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hungharrington · 1 year

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I can see Steve saying "When I tell you to sit on my face, I want you to sit, is that clear?" to read

wet as a dream

anon babe, i'm sure this prompt is supposed to be dom energy and yet all i could read was assuring boyfriend stevie <3 so have sum softness with ur face-sitting hehe 2k words, minors do not interact, and yanno, this is exactly what the prompt suggests + a lot of lovey dovey feelings ! enjoy <3

Look, you were no stranger to sex, to say the least. It might still make you flush, an eager yet still slightly embarrassed warmth whenever you and Steve go from sweet kisses, to a hot make-out, to more…

But even then, you’re not entirely sure anything could’ve prepared for this— for Steve to murmur against your lip between his heated kisses, “I want you to sit on my face.”

You pull back from the make-out, chest huffing and your voice sounds only a tiny bit strangled when you say, “What?”

Steve takes advantage of his new view, eyes skirting up and down your face hungry with love. His eyes are warm, grin easy, like it’s no big deal when he says, “I said I want—“

“No, no,” You cut in, feeling your ears tinge warmly. “I, uh, heard you the first time.”

The image his words conjure pours into your mind, sitting on his tongue as his hands curl right around your thighs and keep you as close as he wants— while you mewl atop him, at his mercy. You shiver just a bit, desire streaking through you, and it quickly reminds you of the lap you’re sitting it, the evidence of Steve’s desire hard beneath you.

His hands haven’t moved, still resting on your sides. His thumbs swatch up and down lightly, trying to read your expression. “You don’t have to,” Steve says earnestly, brows drawing together. “But, I promise it’ll feel so good.”

That you have no doubt about. You’ve found it especially hard to stay quiet when Steve gets his mouth on you— something in the way he eats you out, with such an enthused fervor, moaning enough that you know he enjoys it too.

“That’s not what I’m worried bout.” You admit, shifting in his lap again. Your hands that have been resting on his chest fall, landing on your thighs. You avert your eyes for a moment, some old insecurities bubbling to the service — you’ve never done this before but Steve has, he’s probably done it with girls skinnier than you, with smaller thighs and—

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t, okay?” Steve interrupts your stream of prickly thoughts, moving a hand up to cradle your jaw sweetly. You meet his eyes, knowing your worry displays on your expression. His fondness soothes you.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to.” Steve promises.

“You’re sure?” You check one more, anxiety getting the best of you.

Steve chuckles lightheartedly, leaning in to kiss you deeply. He pulls back an inch, scanning your face once more, looking for more hesitancy to soothe. “If you are,” he assures with another smile.

With a deep breath, you nod, aiming for sure. You think back to the steamy image your mind had provided, think back to every time Steve’s gotten between your thighs and drawn out noises out of you that you didn’t even know you could make — you want to do this.

Steve grins. He reclines himself to lie back on the bed, his hands fluttering down to ghost touches along your thighs. Another nerve trips you up.

“Can I— can I keep my skirt on?” You ask nervously, your fingers gripping the edge of your skirt.

Steve softens, grin melting into a reassuring smile. “Of course, honey. And if you want to stop, just- if you’re uncomfortable or find you don’t want to—“

“I do.” You interrupt him. “I do want to do this.”

To prove your point, you begin to work your panties down your thighs — You can feel the slick that’s pooled in them, from when you had gotten worked up from the hot kisses from Steve earlier. You feel yourself clench in anticipation of what’s coming.

It takes a moment to work them off, getting caught on your ankles awkwardly - but that awkward giggle dies in your throat at Steve’s heavy stare. You failed to notice his growing boner until you situate yourself back on his lap, in nothing but your skirt and bra, and the feel of it feeds into your lust. He wants this. He really fucking wants this.

“Okay,” you say, biting your lower lip for a moment, trying to think if there’s a sexier way to shuffle up the bed to his face. Steve let’s you get all of halfway before he pauses you, hands on your thighs again— he wants to say this when he can still see your whole face properly.

"When I tell you to sit on my face,” He starts, enjoying how your expression peaks in embarrassment once again. He grins. “I want you to sit.”

He raises his brows at you. “Is that clear?" He asks, making sure you’re both on the right page. Steve Harrington certainly did not half-ass some face-sitting.

You nod, a little relieved at his insistence and clear excitement— something delightful burns in your tummy that he wants to do this, enough to assure you to not dare hold back.

You shuffle a little higher, nerves creeping in as you hover over Steve’s face, unsure how to start. Do you just—?

The question is ripped from your mind as Steve’s arms curl up around your thighs, hands holding you firm, and he pulls you down onto his mouth. His tongue licks a bold stroke through your folds, warm and wet.

Heat plumes in your tummy, a soft sigh of pleasure escaping your lips as your head tips back — you can’t quite handle the sight of him between your thighs just yet. You know it’ll send your head spinning. Your hands hold the edge of your skirt up, just an inch or so to keep it out of his face and you try to focus on the sensations instead.

His pink lips mouth softly along your cunt, tongue soothing along as he works up to your clit — then swirls his tongue over it firmly, enough to pull a soft moan from you. You legs spread a little wider, sinking into him and you can feel the hum of approval from Steve.

“There we go,” He praises, pressing another sloppy kiss to clit. “That’s it.”

His encouragement melts into you, fiery hot, and you whine a bit, hips rocking down on his face instinctively. Pleasure twists the coil in your stomach tighter. Steve’s fingers flex against the skin of your thighs, his tongue loose and warm as he licks and suckles at your core.

Time melts and muddles as you lose yourself to pleasure, Steve dutifully giving and giving, his plush lips dragging deliciously against your clit so good that all you do is moan above him. You’re not sure how long you’ve been going, only the mounting pull in your tummy to give an indication, when Steve’s mouth begins to kiss lower and lower — until he’s aligned with your slicked entrance.

Where you might of once given a moment to embarrassment, you only feel your eagerness grow— especially as Steve releases a filthy moan against you.

“You’re so wet,” he rasps, the words doused in lust and approval. You shiver at his husky voice, a weak moan scraping out your throat when he skirts his tongue around your hole, avoiding it purposefully. You clench, and whine in complaint. Tease.

“My girl,” He hums, a few more kisses. You have no doubt you’ve soaked the bottom half of his face with your arousal— but the thought just adds to your lust. “You love this, hmm? Y’glad I ask’d?”

You’re nodding fervently, desperate for him to keep going, and a pitiful “yes” trips out your mouth. Steve chuckles, the vibrations making you keen, and your impatience gets the best of you; you rock down on him again.

Steve’s expecting it, if his tightening grip on your thighs and experienced tongue are any indication. He presses up, tongue fucking into the entrance of your cunt hotly and you can’t help how one of your hands shift down rapidly to fist in his hair.

It’s the first time you’ve properly looked down at him, between your thighs, and the sight of him so clearly enjoying himself turns your whine into a loud moan. His hair is messy, eyes slipping closed as he dedicates himself to making you fall apart on his tongue. He looks so fucking hot.

“Steve,” you whimper, tugging his hair lightly — and you receive a moan in response. He doesn’t let up, doesn’t pause for a moment as your hips move to chase your orgasm which has begun to peak over, just let’s you ride his face. Your chest heaves, every exhale painted in a moan. Every word out your mouth is a curse or his name.

“Steve,” you whine in warning and Steve’s eyes open. It’s more intimate than you’re expecting, staring down at him with his mouth on your cunt, moments from tipping over the edge- you’re beginning to sound pathetic, whines getting higher and higher. Steve shifts, tilts his head the right way and then— then his fucking nose is rubbing your clit just the right way and you’re gone.

You cry out softly, breathes shuddering as everything peaks — thighs trembling, your hand tightening it’s grip in Steve’s hair, eyes screwed close and your mouth hung open in a moan. The room feels unbearably warm as your orgasm washes over you. Steve thinks he might actually cum in his pants at the sight, especially from his vantage point between your thighs. Fuck. His cock gives a twitch in his pants.

They’ve been growing tighter and tighter, fueled by your every moan since he’s managed to convince you onto his face — and now his cock is so hard it nearly hurts. Not once had Steve considered slipping a hand down to relieve some pressure; this isn’t about him. It’s about you — and fuck, if you don’t you look beautiful cumming on his face. Twitching and moaning and falling apart on his tongue.

Steve works you through it, turning back to sloppy open mouth kisses up until you’re finally releasing his hair and shuffling back, so to slump down back in his lap. If you hadn’t just seen stars, you might notice the flicker of excitement in your tummy at Steve’s hardness beneath you. For the moment, however, you’re spent.

Steve hasn’t moved. You try to catch your breath and peer down at him. A laugh catches in your throat at the blissed out smile toying on his face — someone clearly enjoyed themselves.

“Fucking hell,” you huff approvingly. Steve’s eyes flick over to meet yours and he grins. Your slick is still on his lips, pinker than ever in the sheen of your arousal. He licks them clean. Your tummy twists up at the sight. Why is that so hot?

“Didn’t I say you’d enjoy it?” Steve hums cockily, his hands searching across the sheets to find your hips. He caresses the skin there gently.

“Mmhm,” you hum your agreement. “Don’t think I was the only one who enjoyed that though.” You tease, moving your hips down against his bulge purposefully and Steve lets out a deep groan. His hips move up beneath you.

You regrettably stop his movements with a hand on his chest. Steve watches you closely, eyes inquiring. “I’ll return the favor but, um, give me a couple minutes.”

You smile sheepishly. It dawns quickly on Steve the reason for your pause, needing a cool-off period, and his grin turns down right cheeky. His hands shift up to your wrists and he tugs your forward, capturing you in his arms and holding you against his chest. It’s warm and safe and you can’t help but melt into it, still sapped from your orgasm.

“That just means I did my job right,” Steve murmurs gleefully, pressing a kiss into your hair. He chuckles at your small uh huh and holds you tighter.

And with all his whispers of how hot you looked above him, how hard it got him, it doesn’t take very long to find the energy to return the favor.

#ok i kinda FUCK with this one #turns out the thing that turns jay on is; enthusiastic consent #i want a bitch that is SO excited to have sex with me <333 #jay writes #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve x reader #steve smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader smut #stranger things smut

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ckret2 · 3 months

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please more evil ford please i stare with my puppy eyes for this i am obbsessed

Yeah all right, I've been working on some art. (For context, we're talking about this Evil Ford.)

Evil Ford is Evil as in "cheerfully works with Bill even after learning his full plot" and "is totally ready to conquer and/or destroy the world." But other than the shocking lack of basic ethics and the supervillain objective he's mostly the same guy—which means he still cares about his family. He's hoping to get them to join in on the world conquest plan.

Forty-odd years ago he went off to college promising someday he'd be a big shot scientist who changes the world and he'd make his family a fortune. If taking over reality doesn't qualify he doesn't know what does. The family can join him and his buddy Bill and rule the universe together. Pines Pines Pines Pines!

Unfortunately for him, the rest of the family still has normal moral compasses. And also they've met Bill.

Bill can't currently possess Ford due to Reasons; but even though he can't get in the driver's seat he still has permission to ride shotgun at any time. Ford talks to him pretty regularly. He HAS been caught doing this. Stan thinks he's just gone a little nutty from thirty years of isolation.

Naturally, since he was always on Bill's side, Ford's perception of events during Weirdmageddon is a bit different:

I finally made an official Evil Ford New Costume Character Design, check out his exciting totally different brand new look:

I decided that, since Ford is still basically the same person aside from his terrible life goals, he'd probably have the same fashion sense. And so... nothing changes except two tiny details lmao.

But he DOES have tattoos:

I traced a canon character model and took off its top to get a base to slap tattoos on, and then went dang... they gave him a big head and arms. He looks goofy. Anyway,

His forearms have less incriminating tattoos—just a birch tree and a sunrise. (The sunrise looks like the Journal 3 "The Muse Has Spoken" page.) The red text is the "triangulum entangulum" ritual; if anyone asks he'll go "it's uhh an ancient Sumerian poem about how great science is." It's not until he's topless that it's like "oh so he's a CULTIST cultist." The one exception is an unconcealed Eye of Providence on his right palm—but it's in an ink that's only visible in certain lighting. It's there so at any time he can point his hand at something and go "Bill are you seeing this BS?"

Of course, he still has the "hey now, you're an all star" neck tattoo. I didn't have room to draw it.

As you can see, he's made being Bill's right hand man a core part of his personality. Rather than spending 30 years scrabbling around the multiverse desperately searching for a way to destroy Bill, he spent 30 years chilling in the Quadrangle of Qonfusion as Bill's specialest favoritest Henchmaniac, and only scrabbling around the multiverse occasionally for fun & profit.

Here's a photo Bill & Ford took at a Nightmare Realm house party like fifteen years ago, three minutes before Bill started an argument and set the house on fire.

Most people have their wild party years in college, Ford has his in his 40s.

#stanford pines #grunkle ford #bill cipher #(he's in enough pictures; he's worth tagging too)#gravity falls #gravity falls fanart #evil ford au #my art

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sunaluv · 11 months

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A cute prompt! The moment they realized they want to spend the rest of their lives with you 🥺🥺 (Also hi hello new follower here i love ur works!!!! Hope ur having an awesome day stay safe and stay hydrated 🫶🫶🫶)

i got you

feat: ran, eren, shigaraki(🥹), gojo

RAN

ill be honest, it was probably during an argument.

he was absolutely smitten with you. that was probably why you too rarely fought. also, the two of you were too unbothered to draw out fights long.

so when it hit the 2-day mark and he hadn't seen or heard from you since you stormed out of the house, he became worried.

he had a lot of enemies and you knew that too. his mind kept him up at night if he didn't spend it combing the streets of japan looking for you.

the rest of bonten saw it too. he became more snappy with his colleagues (they had to calm mikey down before they fought fr), he went crazy and fired his secretary for some reason, mans was spiralling out of control.

his brother hated seeing him like this, so he helped look for you, contacting all your friends and family on your whereabouts.

eventually they found you, hiding in your friends' house (she's a real one and told them she didn't know where you were when they asked).

ran was an emotional wreck. over a girlllll.

honestly, rindou was shaking his head, but he knew his brother was in deep.

you talked things out and smoothed it over, and although you were a little pissy with him, you allowed him to hold you in his embrace, whispering gently apologies in between kisses to your hairline.

when you finally fell asleep in his arms, ran didn't want to let you go or sleep. he felt like you might disappear if he takes his eyes off you for a second.

that when it hit him how deeply in love he was with you, and he (along with everyone in the bonten building) realised you really do keep him sane and he can't imagine a life without you.

he promised that, if you stuck around long enough, he'll make sure you stay with him forever <3

EREN

best friends to lovers trope woop woop

okay so he realised this way before you two got together.

so one day, there was a big falling out in your friend group which caused a massive divide.

you, mikasa, sasha, and the eldia boys (reiner, bert) were all on one side. and eren, armin, jean connie and such were on the other side. yall were a big friend group too so the news travelled fast that you divided.

you and eren weren't the causation, but people had to pick sides which meant you were split up.

the divide couldn't have come at a worse time too because you were in that stage where you knew you had feelings for each other and were flirting and dancing around the fact that you wanted to be together.

now you couldn't be seen together by your friends unless you wanted to cause more drama (giving romeo and juliet).

he still had a strong desire to see you, so he often snuck around with you in the evening/night time, and it honestly was kinda romantic, though you wished you could hang out in the day too.

he took you out on 'dates' (referred to as 'friendly outings' bc feelings are complicated) and he drew them out as long as possible because he hated it when it was time to say goodbye. every time you left, he would count down the hours before he could see you again.

absence really does make the heart grow fonder because he had to control himself from gravitating towards you during the day and it hurt the both of you.

it was one random night where he couldn't fall asleep. he was just staring at the ceiling, replaying your whole date in his head and he didn't realise he started smiling a little.

with his head buried in the pillow, he sighed wanting nothing more than to be with you forever.

SHIGARAKI

you were the first and probably the only girl to show interest in him and honestly, the minute you did, he thought yall were locked in for life.

he thought relationships were purely meant to be transactional, so when he finally understood that you just wanted to be there for him because you truly cared and loved for him? he thought he was sick by the way his heart squeezed.

it took him a while to adjust, and you gave him all the time and space he needed because the last thing you wanted was for him to be overwhelmed.

he slowly became more comfortable with you helping him with things, once he learnt he didn't have to do everything solo whilst he was around.

he was changing for the better (not too much tho), he notices how much healthier he looked now that he was getting three proper meals a day, his skin felt hydrated and the desire to itch his skin off drastically lessened.

he felt like it was too good to be true and became paranoid that something bad was gonna happen like the heroes taking you away, or AFO manipulating you, like he did to him.

kurogiri felt proud of his young master for recalling the 'gentlemanly advice' he gave him as he watched the two of you converse on the loveseat in the quiet bar.

his league was empty, the bar was old and not bringing in enough money and he had a whole lot on his plate which was enough to make him hate everything.

but with you around, he could learn to hate things a little less <3

GOJO

manga spoilers

mans busted out the box and was craving your touch instantly!

the last conversation you had before he got sealed was him telling you he'll be back later, pecking your pout away before leaving.

little did you know you wouldn't see gojo for another 19 days.

he didn't have a lot of time before he had to go and fight sukuna, so he wanted to talk to you while his time was still guaranteed.

the reunition was hella emotional, he squeezed you so tight and let your tears soak his shirt.

he pulled your face back to meet his gaze, and you were surprised to see tears welling up in his eyes, but that was the least of your problems. you noticed him trying to get his words out and you were patient as he seemed to be finding the right words to say.

after lots of out of character stuttering, he blurted out "marry me."

you were shocked and he was scared he crossed the line when you went silent for a minute, but you very emotionally said yes on your apartment floor in your baggy sweats and t-shirt belonging to your now-fiancee.

although it was just under 3 weeks he was gone, it felt like an eternity without you, so he vowed that when he got out of the box, he was going to make sure you know he will always come back for you.

#eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #satoru gojo x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #ran x reader #ran haitani x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader

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cameronspecial · 7 months

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https://www.tumblr.com/cameronspecial/730937552404627456/let-me-protect-you-angel

can you tell use more about rafe’s rules for the reader, pls and thank you lol 👀

— @cantstoptheimagines

Let Me Save You, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Uncomfortable Because of A Pervy Misogynist

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.2K

A/N: This is a continuation of Let Me Protect You, Angel.

Masterlist

Some of Y/N’s favourite rules for being Rafe’s girlfriend are the ones that show her that he cares. She didn’t need to look at the napkin anymore to remember which rule was which number because she had them all memorized since they wrote them down on that napkin during their first date. Numbers Five and Six often happen in tandem and show Rafe’s caring side. She hasn’t seen Rafe in almost five days, which is quite obvious to the whole campus as Rafe always gets more on edge when he doesn’t see her. However, she finally gets to see him again and follows Rule Number Six. The door to Rafe’s room has a code, which beeps its little song as she punches in her birthday.

Her thoughts are focused on taking her stuff out of her backpack, so she is genuinely surprised by Rafe’s arms wrapping around her waist. “I’m so glad you could come over tonight, Angel. I was scared we were going to break our streak,” he declares, pressing his nose against the skin of her neck. She brings her hands up to wrap them around his neck and looks up at him, “It would be a shame. I’ve slept over at least once a week since we started dating. That’s a hundred and four-week streak.” Rule Number Six: Sleepover in Rafe’s room once per week whenever possible.

He moves them over to lie down on his bed with his head resting on her breasts. She can feel his soft breath on her skin as he talks. “Rule Number Five, Angel.” She draws patterns on his back, letting out a big sigh, “It was stressful. I had a lab and I couldn’t find my notebook with all my notes for this week’s experiment. And then I got caught up in the cafeteria line at lunch so I was late for my meeting with my academic advisor. This whole week has been so busy.” She feels his fingers start to trace tiny hearts on her bicep. “I’m sorry things have been so hard and I couldn’t be there for you, Angel. I hate that I had to go away for my football game,” he grumbles. The fact that his mouth is pressed against her skin turns his words into raspberries and it makes them both laugh.

“It’s okay, I’ve been pretty busy, so I probably wouldn’t have been able to come over anyway. How was your day, Rafe?”

“It was okay. Same as always. The only eventful thing that happened was that Topper accidentally wore my underwear. That was weird. But it got so much better when you walked through the door though, Angel.”

“My day got better when I walked through the door too.”

He lifts his head and gives her a sweet kiss on the lips. Rule Number Five: Always tell each other how your day went, no lying. Even if it has to be over the phone, through a text, in an email or in a written letter.

——

Y/N remembers how ridiculous she thought Rule Number One was when Rafe wrote it down on the napkin. “Come on, that’s never going to happen,” she proclaimed, tilting her head upright after reading the words. Rafe shook his head, underlining a specific word of the rule, “You don’t know that. And, god forbid if it does, then I want you to let me save you, Angel.” She could see he was serious and concerned about the possibility of something happening, so all she could give him was a nod as a promise.

Right now, she could not be more glad that her boyfriend is always thinking ahead on how to protect her. She didn’t know how she got into this situation. One minute, she was by herself in the lab looking over the work she did for this week's experiment and the next, Terrick was in the room with her. He has every right to be in the room; he is also in her class and pays for tuition. However, she always feels a little unsettled by him. The way he looks at her makes it obvious he is objectifying her. The way he speaks makes it clear that he was not taught to respect women. The way he stands too close to her makes her stomach drop. She wants to walk out of the lab right now so she isn’t alone with him, but he is blocking the doorway. “And the bitch got my name wrong too. Like sure, get my order and my name wrong,” he starts ranting. “I don’t understand how a girl can screw up my drink order. Aren’t you guys made to do that type of stuff?”

Y/N doesn’t know what to say. His frustration at something so trivial causes fear to flash through her and she is scared of what might happen if she tries to leave the room. Thankfully, as if Rafe had spider senses, she gets a call from him. She gently lifts a finger up to tell Terrick to give her a second, “Hi, Rafe. What’s wrong?” “Nothing, I was just wondering what you wanted me to bring over tonight. I’m at the store, right now,” Rafe asks, placing his pre-workout into his cart while his phone is wedged between his shoulder and ear. Y/N flashes Terrick a tight-lipped smile as he impatiently waits for her to get off the phone, “I’m actually craving some pie. Could you get me a coconut pie?” Rafe immediately stops what he is doing and moves his phone to his other ear. “Are you sure you want coconut?” he presses, already returning the stuff he was going to get onto the shelf.

“Yes.”

——

They stayed on the phone for the whole time it took Rafe to get back on campus, pretending that he needed a detailed account of every single item Y/N needed from the store. When he walks through the door, Y/N feels her heart rate start to slow down. “What are you doing here?” Terrick snides through his teeth, looking at her boyfriend in annoyance. Rafe immediately puts himself between Y/N and the other man, “I realized that I am so clueless that I need Y/N to come to the store with me, so I came to pick her up. Are you ready to go, Angel?” The last part is obviously directed toward her and she is quick to get her backpack so she can weasel her way under Rafe’s protective arm. “Yep. Bye, Terrick. Great talk.”

The couple makes their exit in each other’s hold with Rafe keeping an eye on Terrick. Once they are out of his earshot, Y/N lets out a sigh of relief. “Are you okay?” Rafe worries, looking her over for any indications that Terrick touched her. She gives a small nod, “Yeah, he didn’t hurt me. I don’t think he was going to. I’m sorry I used the code word, I probably shouldn’t have if I didn’t think he was going to do anything.” He stops their journey towards the exit and swings himself so he is facing her. His hands find weight on her shoulders and he lifts her chin up to look him in the eyes. “I don’t care if you use the code word for me to come kill a spider. If you feel the slightest bit uncomfortable or scared, you tell me coconut pie and you let me save you, Angel. Do you understand?” he brings her into a hug and kisses her temple. “You have to trust your instinct. Your safety is my number one priority.”

Rule Number One: Say coconut pie if she needs Rafe to save her.

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littlemoondarlingarts · 30 days

Text

Did an artstyle study of the gorgeous art of @iliothermia and I genuinely learned alot so I'm very thankful that he gave me permission to do this 🙏🏻🙏🏻

As usual, rambles and process pics under the cut, be warned that I talk alot because this drawing was a true labor of love both for his art and Rouge

I wanted to use elements from his art but at the same time i know how deeply personal his art is to his own life and struggles and culture so i tried to be as respectful as possible (and if I failed at that please tell me I have no problem in deleting this) and tried to minimize my use of direct elements from his art to keep it to the skull which was heavily inspired by a drawing he has done, the waves which are such a beautiful staple of his art that I just couldn't not put it and the use of candles and small floral patterns and the style of the mold, but I tried to keep the rest to things that are symbolic to the character.

While he may have restraint to not explain everything, I'm not famous for that lol, so I will be explaining the symbolism behind my choices.

Part 1: the symbolism:

The red rose is Rouge's flower and it is heavily associated with him. The meaning of it being romantic desire and passion mixed with the thorns of it perfectly sum up his position as a beautiful black widow.

Voyeurism is a big part of this drawing and it is first noticed with the eyes motif on the roses' leaves, this symbolises his response to his trauma which left him feeling like an unwanted pervert on his own self. I can talk about this aspect of his story for hours but I'll spare you lol.

The X-ray cutouts are his complicated relationship with his own body and death, it is a thing that is constantly on his mind as he suffers from suicidal thoughts but at the same time he is always running away from it in fear, but he knows that eventually, he will have to stop running.

The candles melting represent him being only wanted when he is useful, when he is giving parts of himself up for others to use and abuse, when he is lighting their lives by slowly draining his own.

The piano is one of the rare things that bring him happiness and peace, but he needs to be heavily dissociated to be able to enjoy it which is represented by the hands being disconnected from the rest of the drawing and just floating in their own reality.

The snake represents two things, one is him being venomous to those around him, the mistakes he's made, the promises he's broken, the pain he's caused etc. But it also represents those who slowly wrap themselves around him in a warm embrace, presenting themselves as a saviour in his most dire times only to end up being the ones who will hurt him the most.

The book is about his obsession with keeping track of everything and of studying people, accidentally turning himself into an unwanted voyeur on their lives to the point where he has written the life stories of many people who would never want to be remembered through his eyes in his little books.

The butterflies are him, both in the way they are seen as "the good insects" and the beautiful delicate ones despite the fact that they eat flesh sometimes, it is also related to the way his simple presence for a few minutes in someone's life can create a whirlwind of change that will leave it unrecognizable, or he can simply be another body in their bed.

The hair turning into waves is meant to reflect the way he is always drowning in his own thoughts, a hand crafted constant state of misery.

The beta fish are some of the most beautiful and colourful fish out there, yet they are seen as cheap and easy first pets, leading to them being neglected and given environments that are too small and crammed, making their beautifully slow death the only thing they can offer to their owner. I don't think I need to explain more..

The skull is probably someone he's loved, or someone he's killed, or both.

The heart is his, it is rotten and covered in mold, any love he offers is tainted by his inability to heal and it is spreading to infect every aspect of his life.

Part 2: the inspirations:

The roses are a homage to the way Rachamim always places flowers in his art, either in the background or as a focal point of the illustration, most of the flowers he uses are cultural in nature, so I opted to not reuse any of them and changed it to a flower related to my oc.

Eyes are a repeated theme in his art, whether it be angel eyes, the evil eye or anything else, and as you can tell both of these are cultural and religious and while the evil eye exists in my culture, it does not in my oc's so I didn't use it. Instead I opted to pay homage to one of his beautiful merman drawings in which he used the plants to make an eye-like shape that stares at the viewer.

I thought I was being real smart in turning the hair into waves but yesterday I saw an illustration where he did the same so rip to me thinking i was being original lol.

The snake and butterflies are my way of replicating his use of animals while trying to not directly copy any animals that have a connection to himself or his culture/religion.

The beta fish is just to reference the ever present fishies in his art. I know he uses them because they represent friendship for him and they are the only animals safe from the evil eye (thanks for the fun fact) so I uh... I don't really know if this was disrespectful or not to be honest but I tried to use a different type of fish, idk this might still be slightly problematic and again I'm always ready to delete this if it makes anyone uncomfortable.

The waves are a direct copy of how he draws the gorgeous waves in his art, another case of something I fear may be crossing the line because the waves are drawn in the style of cultural jewelry 😭

The tiny flowers are an obvious reference to his own tiny flowers that decorate his art and characters.

The skull with the candles is heavily inspired by a specific drawing of his.

The cutouts are my way of paying my respects to my absolute favourite piece of art he's done without directly copying its concept because as far as I can tell, it is a very personal and emotional piece.

The mold style is a reference to his mold man (I forgot his name I'm sorry).

And the candles are another repeated motif in his art as well as the pillars and the pant style.

And ouf I sure do talk alot don't I? I just really love the amount of things I was able to cram into this piece and I haven't even mentioned everything😭😭 I will NOT be doing this again because I'm simply not as patient as he is and as proud as I am of the result, this was torture. I hope I didn't disrespect him, his art or his culture and I genuinely tried my best to be as respectful as possible but I might have some blind spots due to our experiences being so vastly different so again, please don't hesitate to inform me if you want this deleted!

#my art #art #artists on tumblr #oc #my oc #rouge #original characters #oc artist #oc artwork #oc art #lineart illustration #artsyle study #art style study #art study #idk how to tag this #anyway #hii #ty for reading #i hope you like it

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callofdudes · 4 months

Text

I made more because... Because! @aidenlydia again, this is their au but I'm eating it like fish sticks on a plate of mac 'n cheese. Getting this scene out of my head because I love them and I have nothing else to do waiting for dinner.

More Viking SoapGhost.

Ghost watched, his eyes unmoving as John wrote with his charcoal wood pen on some old pages. Geez it must have been four pages with three drawings and eight life updates.

Finally John signed the bottom of the pages and rolled them up with a string.

"You done??" Ghost asked flatly when He finished.

"Yes, now I need these delivered back to Roach."

"You say that like I'm going to do it."

John looks at him, nodding. "You are."

Ghost sighs and groans. "I'm not your dumb messenger bird." He grumbles, shifting closer and standing. John pulls his cloak tighter and chuckles softly. "Actually, you are."

He holds out the folded papers to a pouty Simon. "Go on, shouldn't be long now if you get to it." John encouraged.

"Fine, but I'm bringing back a tab worth my while for it." He grumbled, looking up at the big man.

"Mhm, and I'll happily pay."

Ghost shifted, black wings flapping in the air, snatching the papers between his talons. He squawked at John, who could only smile softly, barely noticable.

And watched him head off. Simon didn't actually mind doing errands for John. If anything the combined stretching of his wings and the inevitable praise he was going to get for completing the assignment would be worth it.

Oh yes indeed.

John kept the fire lit, watching the open snowy land as Ghost's small form had left his sight. He poked the fire, watching the embers flock to the wind of the cave mouth, then over at Ghosts bedroll.

He sighed softly, placing his hand on it, noticing a stray feather stuck to the inside. He chuckled softly, picking it up and twirling it around.

"Be safe, Ghost."

Ghost did as he promised, he made the incredible eight hour journey in the shitty weather back to their small village. Fucking between houses to the main hall.

Stopping at the doors, his feet hit the ground, heading up the stairs and pushing the knocker open.

The large door swing, creaking when he entered. A head poked up, followed by a little smile. "Well well well, hunting season is barely started and you're already back."

Simon rolled his eyes softly, coming over and dropping the roll of papers. "From MacTavish."

"What is it??" Roach asked, undoing the twine.

"Hell if I know, I may be a crow but I do not snoop."

Roach gave him a look, and Simon sighed. "Ok not this time. But I was damn curious."

Roach chuckled softly. "Alright, I'll look these over, you go get some rest. Probably had a long trip."

"Well I got permission to run up a tab so I'm gonna go get my arse drunker than a bat in honey." He flipped the end of his cloth mask back over his shoulder to keep it secure. Heading back to the door and out to go get absolutely hammered.

And you don't want to see a shifter drunk, it's not always pretty. But Ghost has been starting to learn that eighteen drinks is when John has to cradle the poor crow with his talons straight out and wings a mess as he takes him home.

And of course, by the time Ghost had slept off the drunken night Roach had something new written up for him. Returning to the hall and taking the papers.

"Will you be alright to fly?? You look a little..."

"Mmm I'll be fine!" Ghost mumbled, heading from the hall and taking off again. Damn messenger bird. John better congratulate him at least or he's never running him these stupid errands ever again.

It was late when he returned, but he saw the familiar smoke and a crackling fire. Flapping his wings and stretching out his talons when he saw a dark figure among the casting, wobbling shadows.

He latched onto John's arm guard, crooning his neck and fluffing his feathers before tucking them in.

John noticed the letters and gently took them, noticing the scratchy pen writing of Roach.

"Thank you Ghost, you've done very well."

Simon melted, making a little noise and hopping up his arm, craning his head to peck at John's beard.

"Yes, good work." John put the papers down to run his large, calloused thumb over Simon's small head, gently smoothing the feathers down.

Oooh yeah, this is so worth it.

He fluffs his feathers, nipping at his hand when he attempted to pull away. "Alright then, if you insist... Get comfy."

Simon cawed at him. He wouldn't be getting comfortable. Hopping onto the ground and shifting, noticing his bedroll slightly closer.

"You miss me or something?"

"Only warming the place where my cold heart will go after I see that tab." He mumbles as he turns his attention mostly onto the letters.

Simon smiles a tad, laying down and getting comfy. He looks around, then at the fire, watching the flames dance. His head slowly coming down, resting against John's thigh.

It was hesitant, but then again peaceful. The silence only filled by the crackling fire. Simon's head feeling a mess from the last of the alcohol and the flight until Johns hand gently touched his head.

He didn't react, keeping himself stiff as Johns thumb absentmindedly stroked his hair. Eyes still glued on the letters, reading them through.

Simon relented to relaxing, curling up and pulling John's cloak over him slightly. His eyelids felt heavy, and the soothing warmth of John's hand slowly had him coming undone.

Letting himself fall asleep there, letting out soft breaths.

John's gaze finally flickered over to his partner, humming softly. "Good work, Simon. Can always count on you."

He put the papers aside and leaned back, watching the entrance of their camp as Simon slept. He would keep watch, he'd gotten enough of his own rest for now.

It's shorter but hell that first photo had me in a coma. Yes, I am insane, yes, I will make more, respectfully if I'm allowed to keep gobbling up these meals...

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #ghostsoap #09 soapghost #soapghost #viking john mactavish #viking au #crow shifter simon riley

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spctrsgf · 9 months

Text

mi luz

based off of this comment i wrote on tiktok: “he looks like he could use a hug and a shoulder to cry on.”

word count: 2.2k

warnings: nonspidey!reader, language, hurt to comfort fic (miguel needs a break. like a sabbatical or something)

a/n: ngl, i'm not too happy with how this turned out, probably because i wrote it all on a plane and it's not beta read, but i need more soft miguel fics in my life!!!

