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crystalflygeo · 3 months

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How to Warm Up your Dragon ft Zhongli + fem!reader

cw/tags: ngl this is MOSTLY VERY FLUFFY but it has a veeeery spicy part ehehehehe, praise kink, biting, bit of rough sex, creampie, dirty talk. Reader is technically Fontainian but you can ignore that tbh

notes: Y'ALL THIS HAS BEEN ON MY WIPS SINCE BEFORE FONTAINE IT'S BEEN SOSOSOSOSO LONG I started writing at the start of winter here, now it's summer lmao but hey at least it's winter in the northern hemisphere so... enjoy the snow and dragon man!! Also also... no one guessed what the gift was but Rin was the closest!

Your mother always used to say the way to a man's heart was with food.

you wonder if that applied to archons... er, dragons? adepti?

In any case...

Zhongli has always been a... particular eater. A very refined palate. It's not that he was hard to please, to tell the truth. But he always seemed to have an extra comment, something to add or change to a dish to make it ‘a little more special’.

But you'd quickly find out he had a soft spot for broths and soups, bamboo shoot soup being his particular favorite. Even when it took a lot of hard work and time to prepare, the way he did so was worth it, simply spectacular.

That's why you could almost cry with joy when he happily praised one of your favorite dishes. A fantastic soup d'oignon passed down on your family. Nothing to add, no extras or corrections, he'd enjoy it to its fullest talking about the creamy texture and unique flavor of the cheese so different from those found in Liyue.

So, today you decided to prepare it. Nothing better to warm up on this chilly season, and besides you'd just received a shipment of ingredients from your family.

The rhythm of a knife on a cutting board fills the air, along with a delicious smell. You finish slicing the onions into thin strips and add them to the pot at the stove, humming lightly while stirring. You really hope nothing would keep your dear Zhongli too busy today, so he could be just in time to enjoy this while still fresh and warm.

You turn off the other burner as the beef stock had already warmed up, and start washing some dishes while keeping an eye on the food. It is… rather amusing just how domestic this all feels. Not too long ago you were adventuring over Teyvat, facing off all sorts of crazy dangers, exploring, and never stopping in one place and now… now this feels like home.

And that is without taking into account who your fiancé even is. The former Geo Archon. You shake your head with a light chuckle. It’s still so weird to think of such an imposing figure from legends to be so… him.

You dry your hands and start to pour the broth on the now-golden onions, stirring.

Zhongli is sweet, caring, attentive, wise, with just the right words at the right time. Admittedly a bit airheaded at times, funny when he wants to be. A refined gentleman through and through unlike anyone you’d ever met.

And he loves you.

And you’re engaged.

Warmth rises up to your cheeks along with a small smile as you lower the heat and start grating the cheese.

You heard sounds at the front door and then steps. Oh, early today. Zhongli walks up to you with a smile, greeting you with a kiss on the cheek, his hands resting at your waist as he leans in from over your shoulder. “Welcome home, Li.”

“Thank you” He replies in that deep suave voice. “That smells good my love, would you like some help finishing?”

You shake your head a little. “Please, there’s no need, you just got home. Go take a bath and unwind a little, I’ll finish here and we’ll eat.”

Zhongli looks as if he’s about to say something but simply nods. “Hmm, alright then.” He pulls you a little closer in his embrace, as if he’d missed your contact, your scent. Zhongli inhales deeply, tension seeping off of his body and he gives a soft kiss at your shoulder before almost regretfully pulling away. You chuckle a little and stir the pan.

How domestic and loving indeed.

…

Later when the food is ready and served, he returns to the small kitchen dressed in much more casual and comfier robes. Your eyes linger a little on the small expanse of exposed skin at his neck and chest and then stop at the way his long hair is tied up in a bun.

“Not washing your hair today?” You ask casually, taking your seat.

“I… Perhaps I have gotten rather used you doing it. I simply didn’t feel like it.”

You can’t help the short laugh that escapes you, even as you try to cover it a little. “Is this your way of saying you wanted me to bathe with you?”

His golden eyes twinkle. “I would certainly enjoy indulging in that more often.”

Your cheeks flush and you avert your eyes.

He takes a spoonful of soup and hums, closing his eyes to appreciate the flavors. “The finest ingredients cooked with true expertise. Simply divine, my love, thank you.”

“Flatterer.” You say, a little embarrassed but he can see right thought it, your little grin, the little shift in your posture.

“I am simply stating the truth.” He replies and continues eating. You can see his shoulders relax and the small satisfied smile at the warm food, it makes you a little giddy as you start eating as well.

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

bundling up during winter was obvious, right?

Putting on layers and layers of clothes. And true, perhaps Liyue didn't get as cold as other nations such as Fontaine, Mondstadt or of course Snezhnaya, but maybe it was exactly for that reason the temperature drop seemed to affect everyone all the more. Besides, the people would take any excuse to show off their fancy coats, scarves and other cold-climate outfits.

Zhongli naturally wore many layers, and he did mention once or twice he wasn't as affected by the cold. Yet, his business partner had gifted him a thick snezhnayan cloak.

The thing was entirely ridiculous, too bulky with a fluffy overtop, the colors dark and cool not matching Zhongli at all.

And yet he'd used it! (Only twice... but still)

You were not jealous, not at all.

You just wanted to... give him something he'd also enjoy and wear around, yes. Something personal, something he’d like and look at and remember you.

But what?

Ugh, it’s not like you were really well versed in sewing. Back at home you’d even had some machinery for that, but here in Liyue… you wracked your brain thinking what could you give him. He had quite a few elegant outfits, fitting him perfectly and enhancing all his attributes, all personally tailored by one of his late Yaksha so they held immense sentimental value as well… how could you compete with that?!

Right, right, it was not a competition. You sigh. Zhongli will probably be happy with anything you give him, but still…

An idea pops into your head and you can’t help but chuckle. Oh, it’s so silly… but maybe…

Simple enough, personal, something he’d use during the cold season only around you. Could work, you decided as you pick up your things to go visit the textile shop.

If nothing else, it could at least get a good chuckle out of Zhongli, right?

And so, for a few days you work on your little project. Turns out sewing was indeed a little harder than expected but you were trying your best. The kind lady who’d sold you some excellent wool had also given you some tips and they proved to be most useful indeed!

Regrettably you didn’t exactly have the right measurements so you more or less eyeballed them. Eh. It’ll be fine…

Zhongli almost came close to finding out too, though you were inconspicuous enough. You’re sure he suspects something.

“It will all be worth it, it will all be worth it…” You mumble to yourself with a frown as you finish trimming one of the stitches. Your fingers hurt.

…

“Li! I have something for you!” You exclaim happily, hands behind your back holding the wrapped-up item you had worked so hard on. An excited glow on your smile and bright eyes.

“Oh? Am I going to finally see what you’ve been guarding to secrecy this past week?” He replies coolly with a knowing smile, amusement dancing on his tone as he places his teacup down.

Nothing escapes him.

“Yes” You present him the gift, your hands then fidget nervously, having nothing else to do now. “I hope you like it! It’s… my first time doing something like this… i-it may not be that good, it’s kind of silly but-”

“Darling please do not fret, I would love anything you give me.”

Your shoulders relax.

Zhongli unwraps the paper and finds a rich dark brown fabric staring back at him, he picks the item and opens it, trying to gauge its shape, thick wool, a little rough around the edges but you did mention it was your first try and he is honored enough you’d make such effort for him.

However…

What is it exactly?

He turns the item around trying not to show too much confusion on his face as to insult you or make you feel bad, it looks like… a severely oversized legwarmer?

“It’s…” You start, feeling a little shy and silly once more. “…for your tail.”

Recognition shines in his eyes and he blinks at the item.

“You- I know you like to let loose a little around the house and let your illuminated beast features show, I love you tail too but I know… the scales get cold easily a-and usually we just bundle up with a blanket but I thought-”

“I love it.”

You stop running your mouth as soon as he utters those words, Zhongli looks at you with a gentle calm and your heart could melt at the sincerity in his expression. “No one had ever made something like this for me.”

He stands and unfurls the item, then, in a flash of gold his dragon tail manifests, majestic as ever and swaying lazily, the tuft of fur at the end flickering with each move. He maneuvers a little to slip the ‘tailwarmer’ on and though it sags a little, much to your relief it at least fits nicely. There is a yellow diamond pattern near the base that you’d started working on but deemed too difficult for a first try. It was a cute little detail though, maybe next time.

“Warm and cozy.” He chuckles and you beam at him, before letting out a squeak as said dragon tail curls around you, pressing your forward against his chest.

“Thank you, my love.” He cups your face and kisses your forehead.

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

The air is hot and heavy as soft moans and grunts fill the room.

Well, this was certainly a way to warm up… and get some good cardio.

You pant and squirm on the plush surface of a heavenly mattress as the familiar weight of the ex-archon descends upon you. His arms going from a golden orange hue to a deep charcoal, lines of gold thrumming across his skin, glowing softly in periodic pulses up strong muscular arms. Golden horns rise from soft brown hair curled at the tips, two on each side like a crown, while a powerful scaly tail wraps around your calf holding your leg up, spread.

This is Rex Lapis. Morax. Any other number of names he had. This is the Geo Archon.

“Zhongliii!” You whine, his hands caressing your body, claws teasing along your skin, pinching a nipple, fangs grazing your collarbone and a long serpentine tongue licking a hot stripe across your neck.

The head of his cock teases at your entrance, already rock hard and burning like a brand, your hips canting for more. For him to finally fill you, to feel his thick overwhelming girth stretch you, breed you… you want to be filled so full it overflows, so that it dribbles down your thighs and ass in thick, slick rivulets of his love.

“Patience my love.”

You whimper and jerk at that, about to cry out for him again when he rolls his hips and sinks in your warm hole. Your breath catches in your throat as your head throws back on the soft feather pillows.

He pushes into you inch by inch, carving a space for himself with a soft rumbling groan. His lips seek yours as his hands slide to your hips and press hard enough to bruise. His kiss devouring, all-consuming with need as he bottoms inside you, hips pressed flush.

Gods you feel so full, stretched and filled every inch and then some, and he doesn’t allow you a moment to pause and adjust either. A beast of a man in the best of ways, he withdraws halfway, only to slam forward in a fluid firm thrust.

