more I read the less sure I am - could this girl be a runaway?” He laid the files out on the sheriff’s desk before lighting up a cigarette.

“I know you’re new so it’s easier for you to be objective but I know this family. These are good salt of the earth people. Gabriella was a great kid - a little bit of a rebellious streak sure but she was at that age. She wasn’t the type of kid to run away. She never would have done that to her parents, and she especially wouldn’t have done that to Isa.” He spoke confidently, booking no argument.

“Isabella, her sister right?” He leafed through the pages as the smoke formed a halo around his head.

“Her twin. They were inseparable, absolutely attached at the hip. She wouldn’t have run away, not without Isa.” He sat back in his chair, hands clasped over his belly. “There were a few suspects, a few characters I didn’t particularly like but not enough to convict. The DA wouldn’t touch this case - too much reasonable doubt and no body.” He was upset and Javier understood why. “The boyfriend for one - he always rubbed me the wrong way but there was a discrepancy with his timeline. There were some kids in the school Gabriella didn’t get along with but they were all solid, everyone was accounted for.”

“You think whoever got to her is in that file?” Javier pointed at the papers with the lit end of his cigarette.

“I think so. We’ve interviewed basically the whole town so unless she was unlucky enough to be taken by a drifter - they’re in that file and we’ve spoken to them before.”

“So not as solvable as I thought.” He crushed the butt end and sighed, gathering up everything as he made his way out. “I still want to try, I’m going to talk to some of these people again - see if I can shake something out.”

“I hope you do, I just ask that you’re gentle with the family - the mother, she’s fragile.” He gave him a look that said she’s broken and although Javier didn’t have children of his own - he couldn't blame her.

“Of course sir.”

-----------

Ten Years Ago

“Isn’t he so cute?” She had hearts in her eyes and you couldn’t help but sigh. You saw him, Jesse - watched him give her a covert glance as he walked by, cigarette tucked behind his ear. She may have been looking at him with rose-coloured glasses but you saw through it all.

“Yeah I guess - everyone says he's an asshole though Gabby maybe you should stay away.” She shoved her gym clothes into your locker - her excuse was that hers was too far to make it in time to her homeroom but you knew better. She just liked lumping herself with you.

“He isn’t though, not when we’re alone. He’s really sweet.” She sighed big. “We’re going to meet up at the quarry this weekend. Just the two of us.” She was floating and it annoyed you, you had a bad feeling about this.

“Let’s go ladies - bell is about to ring.” Mr. Davis was standing just outside the door next to your locker with the usual bored teacher smile.

“Yes sir.” Gabby smiled as she turned to leave. “Don’t tell anyone what I said.” She gave you the look and you rolled your eyes.

“Obviously not.”

----

There was a buzz in the school, you felt it when you walked down the hallways and you had a feeling it had to do with Jesse and by extension- Gabby.

She was waiting for you at the entrance to the cafeteria, her brow furrowed as she gestured for you to hurry inside.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” You asked as she practically pulled you towards an empty table.

“I know he likes me, he’s told me he has but he doesn’t want to be together out in the open. Said he doesn’t want the whole school talking about us but he’s sitting with Christina and they look like they’re pretty fucking comfortable.” She gestured subtly to a full table a few rows over.

He was sitting with one of the popular girls and he didn’t seem to mind that she was all over him.

“Gabby, I told you he was bad news. I’m sorry to say it but it seems like he’s stringing you along. Forget that pendejo.” You pulled her away from the table to buy something to eat but she seemed more angry at you than him.

“You don’t understand Isa, he’s different when we’re alone - he talks about how much he hates it here, he makes me laugh.” She was remembering something and you raised your eyebrows.

“If he wanted to be with you, he would. It wouldn’t be a secret and he wouldn’t have to flirt with some girl at school. Whatever his bullshit is, you don’t need it.” You stated your piece and she kept quiet, which you knew meant nothing you said made a difference.

——

Present day

He made it a point to stop at the quarry on his way home, almost missing the turnoff in the process.

He drove slowly through the overgrown road, leaning forward in his seat to focus on the terrain.

Last thing I need is a flat tire.

He parked at a little clearing and made his way down the faint path leading to the water. He noted the torn, faded pieces of caution tape scattered in the dry bushes and it wasn’t long before he was standing at the edge of the water.

He took in his surroundings, the obvious signs of previous visitors. Broken beer bottles and a pit that had at some point held a bonfire. Pieces of wood surrounded it and he could see the appeal of this place for a bunch of teenagers stuck in this town with nothing else to do.

There was a small shrine to the missing girl, weathered teddy bears and sun-bleached pictures nailed to a tree in the periphery.

He studied the site, the messages of love and support. Pleas for her to come home safe and it broke his heart a little. She was just a child.

He did a small circuit of the area, seeing if anything jumped out at him. It was beautiful, but eerie. Maybe it was the knowledge that someone had come here and snatched her away. A place where local kids came to get away from parents and school, and someone had used it as their personal hunting ground. He didn’t want to be here after dark.

He left with a bad taste in his mouth.