He’s tired.

He’s tired and he’s missing you. The boring, monotonous walls of his office harshly remind him of his place, the jubilant orange glow of his monitors tell him of just how much more work he’s got left before he can finally retire to your world.

Lyla, lounging atop one of his screens, watches him and his glossed over eyes, knowing exactly what the lazy flick of his fingers meant. She sighs, glitching over to bring one of his screens forward. “Miguel!” She yells, scaring the poor man out of his thoughts and momentarily extending his claws. “Lyla, what the fu- what the hell?” He growls, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“No kids are here, you don’t have to keep it PG.”

“Whatever.”

“Look, you got work to do, and if you don’t finish it soon, it'll be too late to get in some quality time with this lovely human,” she shoves the digitized photo of you up and into his face. “Before your next mission.”

He sighs, knowing she was right.

“Daydreaming about it isn’t gonna get you there any quicker,” she flickers to be right in front of his face, slapping a hand onto his nose as if she could actually touch him. “GET YOUR SHIT DONE.”

“Fine, fine! Get out of my face.” He grumbles the second sentence, swatting her away and strolling back up to his screens. His eyes catch on your photo, and he reaches to enlarge it in front of him, but—

“No,” Lyla dissipates the photo before he can even get to it, face twisted in disappointment. “No. Not until you finish working.”

“Hey! Who’s the boss here?”

“Me. Now work.” Lyla glitches out of view with a triumphant huff.

He huffs dramatically, pouting as he pulls himself together. He lets his emotions drop from his face and slides into his stoic mask, resuming the work on his screen. It’s hypnotizing as soon as he gets into it; Lyla must’ve done something to keep him focused, he supposes. She always does have a trick up her sleeve.

In what feels like no time at all, he’s done with his work. With a final, defiant tap to close down his screens, he spins on his heel, ready to leave and go home. Ready to hop in through your window— as much as you hate when he does that— and rest his head atop yours, caging you into where you’re surely stirring something on the stove.

But as he turns, he’s face to face with none other than Hobart Brown. A look to the left reveals his partners in crime; and Miguel knows he’s in for a ride. At least a ten minute detour, as it always is with the four of them.

“What?” His hands come to rest on his hips naturally, trying to become bigger to them as if it would make the next words out of their mouth more blunt and less angering. “We have a slight problem—” Gwen starts, before Pav butts in.

“It's not slight. It’s a pretty big deal!”

“Mate,” Hobie huffs. “That’s not helpful.”

“I’m trying my best!”

"Yeah, and that's going great-"

“Okay, stop it, all of you,” Miguel interrupts before they can go down the rabbit hole, trying to keep his already strung thin patience steady. “What’s going on?”

“There’s another fight going on.” Hobie gives the answer blunt, to Miguel’s satisfaction.

“Cafeteria?”

“Main hall. Sector D.”

The huff that erupts from his lips draws a colorful picture of his current emotions as he hops off of his elevated platform. “I’ll fix it.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Miles brings himself to stand in front of the man. “We’re not gonna hurt anyone, right?”

“I can’t make any promises.” He brushes past the kid, dismissing him with a shake of the head.

“Miguel. Don’t take your anger out on them–” Gwen tries, but all it gets is his recoil and daunting stalk towards her.

“I will do whatever the–” the swear word is on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it down. “I will do whatever is needed, but violence is not my first course of action.”

“Please be nice to everyone,” Pav says, peeking over Gwen’s shoulder. “It’s been a long week for all of us too.”

Miguel sighs and brushes past them, saying nothing. He brushes off their words in silent agreement. He didn’t really want to hurt anyone either.

By the time he reaches where he'd been informed the fight was, there was a mosh pit encircling the brawl, a mass of blue and red and spidermen. He approaches from behind, the tide parting for him as each person registers his presence.

When he meets the pearl in the oyster, the hotheaded spiderman hasn’t noticed him quite yet. He’s got the other spidey— one of the many spiderwomen— beneath him, gnarly fist raised to land another punch. Miguel sighs, grabs the back of the man’s elbow, and dragssss him off.

“Everyone get away now.” His tone squeezes the air out of the room and leaves no room for discussion, not that anyone would dare to object. The spidermen flee the scene before he can even finish his sentence, and by the time he’s turned back to the perpetrators of it all, they’re gone too.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, murmuring a low cálmate under his breath as he moves to regain his bearings. “Lyla,” he waves the said woman near. “Find those spidermen and remind me to get to them when I come back.” She sputters to focus in front of him, dipping her head in an obliged nod before sputtering off again to wherever she found herself needed.

Miguel shakes and unclenches the fist he’s made with his free hand and stalks back to his office, rubbing the palm of his hand where his claws had taken purchase amidst anger.

Sometimes, he regrets putting himself in charge of all of this… shit.

But… he’s the only one who can do it. No one had the vigor, the dedication, the understanding of why and what had to be done to keep the multiverses in line and make sure what happened to him never happened again.

It’s tiring. It takes his nights and his days and chips at his brain until he’s sure there’s nothing left in the expanse of his head. For someone who appears naturally angry, he’s quite good at keeping all the real anger in.

The downside of this: he bottles it all up. But the bottle isn’t big enough, doesn’t last forever, cracks at the seams, and then shatters in a explosion of tears. It enjoys crumpling him into the floor, loves the way his hands shiver in the cold breeze, shakes him to the core and, for all his confidence, makes him doubt.

Lyla’s only seen him like this once, when he couldn’t get away and instead had to sequester himself into his office, not quite getting to hardwiring her nosy personnel to do something else.

No, he doesn’t rely on her, as he normally would with other problems. He doesn’t trust her, he doesn’t even trust himself with post breakdown Miguel, no.

He goes to you.

You. The lovely, kind person he’s had the great privilege of calling his. His love, his support, his everything, or better yet; mi luz. My light. The light at the end of the tunnel, at the end of the world, when he feels like the walls are caving in and there’s really nowhere else to go and nothing more to lose.

You calm him, like you always do. Effortlessly caring, eternally so. Never afraid to give, to let him take and take until he’s stuffed whole. You know little things about him, take the time to learn them. Like where to get his favorite empanadas— much better than the ones in the spidey cafeteria— and that he loves when you press your fingers into his shoulder blades. He loves your massages.

He loves you.

Tapping insistently at the shitty gadget on his wrist, he mindlessly pulls up the coordinates for your dimension. Second nature. He’s walked himself into some obscure corner of the building, but he isn’t processing such mundane things at the moment. He can feel himself slipping, the mask fracturing. He can’t be left alone right now.

You.

The portal is up now, flashing and glitching in an assortment of colors, beckoning him in with its delectable light, like a halo. Miguel wastes no time giving in, diving into the portal and tucking himself tight like a torpedo.

Multiverses zoom by as he glides through hexagons and hexagons, thousands of people in each. Worlds that he keeps steady, safe, perfect. Normally, he’d stop to smell the flowers, observe and appreciate the sereneness of every special home in front of him. Pride himself in the fact that there was a special home for someone to come home to.

But not this time. No, this time he keeps his eyes screwed shut, he wouldn’t, couldn’t get distracted by the novelty. The bottle is cracking now, cracking into long and sharp spikes aching to slice across his chest. He’s so close, all he could get himself to do was focus on his breaths. In and out, in and out, in and out—

The abrupt warning of your multiverse approaching pinches his wrist, reminding him that this whole mess was very much real. He stumbles into your living room with a not so quiet thud, startling you. You drop the spoon you were stirring something with— smells like some sort of sauce, yum— and whip your head towards him.

He’s got his arms wrapped around you before you can even process that it's him, burying himself in your neck and inhaling the calm scent of you, a mix of your perfume and your detergent, so very you.

“Miguel.” You sigh into his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his waist as the initial shock of his intrusion wears off.

He slumps into you, only trusting himself to let out a low grumble of your name.

“What’s going— oh,” your brain puts two and two together. “Oh, Miguel, shh. It’s okay, I got you.”

And he breaks. Because he knows you mean it. He knows you have him. You always do.

The tears are bubbling over the rims of his eyes and splashing down his cheeks, his hands are twisted up in your loose shirt. He’s sure his claws have made an entrance too. One of your hands reaches to turn off the stove, the other rubbing incandescent patterns into his back.

You were always so careful. Never leave the stove on, Miggy. Don’t wanna burn the food. He loves that about you.

“Hey,” your voice wisps in through the fog of his mental breakdown, of the end of the world. “Hey. It’s me. Just me. Your absolute favorite person on this planet.”

“Multiverse.” He manages through sob induced hiccups.

“Multiverse,” You smile, breathing out a soft laugh as you toil him in closer. “Breathe, my love. I have you. Nobody is here but me, and I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”

He nods, lets himself weigh more onto you.

“That’s it, I got you,” you coax. “Get it out of your system.”

He gives all the tears he has to give. He’s sandwiching you between the counter and his stature, but you don’t seem to mind. Your spilling words, mindlessly, talking until he’s done and ready to attach himself to them, the soft baritone of your voice.

And it takes time, but he gets there. He’s in the tunnel, the walls are caving in, he’s believing he's given all he has to give, but you’re there, and you’re telling him no, no you have not. You don’t get to lose, because you have SO much more life to live.

His light.

The tunnel lets up, opens up the walls, lets him bathe in you, in the way your arms are still hooked tight around his waist and you’re going on about how there was a new episode of your favorite show that he had to watch.

And of course he would watch it.

He’d do anything for you, anything you asked whenever you wanted. And he knows, in turn, that there wasn’t a damn thing in this god forsaken reality that would stop you from doing the same for him.

You tell him as much. To his face, into his hair, with the dance of your fingers on his back, in the way you guide him to the couch, when you place down some food and a cup of water— you just cried out your backup supply— and again when you place yourself down next to him.

“I’m so beyond lucky to have you.” He murmurs to you, some fifteen minutes into the episode of your show, something about this dude with a metal helmet and a green baby? He can’t recall the name.

You turn, a smile gracing your features. “You deserve me. You deserve everything the multiverse has to offer and more. Dunno what I’d do without you.”

“You’d have one less person bothering you.”

“Ah, yes,” you laugh, swatting his cheek. “Like you’re such a nuisance.”

He laughs, actually laughs. It’s nice.

You tilt your head onto the girth of his shoulder, snuggling in tight as your attention is again sucked into the screen.

He smiles dazedly at you, finally feeling at peace.

Mi luz. My light.

is anyone else still obsessed with him or is that just me

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara fluff #oscar isaac #oscar issac characters #oscar issac x you #oscar issac x reader #oscar issac imagine #spiderman: across the spiderverse #across the spider verse

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drurrito · 1 month

Text

Carry You Home

A/N: LISTEN I JUST WANNA SAY I'M SORRY I PROMISE I USUALLY DO HAPPY ENDINGS. IT'S SORTA HAPPY RIGHT?? RIGHT????

Pairings: Natasha x Reader...kinda...

Warnings: Major Character Death (I'm sorry); blood; general angstiness

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

Clint stops just before the kitchen, you don’t make a move to acknowledge him until he calls your name.

“She’s here,” he breathes, his fingers tap-tapping against the door frame. You’re already a hair away from him by the time he draws a second breath to ask, “are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’m doing this no matter what,” you bite, Clint only nods.

“I’m taking her home,” you push past his frame, and he watches you go for a split second before he’s trailing you all the way to Banner’s office. You’ve made your choice, there’s not much else he can do about it.

Bruce is quick to stop you just before his lab, Sam is there as well and Clint rounds the corner to join them. Their eye contact is brief, doing a piss-poor job of trying to hide their sorrowful looks. Clint already gave them a rundown of what's going to happen. You’re going in alone and leaving with Natasha’s body. You’re taking her home.

Clint shares a look with Bruce, and he steps aside to let you in. The frigid air hits you hard, you squeeze your eyes shut for a few seconds, taking a deep breath to acclimate to the drop in temperature.

Then you see Natasha. She’s still wearing her suit, tattered and stained with her blood. Her braid is a little messier than usual, but it’s still intact. Her body is incredibly stiff and her eyes…oh god her eyes are open. You steady yourself with a shuddering breath and reach out to graze her cheek with the tips of your fingers.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” you start. Her eyes are dull, it’s like looking into a now empty home that was once full of life and memories. Your throat burns terribly as you delicately brush your fingers over her eyelids.

“Remember when we talked about what life was going to look like after the Avengers? You wanted a quiet retirement party and I wanted one that was big enough to rival Gatsby,” you laughed. Retirement was the furthest thing from your mind for a long time until Natasha sold you on it one night after a long mission. You would have agreed to anything just by the way her nails danced along your skin that night.

“I bought your dream home, our dream home,” you whisper, “closed on it just last month,” your fingers try to glide through her hair, catching on knots and dirt. She’ll need a bath before her burial, you note.

“Nothing grand, I know you wanted something quaint and low-key with a white picket fence,” you choke back a sob, “I already got us a few animals. Some geese, a pig, a black goat named Liho, just like you wanted.”

Natasha always talked about wanting to move somewhere in the countryside. A decent sized cottage. “Cabin,” you would cough and she’d elbow you to stay quiet. A cottage with a lot of land, a barn full of animals that she hand-picked herself, minus the pig and goat you probably begged her to keep at some point. You’d both spend your days taking care of the animals and diving headfirst into hobbies you can only keep up with for about a month or two before deciding maybe you’re the kind of couple who just likes something simple, like puzzles.

When you came back with the second snap, you were met with a look on Clint’s face that said everything, but you had to ask.

“Where’s Tash?”

You snap back to reality with a shudder. Your vision now blurry with tears.

“I’m gonna take you home, Tash,” you suck in a shaky breath. She’s heavy in your arms as you walk through the halls of the compound to take her to her final resting place.

Home.

#natasha romanoff #works #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #IM SORRY

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brooooswriting · 6 months

Text

You so small

Margot Robbie x reader

A/n: for 🧞‍♀️. I hope you like it 😊

All your life you’ve been told that you were small and people quite frankly liked to make fun of you which turned it into a big insecurity of yours. It made you loose a lot of confidence and as soon as you noticed somebody truly noticing how small you were you already knew it was over.

That was at least until you met Margot. You two met on set one day as you were there for the table read as one of the script writers. While you’ve always honored her work, you had the luck of being seated next to her. She was slouching a bit in her chair making the height difference between you rather small, she only noticed how small you were once the read was over and everybody stood up.

You feared the moment you saw her eye your body, but instead of doing anything offensive she gave you a smile and said that she’d see you tomorrow. That’s how it went until the table read was over and the script finally changed to perfection, which meant that it was your last day on set.

“Y/n, so it’s your last day huh?” She asked you with her typical Australian accent but the excitement that was usually there wasn’t there anymore.

“Yeah, sadly it is. This was probably the funniest table read I have ever witnessed” you didn’t tell her that it was because of her, nor did you tell her that this was the first set where not one person made fun of your height.

“Well, maybe if you want to, we could grab a coffee? Like a date?” And the rest was history.

During the time that you dated, she never once made fun of your height and she left the topic of your height alone until you said something about it first. The day you told her about how insecure people made you about it was the day she promised herself to build your confidence back up.

Every day she slept over at yours, she left a post it on your fridge with one reason why your height is perfect. ‘I can easily hug you from behind’ or ‘you look amazing in my oversized cloths’ were some of the first ones she left, you kept them all in a drawer to read them if you ever felt bad. She also always made a point of ‘signing’ them and drawing a heart beneath.

She also liked to tell you throughout the day how perfect you were and when you had a bad day she’d make up shitty reasons why being small was good, she kept on talking about how great it would be to still be able to sit in these small chairs for kids. The reason was obviously stupid but it made you laugh, so she took that as a win.

Something she would never say out loud is that she loved your height because it made her feel like it’s easier to protect you, plus she loved feeling helpful.

There was nothing as rewarding as being able to get you a cup from the upper drawer. Sure it sound stupid but she just loved it, she couldn’t even explain. And it especially showed once you were finally back to feeling confident with your height. Carefully, and I mean very very carefully, Margot started to lovely tease you for your height and to be honest you kinda liked it.

It was different than any other teasing you’ve ever seen, it was loving and nice instead of rude and humiliating. Maybe it was because you knew she loved you or maybe it was just because you knew she was too nice to hurt a fly.

So, ever since you became more confident all the cups, pans, coffee beans and everything else you used on the daily basis were on the highest shelf out of reach. At first you didn’t notice, you only called out for her. “Margot, love, can you come and get me the coffee beans please?” You called out one morning when you wanted to make a cup for the two of you before she had to leave for work.

“On my way darling” in a matter of seconds she appeared behind you, one hand on your waist as the other one reached up to grab the beans. A permanent smile on her lips.

“Thank you” you mumbled against her lips as you gave her a quick kiss.

The same thing constantly happened during grocery trips, she was your savior every time. While you used to climb up to reach the things on the top shelf you could now just send your lovely girlfriend to do it.

“Can you get that, that, that oh and that?” You mumbled out as you walked through an isles, the blonde close behind you.

“Why do I have to get everything?” She whined as she started to get the first thing you had pointed at, a small pout on her lips.

“Because you are tall enough to reach the top shelf” you told her with a shrug and turned to her.