“Mng-! Ah!”

“Mine. All mine. S-so warm and thigh- nghh…”

His pace starts slow, his voice alone enough to drive you crazy with how deep, carnal, animalistic it is against your neck. Sharp canines teasing the elegant column of your throat as he moves.

“Oh! so good… Li… f-faster… faster ple-ahhn!” Your voice pitches high as you babble, pleasure coiling on your gut.

“As- you desire…” Strained words still sounding like the very embodiment of sex, his voice so sinfully deep, so erotic it washes over you like liquid silk, like molten gold, only heightening the sensations of his quickening pace. In and out, in and out, skin slapping on skin. “You’re… you’re so perfect for me-”

You take him so well, your legs spread wide, your back arched, your insides molded to his length, enveloping him in the most mind-blowing of heats. The bed creaking as Zhongli delivers another powerful thrust, hitting a sweet spot deep within you and making you elicit a sharp keening sob of a moan. Your hands scrambling from the sheets to seek purchase at his back, curled up under his arms to scratch viciously trying to hold onto something, anything as he drives into you thrust after thrust after thrust-

“I’m- I’m gon-ahnn! Z-Zhongli… ooohh!”

Fuck you are close. So, so close…

He nips at the soft spot between your neck and shoulder. “Almost there… little one.” He huffs between strained grunts and you whimper at the pet name. Golden claws sink on the bedsheets, gripping thigh for leverage as he moves faster, frantic, hips like pistons he fucks into you like a wild animal, the bed rocking, shaking with each thrust. “C-close…”

You mewl and moan, unable to form coherent thoughts anymore but just feel the hot burning pleasure, his warm puffs of breath on your skin, your sweating bodies dampening the sheets and you desperately want to feel his warm seed inside you, filled to the brim with his creamy cum.

“Pleasepleaseplease i-in! In-s-ahh!” You come with a sharp cry, vision blurring, muscles clenching, your insides squeezing around him, milking him for all he’s worth.

It was enough, the tipping point for the dragon, his thrusts shallowing out until he ruts as deep as he can and shoots his load inside you with a guttural groan. Thick spurts pumping inside you before it pools out around his own cock, leaking from your body until there’s nothing left to give.

Everything is hot… so hot… the air heavy and musky with the scent of sex…

…

Zhongli slumps softly atop your body after what feels like ana eternity, his cock still comfortably nestled within your slick walls, cushioned by fluttering muscles. You lay beneath him, sweaty and shivering, breathless, chest raising and falling rapidly in small gasps as you struggle to catch your breath but oh, how you took his away…

Beautiful, truly… your half-lidded eyes glazed over, barely able to open admits your exhaustion, but still able to whimper soft little moans as he trails fluttering reverent kisses along your neck and collarbone. Soft, chaste, loving and tender touches.

“Ahhn… mmm…” He chuckles softly at the endearing sounds you make as he eases out of you, the subtle friction enough to sent fire to your nerves, followed by a strange emptiness that mellows down to buzzing contentment.

He lies to the side and pulls you close towards his chest, his tail finally letting your now sore leg rest, uncoiling from it to curl around you both, you settle there with a sigh, eyes sliding shut. “So good for me.” Zhongli gently brushes some hair away from your face and places a kiss at the crown of your head, resting his chin there. “Rest now, dear.”

“Mn.”

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

You smile as Zhongli places the two steaming teacups on the table before scooting over and welcoming him with the blanket surrounding you. He settles on the couch with you cuddling close and passing the book on your hands to him. Your fingers brush and he sets the book on his lap before taking your hands on his, cradling them close to his face before blowing a warm breath on them. You blush and let out a little airy laugh.

“What is this? Dragon breath to keep me warm?”

He hums against your skin, piercing golden eyes staring up at you. “No, just my love for you.” He kisses your knuckles and fingers.

“You…” You mumble, averting your gaze.

He chuckles and kisses your wrist then before leaning in close and kissing your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, anywhere he can reach.

“Ngah, wait you affectionate big lizard!” You squirm and he laughs fully now.

“Just seeking my adorable fiancée’s warmth” He nuzzles onto your neck, kissing there too and making you yelp. “Gorgeous.”

“A-Am not!”

“So precious when you get all shy and flustered.” He gets your jaw this time when you move, so close to your lips.

“Stop! You menace…” You pout and this time you cup his face, staring for a moment at his handsome features, your thumb brushing close to one of the red markings under his eyes.

This man. This dragon. This god.

Oh, how you love him. He warms up your heart.

“Here, I’ll warm you up proper…” You whisper softly, pulling him close and tilting your head to slot your lips together.

Just as you warm up his.

#crys writes #zhongli smut #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #fem!reader #I am so happy this is done eeeeeeeee <3 #alt title: warm him up with food with clothes with your body and with your love #dcfgscvgabcjah I love him sm

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iwaasfairy · 1 year

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┌─ “ ! „ ROGUE

tw. incest, spit, dom/sub stuff, reader is a textbook brat, size kink, i think i mention tummy bulge once, manhandling, jealousy, virginity, aemond is mean but pussy wipped, tiny lil bit of breeding and wifing up wordcount. 7.2k

a/n. local anime blog goes rogue and writes hotd smut. yes i know okay just look away if you only like anime boys, we will get back to out usually scheduled program soon i swear i sweaarrrrrr dont judge me i have such a fat crush, i sWear i am only doing it to stay sane iT iS MY CALLING ♡

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

The heavy cover of smoke and dusty sage circles up in slow rounds towards the ceiling, like a flock of vultures. Candles burn low in the heavy air of the room, and the long curtains allow just enough fresh air into the room for the scent not to be stifling. Aemond assesses the whole of his room for a few breaths as the chambermaid softly slips out without another word, and pulls the heavy door to a clicked close behind her. Like a fleeing animal, he muses, unclasping and placing his sword upon his desk. The girl has always fled his company as fast as a mouse in a trap. Not like he’s ever done her wrong. Not like how he knows his older brother continues to do.

A small puff of annoyance comes out of his mouth as he starts to peel back some of the layers of his daywear, and drops them over the back of the chair.

Oh well, at least he’s alone.

His room is cast in a soft, golden glow that melts every want for pretense into the floor. Slowly dripping off him like wax, it seems to reveal a bit more of himself with each heavy drop. He only really notices how tired he is of spending time at court when the time comes to abandon it for the evening. Exhausting, ‘s what it is. The mastering of every trade is the lesser of the evils, but the constant ass-sucking, the looks, the reading of the room— he has no want for it. The Queen assures this is the life of a prince. He protests that it’s a simple lie to play at royalty. And no one gets to mark their own vision correct. No one gets to grab the upper hand. Because that’s the life of a prince.

Aemond finishes undressing most of the heavy, leather garb for a looser fit. Then moves to sit into the chair beside his bed, as always, and lets his eye fall to the sets of books on the desk. Few of them are untouched. For an acquiring of knowledge that is purely showy at best, because he is only a second son. A downright shame. He rolls the tip of his tongue against the back of his teeth for a few moments, and instead pours the can of wine, holding onto the cup loosely, with slow sips. If only to have something to do.

The humming of the choir down in the bell tower reaches all the way up to his room, and gives the night an awfully dreary feeling, reminding of winter, of death, of the sniveling of people in the sept and those praying in the darkness. Not that he minds, or cares much— but he knows the sound well. Knows how it is the sign for Aegon to double the size of his own drink, the time for Heleana’s maid to start getting their children ready for the night, the moment his mother the Queen finally stops fretting for long enough to enjoy a moment of peace. And for you… He knows it’s a sound that makes you anxious, reminded that you’re alone for the next hours to come. And he supposes that makes the repeating, melodic chants the sign that he’s about to have company any second too, and for that he guesses he’s grateful.

Grateful for the warning, or for the company, he’s not quite sure. He swishes the burgundy liquid around the cup until he hears the familiar click of the door, and the heavy knock. “Come,” he doesn’t look up from the drink, instead perching it onto his lip.

“Her majesty the Princess, my Prince.” The guard doesn’t usher you inside as much as you waltz in, low dress falling every so softly over your frame as the man spares just a few looks and nods, retreats and closes the door back behind him without another word. Curt, quite unlike the older man. Aemond can only guess you’ve been at this for long enough now for the guard to have made peace with the fact that the Prince doesn’t care. And that whether or not he accepts, you’ll enter anyway.

“You shouldn’t walk around the palace after dark,” your brother says, taking a sip of the wine before his eye ends up falling onto you without wanting to. “You’re the first person to blame when people start spinning rumors.”

“I don’t care about the opinions of ladies in waiting or the small council. I am not the Queen,” you simply reply, pulling your dress up to sit down on his bed beside him, knocking knees. “If you’re worried about rumors, you should hear what they say about you, big brother.” You’re not a bold person, but somehow, when it comes to him… every smart remark is able to fall from you like it’s a game. It amuses Aegon to no end, and even dares bring a smile to your mother’s face from time to time. Any of them expecting an outburst, to be sure, a fiery bite back or a quick smack to the back of your skull. And if you were another of his siblings, he supposes his family would be right. But somehow… it doesn’t bother him as much when it’s you.

Still not enough to have him silenced, though. His lip lifts into a grimace. “Enlighten me.”

“I won’t.”

Your feet are bare on the stone floor and your untied hair sways softly with each movement, and like this you sit by his side late at night, as you’ve taken to doing ever since half of your family moved back to Dragonstone. You’ve always gotten along better with people, were able to ignore your grudges better. An admirable trait, if not a weak one. He searches for something to say back to your resolute refusal, but fails. And lets out a sharp breath, glaring.

Whatever is going on in your tepid, little mind, you slowly place your feet upon his thighs, and shuffle a little closer. And his hands follow to come grab your ankles, half to keep you steady, but the other half in warning. It is a fact of your family that everything exists in pairs. Your mother and Sire for one, your eldest brother and his sister the future Queen… and you seem to have taken that to mean that you and Aemond exist in a pair too.

Always shoving past his barriers like it’s your birthright, with those big, searching eyes and a dopey, genuine smile that seems to belong more to a story book than the stern darkness that is expected of your family. A part of him wants to hate you for it. For being so callous when the rest of them are struggling to stay afloat. Unburdened by responsibilities, or haunted by dramatics. He could tell you he hates you too, but that wouldn’t do him much good. Not with you.