—-

The sun was scorching hot, a hot blanket thrown over everything; a mirage vibrating over every inch of pavement and you thanked your lucky stars not for the first time that you didn’t work outdoors.

The store was mostly empty and you busied yourself with reading a magazine. The bell jingled when he walked in and instantly you knew he was law enforcement. He was smiling wide, making his way over to you directly and you knew what this was about.

“Good morning Miss, my name is Javier Peña, I work in the sheriff's office.” He held out his hand and you shook it politely. He was handsome, brown eyes and brown hair, slim with a Burt Reynolds mustache. “I’m looking into Gabriella’s disappearance, and was wondering if I could have a word with you.” He said it clearly and it was hard not to raise your eyebrows at him. “I’ll be at the diner just there, come over and find me when you take your break.”

She hasn’t disappeared. She’s dead.

“Hi Mr. Peña.” You responded hesitantly, a little reluctant to speak about this today. “Sure, it shouldn't be too long, see you in a few.”

“Please, call me Javi, take your time.” He gave you a tight-lipped smile before making his way out.

You watched him go, thinking back to all of the investigators that had come before him. All of them interested in Gabby, all of them giving up quickly.

It was hard to imagine but it seemed hotter than before, you could see the shrubs moving but the breeze that moved through them was scorching. You could hear the air conditioning unit screaming from just outside and although it was nowhere near as cool as you’d hoped - it made a difference.

He was sitting at the far booth, his back to the wall with his sights on the entrance, he wasn’t alone at his booth which would have been news to him. He couldn’t see her, no one could; except you.

He rose when he noticed you, gesturing to the seat across and you sat silently.

“Can I get you something? A coffee?” He gestured to the waitress and she came over with another cup.

“Oh - sure thanks.” You knew the waitress, and she greeted you when she came over to pour you a cup, and to top off his. You smiled and quickly avoided her eyes, no room in your brain for the pity in her expression today. The invisible girl in the booth watched the man with interest, it always surprised you how no one felt it.

“I’m sure I’m not the first person to come asking about your sister, but I plan on really digging in. I’m not going to give you a timeline or a guarantee that I’m going to figure out what happened and bring her home - but I can tell you that I’ll do my absolute best.” He was looking at you intently and it was hard not to tell him he wasn’t the first person to make similar promises.

Everyone gives up in the end. You will too.

“Thanks, I appreciate the effort.” If he heard the doubt in your voice, he didn’t mention it.

“So, I just want to ask you a few questions about Gabriella and the day she disappeared. Just want to get a feel for what happened and make sure these accounts are correct.” He opened up a file and laid it out. “She went missing on Friday, June 5th - 1981 correct?” He was looking at his notes.

“Yes that’s right.”

“Can you tell me what happened in your own words? Just a quick summary of what you remember?”

“Well-” You took a deep breath, avoiding her eyes. “We got up and went to school like always, it was a normal day but she left without me. We were both on the volleyball team but she skipped practise and went home to get ready.” He was watching you intently, his brown eyes intense and focused. “She had secret plans that day - I told the original police officer when my parents reported her missing. She had plans to meet up with Jesse at the quarry - no one knew about it except the three of us as far as I know. Jesse, her and I - I covered for her for a couple of hours knowing she was with him - or so I thought - but when my friend called me saying she saw him at the movie theatre alone I got worried and told my parents.”

“I see, this would be Jesse Garcia correct?” You nodded. “Jesse’s statement says that he was late to the quarry - that he fell asleep after school and when he finally made it there she was already gone.” He read what you imagined was Jesse’s statement.

“Yes, that's what he says.” Her eyes found yours and you ignored them.

“Do you believe him?” His brow was furrowed, the smoke and his thought process evident on his face.

“It’s hard to. My sister was obsessed with him but I don’t think he gave a shit about her, I want to believe he’s telling the truth because he had no reason to hurt her.” You thought about Jesse, he still lived in town and people still whispered about him. It didn’t matter if he did it or not, the town had made up its mind - and according to them he was guilty.

“Do you think she was hiding anything from you?” He asked softly.

“What do you mean?” It was your turn to furrow your brow.

“Do you think there was a chance he might have had a reason to hurt her? Do you think maybe there was something there? They were secretive about their relationship - by all accounts no one knew except the three of you - could she have possibly been pregnant?” His voice was almost a whisper and you knew he was trying not to come off as insensitive. You’d thought about this before, of course she could have been but something told you she wasn’t.

“She would have told me. We told each other absolutely everything - if she had lost her virginity it would have driven her nuts keeping it from me.” You weren’t angry at his question, it made sense.

“Is there anyone else who you think might have had a reason to hurt Gabriella?” He closed up the files before crushing the butt of his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray in front of him.

“No one. We did okay in school in terms of friends, got pretty good grades - we were overall good kids. There was no reason for anyone to kill her.” You finished the last of your coffee. Your break would be over soon.

“What makes you certain she’s dead? Is there even the slightest possibility that she ran away?” He seemed almost hopeful, maybe he thought you’d tell him something no one else knew.

I know she’s dead, because she’s sitting right beside you.

“She’s dead. She wouldn’t have left me behind.”

---

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