“Aww, you so small. You can’t even reach the top shelf” your girlfriend said in a baby voice, barely able to keep her laughter in. Normally something like that would have made you insecure again, but the loving look in her eyes gave you a confidence you’ve never had before. If a girl like her wanted you and thought you were perfect than maybe, and I mean just maybe, you weren’t so bad after all.

“Well, at least I can wear high heels without having to crouch every time I want to walk through a door” you grinned up at her, making her let out a faked gasp.

“Oh you did not” she only mumbled before her arms wrapped around you and tickled your side causing you to giggle.

Something that you started to love about your height was how Margot’s cloths fit you. They were way too big on you, making it possible for you to only wear her sweater and underwear around the house, sometimes parring them with fluffy socks if it was cold. Her hoodies never felt as good as they did when you visited her on set on a cold day, so she’d give you her hoodie while you sat in her chair and watched her act. You loved it and honestly she loved it even more.

The first time in what felt like forever that you felt insecure was when you were supposed to meet the blondes friends. A brunch was planned with quite some people. She had a history of dating tall men so what would her friends say to a small woman like you? You didn’t even wanna think about it, that night you barely slept. Too many questions and insecurities were floating in your head.

The next day people were supposed to arrive at eleven and you and Margot had already cut up most of the things yesterday so there wasn’t a lot to do anymore but you were still up at 6. After showering you spent two hours in the bathroom doing your hair and makeup, changing it a hundred times before finally deciding that you looked okay. Your girlfriend planned to stand up in half an hour giving you time to calm yourself a bit before she was up.

To be honest, calming down didn’t work so instead you started to look through your cloths. Normally you’d wear a trouser, a top and one of Margot’s flannels but they’d notice that it is hers and then they’d see how big it is on you which meant that they’d get how small you are. One trouser made your legs look too small, the other one made you look small in general and for the next one you didn’t have a fitting top. So you decided to start with the tops, but no luck either. You were so deep in your head that you didn’t even notice your girlfriend waking up and waking behind you to hug you.

“Good morning darling” you jumped the moment her hand touched your waist as she pulled you out of your thoughts.

“Jeez, you scared me. Morning love” you weren’t really thinking about what you were saying, instead starring straight ahead into your closet.

“I thought we could shower together but it seems like you already showered huh?” You turned slightly to watch hoping that she wasn’t mad. You were relieved to see that she didn’t seem mad, more confused.

“Oh yeah, I woke up at 6 and I was so awake that I thought I could use the time” you explained before planting a soft kiss on her cheek and pushing her towards the bathroom.

You found an outfit before the blonde exited the bathroom, you weren’t really happy with it but it was okay. You quickly put on some plateau shoes and walked into the kitchen to start setting the table. Your girlfriend came out a bit later dressed in a shirt and some jeans, her hair still slightly wet while her face was covered in light make up.

“You look beautiful love” you told her as you leaned up to plant a small kiss on her lips. She was about to wrap her arms around your waist to pull you closer when you already pulled away with some plates in your hand and walked outside to the table.

“Since when are you wearing shoes in the house?” She asked confused once she noticed your shoes, you normally wore house shoes or flip flops in the house but never real shoes and especially not plateaus as you found them to be uncomfortable.

“Huh? Oh yeah, they just go really great with the outfit so I thought why not” an obvious lie but she let it slide, she’d figure out the real reason later.

After she let it go you two worked around each other to finish before everybody was coming, successfully doing so at 10:50 meaning you had ten minutes to spear before the first person would arrive. Margot walked toward you and wrapped her arm around your waist, or at least she tried to as you stepped away before she could.

“Don’t do that”

“What? Why?”

“Because it makes me look really small and I don’t want that when they come”

“I… can I wrap my arm around you shoulder then?”

“Why don’t you just immediately use my head as an arm rest?! Stuff like that makes me look small and I don’t want that in front of your friends!”

There was a moment of silence where Margot tried to understand what was happening. “Are you scared that they’ll make fun of your height?” She asked carefully stepping a bit closer.

“I already look like a child next to you, how do you think I’ll look next to Cara huh?” You asked a bit annoyed, more so with yourself than with her. It wasn’t her fault you still felt insecure every once in a while.

“They don’t care about your height baby, trust me. It that why you’re wearing the-“ she got interrupted by the doorbell but she didn’t immediately move, starring at you instead.

“Let’s just open the door” you mumbled.

Her friends were nice, more than nice even and not one person made any kind of joke or anything about your height but you still made a point of staying far enough away from everybody so you couldn’t be compared that easily, even Margot. To everybody else it just seemed like you were standing a bit further away by accident but your girlfriend knew exactly why and it made her sad. Not that you weren’t clinging onto her friends, she could see that you liked them, but that you were still so insecure sometimes.

“They’re nice” you said as you put the plates into the dishwasher.

“I’m glad to hear that they like you” she said as she put the leftovers in the fridge, a moment passing in silence. “So are we gonna talk about it?” She asked carefully not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

“No, not right now. I just wanna” you didn’t even finish your sentences as you pulled her to the couch and threw yourself into her arms. “Just want a bit of comfort” you mumbled into her earning a kiss on the top of your head.

“They don’t care how tall you are, they only care if you make me happy and that you definitely do. But if anyone would have made a joke I would have defended you. You know that right?” She asked.

“But you shouldn’t have too. I should be able to deal with a joke, I don’t know what was wrong today” you said into her neck a small pout on your lips.

“Doesn’t matter, I’ll always protect you if someone makes fun of your height. I’m the only one allowed to do that” both of you giggled at that, a small smile adorning your faces.

“I love you margot” you said as you leaned up to kiss her.

“I love you too darling” she mumbled against your neck.

A small part of you would probably always be insecure about your height but with Margot on your side you never had to worry about that.

#reader insert #brooooswriting #margot robbie x reader #margot robbie #margot Robbie x you #margot Robbie imagine #🧞‍♀️

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tomorrowxneverland · 3 months

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[&TEAM] Fuma ☆ 23:46

☆ short fem!reader (sorry i wrote this for myself skdjflkjdsl) ☆ late night fluff, mention of anxiety ☆ 764 words ☆ Prompt: Fuma helping you fall asleep on a sleepless night.

You let out a loud yawn as you approach your boyfriend, both because you hope you can catch his attention and simply because you're sleepy. Unfortunately, the noise canceling headphones he’s wearing are working well, so the sound of your yawn and your approaching footsteps go unnoticed.

Fuma is immersed in a game and you know how upset gamers get when they're interrupted while they're focused, so you patiently wait until he wins or loses the round.

It doesn't take longer than a few minutes before you can finally take your chance. As a means to gain his attention, you decide to blow a breath of air on the back of his neck. His reaction isn't big but you can see him start a bit and you can guess that his heart stopped for a second. You don't even try to hide your laugh as he takes off his headphones and turns around in his chair with an exasperated look.

“I told you not to do that,” he complains but you feel no remorse and will definitely do it again.

“It's late and I’m sleepy,” you inform him instead, and take his hands into yours, tugging on them a bit.

What you want should be obvious and you know he knows it immediately, but maybe it's a small revenge for bothering him, he doesn't let you pull him up. “And?”

“And I need my hero to ward off the evil thoughts and make me comfy enough to fall asleep soon so I can have nice dreams.”

He’s not even trying to hide the indulgent smile blooming on his face at this, looking at you like you’re the most precious being in the universe.

“Alright, love, just give me a minute and I’ll be right there with you,” he promises, but at this point you’re really too tired and you didn’t lie when you implicitly said you were feeling a bit anxious, so the thought that you would have to go back to bed alone to wait until he finishes up and shuts everything down, doesn’t feel good at all.

After a few seconds of contemplation, you end up sitting sideways on his lap with your head resting in the crook of his neck. “I’ll wait here,” you mutter, eyes already closed.

Fuma instinctively holds you closer with his free hand to support you then starts drawing soothing patterns on your back. You’re not always this clingy so he knows that you probably tried to fall asleep alone but couldn’t, and that’s why you came to him. He also knows that you usually find it difficult to ask for help because you don’t want to bother him. Now that you’re fully relying on him, he wants to meet your expectations and take care of you properly. He really only takes a minute while he saves his progress in both his game and his work, then closes the tabs and shuts down the computer. As the screen goes dark, he presses a kiss on the crown of your head. “Let’s go to sleep, hm?”

His voice is soft like he’s actually asking if you’re already asleep or not, and if you are, he doesn’t want to wake you up.

You’re not yet asleep but you’re definitely on the border of dreamland. Everything is blurry and it’s not clear what is a dream and what is reality anymore. Your consciousness is half asleep and you don’t have the strength to open your eyes or move at all. With the final drops of your energy, you let out a barely audible mutter, “Take me to bed.”

Fuma feels like his heart is about to burst out of his chest from how adorable you are. Your sleepy voice is adorable, your curled up form in his arms is adorable, the way you trust him so much that you could fall asleep in seconds when you’re with him is adorable. Everything about you is just adorable.

He carefully adjusts your position in his arms so he’s holding you securely, then slowly stands up from the chair without disturbing you and carries you to the bed bridal style. There he lowers you on the mattress and pulls his hands away. You immediately turn to your side and curl up as if you’re missing the comforting warmth of him that helped you fall asleep. But before the subconscious thoughts become loud enough to wake you up again, you feel strong arms return and wrap around you, pulling you back into that warm embrace that makes you feel the safest in this world.

#&team #andteam #murata fuma #&team imagines #andteam imagines #&team scenarios #andteam scenarios #&team drabbles #andteam drabbles #&team fluff #andteam fluff #&team x reader #andteam x reader #fuma imagines #fuma fluff #fuma x reader

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spacecowboyhotch · 3 months

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Boy Meets Cat, Boy Meets Girl

pairing: steven grant x f!reader

prompt: kid fic or pet fic

contents: the feelings that come w/ temporarily losing a pet, meetcute, flirting

wc: 1,334

an: another promotional fic for @moonknight-events! steven is just…one of the sweetest, cutest men ever. written w/ the Marc’s girls server in mind, iykyk!

DISCLAIMER: as a event runner i will not be entered in the drawing for prizes. this is promotional only.

SP BINGO 2024 | moonknight masterlist

She’s sitting on the steps one day outside the museum after Steven’s shift. He almost walks right past her, bumbling down the steps with a soft hum. It’s been a long day of being yelled at atop getting sleep that just isn’t restful. He’s exhausted. He’s unobservant.

He’s nearly past her when he hears it— a loud, scratchy meow that catches his attention. Steven stops in his tracks, blinking rapidly.

Had he just heard a cat? On the museum steps? Sleep deprivation really was getting to him, wasn’t it?

He turns towards the sound, sure that there will be nothing there, that he is just hearing things. But there she is, perched on the museum steps as if she owns the place. She looks like a little heap of snow— her fur is fluffy and a stark white color that contrasts with her dark eyes and pink nose. He lets out a little sound of surprise, and then she meows back as if she’s answering him.

He laughs, a bright and cheery sound. “Well, hello there little one. Lost are we?”

She meows again, this time a little softer and if Steven wasn’t mistaken, a little sadder. He softens, taking a few cautious steps toward her so as not to spook her. When she does seem skittish, staying in place despite him closing the gap he simply sits beside her on the steps.

“Do you have a name, little one? Can I look at your collar? Promise I’ll be gentle,” He says, reaching his hand out to her.

She leans forward on her front paws, sniffing at the back of his hand before giving out a soft purr. She bumps his hand with the top of her head, nuzzling.

Steven takes this opportunity to reach under her chin, scratching gently before he leans in to peer at her collar.

“Iris— what a pretty name for a pretty cat.”

Another meow as Iris bulldozes her way into his lap. Steven gives her a series of pats, setting off several purrs that he feels vibrating through her spine. She's so fluffy, so soft. He could pet her for all his days. It’s nice to have this companionship, even if it’s just a cat. Hell, it beats talking to the statuer at the fountain in the park and Iris hasn’t spoken a word.

You know for a moment there, I wondered if you were the goddess Bastet,” He whispers playfully, like he’s keeping a big secret. Iris simply meows, using her paws to slip down and lay across Steven’s thighs. “Aren’t you cold? Is that a silly question given your fur coat?”

Steven lets himself sit, idly petting Iris as he watches the sun slowly disappear behind the London skyline. He’s completely charmed with this cat, with the peaceful feeling her company brings. Part of him selfishly thinks about taking her home and keeping her as his own. But, he knows if he’s this fond of her in a short period of time her owner is probably grief-stricken to be without her. He’ll take her home for the night and use his off day to pursue leads on her owner. Perhaps Marc could help with the tracking. For tonight though, he has some company and the idea has Steven rising to his feet, Iris in tow.

“How’s about we head on home and watch a movie? Are you a fan of Meerkat Manor? Or will seeing them scurry about get you revved up?” He whispers, ignoring the weird glances he’s getting from passersby.

As expected, Iris simply gives out a soft meow, snuggling further into Steven’s hold. He grins, raising a hand to pet her head as he rounds the corner, effectively running into someone.

“Iris! There you are. Oh my god, thank you. Thank you,” You gasp, reaching out to squeeze his arm.

If Steven thought he was charmed by Iris, he must come up with a word that holds more meaning at the sight of you. Your cheeks are tear-stained, eyes a mixture of happiness and guilt. Your brows are pinched together, and he has the urge to reach up and smooth out the wrinkle between them. The urge to soothe you. Even during the short walk, Steven had imagined his reluctance to give Iris back to her owner, but that’s all melted away now that you’re right in front of him. So, so beautiful.

“You’re Iris’ mum?”

“Yes. Fuck, thank you so much. I can’t– I don’t know what I would’ve done without her. I owe you.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. I simply stumbled upon her outside the museum after work. I was gonna start looking for her owner tomorrow, imagined it was too late. But look at you, as diligent as ever.”

“The museum? What were you doing there?” You ask Iris before looking up at the man to whom you practically owe your life again. He’s very handsome, a little tired-looking but his eyes are warm, and his hair is fluffy curls. She’s everything to me,” You explain, squeezing Iris to your cheek, doing some nuzzling of your own.

Iris has clearly learned her affectionate manners from you.

Steven’s mind quickly wanders, wondering what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of your affection. He bats the thought away, flushing. “I can imagine, she’s a little charmer. Plopped herself right in my lap.”

“I’m surprised she got this close to you, she’s incredibly picky. She must sense that you’re a lovely person.”

“Well–I– I’m glad to live up to Iris’ standards. She seems to have good taste. Animals sort of choose their owners don’t they?”

“Thanks,” You murmur shyly, feeling your own cheeks fill with warmth. “I know that folks can say being a pet parent is cringy, but I really am lucky to be her mom. She has such an energy to her.”

“Warm. Calm,” Steven supplies, reaching out to pet Iris’ head, if only for the last time. She nuzzles into his hand and he smiles.

Your eyes track his hand, still a little surprised at how easily Iris is letting him pet her. She had hated almost every person you’d brought back to your apartment except a handful of friends. But, any romantic prospects had quickly made themselves scarce given your mean, overprotective cat.

“Exactly.”

“Well Miss Iris, I guess we won’t be getting to watch Meerkat Manor after all will we? Perhaps your mum could show.”

“Meerkat Manor?”

“It follows a little family of meerkats through the desert. Their struggles, their connections, their enemies. All sorts of things.”

“I’ve always been a fan of animal docs.”

“Yeah? I could recommend you loads of them.”

“I would really like that. I don’t think I got your name?”

“Steven.”

“Steven,” You repeat softly before giving him your name. “It’s really lovely to meet you. This is bold of me but…maybe we could see each other again?

Steven’s mouth drops open, eyes wide in surprise. “Really?”

“I told you I owe you and well– Iris seems to like you a lot. Maybe I could make you dinner as repayment and we could watch some meerkats live their lives.”

“I– yeah. Yeah, alright, I would love to.”

You and Steven quickly exchange contacts. He gives Iris a few more pets before rocking back and forth on his heels.

“I’ll call you tomorrow. Sound alright?” He asks, voice hopeful.

“Sounds great,” You confirm.

You shift Iris into the crook of your elbow, and to Steven’s surprise, wrap him in a one-armed hug as you whisper him a soft thanks. His response is delayed but he hugs you back, surrounded by your warmth and soft scent. After a few beats you pull away, giving him a smile as the two of you exchange temporary goodbyes. Steven makes his way back to his flat with a wide grin, grateful that Iris had brought the two of you together. Cat in arms, butterflies in stomach you walk home feeling much the same.

moonknight taglist: @ninebluehearts, @rmoonstoner, @hotchs-bitch, @later-gators12, @foreverinwanderlustt-blog, @aleeb , @eyelessfaces, @marc-spectorr, @missdictatorme, @toracainz, @mccn-bcys, @campingwiththecharmings, @whatthefishh

#as promised from the poll…yes it’s a little early mostly bc i need something to distract me #steven grant x reader #steven grant x f!reader #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant fluff #moonknight fanfiction #moonknightevents #arson writes

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 7 months

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The Artist and the Builder [a Joel x reader fic]

Read on Ao3

Sequel: All The Fear and the Fire of the End of the World

Fandom: The Last of Us

Ship: Joel Miller x you/artist!reader who is his age and has arthritis and allergies.

Tags/warnings: Bit of pining, Joel is sweet and settling in, reader has joint pain and allergies, kissing, pretty tame foreplay, a little fumbling, teasing, insertion of objects into vagina that probably shouldn't be there but it's the apocalypse there ain't no dildos, vaginal orgasm, Joel is Too Big and also has Bad Knees, piv sex, cuddling, artist stuff listen I don't know how to do this anymore.