Still trapped by his grip, you stretch your hands to his face and place them to his cheeks, and he groans. “Take your hands off of me.” The irony of your soft skin playing beneath his fingers doesn’t go lost on him. “If I wrestle you to the floor and belt your little ass, you won’t be able to go crying to the Queen for it. I’m warning you.” You don’t listen, or care, before your hands slide to the back of his head and start slowly unbuckling the clasp of his eyepatch.

“Your eye is hurting again, isn’t it? You always get difficult when the chambermaids don’t clear out the smoke.”

He squeezes his hands harder around your little ankles. “You’re not a Maester, don’t speak of things like you know them,” he snaps back, only to move his hands to support your bottom when you push closer and press to slide into his lap for better access. Settling so comfortably against him, he doesn’t move his hands. “Shouldn’t you be learning your rhymes and asking the septa for some hot blankies instead of fussing over me-”

“-If you didn’t make your own little sister fuss over you, maybe I could.” You stubbornly peel the patch away to reveal the brightly glistening stone in the candle light, casting blue flickers all over the room. But he’s too busy looking at you to notice, ignoring the way your weight is pressed upon his lap. He has to ignore it. You tuck the pink little sliver of your tongue between your teeth as you let out a nasally breath, and your lashes cast dark, little shadows into the depths of your eyes. Sure enough, he can feel the relief the second you take a wet towel from the jar to the side and press it to the irritated skin, scar pulling and sore.

You’re awfully gentle with it. With him.

“I told you to take your fucking hands off of me,” he repeats, softer this time, watching as you still and he titls his head back to lean atop the chair, and helping you up onto your knees on his thighs. This way you’re fully above him, and with better access to his face, and you stay so very quiet. Unflinching. You suck your lip into your mouth for a second before releasing it, and then slowly start wiping again.

“You shouldn’t speak to me that way.” If you make a sport out of prodding, he makes a sport out of making blows hit.

“I am your big brother, I’ll speak to you as I wish. And I wish you to know what an insolent little cunt you are.” It’s out before he stops to think about it, and you instantly let him know it lands. By slipping off of his lap with a huff and tossing the rag onto the table, while accidentally knocking over the cup and spilling it over the table. You don’t stop to see the damage you cause as you stomp toward the exit, and he’s up and pulling at your dress before you can get far.

“Get off of me, Aemond,” you screech as he wraps long arms around your waist and you let your entire weight hang into them, squirming to get out. “You’re so annoying! Agh-uhh—Seven Hells!”

He can’t help the grin that slips on as he clenches his jaw, and doubles down. Because that’s what he does. You know it, and he knows it— and you go round in circles. “I could tell your septa you’re a misbehaved brat.”

“You’re a gross pervert, you—Ugh, f- You get your dirty hands off of me.” You spew the words like hot venom in his face when you make it halfway out of his grip and dig your nails into his arm and go to bite at his hand, before he manhandles you to the cold floor and bars you from moving under his hard grip. “Ae- Aemond! You’re the worst!” One arm almost pressing onto your throat, and the other over the soft of your stomach, as he takes a few breaths. Your own equally winded, as you start blinking like crazy to avoid the onslaught of tears that is to follow. “Aemond, let go.”

“Pervert?” he raises his brows now that you’ve stopped struggling, and gives you a look that reads ‘really?’ as underlying question clear as day. One you’re not inclined to answer, because you bite your bottom lip as glare at him as a drop rolls down your temple. You’re hot in the cheeks, hair a mess with the struggle, and your body feels ever so small under him now. Reminds him that he’s been told you’re too small to defend yourself by his mother, his father, and even their uninvolved craven of a brother. But you sure don’t act like it. Even if they are right.

“Just get off of me, you’re heavy.” And there it is. When he invades too far and too aggressively, and you stop pushing back to win it, it’s suddenly like it's a matter of life and death in your mind. When you declare the game is no longer to be won, there’s not a single move that’ll sate you. The signs are easy to read. The way you avert your eyes from him is one of them, and the crinkle between your brows as you stare resolutely at the door like you’re hoping a guard will just burst in to save you. When he doesn’t move quickly enough, you change your tune. “Will you please get off of me? I want to go to bed.”

Aemond lets out a sound between a laugh and a huff, and rights himself a little, but keeps hold of your shoulders pressed to the floor. Making him feel bad is another of those magical traits you have, that he hates about you. Leave it up to his youngest sibling to make his stomach feel heavy and empty, like he hasn’t eaten in days. A hungry beast declaring war at seeing you this way. “Hate me again, do you?” he asks without much fire, and your eyes go hard, and mouth a thin line.

“All you want to do is try to hurt me,” you hiss back when his fingers creep up to wipe the silvery line of tears along your cheek, brushing hair away from your face and taking you in as you are. Before you finally look at him again as the hall outside the door stays quiet. You’ve gone through this same song and dance too many times, cried wolf a bit too often. The guards don’t want to risk disturbing him with that temper, he knows they whisper it behind his back.

But it’s of no difference to you, because if looks could kill, you’d have one brother less by now. You manage to worm your arm out of his grip to wipe your own eyes again, before lowering your tone. “If you hate me so much, feel free to kill me sooner rather than later.” As if he’d let just anyone do what you do. As if he’d be so close to someone he hates. He has only you. Still your chest rises and falls with a heavy motion. “At least I wouldn’t have to marry some ugly, old lord if you did.”

In moments like these, he remembers. You’re a burning wildfire with enough fuel to light up an entire city; and you have no intention of doing any less than the rest of them. But stupid. And ignorant. He gets up and takes his heavy body off of you to see the mark where his arm presses so hard into your collarbones, already starting to bruise. “You’re an idiot,” he simply says, and gets up from the floor and up from you. You stare as he does, but keep your mouth shut. And Aemond swears to himself and averts his eye from you to readjust his pants, with suddenly more interest in the canopy of the bed than the soft, warm body of his little sister. “Get out.”

You get up from the floor with slow movements, too slow for his liking, and he walks back over to grab your arm and hoist you up onto your feet as you cling onto his tunic. But though he wants to keep you as far as he can away from his sanity in moments like these, he doesn’t resist when you linger so close he can count your lashes, and feel your puffs of air on his lips. He keeps your dress sleeve fisted into his hand as you stand up onto your toes and pull his shoulders more down to your level, until you can nearly brush your noses and you press a kiss to his lips. Soft and warm, it makes his heart knot and roll around in his chest, and makes your little hands squeeze around his shoulders. “Aemond…”

He dips again, and connects that smart mouth of yours to his without second thought. Another long kiss is met by a soft rumble of his chest, and he is halfway to leaning into you further when you drop back onto your heels. Leaving his mouth tingling with heat. “Ser Arryc is waiting for me to return to my chambers.” You fix your dress and wait for him to slowly peel his fingers out of the fabric, before sucking hard on your bottom lip as you turn about here and there in sudden nerves. “Well, good eve.”

And then he’s left alone for the night, with the memory of your body pressed under him, withering, fighting, crying. And no one to plead him to stop as he twitches in his pants.

As younger siblings dare do, you have an intrinsic ability to set his nerves on end. Born and bred for it even, he’d dare say, as he lets his gaze trail after you. The dragonpit is no place for one of your disposition, and though perhaps the same could be said about Helaena, there’s a few cards laid differently between you both. Youngest sibling, and having grown up without any dragon to speak of. Blame the lack of eggs to distribute to the last of Viserys’ children. Helaena also doesn’t possess the uncanny and endlessly bothering capacity to make his blood sour in his veins with a simple look.

His older sister doesn’t really bestow a care to any of you, while you— care about being loving way too much. He can feel his brows start to pull almost distractingly as you prance around with wide eyes and flit about next in and out of the covered hall. Sunfyre is the current object of your affections, and Aegon’s glittering smirk as he watches you coo and bathe him in compliments has his hands tightening around the handle of his sword where it hangs against his side. “She’ll soon fetch a handsome collection of suitors, don’t you think?” his mother asks innocently, distractedly, as he juts out his lips in slight annoyance. She’s gone from distant and sheltering, to exceedingly fretful these last few years.

Aemond hums a vague noise, but doesn’t bother to look away from your soft shape set against the big beast— and how you shine up like a penny at his oldest brother with compliments. He clicks his tongue, and his mother distantly continues from his side. Out of all the people for you to fawn over… all the beasts to be impressed by— he attempts to focus on the conversation aimed at him, but glares around the field instead. At the guards who feel a bit too comfortable casting glances your way, or a brave squire taking a bit too fond a notice. Every second of it makes his jaw set tighter. “Your grandfather the Hand would rather see her married off sooner than later but— Oh, Aegon,” his mother suddenly speaks with a slight worry.

You’re climbing onto the dragon. No, Aegon -the fool- is making you climb up, putting his grimy hands under your bottom and just about heaving you towards the saddle himself.

“Aegon, stop that,” his mother tries again, starting to make her way down the stage as the eldest turns to look at them both, “your sister can’t be up there by herself. She’ll get hurt-”

“-I’ll get her.” For once he’s glad for his mother’s ever present concern, and hurries past to walk up to you. You, with your hair sun kissed in the evening light, and your cheeks and lips full of mirth as you glance over at your mother first, and then him. His brother’s staring up your dress by the time you’re standing fully on his shoulders, and doesn’t even bother to wipe the grin off his face, tongue peeking out in full enjoyment— Aemond doesn’t have time for this absolute mockery. “Get down,” is all he has to say, for your pretty, flushed face full of excitement to blank. You suck your bottom lip into your mouth as you stare back at him for a few seconds… before slowly starting to slide back toward him.

“Oh, Aemond, don’t be a bother—”

His hand is wrung in his older brother’s tunic before he has time to blink, glaring absolute venom his way, nostrils flaring. Alicent calls for him from a distance, but the plea goes unheeded. The fabrics of your dress are halfway obstructing Aegon’s face as you try to get down, but there’s still plenty of room for a dagger to be fit somewhere into it, a thought rings; one he banishes with some fight. Instead he simply reaches a hand for you to grab, and motions you to get down already. You jump and wobble upon landing, and he grabs your wrist tight when you try to run off. But he still hasn’t stopped glaring at Aegon, to his own surprise, chest rising and falling a bit too quickly to be normal. “You try that again-”

“-and you’ll what, little brother?”