Summary: Gruff contractor Joel Miller has been in Jackson for a while and up until now, you thought he didn't like you because you're an artist and who the hell needs art in the post-apocaypse? But you are wrong.

Words: 7,139

A/N: Listen I know absolutely nothing about being an artist, sorry about that. I also don't have allergies or arthritis (although I suspect I am going down that road but let's cross that bridge when we get there). I just want Joel to be soft with someone his age whose body is falling apart. Many many thanks to @pazizz and @rambling-in-purple who helped me with this one. It started as one thing but ended something else. I really appreciate the help along the way <3

My masterlist

The ache protrudes harshly into your dreams and tears you away from sleep way before it’s time to get up. It grows stronger as you come to, and you carefully try to open your hands. Each joint is like a rusty hinge that creaks and whines when moved, and you sigh deeply as you hide your hands in opposite armpits in an attempt to warm them up. Your mother had arthritis and would tell you in a bland voice that you’d probably get it, too. She had it, her mother had it, and so on. But that seemed so far away, you had your whole life ahead of you, and you had just settled down and started to live after your crazy twenties when the outbreak happened, and survival became your only goal. Despite it all, you managed to live for twenty more years, and then got slapped with the family curse.

Closing your hands around a mug of hot tea, you walk around the living-room of your small house and inspect your various half-finished projects: paper made of plants, clay paint, painted mugs. The whole house smells like a compost, so you open a window to let in a cool breeze. You immediately feel it in your aching hands but do your best to ignore it.

Sitting down at your drawing table, you pick up the charcoal and sketch a couple of lines to the profile you’re working on. It doesn’t feel right, however, so you put down the charcoal again. Restless, you sip some tea, your foot tapping against the floor.

Eventually, you have to go to the infirmary, where Robert, Jackson’s doctor, already is treating his first patient of the day.

You like Robert, like being of use, but being a nurse isn’t what you wanted. You trained to be one, yes, and worked as one for years because it felt like a good, honest profession, and your parents insisted. At nearly 30, however, you quit, and went back to school to pursue your true calling: art. You had almost finished your education when the world went to shit, and your passion no longer counted for anything. For the past twenty years, you’ve thrown yourself after art supplies like other people after food, but even paper is becoming harder to come by. Hence your experiments using plants.

“Your hands bothering you?” Robert asks around lunch, and you nod silently. You haven’t said anything, but he notices.

“Take the rest of the day off.”

“I’m good.”

“Just go, okay? I can’t give you anything for the pain, but I can give you the day off.”

You accept gratefully, and as you change into your normal clothes, you decide to go check at the latest construction site if there’s any sawdust to be had.

You hear the promising sound of a saw working its way through wood as you get closer to the latest house being erected, and when you reach it, Joel Miller looks up from the sawhorse and straightens his back. You think you see a grimace flash across his face, but then he carefully rearranges his features into the usual scowl.

Joel’s been in Jackson for a while now. You don’t really know much about him, except for what you’ve heard from others: that he walked across the country from Boston with the girl in search of his brother, and when the place where he was supposed to drop off the girl was destroyed, they both came back here. He seems to have settled well, and he’s handy, so he’s a welcome addition. He doesn’t really seem to understand your needs, though: when you first asked him if he could save some sawdust for your papermaking, he scoffed when he learned that you needed the paper for art. You bit back on an acid remark. Art wasn’t valued very highly in this world, but it’s what made you happy, and you didn’t care what someone like Joel fucking Miller thought.

“Hi,” you say, stopping in front of the sawhorse. “You got something for me?”

He wipes his forehead on his sleeve and nods towards the wall of the house he’s building. There are three buckets by it, and you see that two of them are filled with yellow sawdust, the third one with nettle leaves. Puzzled, you look over at him. You can’t really figure him out.

“What’s this?”

“Ellie said you were looking for nettles in the vegetable patches,” he mutters. “Passed by a bunch of them on patrol yesterday.”

You chew on your lower lip as you process the unexpected kindness.

“Thank you,” you eventually say. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” Joel picks up the saw again and goes back to working on shortening the board propped on the sawhorse. The woodsy scent of sawdust fills your nostrils, and you catch a whiff of sweat from Joel, despite the cool weather.

The buckets are proving difficult to pick up. Your fingers refuse to curl around the handles, and even if the weight is more than manageable, your hands are just not having it today. You swallow hard, embarrassed by your frailty, when Joel steps up behind you.

“I’ll take those.”

Big hands close around the handles of the sawdust buckets. You pick up the nettle bucket and start to walk towards your house. Joel walks alongside you, silent and avoiding looking at you just as you are stubbornly staring in any direction but his.

“I have arthritis,” you finally tell him, naming your disease with disgust dripping from your tongue. “My hands don’t work so well some days.”

“That’s rough,” he offers. “I used to have a neighbor who had that. Sorry.”

You finally venture a glance at him. His features offer nothing of what’s going on behind those dark brown eyes.

You arrive at your house, and Joel carries in the buckets for you. You see from how his nostrils flare that he wasn’t prepared for the earthy smell of your home.

“Just put them down there,” you ask him, gesturing to him. Joel does that and is left standing in the doorway to your living-room. He looks around at your various half-finished projects, the pictures on the walls, all your attempts at creating art with whatever materials you've been able to get your aching hands on.

You pretend to busy yourself with washing your hands, but you're really watching him. You've seen this before: people who don't care about art seeing art in a whole new way for the first time. They're always slammed in the face with it, and it's a very delicate moment that shouldn't be disturbed. So you busy yourself at the sink, rinse out your cup despite it being close to clean already, warm up your hands some more with water, open the cupboards and rearrange things. Joel disappears into the living-room, his heavy, unfamiliar boots causing the floorboards to complain about every step he takes. You hear him walk around slowly, and your curiosity gets the better of you. Quietly, you walk over to the doorway to sneak a peek at him.

He's standing by your desk, holding up a paper with a half-finished sketch. To your horror, the picture is of him, the one that you just can't get right because you can't figure him out, can't combine his threatening glower with the warm smile he reserves for his close ones.

You almost dash across the floor and snatch the paper from his hands before throwing it down on the desk, picture down.

"That's not finished, I mean, it's not... you weren't supposed to see it."

"It's good," Joel states simply. You glance at him as you mindlessly rearrange the sketches on your desk.

"Thanks."

His stare is piercing and hard to meet, so you cast down your eyes to a sketch of Ellie right in front of you. Joel follows your gaze and sees it.

"Can I see that?"

You bite your lower lip, pick up the sketch and hand it to him. You're happier with this one: Ellie's face is open, honest. She talks, questions, comments. You've barely heard ten words in all from Joel, and he's been around for months.

"You really captured her," he admires you. "Did she pose for this?"

"No," you shake your head, "but I've worked together with her occasionally. It's easier to draw someone when you know how they move and talk and such."

He hums in agreement as he studies the picture.

"Is that why you haven't finished my picture?" he eventually asks, catching you off guard. "Because you haven't spent time with me?"

"Probably," you shrug, and hold up your hand for him to relinquish the picture back to you. He does, and the line between his brows seems to melt away when he asks you if you'd want to finish his portrait.

"I can come by tonight after work."

You meet his soft gaze and nod.

"Yeah, okay."

///

You're in the middle of dipping your paper molds into a tub of pulp and putting them to dry when there's a knock on the door. You call out a "come in" as you wash your hands under water as hot as you can manage. Not good at staying passive, you've strained your hands all day continuing with your experiments.

Joel steps in, eyeing the room immediately before settling his nut-brown gaze on you.

"How are your hands?" he wants to know. You shrug.

"The same."

You reach for your jacket, and Joel grunts questioningly. You raise a brow at him.

"Are we going out?"

"I need fresh air."

"It does smell in here." A grin flashes by his face, almost shocking you. Was that a joke?

"Sorry," he immediately apologizes, taking your silence for chagrin. You smile wryly.

"Don't worry. It really is smelly, I just don't notice anymore."

You leave your house together and start walking slowly down the street. The evening is cold in a refreshing way, and you hide your gloved hands in your pockets, both to keep them warm and to keep them occupied. Keeping your eyes trained on some invisible spot in the distance, you try to figure out something to say. It doesn't feel like you and Joel have a lot in common, and all those old icebreakers of "where are you from" and "do you have a family" can be sensitive in this world. You opt for something you do know about him.

"Did you build houses before?"

He takes a second to answer, but finally tells you that he was indeed a contractor.

"Always good to know how to build things," you comment. Joel hums in agreement before clearing his throat.

"And you? You usually work in the infirmary."

"I was a nurse, but I didn't like it much," you tell him. "I went back to school to study art, but the breakout happened before I finished. And nobody needs art to survive. So I work as a nurse."

Joel doesn't say anything, but nods to a passer-by.

"Do you like being a contractor?" you ask. Once again, he takes a little time before presenting his answer.

"I do."

"Good, honest work, huh?"

"Something like that. And..." He hesitates, gaze flickering when you turn your head to look at him.

"It's nice to build something instead of destroying it," he finally mutters. You nod slowly.

"Yes. Yes, it is."

Without hurry, you walk around Jackson three times while talking. Joel is a man of few words, but the words he does utter are well chosen and sometimes heavy with information. He talks about his former construction work but doesn't utter one word about his personal life, possible family, likely loss. His voice is warm when he talks about Ellie, the teenager he delivered across the country, only to find that the people who were supposed to take care of her were already dead and buried. There is a momentary crack in his facade when he talks about his failed mission to bring Ellie to Salt Lake City, but he quickly gathers himself, and states that that's how both ended up in Jackson. He seems happy enough with those turns of events.

You tell him about your art education, about how you ever since you were a young child have seemed to notice how light falls on objects, faces, your surroundings, and the deep-seated urge to draw the light, paint it, trace is with a brush in futile attempts to replicate the magic. The light changes everything, how the world is viewed, and you're constantly trying to capture those moments when the light renders a common kitchen utensil magical, just because the first rays of morning sunshine catch the curves and angles of it. You're not sure he understands, but he does listen.

Eventually, you stop outside your house, facing each other. Darkness has fallen and you didn't leave the porch light on, so you struggle to see his face in what little light there is to be had from the moon, and the glow from the windows of the neighboring houses.

"It was nice talking to you," you say sincerely.

"You too."

You hide your hands in the opposite armpits in an attempt to keep them warm. The cold is getting to them, even with gloves.

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

Joel blinks.

"You're not going to draw me?"

"It's too dark."

"Ah." You hear from his tone that he just realized that you've been talking about light this whole time. His head shifts on top of that long, strong neck, his face turns a little to the side and you catch the profile of his aquiline nose against the faint light coming from the neighbor's house.

And you know you have to try to draw him like this, half cloaked in darkness, the bridge of his nose sharp against soft light, maybe from a fire, the shadows painting dark valleys on his face with his frown, the glint of grey in his beard, a lock of hair curling by his ear.

"Maybe not," you correct yourself and step past his towards your porch. "Come on in."

You load up the fireplace, your hands only trembling slightly from the weight of the wood. Joel kneels next to you by the fireplace and takes the matches from you. A protest rests on the tip of your tongue, but the brief touch of his warm, callused hand makes you swallow it. You stand up and watch him light the fire, breathe life into the kindling, and carefully place smaller twigs on the first, small flames before rocking back to watch the fire grow. You move your weight from one foot to the other, tuck your hands into your pockets. Joel glances up at your fidgeting.

"Your hands hurtin'?"

"It's the cold," you shrug. "But it's fine, it's not that bad."

You take a step back, towards the kitchen.

"Want a cup of tea?"

"Sure. Thanks."

When you return with two mugs of steaming tea, the fire is crackling merrily. Joel rises, joints popping, and accepts one mug from you with one hand, the other suddenly taking a gentle hold of your wrist. You twitch, the tea spills over a little, but you don't pull back your hand. Slowly, Joel covers it with his big, broad palm, so much warmer than yours, and you almost instantly feel the heat spread into your aching joints.

When you search his averted gaze, he releases your hand, and clears his throat.

"Thanks for the tea," he murmurs, and you nod quickly.

"You're welcome."

You busy yourself with emptying the run-down armchair from various knick-knacks and tools, and indicate the seat for him. Carefully, as if afraid to break it, Joel sits down. You pull up the desk chair and take a piece of charcoal and a paper, propping it on your lap with a sheet of cardboard under.

"You're not going to continue with the half-finished picture?" Joel asks, sipping his tea.

"No," you shake your head. "It's not how I want to draw you."

"Waste of paper."

"I'll use it to make more. It's okay."

He grunts, and you hide your smile without knowing why you're even smiling in the first place.

"Turn your head a little towards the fireplace," you instruct, and Joel squares his shoulders, as if he's unhappy about being told what to do. However, he does as he's asked, and follows the rest of your directions easily. When you're happy with his angles, you put coal to paper, and start to sketch.

For a long time, the only sound heard is that of the fire, and the soft scratch of the coal against the coarse paper. Your sharp eyes note every hair, pore, and line on Joel's face, but you're finding it hard to transfer them to paper. After a long day, your hands are hurting bad, and the pain keeps shifting your focus away from the task at hand. Finally, you sigh deeply and turn the paper upside down.

"I'm done."

"It's finished?" Joel asks, shifting like he's sitting back and leaning forward at the same time. One brow is quirked inquisitively, while his tight jawline lets you know that he doesn't really want to see the result - but he's curious.

"No," you specify as you get up, "it's not finished. I have to start over, but it's getting late."

Your fingers can barely let go of the coal when you set it down together with the paper. You hide your knuckle in the palm of your other hand and rub it discreetly.

"You won't show me?" Joel rises from the armchair and comes up to you, putting away the cup of tea. Standing right in front of you he seems almost impossibly broad.

"Your hands hurtin'?" he asks in a low voice that vibrates along your spine. You swallow quickly.

"Just need to warm them up, it's okay, I'm used to it."

Your breath gets caught in your throat when he takes both your hands and presses them to his chest. You feel his heart beat quickly against your palm and realize that some of his body heat actually comes from him being just as nervous as you are.

Feebly, you try to pull back your hands.

"I'm getting coal on your shirt..."

"Don't care."

You bite into your lower lip, speechless as if you were fourteen and standing in front of your crush, instead of a middle-aged woman talking to...

Who is Joel to you, anyway?

"Why are you doing this?" you ask hoarsely. Joel frowns, his hands slowly letting go of yours. You keep your palms on his chest for a second longer before letting go. Bereft of the warmth, your joints feel even worse.

He doesn't seem to have an answer to give you, but his lips move like he's trying to say something to break the silence. When nothing comes out, you get impatient.

"Joel?" you prompt.

"No one's ever looked at me like you look at me," he lets out, his dark gaze locking in on you. "It's like you're staring right through my clothes. It makes me nervous. I haven't been nervous in... a very long time."

"Nervous how?" you hear yourself ask, even if your armpits have grown damp, and your heart is beating so hard he surely must hear it.

"Nervous in that way." You hear exactly what he means, all the possibilities and threats and risks summarized in that. There's something so awkwardly boyish in it that you find yourself smiling. His frown deepens when he sees it, but his lips soften.

"Joel," you ask, softly touching your aching hand to his, "do you want to kiss me?"

He immediately grabs your wrist and touches his lips to yours in a kiss that doesn't really know what it's supposed to do but wants to do it anyway. He forgot to draw breath, and instead of inhaling against your skin, he pulls back quickly when he has to breathe.

"Fuck," he mutters, "that was a shitty kiss. I'm sorry."

Your cheeks flush violently when you pull at his hand.

"You can try again?"

The offer makes him smile, finally, and he displays that dimple that you found absolutely impossible to put to paper. His closes his hand around the back of your neck, and his lips press onto yours, and he remembers how it's done, and kisses you until you're not sure your legs will carry you anymore.

///

The picture of Joel becomes secondary to your meetings. Joel, you realize very soon, courts you, like some southern Gone With the Wind-type of gentleman. He brings you whatever materials he can find when he goes on patrol - you're excused from that task due to your horse allergy - and quietly offers you his thick gloves when you're out walking together, and your hands hurt. He continues to not talk much, but you start to recognize the little things: acts of service, the way he looks out for you, how his eyes light up when he sees you. His kisses when you part.

There is only kissing. He hasn't touched you in any other way, and you haven't taken initiative to anything further. There is only a rather chaste, yet warm, kiss when he leaves your house, where you usually meet up. He drinks tea and watches you draw, or paint when you're not asking him to pose for you. You know exactly how you want to capture him but so far, your hands haven't been skilled enough, and for every hour you spend with Joel, you lay another piece of the puzzle that is Joel, and you become unsure of how to draw him.

One evening, a couple of months after that first kiss, you're enjoying the warm fire in your living-room when there is a knock on the door. Joel stands on your porch, eyes scanning you quickly as soon as you open the door.

"You weren't at the movies," he says, referring to the event that nearly everyone in Jackson went to tonight. You hear the question in the statement: Are you okay?

"It's cold," you shrug. "Not my thing. Wanna come in?"

He enters your house, and you take his coat and hang it by the door.

"How are the hands?" he asks. You rub your palms together.

"Not bad today, actually. How's your knees?"

He grins a little, knowing that you saw him carry furniture up porch steps earlier.

"Creaky, but they still carry me."

"Tea?"

"I don't want to disturb, if you wanted to be alone."

You lead the way into the living-room, and move some things away from one armchair, pulling it closer to the fireplace, next to the one you were sitting in.

"You're not disturbing, do sit down. I could work some more on your portrait."

Busying yourself with picking at pieces of charcoal, you don't pay him any attention until his footsteps bring him right behind you. One warm hand touches your waist gently, startling you into turning around to meet his sheepish face.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay." His warm body is so close to yours, and his smell of wood, sweat, and snow invades your nose. You inhale deeply, pretending to sigh just to get the opportunity to soak in this intoxicating, masculine smell of his.

"I got something for you." Joel holds up something wrapped in cloth, and it takes you a few moments to gather yourself.

"For me?" Carefully, you take the little package from him. "Whatever for?"

He shrugs. “Thought you might need it. It’s probably your birthday at some point, or Christmas, or whatever.”

You never were good at receiving gifts, and it's even harder now. When was the last time you even got one?

He shifts his weight; a show of nerves that doesn't match up with his calm, deep voice. You decide to put him out of his misery and unfold the cloth.

It's four paintbrushes, hand carved with thick, curved handles, and tidily shaped heads.

"Oh. Joel, these are... these are gorgeous."

You hear him exhale, like he had been holding his breath.

"You think they're any good?"

"I'm sure they are, the hairs look amazing. Where did you get these?"

"I made them."

Now you tear your eyes from the brushes. "You made them?"

"Carved them, they should be comfortable to hold, I asked the doc what's suitable for someone with arthritis... The hairs are horsehair, bound together with sheep hairs."

He has really listened to you talking about all the art supplies you miss, and your ideas of making your own.

"The hairs are washed, so hopefully they won't give you allergies," he adds quickly.

"Joel... thank you. I don't know what to say."

He chuckles a little. "Try them first. What I know about making paintbrushes can fit onto the head of a nail. You may wanna return them."

"Unlikely."

You lean forward, the brushes still in your hands between the two of you, and touch your lips to Joel's. His hands rise to gently cup your elbows as he accepts your kiss. Only when your lips grow more insistent, does his hold tighten as well, and all you can think of is him holding your tits in the same manner.

Your hands, still holding the brushes, come to his chest, and you start undoing the buttons of his flannel. Joel's lips leave yours, and when he looks at you with eyes steeped in hot molten lava, you know that it didn't come easily.

"What are you doin'?"

"What does it look like?" you smile a little shakily. Is this the beginning of a refusal? Have you misunderstood his interest in you altogether?

"I don't want you to do it just because I gave you somethin'."

"It's not because you gave me something, it's because you never took anything away."

He cups your cheek now, strokes his big thumb over your lips.

"You're beautiful. I haven't done this in a long time, and never with anyone as beautiful."

"How old do you think I am?" you laugh, amused and touched at the same time. His ever-present frown changes slightly, turning quizzical.

"I don't need to hear that I'm beautiful," you specify, hands still on his chest. "I don't care about that."

"Then what do you wanna hear?" His voice is impossibly low. Your pussy clenches, grows moist and hot.

"I want to hear you want me."

"Oh, darlin'..." he sighs, closing his eyes momentarily. "I want you like crazy. I have wanted you for a long time, but I wanted for you to decide when you'd have me."

You didn't know how much you had longed for someone who saw you as a sexual being, a woman with desires and a will of her own.

"Joel," you whisper, and he swallows the rest of your words when he crashes his lips to yours. The brushes fall from your hand when you throw your arms around his neck to bring him closer, and Joel's big arms go around your waist. He hums into your mouth when your entire front is pressed against him; a satisfied hum, like he's happy to have you here. You answer with a hum of your own and feel his lips curve in a smile.

Slowly, his hands begin to know your body, sliding over curves and dips, fingers dipping into flesh, palms caressing over your clothes. Your approach is more direct: you pull at his flannel, wanting it off him.

"There's no hurry," he admonishes you between kisses. "Unless you got somewhere you need t'be?"

You exhale in something in between a scoff and a chuckle.

"In your pants?"

"Bedroom, then?"

"It's warmer in here, where the fire is."

"Hold on."

He releases you, seemingly unwillingly, and disappears into your small bedroom, re-emerging momentarily later with your bedding. You move the armchairs away to allow for him to put everything down in front of the fireplace. Groaning, he lays down on the makeshift bed, taking your hand and pulling you down next to him. You giggle a little as you plop down, immediately receiving more kisses.

"This better?" he wants to know. Your skin knots over when his hand finds its way underneath your shirt.

"Much better."

He rolls half on top of you, hand finding your breast for a light squeeze as his knee pushes between your thighs to separate them. His cock is stiff against your hip, and you move against it, smiling into the kiss when he grunts and grabs your breast harder. You put your hand on his, pressing it down, feeling his hand disappear into your soft flesh almost painfully. Your moan gears him up, and he starts to pull your shirt upwards. Squirming out of it, you reach for his belt, huffing in annoyance when Joel sits up to take his own shirt off. You sit up as well for a better reach, and your forehead connects with his chin just as he dives back to you.

"Ouch!"

"Fuck!"

You smile sheepishly at each other, both of you more startled than hurt, and Joel gently pushes you back down.

"Maybe we should take it slow?"

"I need you, I'm done waiting."

"I know, sweetheart, but I don't want you to break my jaw."

You scoff, but his kisses make you docile. Your clothes come off, along with his, and when you're both finally naked, skin against skin, you discover that you're happy with going slow as well. In the light of the fire, you trace your hand along his strong muscles and soft flesh, kiss his scars from past struggles, and the newer bruises from recent altercations with logs or whatever he has attempted to lift on his own. You close your fingers around the girth of his cock - Jesus, 20-year-old you would've giggled like a maniac at the sight of it - and enjoy the sounds of surrender that you can conjure out of him.

"God, your hands feel good on me," he hisses as you slowly, while trying to remember how to do this, stroke him with both hands. You smile, suddenly struck with nerves, when you pass your thumb softly over the glistening head of his thick cock. The precum catches the flickering light from the fire, and you get lost in how light and shadow play over Joel's skin; the dark dip of his navel, the hills of his soft pecs and stomach illuminated, his cock rising proudly from a thicket of dark hairs towards the light, the fuzz of his thighs. The embossed skin of a scar reflecting the warm light. The way his skin rises in goosebumps at your touch...

"Darlin'?"

You blink, and meet his wry, amused smirk.

"You with me?"

"Yeah, sorry. I just... was looking at the light."

"How you'd paint it?" Joel seems to catch on immediately, having listened to you rambling on about The Light several evenings. Yod nod and run one finger along the length of his cock before continuing up his happy trail, swerving around his navel.

"There's so much to see on the human body, if one just knows how to look."

"Lemme try that."

Joel pulls you down and rolls you onto your back, propping himself up on one arm next to you. You blush a little as he inspects you, his hand following the dancing shadows on your chest and stomach.

"Yeah," he murmurs, "I can see it alright."

"Yeah?"

"M-hmm. Hold on."

He rolls to the other side, looking in the dusky room for something. When he returns to your side, he's holding one of the brushes he made. With a feathery touch, he touches the brush to your ribcage, right underneath one breast.

"Here's light," he mumbles, carefully tracing the brush along a rib. "Right next to the shadow of your breast."

You exhale in a soft moan as his knuckles brush up against your breast, knotting the nipple. Joel's tongue slips out to lick his lower lip before he goes on tracing the lines that only he can see on your skin.

"What are you painting, Picasso?" you ask hoarsely.

"Hush," Joel tells you curtly yet not unkindly. You smile and close your eyes, shifting a little so that you can drape your arm around his shoulder. His hot breath is on your breast, his whiskers tickle you before something warm and wet disturbing your nipple tells you he's licked it. A shiver runs through you, and you push your chest out, asking him wordlessly to do it again.

He latches on and suckles steadily, but your shout of surprised pleasure has barely died down before he releases you and continues down your stomach with the brush.

"Joel," you whine, blinking up at him, but the focus in his eyes is so intense that you don't say anything more. Instead, you watch him figure out the fundamentals of visual art: how the light changes everything, how to handle the brush, how to angle the hand. His brush may not have any paint on it, but he paints your pleasure with sounds from you: gasps, hums, a hiss when he passes over a ticklish spot. With the brush trailing through the thicket of your pubes, your legs fall open and your lower lip catches between your teeth. Your pelvis rises to meet the soft hairs, and you moan when Joel dips the brush through your slick folds. He moves the brush to your nipple, circles it to wetten it with your arousal, then ducks down to suck it into his mouth. Your back arches, your inner thighs are wet, your heartbeats echo in your pussy, and you need him to understand just how desperately you need him.

"Fuck me," you keen, "Joel, I need you to fuck me."

He hesitates, coming up to slot his mouth over yours and steal your breath away. You rub yourself against him, find his cock and tease it, make him moan just as needily as you.

"I take it you ain't a pregnancy risk?" You hear from his tight voice how close he is to snapping. Fuck, but that's hot.

"STDs are our only concern," you try to joke, but it's not funny. Before coming to Jackson, you spent years in a quarantine zone as a nurse, and the common sexually transmitted infections ran rampant. Without proper testing equipment, it was hard to tell the scale of it.

"I should be clean," he tells you, and you're too far gone to doubt him.

"Me too."

He kisses you again as he rolls on top of you, his width and weight blocking out everything else as he plunges his tongue into your mouth. Your hips rise to meet him when he leads his cock against your entrance, and you almost bite him when he starts to push into you. Your nails press into his shoulders, the fit is impossible, and Joel stops.

"Fuck," he mutters. "You okay?"

"It's big, it's been a while."

He growls and pulls out, cupping your cheek when you whine.

"Don't wanna hurt you."

"Just get me wet, Joel."

"You're plenty wet already."

"And you're hung like a goddamn moose, so get me wetter," you snap, and Joel chuckles.

"Relax, darlin'."

"I'm trying."

He kisses you again, hand between your legs, two fingers slipping through your folds and drawing out the slick to a slow circle around your clit. Sparks run up your spine and you bury your fingers in his thick, greying hair.

"You always try to cram it in before finding a girl's clit?" you mutter, but your smile shines through. Joel slips a finger inside you.

"I told you, it's been a while." He trails kisses down your neck and moves his finger inside you, seeking the right, spongy spot. You mewl and writhe, needing more but not getting it. One finger is not enough. An idea forms in your head.

"Take the brush," you ask him breathlessly. Joel stills, finger slipping out as he studies your face. You roll your eyes.

"It's not a commentary on your skills. Get over yourself."

"You were the one who were in such a such a hurry a minute ago," he teases before looking around for the brush. Finding it, he brings it to your tits, but you shake your head.

"No, use it on me."

His brow rises quizzically. You push his hand down.

"Fuck me with it, Joel."

You expect an objection, or at the very least surprise, but all you get is a strangled sound and a searing kiss. The handle, so smoothly polished, is thick and curved in a way that bears resemblance to a dildo - not that you've used one in twenty years, but the thought is there now and you have to try this out.

The handle slides in easily, filling you better than his finger but without the intensity of his cock.

"Fuck," you keen, directing your hand down to rub your clit as Joel slowly pulls out the handle before pushing it back in. "There, fuck, Joel, that's good..."

He's breathing audibly now but you don't look at him anymore, you close your eyes and let him help you find all those buttons and spots that you had almost forgotten that you had anymore. When your toes start to curl, and you moan "Faster, Joel, faster!" he complies, rough whiskers scratching the sensitive skin of your tits as he fucks you with the paintbrush that he carved with his own split-knuckle hands to spare you your aching ones.

You barely know what an orgasm feels like anymore, but there's no mistaking this one. The rise and the tightening of muscles, the holding of breath before releasing it in a choked moan, the loosening of limbs, the pounding heat of your pussy.

"Jesus, but that's beautiful," Joel sighs, gently sliding out the brush and putting it to the side before kissing your flushed forehead. "Darlin', you're killin' me."

You chuckle huskily and pass your hands over your face.

"I think it takes a lot more to kill you, Joel Miller."

"I wouldn't bet on it."

The bedding underneath you may keep the draft of the floor at bay, but offers no suspension, so when he edges into you a second time and bottoms out, it's like being split in two between a rock and a hard place. But you can take him, and you cling to his broad shoulders with breaths coming out as hissing.

"Relax," he murmurs, petting your hair as if you were a skittish animal while slowly moving in you. "Sweetheart, you can take it, you're doing it already, you're doing it so well, it feels so good..."

You keen as he spears you again, slowly but steadily, his muscles trembling from the effort of keeping himself from crushing you. Your legs wrap around his thighs, arms around his shoulders and you pull him down, you want to be crushed, you need him like this, steady like a train and sharp like a razor, his breathless kisses on your neck, the groans that may come from pleasure or discomfort from being on the floor, you have no idea, but you need him just like this.

"Come, Joel, come," you gasp into his ear, the good one, and he endures, unwavering in his effort as he digs into you, deep, thorough, devastating.

His climax is a relief and a sadness. You don't want it to end, but you also couldn't bear one more second of it.

Joel slumps to the side, gathering you into his arms as he draws a deep, shaky breath. In the faint light of the embers that are left in the fireplace, you trace the scar on his right cheek and watch his eyelids press shut more firmly before he turns his head to kiss your fingers.

The temperature in the room seems to drop as the heat dies down, and you carefully untangle yourself from Joel's firm hold to put another log on the embers. When it flares up, you return to Joel's side, now finding him watching you.

"You okay?" he asks when you pull a blanket over both of you. Making yourself comfortable, you nod with a little smile and a kiss to his lips.

"Perfect."

"That thing with the brush was... interesting."

You blush. "I don't know what happened."

"Glad it did."

"Joel, I... haven't had sex like that... at all... in decades," you blurt out. "And this was... perfect."

He hums, glances down, and to you it's glaringly obvious that he is conflicted. Your heart sinks just as he speaks up.

"It really was perfect."

"But?" You can't help yourself: there's a slight edge to your tone. Joel leans his head back a little to take a good look at you, the usual disapproving frown back on his face.

"But there was someone," he starts, "for years. And we never had this. Time and place wasn't right."

You exhale in relief. History and baggage are easy to deal with, rejection is not.

"I'm sorry."

He shrugs with a little sound, forehead smoothed out.

"Was she... Ellie's mom?" you dare. Joel shakes his head, and his hand slowly passes over your back, fingers strumming the bump of your spine.

"I didn't know Ellie until a few months ago. This was... someone else. A partner. She took Ellie on, really. I was against it. And she... didn't make it."

You don't want to say that you're sorry again, but don't know what else to say, either. So you kiss him, because you want to, because you think he needs it, because there are no words. Your hand is splayed open on his cheek, his lips and mouth are dry and so are yours, but the kiss is sweet and gentle, and the things you can't find words for are carefully passed on to him. He exhales in a soft sigh onto your cheek, then tilts his chin up to kiss your forehead before burrowing his nose against your hair. It's clear to you that he wants to sleep, but you're buzzing with unexpected energy. Carefully, you slide away from his arms, smiling at his frown, and get up to tip-toe to the desk, where you pick up paper and coal. A faint blush colors your cheekbones when you feel his cum seep out of you, and you hurry back to the makeshift bed, sitting down by Joel's feet.

"C'mere," he barks, but you shake your head.

"Just stay still."

He complies with that frown of his, and you settle down, putting the piece of coal to the paper.

You know how you want to draw him now.

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfic #my fic

182 notes · View notes

abbyromanoff · 1 year

Note

Tattooist! Yelena x Reader -

Reader visiting her at the shop and getting needy at the sight of seeing her tattooing somebody 👀

Daddy’s Only Whore

Pairings: Yelena Belova x reader, Kate Bishop x reader

Word count: 1811

Warnings: Voyerisum, mentions of piercings and tattoos, fingering, cunilingus, kind of public sex, daddy kink, degrading, praising

No one is permitted to steal, copy, or reblog my work as their own!!

“Hey, Y/N!” Yelled Kate as you walked into the shop, the small ring chime dangling as the door closed. The woman ran up to you and engulfed you in a large hug, almost tipping you over at the contact.

“Woah there, Kate. I’m not going anywhere.” She leaned back and gave you a big smile, dragging you over with her to the receptionist desk where she sat every day. She was still learning how to do tattoos, only knowing how to do piercings at the moment.

“Kate! Stop smothering my girlfriend and get your ass to work!” She groaned but did what her boss asked, greeting the customer with a fake smile and leading them over to the chair. You watched her walk away with a small smile and made your way over to Yelena who was deep in focus.

“Hey, babe, whatcha drawing?” She chuckled dryly and looked up for a moment, not caring if the customer was annoyed.

“For the last time, it’s not a drawing, it’s a tattoo.” “Same thing.” She dabbed the ink in something you never knew what was called and turned the electric pen back on.

“It’s not the same thing, this is permanent. A drawing is not.” You couldn’t tell what she was making, it was upside down in your view. All you knew was that she was painting someone’s upper arm, you always wanted her to give you a tattoo. You never told her that, she’d probably tell you it was too dangerous. You had already planned a secret appointment with Kate to get nipple piercings, she made you promise to not tell Yelena she did it. Your girlfriend would obviously want to be the one doing it, but you wanted to surprise her with it.

“Why don’t you sit down on that chair right there and wait for me, we can have lunch together once I’m done.” She negotiated. You sat your bag on the floor and pulled out your phone to keep yourself entertained in the meantime, you knew this would be awhile.