“Don’t fight,” you quickly quip in, tugging softly on his pinky as Aemond’s mouth corners tug up, and he squeezes the fabric tight enough around his own brother’s neck to hurt. He leans in, ignoring your pulling and begging to really tower over Aegon. And Sunfyre gets restless beside them, scaring you even more. “Aemond, please. No harm was done.”

Aegon’s face turns a harsh ruddy color with each passing second, and Aemond’s never enjoyed a sight quite so much. “Shall we see how you do without your eyes, brother?” He releases all at once, just in time enough for their mother to miss how he steps back and gives you a look to keep your lips glued shut. If Aegon wants to tell, he’s at least smart enough to keep quiet, for now. The woman looks between the three of you in worry. But he has no intention of explaining. He couldn’t, really. The absolute blinding rage dies down enough for him to suck the sourness off his tongue and take your hand better, lacing fingers. “I’ll take her back to the keep.”

The Red Keep has never felt smaller as you don’t say anything until you get all the way to your chambers, staring resolutely at the floor. And though his mood hasn’t changed, there’s part — parts of him, that want you to just look his way like you usually do too much of. Your guard is quick to open your door, but stares a little too long when he lingers. “You may go see upon the King, Ser,” he says curtly, and before he can care enough to watch the man leave, closes your door behind you both. “Are you an absolute imbecile, that you’d let Aegon disrespect you in front of everyone?”

“It wasn’t anything to get upset over, he wasn’t hurting me!” you bite back as you do, making him crowd you against the door.

“Oh, no,” he rolls his eye, “he was only about to do much worse later!” You stay pressed between his body and the door as you stare up at him and hold your hands to his chest, both of you breathing hard. But you don’t back down, don’t roll over and apologize. And that bothers him. It shouldn’t, and yet… “Hah,” the sound of it is hard and sharp as he lifts your hands above your head in place with his own. Your lips are a puffy, flushed color, and eyes so focused on him that it momentarily distracts him. Before the feeling of you against him comes back full force, as always. Try as he might, he can’t escape you. “You like that sort of perversion, then?”

“I don’t know what kind of perversion you speak of.” You’re whispering now, long lashes spread over the haunting appearance of you below him. Swallowing hard, chest rising and falling. Hell, the way you look is entirely deviant, but he still leans in despite knowing better. You smell faintly of dragon, but the majority of it is still that soft, sweet innocence that drives him to grab at your chin and force your face to his. And your free hand reaches for his cheek, cold fingers brushing his skin. Your lips brush his as he allows himself to sink just a little lower, letting you moan into his mouth. “Aemond… big brother, please.”

“What do you think you’re playing at?” He lets the soft kisses be placed onto his lips in between the words, resolve growing weaker by the second. How did he get here? And why? Aemond isn’t like Aegon, so why does the sight of you all soft and needy below him have him so hot in the face. Heat burning all along his neck, chest, down to his… cock. He knows very well your poor mother would riot at his taking of your virtue. Because unlike Aegon, she knows he knows better. But you press your mouth against him again, and let your soft, little tongue push against the crack of his mouth with another moan— all while arching against him.

“Haven’t you thought about it?” He’s only half aware his hand is grabbing a handful of your ass and pulling you up against his hips as your lips make those little noises against his, lifting you so you can wrap your legs around his glutes. The pressure of your body grinding up against his is entirely wanton, your eyes glossy and lips even glossier. “Taking me to wife?”

“You’re set to marry a lord—”

“I want to marry you. Don’t you want to marry me too? Have me abide by your side, call me ‘yours’?” Your hands slide into his hair, pulling at the hair at the base of his skull just enough to have his tongue push back into a kiss and take the warmth of your mouth as his own. Hotly, with a demanding rumble of his chest you’re kissed- the sweetness of your mouth and warm, squirming tongue against his. It’s intoxicating, setting every hair on his body upright. He grabs your cheeks to keep you in place even when you try to pull back, kissing longer, deeper— like he could die in it. He probably could.

When you’re allowed to pull back you roll your hips against him with a slight smile, and pant against his mouth. “Isn’t that why you love laying on top of me?” His breathing ceases automatically, chest tightening a little more. All he ever hoped was never to hear it out loud. Don’t breathe life into it and it won’t exist, right? See no evil. Your little smile grows a little more as you kiss him again, and he doesn’t pull away, though he should. Your daring tongue moves down his jaw to his neck instead, licking along his pulse as you push. Can’t help but stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, right, a family trait? “Doesn’t that get your cock hard, big brother?”

He takes a stuttered breath as he turns and you cling onto him, walking over to the bed to lay you down and place his large hand over your mouth. “Shut. Up.” You lick the inside of his hand, and he hisses before grabbing your thigh instead, tight enough for your pretty little face to turn into a grimace, and you pull his hair a little harder. Doesn’t matter. He’s nose to nose with you, his own little sister, the one who was always so fond of him it was annoying as sin— as every bit of pretense evaporates by the second. “Do you even know what you’re talking about when you say that?”

“I know what Aegon taught me,” you breathe back against his lips, and it’s this -not any of the other stuff, though that should have done it too- that has his blood turning green with jealousy and has him shutting you up with a kiss, hands sliding up your body over the tight bodice. You’re burning underneath him, lifting your back from the mattress as he crawls further up the bed and over you. You’re so flimsy and small beneath him that it should be laughable. All it does is make his cock so much harder in his pants, as your noises ring above the smacking of mouths and tongues and teeth. Your little fingers press into his shoulders hard and needy. “Mhm-Ae-mond.”

He pulls at the clothing under his hands until you squeak and it rips, one of the too-many layers you’re wearing dropping to the side. He pulls back to stare at you and the way you’re biting your lip, eyes flicking from him to his pants. His cock is chubbed up against the fabric as much as it will allow, and starting to get too tight for his liking, but as you reach out a hand, he smacks it away. Instead he slides a hand under your head to pull your hair and you make a little noise of displeasure, until he leans back in. “When you talk like that it makes me want to smack you around. You understand that?” You whine into the silence, but don’t fight back as he makes your head nod. “You know what I am?”

“B-big brother-”

“Then treat me like it. Open your mouth.” For a few seconds and deep breaths through your nose, you seem to debate it, but whatever you see in his eye eventually has you obliging. He collects a good glob of spit and has it land onto your tongue, and you cry out something unintelligible— but let him slide his thumb into the wet mess of your tongue as your lips get even shinier with all the wetness. Before he can say anything though, you wrap your lips around his digit and whimper. It’s a little too disarming, and his cock twitches hard in his pants. Balls heavy and length straining against the confines. He lets out a little breath, before pulling back out of your suckling mouth to grab himself through his pants. “Shit.”

Your voice sounds so much more high pitched and girly when you speak again, a strange sort of mockery of him over top of you, but it works. Fuck, if it doesn’t. “Please, please, please, big brother.” You whine his name and press tens of little kisses to his mouth, he feels how his balls pull against his body at the display. You get impatient though, start pulling the top half of your dress down to reveal your shoulders and then, with another little noise, your tits. He’s ahead of you though, pulling you down more and leaning in to lock his mouth around your puffy nipple to suck hard, have you curling off the bed with pitiful whimpers. “Big brother, mh-ah- big- br-brother.”

He starts working the drawstrings of his trousers to get them down as quickly as possible too, moving to the other tit and taking as much of it into his mouth to lave his tongue all over it. You sound almost beside yourself with pleasure, kneading at his shoulders and neck like you’re losing your clouded, little mind for him. He gets out of his pants enough to kick them off the rest of the way and lay his much larger body on top of you, back to your face to kiss you with slow, deeper kisses. Then he pulls back, for only a moment of true emotion, to grab your blushy cheeks between his fingers and stare. “Are you still…”

You go limp, and embarrassed and flushed with heat all at once, and squeeze his hips between your thighs like it’s meant to hurt. All it does is push your covered cunt against his rock hard cock and make him take a sharper breath. “Of course I am-” you bite out though, digging your nails into his shoulders a bit harder like you’re just wanting him to keep going. “What- that not good enough for you?”

But he’s quick to shake his head, and press a few spare kisses along your ear, finally being able to let out a little grin at your flustering. “You’ll let me take your maidenhood?” You’re back to whining his name in that overly girly, pouty voice; and he sucks at the shell of your ear for long enough to have you shivering below him. Your little breaths and noises are too fucking cute. And the way you’re pawing at your dress to get it up your body is even cuter. “Beg big brother Aemond to have you. Take you.”

“Just do it already,” you mumble though, and your eyes tear up at the corners.

So fucking cute. He shrugs the eyepatch off too, half for comfort, half at the grabbing of your hands. And pulls back just in time to see how much it pains you to admit it out loud, and rubs his fingers over your wet, pebbled nipples while your eyes flutter and your hands go open and closed at the feeling. He keeps one hand busy by unlacing part of your dress, as the other pinches each nipple until you suck your lip into your mouth and can’t stand it anymore. “Please, big brother? ‘Mond, please-uhh. Please, please do it? W-want you to.”

His lips curl up again at your admission, as he takes you in a few more seconds, grinds his center against your thigh while he’s at it. His cock is leaking enough pre to make a wet spot on his undergarments, red head twitching every few seconds. If he’ll wait any longer he might explode— until you finally give up and wrap your arms around his neck and pull him back close to you in total embarrassment. “I saved myself for my big broth-errr—” you whine like a child, burying your face into his neck, “so please! Only wanted my big brother to- I swear. Only love my Aemond.”

This way you don’t see— just what it does. This way you don’t notice it has him hook, line and sinker, and he grunts out loud as he has to grab the base of his cock tight not to shoot hot ropes of cum all over your thighs. He lets you press your tits into him as he shudders over you, and you make a little noise as he suddenly yanks the dress down your body, over your thighs and kicks it aside. “Off, get this off…” You open your teary eyes to see him plant another kiss onto your face, down your neck and to your tits as your chest heaves against him. Your panties are absolutely soaked, and he’d make a crude comment about it if he was any more lucid— but…

He can’t possibly think about anything but sliding his heavy cock inside your little cunt. “Fuck, fuck… you want to fuck me?” His fingers slide over the wet patch as your mouth cracks open a sliver, before peeling them off you with impatient yanks. You nod wildly into it in response, and let him press another kiss onto your mouth to tangle your wet, squirming little tongue with his. It’s vile, the way he thinks about fucking you like this. But it’s all that overtakes him, rutting his leaking cock against that wet little slit. And his fingers have to push in a little to make it halfway into your wet pussy, softly scissoring you apart as your mouth opens more. “You’re dripping all over my hand,” he breathes into your mouth, and you close your eyes and pull your lips into a tight little line.

“‘M sorry.”

“You imbecile.” The dry, non-humoured chuckle is unexpected even to him, as he pulls his wet fingers from between your legs to slip them straight into his mouth and his eye rolls into the back of his skull with a low groan. His fingers go back to rub at that wet slit, as you moan and whine his name like it’s a prayer. His cock bobs heavily between his legs while he fingers you in the heat of the shared bed, and you mumble noises against his skin.

“Aemond, Aemo-ngh.. big, you’re— r-big.” You’re panting, and shivering as his fingers slide in and out and get wetness to drip all the way to your ass, all over the inside of your thighs. Not even to talk about the pride burning along his neck at the way you’re clinging to him like you mean it. Your cunt stretches each time he moves them in and out and spreads them apart, staring at the way your little pussy clenches around his thick, long fingers with each pump. “Big brother—”

“Like that?”

“Mhm-” you’re nodding like a madman, and thighs shaking a little, but your tears are still glistening at the corners of your eyes, “I- f-feels good, bu-but you’re- going so- deep.” He doesn’t tell you that what you’ll be fitting in there in a few seconds will be much bigger, and only lets you drench the bed and wait for you to push back into his hand for that wet ‘pap, pap, pap’ sound and his palm can rub over your little nub. The sapphire in his eye socket makes obnoxious flickers on the walls, that only seem to cheer him on. Not for nothing, watching his baby sister cream all over his fingers like you are. “O-oh,” you say after a while, allowing him to curl his fingers all the way into you and your spongey, perfect spot to make your lower body curl so needily. “I… feel weird, Ae— feels- good- hng.”

Your little pussy is so wet everything’s glossy and needy, and his two fingers can finally slide in and out without much more resistance; though your noises would hardly convince him otherwise. Mewling and whimpering like you’re going to cry any second— it has him rock hard and so fucking sensitive. “I need you to keep that little cunt open for me, okay?” He presses the words into your mouth before rubbing his fingers over your puffy, needy clit; and you make to wrap your thighs around his glutes to keep him right to you— not that he’d go anywhere. “‘ll put it in. Have my cock filling my little sister up.”

He pats his cock against your clit a few times, before nodding at it. “Keep your thighs open, come on.” He doesn’t wait up for you to act as he pushes the leaking tip against your pretty, clenching hole and leans over you to nose at your neck, grabbing at your perky, pretty tits to pebble up your nipples more with each swipe, before kissing you again. He can’t help it, can’t get enough of your moans into his mouth, filling up the room. He pushes in, the slowest he can bare as your hot fucking pussy envelops his cockhead and you moan and whine. “Oh, dear g— goin’ to fuck my little sister for real,” he breathes back, too much to keep it in.

“Ah, ah, ah— Aemond- Aw, oh-hmn- ah.” Your desperate little noises are impossible. Sliding in deeper with each breath, over filling that tiny pouch of your tummy like he was always meant to be inside it. His arms strain not to fuck right into you hard and fast with the way you’re wiggling and curling against him, slick a soft pink when he pulls back to thrust in deeper. “Big bro—ther,” you whine it long and needy, as it has him sliding into you until he bumps up against the walls of your tight fucking cunt. So tight it’s making his balls pull up, entire body so hot it’s almost unbearable. Your one Targaryen claim to heritage. His little sister.

“Love you, big brother, l-love you.”

“Ugh, shit, you’re so tiny. So tight, hot— and wet,” he’s rambling to himself more than to you as he rocks himself into that spongy spot in you, watching your body try to take all of him in. Your eyes are a little lidded, glistening and so pretty and desperate as he pulls back and into you again, hitting your cervix once more. You shudder, and he can’t help but press onto your tummy to make the fit even tighter. It’s too much. Your clenching walls around his big, hard cock— that tight, wet little cunt clinging onto him each time he pulls back, your face as he takes you. “You’re only mine,” he hisses, “only mine, you understand? Gon’ make you my wife and make you carry my heirs. Waiting to give your maidenhood away to the better brother, right?”

“Hng, yes- yes, yes! Please!” You kiss him first, before grinding hard against him and pulling at his hand. “Aemond, Aem— b- I feel- weird-” you admit, smacking your lips and desperately curling your toes against his glutes. “Big bro-ther-agh-h—”

He can’t possibly stop now, frown instantly digging into his brows as you cling to him. He doesn’t bother to even pretend to care as his cock kisses your pussy walls and his white pubic hair rubs over your overly sensitive nub, but you keep on whining for him. “Weird how?” He pulls his face up from your neck only to watch how your cheeks are flushed and your eyes flick all over his face, your tongue jutting out. And suddenly, it doesn’t take you explaining for him to press his rough thumb to your clit and rub rapid circles into it, for you to start going all tense. “This? You want to come for me like a good, little whore?”

You can’t speak. Only clench your eyes shut as he keeps rubbing- and grabs your face with his free hand. “Look at me. Look at me as you get to come on big brother’s cock.” You physically can’t open your eyes through your tears, but he demands it anyway, and watches as you go a bit cross-eyed at the perfect pressure. Your cunny clenches so hard around his cock it hurts, but he doesn’t stop his hips and the loud sound of skin meeting skin. “No one loves you like I do,” he says it like a prayer, whispering into the silence as your mouth drops open and you let out some broken noises, “no one.”

And you desperately claw at his back and tangle your fingers into his hair to pull, your legs tightening around his thighs to get his steady, brutal pace to slow down even a little— but nothing stops your orgasm from crashing over you with a pitched squeak of his name, and your body shuddering so hard beneath him the bed creaks with the motion. Each hard bottoming out in your small cunt having you jerking and moaning a string of unintelligible explicites into his mouth, before he kisses you long and deep. Your tongue can barely do anything except take what he gives, until he fucks you through your orgasm and his balls are so, so hot, his cock twitching every few breaths.

You look perfect as you come down and let him fuck into you even more, pussy like a vice around his too-big-for-you cock. It’s a miracle really, it didn’t happen sooner. Two of a whole. As always, you take and he gives, as is your role in the family.

#hotd smut #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen smut #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #tw.incest #tw.size kink

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

Text

Dirty Work 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Let me know if you want more. Didn't get too much on Part 1 but I have ideas so...

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your third week begins in the same place. Before the iron gate, the code unlocking the green maze within. You’re still just as impressed as your first day there. To you, it’s like a fantasy. Entirely unattainable but it’s right there. You can look, but you can’t touch… not beyond cleaning.

You linger outside, not thinking. You admire the tall tulips and the hedge trimmed to resemble some landmark you can’t quite place. You could see a place like this in an Austenian film or perhaps something Victorian. You don’t have an eye for the difference.

You key in the code for the backdoor and continue on. You put covers on your shoes and grab a fresh set of gloves. You’re getting into a pattern, though each client differs slightly. You put your things away and bring your water bottle with you. You bought a cool strap that keeps it against your hip, a small splurge with your first paycheck. The rest went to bills.

As you start on your usual journey through the many rooms of the airy house, you wonder how its sole resident isn’t lonely. Or perhaps he is. He doesn’t seem the type to admit to it. You turn your thoughts back to your work. You try not to think of him, truly, you don’t know much of him.

You take a candlestick and polish it. You move on the small globe; an ivory orb on a silver axes, the outlines of the continent carved into the surface. As you put it back, you notice something. An item you can’t recall being there before. You reach for it but stop as you realise it’s a camera.

You retract your hand and move on to dust the shelf itself. Does he not trust you or was it there before? Of course, somewhere like this would need security. There was a story just the other day about a break-in, but that was closer to your father’s where those culprits dwell.

The second floor is always easier. It seems even less lived-in than below. All but the study and the main bedroom. You flit in and out, checking points off the list until you’re content. You can only hope he will be too.

As you descend, the epiphany tickles your brain. It’s the first shift he hasn’t appeared. It’s easy to assume he’s busy. You don’t expect him to hang around. As if he would supervise you. Besides, that’s probably what the cameras are for.

You pack up and get your single refill of water. You leave the way you came, as you have twice before. The keypad flashes red to signal the lock is in place. You haul your kit higher on your shoulder and tread slowly along the little path along the side of the house.

You look at the gazebo trimmed in hanging ivy. It’s beautiful. You’d like to venture up and sit on that bench. Just sit and watch and smell and feel. You force the thought away and turn back along the stonework.

You’re going home. Not to pollen but tobacco smoke. Not to lush gardens but wilting strands in soggy mud. Not to immaculate floors and pristine decor but to stained walls and broken springs in your mattress.

Home, to another man that makes you nervous.

🧹

Your father is as he always is, smoking on the couch. You say hi as you come in with a bag of groceries, the prize for what was left of your check. He grumbles and flicks through the channels. You go to the kitchen to put away the food.

You’re almost at the end of your first month, a third of the way through your probationary period. Hopefully after that, you can pick up more clients. You shut the cupboard and go back to the living room. Your father coughs into a crumpled tissue. He sounds horrible. You can’t say so, he doesn’t seem to care.

“I got some fresh produce,” you announce proudly, “I’ll steam some veggies with the chops.”

“You get fries?” He growls.

“Uh, no,” you admit, “I thought we could eat something healthier–”

“I don’t like steamed veggies,” he drops the remote and grabs his pack of smokes.

“Oh, sorry, I was only thinking–”

“Don’t lie and say you were,” he snorts as he pulls out a cigarette and taps the end of the pack. “Go on, I’m tryna watch this.”

He nods at the television and you follow his gaze to the rerun of All in the Family. He’s seen them all before. You take the dismissal and retreat up to your room. Like you always do.

It’s always been like this. You don’t hate your father but sometimes it feels like he hates you. You put your kit and your water bottle on your dress and change into clean clothes. You lay in bed and close your eyes, trying to let go of the tension in your muscles.