“Yelena,” you whined out after an hour, “How much longer?” You hated to admit it, but you were starting to grow needy. Watching her work had always been able to turn you on, and the worst part, she knew it. She knew when your thighs clenched together secretly it wasn’t because you needed to go to the bathroom like you said. Your favorite part was when she’d get mad seeing you with her assistant, even if you just had friendly intentions. You thought Kate did too, but you never noticed the longing glances she’d send you from across the room. You never noticed how she’d make an excuse to leave the room, only to return a few minutes later looking out of breath. And you certainly never noticed the smile that grew on her face after you asked her to pierce you, she was dedicated to making it the best experience for you.

“I just have one last bit to do, can you wait ten more minutes for me?” You rolled your eyes and stood up with a huff, walking over to the woman who was just on your mind. You leaned your head on her arm as you rested your upper body on the desk.

“Hey, Katey!” A smile was plastered on your face as her nervous expression stared into your own. She always feared talking to you, you were just so goddamn pretty. And what she feared the most, your girlfriend.

“Uh, hey, Y/N. Is there anything you need?” You walked behind the table and sat on her lap, grabbing her arms to wrap them around your waist. She glanced around the room worriedly for Yelena, making sure she wasn’t able to see the close position you two were in.

“Yelena’s not giving me attention and I wanted to see my favorite worker.” She nervously chuckled and tried to move her arms from your waist, only to be pulled back in.

“Oh c’mon, you don’t want to touch me either?” You faked a pout and saw the man your girlfriend was tattooing start to leave the building, Yelena now walking over to you both. Kate panicked internally as you greeted the woman with a small glare.

“Kate, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Well, she was giving me attention unlike you.” Yelena crossed her arms over her chest before looking at the clock.

“Kate, it’s your lunch break.” She looked at her with confusion, checking her watch only to realize she was wrong.

“But, my lunch break is in an hour-“ The stern glare sent her way was enough to have her scurrying off, not caring if you almost fell over from the act.

“Yelena, that was mean. I was having fun with my friend.” She didn’t care what you had to say. Her hand grasped your arm harshly as she dragged you into the backroom, turning you to where your ass grazed the table.

“You couldn’t even wait two goddamn minutes?” Her hands moved to your inner thighs as she parted them, almost ripping the fabric of your jeans in the process.

“I’m sorry, daddy, I just wanted your attention.” She dropped to her knees in front of you, pulling down the article of clothing before being met with only your panties. She noticed the small wet spot, you looked away, now suddenly embarrassed.

“Aww, where’d my confident little thing go? Does someone get all nervous when daddy puts them back in their place?” She hummed when receiving no response, starting to stand back up only to feel your heels on her shoulders pushing her back down.

“No, please, daddy! I just wanted to tease you, I didn’t mean to make you mad!” She left small bite marks along your thighs, slowly moving further up until reaching your now-drenched bottoms.

“Is this all for me, baby? Or is it for that stupid bitch who kept putting her hands all over what’s mine?” She growled out, tearing a small hole in your panties. You gasped as the sudden cool air hit your bundle of nerves.

“F-for you, daddy, all for you.” She groaned before moving forward, connecting her lips with your clit. You threw your head back as your eyes fluttered shut, your fingers going to massage her scalp. She moaned into you as her tongue explored every inch of your body, she wanted it all.

“My clueless little slut, I bet you don’t even realize the way Kate looks at you. She acts like you’re hers, she wants you to be.” You looked down at the woman as she dove back into your sopping cunt, licking up every drop she could.

“What do you mean? Kate doesn’t- ah! Kate doesn’t like me, daddy.” You felt her chuckle, the sensation causing vibrations up your entire body. Her fingers found their way to your folds, running down to your hole as she slowly inserted one digit. She felt your tight walls clamp around her as you winced slightly at the intrusion.

“Sweetheart, I knew you were dumb but I didn’t think you were that dumb.” Her words caused a frown to make way on your face. You weren’t stupid, you were her smart girl.

“Daddy, I’m not dumb! She doesn’t like me, she’s my best friend.” Her body was placed between your open legs. Now standing up, she towered over you as her braids came close to hitting your face.

“Yes you are, you’re my brainless little whore. Isn’t that right? You’re daddy’s brainless little whore?” She could hear a small chime coming from outside of the room. It wasn’t a customer, it was Kate. The door was left cracked open just enough to be able to see inside, but not enough to see your face.

“Oh, daddy! I’m your brainless little whore! I’m your toy, just your toy meant to please you. Please, daddy, I think I’m gonna cum!” You moaned out, grasping her muscular biceps in your hands as your legs shook. You didn’t notice the black-haired girl standing by the door, or the way her fingers rested inside her sweatpants. Yelena did though, and as furious as she was, she found it so damn hot knowing she was watching you slut yourself out for her and only her.

“That’s it, cum for daddy, baby. Show our little friend just how much of a good girl you are for me.” You couldn’t even care to ask what she meant, only focusing on the pleasure you felt. It felt like waves came crashing down on you as you let out a loud moan, one that could be heard throughout the whole building. Kate rubbed her clit harshly as she stared at your blown-away face, wishing she was the one causing it. Yelena knew exactly what was going on through Kate’s mind and she loved it. She loved teasing her, showing her who you belonged to.

“Fuck, you’re soaking my fingers, puppy. You’re so hot when you make a mess for me, now who’s gonna clean this table up?” You mumbled out apologies as you rested your head against her chest, breathing in the smell of her cologne to calm you down. You wrapped your arms around her neck and clung to her like a koala. You whimpered when she started to pull out her finger, only to be shut up by it being forced down your throat. You sucked delicately, shutting your eyes as you pictured it was her strap. She bit her lip, knowing that Kate was out there watching you do this turned her on even more.

“Good little mutt, cleaning up your mess so well! C’mon, let’s get you dressed.” You stood on shaky legs as she helped you back into your clothes. You gave yourself one last look in the mirror, fixing your hair and checking for any hickeys or marks.

“You’re so beautiful, my love.” She hugged you from behind, resting her head on your shoulder and staring at you through the glass. She tickled your neck by leaving small pecks along the skin.

“Let’s go back out, sweetheart, can’t have anyone wondering where we were.” You

You chuckled lightly as Yelena just smirked, knowing exactly who was looking for you.

“Hey, Katey! When did you get back?” Her cheeks were a rosy red, if only you knew why.

“Oh, uh, just a few minutes ago! Had a nice sandwich from down the road.” She glanced at Yelena shyly before reverting her eyes back to the ground. You only shrugged at her behavior before walking back up to your girlfriend, giving her a kiss on the lips and smiling her way. If only you knew why she was grinning proudly the whole time, if only you knew Kate had just came watching you get fucked. If only you knew.

749 notes · View notes

heyiwrotesomethings · 1 year

Note

So, your requests are open, huh? Cool, could you write a shinoby x demon reader who feasts off of strong negative emotions? And that's why they're so attracted to Shinobu? Enemies to lovers fluff is always the way to go :>

Bottomless Well

Shinobu Kochou x They/Them Demon Reader

A/N: AAAAHHHH so much longer than I would have liked but it’s finally done! Sorry if there are more errors than usual, tumblr is breaking because of how long this is. Anyways, enemies to lovers with a bit of angst but it all works out in the end thanks for reading, hope you like it! Word Count: 5,928

There was a sense of danger that clung so thickly to the air that (Y/n) could taste it. Normally, they would make themself scarce when the presence of a skilled demon slayer was felt, but the taste of danger wasn’t the only thing the demon could feel sparking against their tongue.

A deep-seated hatred, disgust and coveted anger that seemed to know no end. (Y/n) wasn’t even close enough to feed off of the feelings properly, and yet they could feel themself growing stronger. It had been weeks since they had found someone suitable feed off of, and whoever was sharing this mountain path with them tonight could easily sustain them for the next thousand years.

Their curiosity outweighed their sense of caution. They needed to see the vessel of these powerful, negative emotions. They had never tasted such flavors at this intensity before. Even at the risk of their head, it would be worth it to trail this human at least until they made it to Tokyo. The big city promised an abundance of bitter souls to draw energy from. Though compared to the extraordinarily deep well of this single human, (Y/n) thought that even the entire population of Tokyo would be lacking in comparison.

They tip-toed from tree to tree, slowly gaining on the soft footfalls shuffling the dried leaves that littered the rugged earth. A tentative peek around a sturdy pine revealed the back of a small woman, hair tied up with an ornate butterfly clip, sheathed blade peaking from beneath her haori as it billowed slightly in the breeze.

“Wow,” (Y/n) murmured, “how does someone so small carry so much spite?”

The woman paused, and (Y/n) ducked back behind the tree trunk before they could be spotted. They held their breath until they heard the woman start walking again. They waited until the footsteps began to fade before picking up their pursuit once more.

They were delighted to find that when dawn threatened to light the sky, the slayer decided to rest. Hopefully she would rest most of the day, that way (Y/n) could easily catch up to her again when the sun went down once more, though now that they had honed in on the anger this woman kept, she’d probably need to travel at least halfway across the country for (Y/n) to lose her now.

The woman took a spot where the sun would would make first contact and (Y/n) took cover beneath the thick pine trees, close enough to study the woman further, but not close enough to be discovered, hopefully.

(Y/n) keen ears caught the woman’s tired groan. She leaned forward and rubbed at her face and (Y/n) hummed sympathetically. They wondered how long the slayer had been on the road. Where did she come from and where was she heading? Was she on her way home or was she heading towards her objective?

(Y/n) continued to ponder these questions, among others, as they watched the slayer rest in the sunlight for the next several hours.

“Finally!” (Y/n) stretched and stumbled out of the thick woods when the last sliver of sun faded away.

The demon slayer had left about an hour before sunset so they had some ground to make up. However, that distance was easily closed since they were energized by the their previous proximity to the woman’s fury.

They knew they were close when they heard metal scraping against metal and a wild yowl. (Y/n) spied on them from behind a grove of bushes. The demon slayer was fighting a lone demon and by the looks of it, she would easily win. Her movements were methodical and at first (Y/n) wondered what the point of those quick jabs were, but it soon became clear.

“Poison?” They marveled, watching the other demon collapse and choke with morbid fascination. That woman was really not one to be trifled with.

They watched her flick the blood from her blade, but then their eyes wandered beyond the butterfly woman to the tree limbs above.

“Above you!” (Y/n) shouted spontaneously, ducking below the shrubs, placing their hand over their mouth much too late to be effective.

The demon slayer’s head jerked to where (Y/n) hid within the bushes before craning up to the trees, finding two more demons who screeched angrily upon being discovered. They descended upon the demon slayer, but as with their fallen companion, they stood no chance. With impressive speed, the slayer disposed of them both.

She flicked her blade clean once more and dutifully checked her surroundings, including the bushes, but found nothing.

“Hello? Where did you run off to? You can come out, I don’t bite.”

Somehow after watching her kill three demons without breaking a sweat, (Y/n) found that hard to believe. Especially if she found out they were a demon as well. Since those deaths by poison seemed less than pleasant, they would stay hidden.

It took a minute, but the woman finally shook her head and sheathed her sword, then went on her way. (Y/n) peered around the rotted tree they had crouched behind and watched her go. When her back was swallowed by the shadows of the trees, they began their pursuit once more.

For a demon slayer so full of hate, her voice sure was soft.

Another day another night, (Y/n) followed the slayer across the countryside. In another couple days, they would arrive in Tokyo. (Y/n) was almost sad to be losing her unaware companion, but it was a dangerous game they had been playing and the slayer seemed to grow more paranoid as the hours dragged by.

Another nightfall, another night of playing catch up, yet something felt different about this night. It seemed like the demon slayer hadn’t made it very far at all despite leaving before sunset as she had done previously.

(Y/n) grunted, mildly annoyed. The slayer’s essence seemed to follow no set path, it surrounded them like a fog. They closed their eyes and parted their lips, inhaling deeply to try to find the thread of where the negative emotions were strongest.

Finding a promising lead, they followed, the negative emotions grew stronger, but (Y/n) had yet to catch sight of the slayer again. Then they saw a strange shape hanging from a tree branch and went to investigate it. On closer inspection they saw that it was the demon slayer’s haori.

“What the hell is she up to?”

And then (Y/n) suddenly found themself in the dirt their arms pinned painfully against their back.

“So my suspicions were correct.”

(Y/n) grit their teeth in pain and twisted their head to the side to look up at the demon slayer they had been trailing for the last handful of nights. A knee dug further into the base of their spine, a warning not to make another move.

“How long have you been following me exactly, demon? And to what end?”

Well this was intimidating. (Y/n) had known they had been playing with fire, but they weren’t dead yet. The demon slayer had made a mistake by not running her poisoned nichirin through them the second she had the chance instead of choosing an interrogation. Had she discovered them on the first night, she could have done away with them just as easily as those other demons from a few nights prior, but since (Y/n) had harvested a steady intake of the plentiful negative emotions lurking within her, they were leagues stronger now. But they would let the slayer think she had the upper hand for the time being. They weren’t too confident they could free themself without accidentally hurting her. They were unused to being so strong.

“It’s been a little less than a week, but I meant you no harm.”

“Am I really supposed to trust the word of a demon?”

“Well, why’d you ask if you aren’t going to believe me anyway?” (Y/n) retorted with snark.

The knee at their back added more pressure and their arm bent at an even more uncomfortable angle.

“Ah! Hey, take it easy!”

“Then explain yourself.”

“I’m trying! But you aren’t a very good listener!” (Y/n) huffed. “I was only following you until you got to Tokyo, or until you got off the path at least.”

“Tokyo?” The demon slayer was unmoved, “Fancied yourself a feast, did you?”

“Truthfully, yes, but probably not in the way you’re imagining. I get all the energy I need feeding off of the negative emotions of humans. You carry a very substantial amount, ergo, why I chose to follow you. There really isn’t anything else to it.”

“Again, I find that hard to believe. I doubt these negative emotions you chase are organically occurring. Do I look like I harbor anything of the sort?” The woman’s smile was sugary sweet, but (Y/n) was not at all fooled.

“Oh come on! You are a blistering inferno! I don’t know who hurt you, but they hurt you badly. You probably know more than anyone that there is plenty of grief and fury in the world. I don’t need to harm anyone to find someone upset with their lot in life. They’re an ordinary occurrence. But I have to say, I’ve never met anyone like you before. Your well is bottomless.”

The demon slayer hummed, but by her eyes alone, (Y/n) could tell she was still doubting them.

“Demon,”

“My name is (Y/n).”

“Demon,” the slayer began again, “how many people have you killed?”

What an unfair question! You’d be hard pressed to find a demon who hadn’t killed or maimed at least one human before they gained some control and introspection.

“I haven’t killed anyone, but I did severely injure a friend of mine at the time when I first turned. I’m not trying to excuse what I did, but—“

“Would you say you attacked them with the intention to kill?”

“I wasn’t myself, like I said I had just—“

“I think I’ve heard enough.”

(Y/n) heard the scraping of a blade leaving its sheath and decided the time to act had come.

With a careful kind of strength and speed, they flipped the script on the slayer, pinning her to the ground in a similar position that they had been in seconds before.

“Okay, you’ve had your fun. Now it’s my turn to talk!” (Y/n) growled. “Yes, I hurt someone I cared about. The fear and pain and betrayal they felt fed me more than the chunk I took out their wrist. But I don’t fondly look back on it as one of the ‘best’ emotions I’ve fed on. When I think of them, it’s about how they tried to help me and I repaid them by shredding their tendons. How they probably had to give up on their ceramist apprenticeship because of me. I left them every yen I owned, but I know it will never make up for what I did.

I haven’t hurt anyone since. In fact, I usually go out of my way to help people when I can. Like when I warned you about the demons about to pounce on your head the other night.”

“How do you help people when you feed off of their misery?” the slayer asked. Her voice though soft, held an undertone of bite to it.

“By feeding off of their misery.” (Y/n) went on to explain further, “I’ve discovered that if I feed on the negative emotions of a single person long enough, their well dries up. Not permanently, but until the next upset comes along at the very least. That’s why I want to go to Tokyo, there it’s always something.”

“You’ll make it to Tokyo over my dead body.”

The slayer’s voice sent a shiver down (Y/n)’s spine. They felt her shift her legs beneath them and heard a dual schwing! behind them, giving them enough time to narrowly dodge the knives that had apparently been built into the slayer’s footwear. She was very resourceful, they’d give her that much.

“Alright, knife shoes, that’s enough for me!” (Y/n) shouted, jumping back several feet, “This will be where we part ways. Wish I could say it was a pleasure, but actually having to talk to you was not a treat!”

(Y/n) darted away, really putting their newly invigorated speed to the test. All was well for but a few minutes before the slayer was soaring at them with all the force of a speeding bullet.

“Holy fuck!” (Y/n) felt the displacement of the air as the sword nearly grazed their cheek. “Holy fuck she’s fast!”

They pin-balled through the forest and it almost looked like the slayer —who just had to be a Hashira, had to be!— had (Y/n) right where she wanted them. The edge of a cliff.

“End of the line.” She drawled, fake smile holding on for dear life.

(Y/n) noticed the slayer’s apparent exhaustion and frustration, and smirked.

“Maybe for you, but if you took the time to actually listen to anything I told you, you would know I’m at the strongest I’ve ever been right now and that’s all thanks to you.” They slid their heel over the edge of the craggy cliff, “Not that you’ll believe me, but I promise to use this power for good as long as I have it. Bye-bye, Butterfly Girl.”

“Don’t move!”