You don’t remember your mom but he does. You assume that’s why he’s like this. It’s not you, it’s what happened. Tragic. A loss he won’t talk about.

You rub your forehead and let your arms fall to bend on either side of your head. You only ever saw one picture of your mother. You don’t think you look like her. She was pretty. And young. You were always too afraid to ask about her but you could tell she was younger than him. No one could’ve expected her to go so soon.

You close your eyes. It’s a strange sort of grief to miss someone who is only a shadow in your mind. Not even a voice, just this ghost you know by name. Mommy…

You blow out a deep breath in an effort to bid away the sadness. That was so long ago. This is now and you have a lot to worry about.

🧹

The Laufeyson house greets you once more with its elaborate brickwork. It’s starting to feel familiar, like a habit to put in the new code and walk along the winding path around to the back door. Six more numbers and you’re inside; shoe covers, gloves, bottle, and the list.

You always check the new email sent by the agency. There’s always something small and new squeezed into the bullet points. This week, you notice the first task is laundry.

‘Retrieve hamper from hallway. When hamper is left outside door, it means clothes must be washed.’

Easy enough. You go upstairs first and take the tall hamper from beside the door frame. It’s heavy and there’s no wheels to aid in your struggle. The laundry room is downstairs. Your descent is treacherous, one step at a time as you haul the basket down step by step. If Mr. Laufeyson is there, he can’t happy with the noise.

You finally get to the machine and follow the instructions about cycle type and separating colours from whites. However, there is only the bedding to be cleaned. You load the linens in and take a moment to figure out the touchscreen. Your father’s machine has a dial that only works on one setting and gives off a dingy stench.

You leave the basket in front of the washer and retreat to start your usual progression through the urban manse. Mop, sweep, dust, vacuum, polish; hallway, kitchen, dining room, sitting room… Nothing unusual or unexpected.

As you cross the narrow foyer to the den, the sunshine glows a warm orange through the slender windows on either side of the front door. The patterning of the glass reflects prettily on the floor. Despite your best efforts, you can’t help but imagine residing somewhere so brilliant.

You sigh and carry on. You’re sure to open the long drapes to let in the late spring sunshine. It’s not so bad working in the light and you can see where the rare spec of dust is hiding. You go to the tall shelf beside the record player and pull out the albums to wipe beneath them. Music would be jarring in a place always so silent.

You slip the albums back into place, pulling out one to admire the cover; Ane Brun. You’ve never heard of them. You read the track list curiously. You know you shouldn’t be wasting time.

“I don’t believe I’d have anything to your taste on my shelf,” the mocking slither has you pushing the album in line with the rest.

You almost apologise but you remember. You don’t speak. You just clean. So clean.

You glance over at Mr. Laufeyson as he struts in, a book held in one hand as his other is tucked in his pocket. He wears his usual pressed attire; a dark button-up and even darker slacks. You note that he has no tie that day. A single curl dangles by his temple as the rest of his black hair is precisely combed back.

You return to your tasks, gently wiping the cover of the record player and along the stand. You hear the book drop onto the low table before the sofa before his footsteps continue on; closer. He approaches as you get to the next shelf, a collection of EPs in unmarked sleeves.

You wince as he stops near you, flipping up the cover of the sleek record player before stepping back to peruse his selection. You do your best to keep on as he looms. The air is thick and suffocating. Should you go to the next room and come back?

He slips a record free of its sleeve and places it carefully on the players. He moves the needle over and flips the switch, a crackle before the sound drones from the tall standing speakers. Acoustic guitar with a gritty feel to it. The sudden addition of a woman’s voice jolts you; her tone is peculiar but not unpleasant.

When I woke I took the backdoor to my mind And then I spoke I counted all of the good things you are

He backs away without a word. Not an explanation. You finish cleaning the second shelf and dare to glance over. He reads his book on the couch, unbothered by your existence. That isn’t too unfamiliar.

You finish the space but leave the vacuuming for later. You wouldn’t want to ruin the music. You go into what you can only call a sunroom. The french doors peek out onto the garden and a patio set with a large dining set in white iron and glass.

The music drifts in and keeps you company. It almost makes the work easier. You make quick work and go to check the washer to switch over the load. Once you have the dryer figured out, you begin on the second floor.

It’s only as you come out of one of the guestrooms that you notice the silence is returned. You turn down the hallway and near the next door. You enter the study with your usual reverence. Something about the space is intimidating.

The large leather chair with its dimpled back and the even bigger desk; slabs of marble set into polished ebony. Shelves of a similar material, decked out with numerous volumes and the occasional ornament. Some appear even to be genuine artifacts. The rug at the centre is patterned in Persian style.

Behind the desk are a set of doors that open onto a balcony. The drapes are drawn shut. You find that is often the case. It’s a sombre and dark space hidden from the bright gardens without. Your tasks here are minimal. You use the hand vacuum and dust the shelves. You aren’t to touch the desk at all.

A shadow startles you as you drag the cloth along the edge of the bookshelf. Your eyes round and you look over as Mr. Laufeyson enters. You blanch but he doesn’t acknowledge you. He sighs and goes to the desk, sitting in the chair and wheeling it closer. You narrow your sights on the shelves; focus.

You feel a tremble but quickly shake it away. This is his home, he must be able to exist within it, but this feels strange, almost deliberate. Is he trying to make some point? To scare you? You remember the mention of those who came before you. Did they quit or did he dismiss them? Regardless, you can’t afford either.

It isn’t that difficult to follow the rules. Don’t speak? You haven’t much to say. You get closer as you advance along the shelves to the back of the office. He lets out another long exhale. His chair creaks, once, twice, and again.

“Hm,” he rolls back and swivels, an action you observe from the corner of your eye. He tuts and wheels back to the desk, resuming tapping on the keys of his slender laptop. The glow limns his silhouette sinisterly.

You rustle the drapes as you pass them and cross to the opposite shelves. As you brush over the spines of the books, you nearly drop the cloth. His low hum frightens you as he mimics the same melody that played from the speakers below. His tone is deep and sonorous, even delightful.

You squeeze the cloth and pause before regaining your composure. This cannot be a coincidence. The camera and now he’s following you. Or so it seems. Does he distrust you? What reason have you given him?

You are mindful to wipe down the bronze statue of what you assume is a viking warrior. You place it back staunchly, making sure your work is entirely visible to him. You are honest and you like to think you do your work well. Or at least, you try to. Perhaps if he sees that effort, he won’t be so suspicious.

As you head for the door, he quits his humming. His chair squeaks again.

“You are rather more thorough than the last,” he muses.

You stop and turn your head. You nod. He’s baiting you to break his number one rule.

“And you take orders well,” he adds blithely, “that is rare these days.” He taps a key again, “as you were.”

You take the dismissal in stride and flit off to your next task. It isn’t much, maybe only a statement of fact, but it’s something. He isn’t unhappy with your work. So far, neither are you.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #maid au #marvel #mcu #thor #avengers

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slytherinsallows · 1 month

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A quick bathroom break 🌶️🌶️🌶️

// Hey everyone! I’ve been gone a few months but I’ve finally decided to start writing again! I have some wips and a couple fresh ideas and new parts of old stories I’m the works so stay tuned and enjoy this horny oneshot 🤭

Summary: Sebastian gets a little excited thinking about Mc in class, resulting in a quick bathroom break….

Tags: solo masturbation, fantasising

Sebastian twitched in his chair. How in Merlin’s name had this class only started five minutes ago?

It felt like someone had used a bloody time turner…

He sighed and ran his hand through his messy brown hair, fidgeting his legs, trying not to think about last nights dream at all costs…

Mc sprawled out on his bed, soft and delicate legs spread in front of him, her lips curbed into a seductive smile. It was agonising him.

No, he couldn’t think about this here. After all, this little game she liked to play with him was becoming…dangerous, to say the least.

All the professors words felt like gobbledegook at this point, his mind deviously exploring back to her body. Those curves, those hips, her sweet soft skin, delicious enough to give him a sugar rush.

He groaned as he felt a bump between his legs start to grow with each passing thought.

Fuck…

His eyes fluttered around the class, hoping no one would notice his strange behaviour… but the more dull the lecture became, the more he’d find his mind wandering back to the her body.

It wasn’t just in his dreams either, she was a tease constantly for him, making him wait for some, for any, relief. It was clear she loved this effect she had on him, and for once in Sebastian’s life, he was wrapped around her finger.

The bulge was getting worse now, painfully obvious if anyone were to look at him. He was going to have to go and take care of himself at this rate…

His cock twitched in annoyance, begging him to go and sort it out, and his impulsivity took over…

He waited for the class to become distracted and quickly excused himself, be-lining it to the boys bathrooms. Throwing the door open, locking it, struggling with his belt…

Sebastian groaned, unable to wait, pawing at the zip on his crotch, desperate to rub one out. Once his member was finally free, he leaned one hand on the stall, his other finding its way to his pulsing member.

He rested his head on the door of the stall as he began working his length, his large veiny hands wasting no time in satisfying his hunger…

Sebastian was big, and only Mc could do this to him… those gorgeously glazed pink lips wrapped around the end of his cock, the thought of her breasts pressing against him as he fucked her… it was all too much for the poor boy to bear.

Thrusting into his hand, he imagined it was her, imagined looking into her big doe eyes as he fucked her, imagined kissing every inch of her skin. Oh how he longed for these day dreams to cease, and actually become his nightly reality.

The slytherin gritted his teeth as he already felt himself becoming close, his back starting to arch against the bathroom stall, his member begging for release.

“Mc…”, he breathed out as his thrusts became harder, faster, his hair becoming even more messy with each movement, his once somewhat tidy uniform now astray.

He pictured her face in his mind, completely giving into his urges and desires now, shamelessly groaning her name under his breath.

“Such a good girl”

His high was nearing as he pictured their bodies in his mind, just like they had done in his nightly dreams hundreds of times over, never getting tiresome. Sebastian bit his lip as he released into his hand, a low grunt escaping his body as relief washed over him.