But (Y/n) had already fallen. Wasn’t the most graceful dive, but they made it to the river far below relatively unscathed as far as demons go, and with the speed of the water’s flow, they would be long gone before the demon slayer safely made it down.

Shinobu clenched her fists to a knuckle-white hue as she watched the demon float away. They stuck their tongue out at her mockingly before they disappeared around the bend. Taking advantage of her solitude, Shinobu swore,

“Damn it!”

She had never been so embarrassed! If the other Hashira found out about this, she would never hear the end of it. That demon wasn’t even part of the Moons! She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, then another. She fixed her hair back into place, her mind already made up. She would kill that demon after she had some time to recoup after spending so much time away from her estate.

“Run all you like, but I know where I’ll find you.”

***

“Oh! Missed again Bu-Bu, you’ll have to do better than that!” (Y/n) taunted.

“I will be sure to make your demise the most painful I’ve ever crafted.” Shinobu smiled tightly, veins fit to burst.

(Y/n) just had to learn her name after months of this cat and mouse chase and craft the most asinine nickname Shinobu had ever heard. Even Kanae would have known better than to ever utter something so childish.

“Sure, as you said the last time you made the trip to Tokyo, and the time before that, and the time before that—“

Shinobu pulled a throwing knife from her sleeve and tossed it at (Y/n) with wood splintering speed, luckily (Y/n) saw it coming, despite it being a new trick Shinobu had brought along. Shinobu grit her teeth together. No one could bring her fury to the surface like (Y/n) could.

“Don’t you think you’ll ever grow tired of this? Don’t you have more important things to do?” (Y/n) sighed, “Don’t get me wrong, I look forward to your visits but I can’t help but think your time would be better spent elsewhere.”

“It is my duty as a Hashira to destroy every demon the crosses my path, and that is just what I’ll do.” Shinobu dropped down I to another stance and burst forward in hopes of scraping (Y/n) just the tiniest bit, that’s all she needed! But again, (Y/n) avoided her.

“Come on, Bu-Bu, I’m sorry that I’ve damaged your pride time and time again, can’t we just start over? I think we’d make a pretty good team in all honesty.”

And (Y/n) was serious. Try as they might to dislike Shinobu, whenever they felt her arrival in the big city, they always went looking for her. They just couldn’t help but be drawn to her and the angst she shouldered. As hard a time as they liked to give her, they thought Shinobu was rather remarkable.

“Call me that one more time.” Shinobu dared.

“…Bu-Bu— AH!”

Shinobu pelted a barrage of knives and needles at (Y/n)’s retreating back as they sprinted and dove out of the alleyway, startling a pompous looking rich couple strolling down the street.

“Sorry, ‘scuse me! Trying not to die!”

***

Shinobu didn’t know what to do. She hated to even consider the possibility that this was a battle she could not win. She accepted long ago that (Y/n) really did feed off of the negative emotions of others and since that was the case, it was very likely that she could not be the one to kill the demon, simply because her well was much to deep. It pained her to say that (Y/n) was correct. As long as her anger remained unchecked, she could not defeat them.

Maybe it would be best to hand this self-imposed task to someone else. Kanao could probably overtake them… but Shinobu knew she would not be satisfied unless she ended things on her own terms. How could she lessen the hate within her so that she could utterly destroy (Y/n)?

Then Shinobu got an idea. A new approach. An insane approach.

What if she made an effort to befriend the demon? Maybe she could trick herself into lessening that hatred. Shrinking her well and thereby weakening (Y/n) enough to possibly defeat them on her own. At this point, she had no other options but to cut her loses and try to forget the infuriating demon and Shinobu was no quitter.

With that, she began planning her next trip to Tokyo with a renewed vigor. Who knew killing someone with kindness could be taken so literally.

***

“So let me get this straight…” (Y/n) rubbed the back of their neck, “You want a tour of the city and you want me to give it to you.”

“Yes.”

“But… why?”

“I was just thinking it’s been such a waste chasing you around. I’ve been all over this city but never stopped to take it in. You’ve been living here for months now, so I figured you could show me around. Does that not sound favorable? Didn’t you say you wanted to extend an olive branch?”

(Y/n) hummed, amused, “Are you sure this isn’t some elaborate scheme you are trying to pull that’ll render me worm food?”

No. “Yes, no tricks. I promise.” Shinobu held out her hand, then subtlety rolled her eyes when (Y/n) eyed the limb suspiciously. She rolled up her sleeves, “Completely bare, see?”

(Y/n) pursed their lips in thought before nodding in acceptance, a shy smile working at their lips as they reached their hand out to grasp Shinobu’s in a firm shake.

“Alright, what would you like to see first?”

“Surprise me.”

(Y/n) was a surprisingly competent tour guide bursting with information about themself and the sights around them. They had begun by telling Shinobu about the small village they had come from and how much of a culture shock it was when they finally made to Tokyo. They had never seen so many people and there were so many lights that it almost made night seem like day. It was very overwhelming at first, but they got a hang of it.

After wandering around for some time, (Y/n) asked Shinobu if she was hungry and took her to a ramen hut that was wildly popular.

“I’ve heard all sorts of great things about this place. If eating regular food didn’t make me feel so ill afterwards, I would be all over it! You have to let me know how it tastes!” They beamed excitedly.

Shinobu had to admit it was very good and well worth the wait.

“Hey Bu— Kochou, you’re a smart, science-y kind of gal. Do you think that a cure for demons is possible?”

“…I suppose it’s not out of the realm of possibility. Though I’d say it’s unlikely. It’s not something I’ve spent any time studying anyhow.”

“I see,” (Y/n) sighed, “you know, another reason I came to Tokyo was because I heard that there was a demon around here who was researching a cure, but I think she must have skipped town. It makes sense I guess. It’s a dangerous business trying to defy, ya know… so if a nobody like me heard about a demon doctor in Tokyo she must have packed her things and left the second her cover was blown. It’s still aggravating though, I really wanted to try to help her out.”

After Shinobu finished her meal, (Y/n) paid for it before she could retrieve her pouch.

“I thought you said you gave away all your money.” She recalled.

“I did, but I got myself a job that even comes with boarding! I only needed a place to protect me from the sun, but I thought I’d send the money I made back home to provide a steady income to my friend but the letters kept getting returned to me unopened so I’m kind of stuck with the cash…” They ran their hands over their clothes uncomfortably but put on a brave smile, “Well, anything else you’d like to do? The night is still young.”

They made their way down the bustling road, (Y/n) being the one to keep the conversation going most of the time. Shinobu made an effort to listen to at least pretend to be interested and file away any information that could actually be important moving forward.

She was distracted by a woman calling for someone as she clumsily navigated her way across the street. (Y/n) turned to greet her, seemingly familiar with her. Shinobu watched the interaction curiously.

“I just wanted to thank you for helping me the other day!” The woman bowed profusely, shoving a box of assorted treats into (Y/n)’s hands.

“You don’t need to thank me for anything, really. Somebody needed to step in.”

“Even so, please accept these as a token of my gratitude.” The woman shifted nervously before quickly kissing (Y/n)’s cheek before running back into the crowd.

“What was that about?” Shinobu asked.

“I, uh, punched a guy that was trying to feel her up. You probably don’t agree with the way I chose to go about it but,”

“No, I probably would have done the same. Good on you.” Shinobu half-heartedly praised.

“You mean it? Phew, I thought you’d be all like, ‘you mustn’t ever raise your hand to a human no matter the reason!’ or something.”

“I don’t sound like that.”

“You kinda do. Anyway, I would love to see you punch a guy. Just really wipe the floor with some jerk who really deserves— Hey! Watch out!”

(Y/n) disappeared from Shinobu’s side in a second and she heard an awful crunching sound and turned to the street. She saw a young boy on hands and knees, a temari rolling slowly away from him, and just a little further to the left, (Y/n)’s forearm had caved in around the hood of an oncoming automobile, stopping it in its tracks.

“Are you okay?” They asked the boy before checking in on the passengers of the vehicle. The obviously intoxicated driver shook an angry fist at them before puttering off at a much slower, jerkier speed.

Shinobu approached the scene, prepared to check over the boy for injuries. He clearly scraped up his palms and knees and was crying woefully.

“It hurts doesn’t it?” (Y/n) smiled sympathetically, “Here, I know a bit of magic that will help the pain go away.”

Shinobu watched the demon make a whole manner of nonsensical hand gestures and noises that made the weepy boy giggle and then with a deep inhale, the boy blinked, suddenly he didn’t feel so bad.

“You really are magic.” He whispered with awe.

“It’s our secret, okay?”

The boy made a show of zipping his lips and throwing away the key.

“Kochou, do you have anything for his scrapes? I can take care of the pain, but not the actual injuries.”

“Of course.”

She patched the boy up and (Y/n) retrieved his temari. Together they helped reunite the boy with his worried mother.

“Are you always so busy? Or are you putting on a special show just for me?” Shinobu asked.

“Not at all! I may feed off of negative emotions, that I’ll sit by if there is something I can do to make it better.”

“I recall you saying something similar before I suppose.”

“Oh, so you do listen to me. I wonder sometimes.” (Y/n) teased.

“Just take me to our next destination, please.”

“You got it, Bu-Bu.”

“Quit it.”

***

Another handful of months go by, more than a year since she first tackled (Y/n) to the ground and Shinobu knows she’s in too deep. Her plan was to marginally taper her hatred for (Y/n), not fall in love with them! Try as she might to ignore it, (Y/n) had shown their merit time and time again and grew on Shinobu like lichen on sturdy stone.

They were genuine, goofy, sweet, a pain in the ass, and Shinobu was smitten. There had been a handful of times where Shinobu thought she could do it, she could get the jump on them and end it all for good, but then (Y/n) would smile at her so sincerely or laugh in the way that would make her heart swell and she just couldn’t do it!

She told them things about herself that those closest to her had to twist her arm to get out of her. She just couldn’t believe she had gotten here from where she started, but try as she might to convince herself, she couldn’t say she regretted it.

“Oh great! You found a seat!”

Shinobu tried to temper the blush dusting her cheeks. She still hadn’t quite recovered from (Y/n)’s exuberant appraisal of the yukata she had worn for the occasion. It was a festival after all, why not dress up a bit? No other reason…

“Here, hope you like dango.”

“I do. Thank you.” Shinobu smiled, taking the offering and trying to ignore how her skin tingled when her hand brushed theirs.

They watched the procession of performers carry on down the street lit in a vibrant orange glow from the paper lanterns scattered around, but they kept glancing at each other, nervous for whatever reason. Their hands accidentally brushed when (Y/n) rested their palm against the branch. They jolted apart before cautiously meeting in the middle again.

“Shinobu,”

“Hm?” Shinobu attempted to mentally beat down her fluttering heart, when she saw how close (Y/n)’s face was to hers.

“Would it be okay if I kissed you?”

Already breathless, Shinobu nodded numbly. There had been a couple close calls in the past since they seemed to pull on each other like magnets, but now it was really happening. Or maybe not because Shinobu’s stomach was suddenly in knots.

This whole build up was built upon the fact that she wanted to take (Y/n)’s life. A secret she had kept to this very night. Perhaps if she brought it up when they first entered the friend stage they could have laughed about it, but now it was eating her up inside. She had to tell them.

“W-wait.”

(Y/n) pulled back, apologies ready for being so forward, but Shinobu shushed them.

“Before we continue. I must tell you something important.“

“What is it?” (Y/n) asked, shifting uncomfortably.

“My intentions towards you have not always been pure.” Shinobu swallowed. “When I first approached you under the guise of offering an olive branch, I was really coming at you as a Trojan horse. I intended to get close to you, in order to bring down your guard and lessen my hate towards you in hopes to more easily destroy you.”

“Oh.”

“Instead I accidentally fell for you. It’s rather ironic, isn’t it?” Shinobu chuckled, attempting to lighten the weight of her very heavy confession.

“Yeah,” (Y/n) chuckled dryly in return, looking down at their feet, “you must be disappointed.”

“I grappled with it for a while, but I got over it.” Shinobu slid her hand out to find (Y/n)’s again, but to her surprise they stood up before their hands met.

“I’m sorry falling in love with me was such an awful thing that you had to fight with yourself over it.”

“(Y/n)?” Shinobu stood as well, reaching out for them only for them to back away.

“Well, in a way I guess you still succeeded. I don’t think I’ve ever hurt this much.”

“I didn’t tell you this to hurt you, I just wanted to be transparent with you.”

“You had plenty of time to be transparent! When did you start to actually care? How much of the time that I look back fondly upon were you actually thinking about when to stab me in the back!”

“(Y/n), please,” Shinobu beseeched, but (Y/n) shook their head.

“I think I better go.”

“Wait—!”

Shinobu reached out to grab them but they were already gone.

***

Shinobu had searched for (Y/n) in all the usual places. She even waited outside their place of work, but their boss sourly told her they had been missing their shifts. They wouldn’t leave Tokyo without telling her, would they? She had looked in all the usual places, asked people for any hint of their whereabouts, but received no leads. Thinking about it now, (Y/n) always seemed to be the one finding her, not the other way around. (Y/n) probably tracked her through their abilities and this meant that if (Y/n) didn’t want Shinobu to find them, she never would.

Broken hearted, she returned home and the girls noticed the somber fog she brought home with her. She appreciated their attempts to cheer her up, but nothing would keep her from her brooding for long.

Day after day she wallowed, barely keeping up with her work because as long as she appeared to be functioning on the surface, people left her alone for the most part. She’d lay in bed, languishinging away. Stewing in her sadness and growing frustrated with herself. She was not Tomioka, she wasn’t the type to lay in a dark room all day and wonder, ‘why me?’ She took charge! She kicked ass and took names! She saw a butterfly in the garden that reminded her of (Y/n) and cried about it for twenty-five minutes…

Shinobu was absolutely miserable.

Taking note of the time, she took a deep breath and heaved herself out of bed to allow herself some time to fix herself into something resembling a functioning human being before she headed to the lab. She had been working on finding a cure for demons lately and though she really had no need to continue, except for maybe Nezuko she supposed, she couldn’t bring herself to clean up and pack away what she had worked out already. She wondered how long that demon doctor (Y/n) had mentioned had been searching for a cure.

As Shinobu dragged her feet through the halls, she heard a commotion. She was content to ignore it, thinking it was probably just the rowdy boys coming back from their latest missions until she heard someone shouting about a demon.

A demon on estate grounds was unheard of, especially during the day.

Shinobu ran passed the lab and through the sea of Kakushi frantically running about, yelling to quickly find her or Kanao to deal with the matter.

“Everyone be quiet!” She heard Aoi yell from somewhere within the chaos. “Remember the protocol! Get to your stations!”

The crowd thinned enough for Shinobu to make her way outside. Kanao was already there, sword at the ready. Shinobu aimed her gaze further ahead to see exactly what they were dealing with her heart nearly fell to her feet.

Underneath a large umbrella, only slightly singed, (Y/n) stood timidly, trying not to do anything that would warrant Kanao’s wrath.

Shinobu moved on autopilot, almost tripping herself a few times because she couldn’t take her eyes away from (Y/n). Her hand managed to find Kanao’s shoulder.

“It’s alright, they won’t harm anyone here.” She assured.

Kanao searched Shinobu’s face before taking a step back. Though she had been concerned with Shinobu’s behavior as of late, she was curious to see where exactly she was going with this.

Shinobu walked on until there was only a few steps distance between them. (Y/n) bit their lip nervously.

“Hey—“

“What are you doing out in the sun?!” Shinobu scolded, “You could die! Get inside right now before something goes horribly wrong!”

Shinobu shrugged off her haori and put it around (Y/n) in hopes of adding another protective layer and quickly ushered them inside.

“I’ve got everything under control Kanao, let everyone know there is no need to worry and to go back about their day, please.”

Shinobu pushed (Y/n) through the halls, finally shoving them into her room and shutting the door behind them.

“Are you feeling okay? Nevermind, stupid question. I know you aren’t.” (Y/n) blew out a gust of air and closed their umbrella.

“How did you know where to find me? Why did you come back?”

“Well, after I stopped feeling sorry for myself I thought about what you said. It wasn’t fair for me to run off on you like that, and avoid you in the days that followed. I went looking for you then, but I guess you had given up. I didn’t know how I could find you again to apologize, but then I started feeling your emotions again so I thought you came back. I followed your sorrow, and followed and followed, bought an umbrella, kept going, and then I wound up here.

I’m so sorry I left you alone like that. I obviously hurt you a great deal. Can you forgive me?”

“I think we both both have our fair share of blame. I forgive you. And I’m sorry, do you forgive me.”

“Yes, of course I do.” (Y/n) took a step forward and rose their arms halfway, hesitating. “Um, would a hug be okay?”

“Get over here.”

Shinobu grasped (Y/n)’s wrists and pulled them forward into a right hug. She relaxed into (Y/n)’s body when their arms wrapped around her.

***

“Darling, I already fed Fugu today.” Shinobu told (Y/n), taking the fish food from their hand and placing it back on the shelf.

“Are you sure? She looks hungry.”

“She is trying to deceive you. She knows you’re an easy target.” Shinobu smiled, pulling (Y/n) out of their room by their hand. “Come along now, it’s a full moon, and you said you wanted to go on a walk with me, didn’t you?”

“Yeah!”

They walked hand in hand through the cool night, the moon illuminating the path, occasionally deviating from the path to share a few stolen kisses along the way. Though Shinobu’s well of anger was far from empty, the love they shared helped make the pain much more bearable.

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