He stood there for a while, bent over the stall, panting, hair a mess as he attempted to compose himself to re enter society. The slytherin zipped his fly back up shakily, tending to his mess of a uniform before unlocking the door and stepping out into the corridor. Just when he was about to thank god no one heard or saw him, the very girl of his temptations appeared. God this timing was mocking him at this point..

Mc smiled softly at the boy, happy to see him. “Hey Sebastian!” She giggled as she passed him, innocent to anything he had just done in her absence.

Sebastian was indefinitely flustered, a rare sight for anyone to see, as he ran his hand back through his hair and tried not to let his eyes explore her body too obviously, as if she were some kind of slab of meat.

“Hello love” he managed, trying to remain his usually confident composure despite his embarrassment.

“You look like you just ran a mile? Peeves been after you again?” She giggled, eyes flirting the whole time.

Sebastian nodded hastily. “Uh…yeah! that bloody poltergeist!” He shook his head, relieved she hadn’t suspected anything else…

“Well I was thinking maybe you wanted to unwind later? At mine?” She asked, twirling her hair subconsciously. “You look like you need to…relax a little.”

“Sure, I’ll be there!” He accepted hastily before mc waved him off, hips swaying agonisingly as she walked away.

Maybe there was a chance he would get to fulfil those desires after all…

#sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #garreth weasley #sebastian sallow fanfiction #ominis gaunt fanfiction #ominis x reader #sebastian sallow smut #garreth weasley smut #ominis gaunt smut

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elegy-if · 8 months

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For the very first time in years, you’re met with the scent of fresh air. No antiseptic, no lingering smell of blood, still so thick you can practically taste it at just the memory of it. You’re not going back if it kills you. Which it very well might.

DEMO: LINK (UPDATED DECEMBER 8TH, 2023.)

Nemisi is an 18+ modern horror/romance/urban fantasy interactive novel WIP. Play as a customizable MC, who’s on the run from Vicelie Labs.

The struggle between cosmic deities — now worshiped (or abhorred) as gods — tore its way into your planet not long before you were born. Unluckily for you, you were one of the first generations to be born exposed to Excinate, the name given to the radioactive-like sickness that comes from being exposed to magic not of your world. As your symptoms slowly got worse and worse, you were promptly ripped from your family after a doctor’s visit ushered on by your concerned parents. Since then, you’ve been shipped around and transported from facility to facility to be poked and prodded at.

Until now. No, now you’re free.

Aside from that lingering hunger for flesh you’ve had since becoming infected, of course. Just a little side effect from the radiation, along with a mouthful of jagged teeth and a jaw that can unhinge like a snake.

THE CAST:

Refs for RO skin tones can be found here!

Felix (he/she, bigender + bisexual): Curt, blunt, and too tired to deal with this mess, Felix really had no reason to suspect the lab next to gas station he works night shifts at had anything to hide. It’s not like the screams he heard coming from that direction were anything more than some kids messing around late at night, right? Besides, she'd met some of the employees of Vicelie Labs, and aside from the occasional lingering scent of blood, they seemed like just fine people.

Okay, so maybe she did have a sneaking suspicion something was up. Not like he could do anything about it. Not until you show up, at least, crashing through the gas station door in such a tizzy you’d nearly run into it.

Tall and lanky, Felix often has a scowl spread across her face. He has tawny brown skin, dark brown eyes, and poorly bleached hair with quite a bit of jet black root growth. His hair is styled into a shaggy wolf cut, and of course one can’t forget the shitty stubble she’s refused to shave since it grew in. Felix has a body that might often be described as scrawny, or perhaps even gangly. A strong gust of wind could knock him over. Felix is most often seen in casual clothes; hoodies, band shirts, and jeans make up the majority of her wardrobe. Has several piercings; a bridge, septum, both nostrils, snake bites, and two eyebrow piercings side by side. She stands at 5’11” tall. Felix is trans no matter what. He will always use both he and she pronouns interchangeably. Please do not use they/them to refer to her.

Dr. Eden Neal (gender selectable, M/F/NB): Kind, but awkward. A doctor who didn’t know what they were getting into when applying for a job with Vicelie Labs. Fresh out of med school, the harsh reality of the labs was too much for them. They were assigned to examine you, and though it was hard to trust them at first (and even now) they were essential in your escape.

While Eden seems to be a kind soul, your bitter side can’t help but wonder if their assistance in your escape was some cruel joke.

Combined with their soft, rounded features, Eden’s dark hair is in long braids, often pulled back out of their face into a ponytail. They have large golden brown eyes with thick eyelashes, and their skin is a deep brown, with a hint of a cool undertone. More soft than muscle, though they still have some tone and definition to their arms and back. It’s not easy work lifting and moving those heavy vats around the lab, after all. Eden is most typically seen in a lab coat, though they lean a bit more business casual once they start meeting up with you for check-ins after your escape. They stand at 5’4”, regardless of gender. Eden is black, with dark skin.

Sable (gender selectable, M/F/NB): A bit of an outcast, Sable is an extremely shy mortician, and one of your (limited) options for getting the flesh you so desperately crave. They spot you sneaking into the morgue one night, half lucid and drunk with the need for blood and flesh on your tongue. They offer to cut a deal with you — they’ll give you all the scraps and leftovers that they can get away with, so long as you give them any information you’ve picked up about the consequences of using cosmic magic.

Are they seeking power, or just simply curious about the consequences of magic from a biological standpoint?

Sable is one of the tallest RO’s, standing at 6’2” regardless of gender. They have a bright shock of long, curly ginger hair, and their near ghostly pallor is covered in freckles and beauty marks. Most notably, they have beauty marks to the right of their bottom lip, as well as underneath their left eye. They have a long, roman nose with a prominent bridge and blue eyes. Their body is on the heavier side, with a soft stomach and thick thighs. Sable doesn’t dress to impress as they’re mostly surrounded by dead bodies, typically wearing neutral colored slacks and skirts. They occasionally spice things up with an interesting vest or tie, but are much too scared to stand out to do so often. They have circle glasses. Sable is plus size, with a pear shaped figure.

Eris (gender selectable, M/F/NB): A hired killer, and the only other option you have for sating your hunger besides Sable. You meet Eris as you’re hiding away from Vicelie Labs in Eden's apartment, drawn to the smell of blood from them finishing up one of their “contracts” in the apartment next door. It’s a mess of guts and gore, and you can’t stop yourself from indulging. After a moment of awareness, you go to turn tail and run, only to find Eris still there. They have an offer for you — they’ll kill for you, and you can have at their fresh meat. Certainly an offer that’s hard to pass up, considering your current predicament.

Perpetually masked, you’re actually not certain what Eris looks like behind it. From what you can see, they’re very sturdy. All you can see besides their build is their hair, occasionally peeking out from beneath their hood. It falls to Eris’ wide shoulders, and from what you’ve seen is a dark brown. They stand at 6'0" tall, regardless of gender.

???: You’ve only heard of them in passing at the lab — someone who goes after rogue assets, like you. According to Eden, they’re after you, and with a vengeance.

Good luck.

#nemisi if #nemisi #interactive fiction #interactive novel #twine #twine game #twine wip #twine interactive fiction #horror if #horror interactive fiction #interact if #interact-if #<- idk the right tag orz #if: intro #if: nemisi #if wip #if game

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jingsyuans · 5 months

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wip ; jing yuan x reader

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

From another ship in the Xianzhou Alliance, you’re sent to the Luofu in order to keep tabs on the general stationed there, Jing Yuan. The Alliance begrudgingly accepts Jing Yuan’s way of doing things, but only begrudgingly. Your job is to find a weakness in his order, a hole among the walls that might lead to the structure of the Luofu in a state of collapse. Just how good is a general who is so unwilling to battle, so unwavering in his stance and belief? Of course, while you are stationed there and observing the general, it is of utmost importance that he not figure out why you’re really there.

But you simply do not believe in tricking someone dubbed the Divine Foresight. Not only is it nearly impossible, but you do not believe it is worth the effort. While Jing Yuan may not be your general, you still respect all his achievements and the fact he values the lives of his men.

So when you make your arrival on the Luofu and Jing Yuan asks for the reason of your transfer, you are brazenly honest with him. You tell him your job to keep tabs on his day to day activity, to observe the way he leads the Luofu. To offer your aid if he needs it, even. You tell him how your general, Feixiao, has doubts about his leadership, so you are here to quell those doubts. It is unsurprising that a woman so headstrong does not understand the work of a man so cunning, so here you are.

And to be met with such honesty- ah, yes, it is like a breath of fresh air. Jing Yuan would be so intrigued, so interested by you. Of course he had his suspicions about the reason for your transfer, and for you to not even bother lying to him… no, he wasn’t expecting that. Jing Yuan loves to be surprised.

“Is there a reason you went against orders and told me all of this?” Jing Yuan asked you at the beginning, figuring that if you were so honest about your job here, you’d be honest with your reasoning. “I assume that Feixiao wouldn’t have wanted you to give yourself away.”

“No, she wouldn’t have,” you confirmed easily. “But I do not believe there is any tricking the Divine Foresight, especially from right under his nose. Do you?” Your head tilting with a gleam in your eye. He couldn’t help but smile at you.

“You’d be surprised. Anything is possible with the right method and execution.”

“True. But I do not believe I want to trick you, General Jing Yuan. I may be from another ship, but we are all part of the Xianzhou. You are my brother in arms just like Feixiao is my sister. I want her to trust you as I trust you.”

“You trust me?” Another surprise. You sigh in an exasperated fashion, smiling back at him. Jing Yuan might start to feel something for you right then.

“I have no reason not to, General. Until proven otherwise, I trust you.”

Jing Yuan does not break this trust. You are in close quarters with the man because of your job, and he has nothing to hide from you. You cannot witness it all, of course, but there is no need to. You simply jot down and observe what he does in his day, perhaps writing ‘drifts off to sleep from eleven am to one pm’ more than you thought you would. But regardless of those frequent naps, his work efficiency leaves little to be desired.

You get to know him like this. In the quiet, idle moments, Jing Yuan usually sparks up conversation. Usually, the two of you will talk, having plenty of material from the length of your long lives and the abundance of memories written in them- other times, Jing Yuan will send you off to the streets of the Luofu.

This is not to get your prying eyes away from him. He usually sends you when he’s doing something especially boring and the man’s observant enough to see you getting restless. He says you should grow familiar with the Luofu- it’s no fun to stay stationed somewhere that you aren’t comfortable, after all, and this can be your home just like the Yaoqing. Sometimes he will join you, other times he is too afraid of Qingzu’s excruciating stare to try and play hooky from his duties yet again.

Sometimes, you will catch him in moments that you don’t put down in your log. Such moments too tenderhearted to try and use against him, such as the times you will find him humming under his breath to his birds, once singing to Mimi as he idly combed through her rough mane. Moments where he’d be caught in a daze as he poured his tea and would spill the hot water across the desk, something you saw coming before it happened so you moved the papers away just in time. The next it happened, you touched his hand and tilted the pot before it would spill. That was the first time you’d touched him- which was odd, being in close proximity to somebody for so long and seeing them every day and yet realizing in that moment you’ve never touched him before. As if he were not really real to you until your hand met his.

But Jing Yuan was plenty real. Pleasantly so. His hands warm just like the rest.

#this is the plot I want the fem-exclusive reader to be based around #and I rly like the idea of you catching jy singing to himself #reader finds him singing like a Disney princess and they’re like That’s My Girlfriend #u making friends with qingzu and lamenting how u want to make jy ur girlfriend and she’s like “he’s a 700 y/o man #yes he is and he’s my girlfriend what of it #I also have a moment in mind for this fic where u compare jy’s body to a woman’s and realize they’re not all that different #he got the soft curves the lithe waist the plush booby #girlfriend #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #hsr x reader #jing yuan reader insert #honkai star rail #wip

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zialltops · 5 months

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honeysuckle’s & huckleberry’s

Ranch hand Joel doesn’t know how to handle the return of his bosses prodigy daughter, her snarky attitude or her sinfully tight jeans.

a/n: hi guys!! I’m fresh off finishing east side of sorrow and couldn’t wait to hop into this work. I can not thank everyone enough for the fun we had with esos, but i am beyond stoked to meet this joel because i am ferallllll for him all dirty on a ranch with a cowboy hat on a horse ughhhh, give it to me already. anyways, let me know if you like it 🤍 thank you to @sawymredfox for letting me idea dump on you and give me all kinda of ideas! i love you to pieces! this ones for you my dear!

A03 Link | Spotify Link | Masterlink

Pt. 1: Oklahoma Smokeshow

Half a mile from the turnpike, two miles from home, along the winding and twisting asphalt of Cold Creek road, Joel Miller rasps his gloved hand against the steering wheel of the Rising Sun Ranch’s newly bought—second (maybe fifth?) hand old pickup truck. A beat up nineties chevy with rust on the floorboard and a new-car tree hanging from the rearview mirror. Beside him, his brother Tommy bounces his knee while he takes a long drag off his second cigarette since this drive started. The smoke plumes through the window, then back inside when the chill outside pushes the hot smoke back into the cab, whirling around Joel's senses like it belongs there. The smell is insufferable and makes Joel’s skin crawl, takes him to a time before ropers scars and belt buckles.

“Know that shit’s gon’ kill you, right?” He doesn’t need to look over at his brother's form beside him to know the younger man is anxious, like he usually is on long car rides. “You used to do it too, big brother.” Joel scuffs at him, keeps his one gloved hand on the wheel as he keeps on driving. He’s not wrong, if he wants to talk about the Joel of ten years ago, a distant, ragged and angry version of himself. “Don’t remind me.” He keeps his eyes fixed on the snow coated road ahead of him. He’s cautious at this time of the year, the winter storms usually leave them stranded on the ranch for a few weeks, but he’s lucky enough to have caught the dark clouds before they started to let down too much. The salt on the roads seem to do the trick for the time being, so long as he stays away from the embankment and keeps his eyes on the dimming road ahead.

It was mid day, but the sun sets early in the winter, so it hangs low in the sky amongst the cold abyss, like it’s desperately reaching out for the horizon—like it wants to run from this place too. He looks ahead and silently wishes to himself that he could follow those last rays of sunshine into tomorrow, like maybe he would find something there.

He shakes the thought and sets his mind back on track, why they were out here. “When we get back to the ranch, you need to find a way to apologize to Miss Lou. She really was just tryin’ to be helpful, Tommy. She ain’t wrong for that.” Louise had always been more than welcoming and kind to them, she’s saved their asses more than once and she feeds them more than she needs to, but his brother can never seem to let a good thing be, always biting the hand that attempted to feed him.

“Don’t like it when people go through my shit, man, you know that.” He’s nearly done with his cigarette, thank fuck because Joel wants to grab it from his hand himself and chuck it out the window. “She wasn’t goin’ through your stuff, dipshit, she was doin’ your laundry! Doesn’t give you any right to snap at someone like that. Especially a nice lady who’s husband give’s us a dollar in our pocket and a roof over our heads. Do you have any Idea where we’d be without that?”

It cuts deep because Tommy flicks his butt out the window and sinks down in his seat, he knows Joel is right because they are incredibly lucky to be where they are now. They would probably never find somewhere as appealing as their little shared hunting cabin a half mile from the main house. “Hank ain’t happy,” he adds, like Tommy doesn’t already know that after the argument that led to them leaving. “We wouldn’t be out in a goddamned snow storm for fuckin’ flowers if Hank was happy.”

Joel finally glances over, but when he does, it’s at the bouquet of flowers sitting beside him on the bench seat. “Doesn’t matter, you still need to apologize—to both of them. We wouldn’t have shit if it weren’t for them—“ they wouldn’t, they were on their last leg, hitchhiking across half the country when they found an ad outside of the feed store in Jackson looking for a ranch hand in exchange for room and board. Joel gave them two for the price of one and the rest was history. Tommy makes an annoyed sound and interrupts. “Joel, what's that?” Directly in front of them, on the side of the road caught in an embankment is a little blue car sunk all the way down to the lug nuts. It doesn’t look like the person lost control, but they just drove into the embankment.

This road isn’t frequented and the cell service is spotty, but the taillights on the car tell him there's someone inside. “I’m stoppin’ to help,'' Joel informs him, but Tommy shifts and rolls his eyes—he’s never been the humanitarian type. “Why? I’m sure they can pay for a tow truck. Besides, if they are stupid enough to get stuck in an embankment, they can suffer.” Usually, Joel would agree, but the closer they get to Christmas, the more that iced over heart of his starts to thaw out.

Joel stops the truck on the road and leaves it running while he looks over at his brother. “Ain’t leavin’ nobody stuck out here in this storm, even if they’re stupid. They won't make it through the night.” He shuts the door behind him and stuffs his hands into his pockets. An agitated gust of air leaves his lungs in the form of cloudy condensation amongst the snowfall. He walks up to the car, leaning down so he can glance inside without getting too close. Through the fogged window, he can make out the figure of a woman leaned against the steering wheel, her face casted by her hair hanging all around while she slumps her head against the wheel. Stupid—stupid girl. What the hell is she doing way out here?

He rasps against the window and she jolts just as Tommy comes up behind him, finally having left the comfort of the truck cab. “S’a girl, should have guessed.” Tommy interjects with a crude tone, thankfully before she rolls the window down. She looks a little scared and a lot embarrassed, her eyes are red like she’s been crying her heart out. It doesn’t make Joel sad, it makes him uncomfortable. Emotions make his skin crawl, make him uneasy. He doesn’t handle people crying well, he doesn’t know how to react to it, what he should say or do.

“You need someone to pull you out?” He asks, trying his best to sound mellow tempered and helpful. He’s not, but he won't be able to sleep tonight if he has to drive by the coroner unsticking her frozen body from the seats in the morning. “I’m so sorry—I was checking my phone because my mom texted me and I didn’t see the corner—“ stuck in the snow because she was on her fucking phone? “You hit a snow embankment because you were textin’? You dim or somethin’, girl?” She gives him a hard glance, eyebrows pulled together tightly. “I’m not dim, but I can tell you’re dense.”

Tommy scuffs from beside him and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll grab the chain,” he tells his brother as he heads towards the truck. “I’m gonna pull you out, but after that you’re on your own, kid. This storm is just starin’, might be smart if you headed back to whatever city you blew in from.”

She’s the furthest thing from appreciative when Joel hooks a chain to the frame of her car and the hitch on the front of the old red chevy. When she gets out of the little blue car, Joel gets the full extent of how unprepared she is for a full on impending whiteout snowstorm. Her pants have rips and holes, like they are meant to be there, no way they are offering any kind of protection from the chill. Her boots have a three inch heel like she’s walking along some new york sidewalk with a tiny dog in her arms. She has a jacket, fur lining the hood and yet she’s still shaking like it all does nothing to protect her from the snow.

“Thank you for doing this, but I really could have called a tow truck or something. They probably would have been a lot nicer about it.” Her voice is dripping with disdain when he stands upright again. “You want nice, or you want to be dead? Because there ain’t no company sending a driver out here when were forecasted to get two feet overnight.”

She puts her hands on her hips in an attempted threatening manner, like that might scare Joel into an apology when she looks like an angry child who didn’t get their way. Joel hated people like this, too good for the world with their nose up in the air. He turns around to head back to the truck when he spots the piles of boxes in her back seat. Great—another fuckin’ know it all who think’s living out here is romantic and rustic. “You movin’ out here somewhere? You know there ain’t a mall for like, a hundred and fifty miles, right?”

She’s irritated now, with all the rude comments Joel is throwing her way—but he doesn’t care because the last thing this place needs is more city people thinking they can tame this untouched land. It shouldn’t bother him, because how long could she really last out here anyways? With those three inch heels and clothes fit for a concrete jungle, not muddy plains and cattle. She won't make it a month out here in the dead of winter.

“Just pull my car out, or leave me be, because the last thing I need right now is to get harassed by some old dumb fuck cowboy.” Dumb cowboy? Old? Like he’s the fucking moron out here in the middle of a blizzard in a car with bald ass tires and pants with holes in them. Maybe he should fucking leave, let her strand around trying to find a signal to call a tow company that wont come. “You know what?” Teach her a lesson, maybe then she’ll learn this place isn’t for people like her. With her done up hair and makeup—she’s pretty, unnaturally so—like she’s trying to damn hard to look that good—god damnit—“walk around in those stupid fucking shoes and see if you can find your own way out,” he leans down and undoes the hook under her car roughly. “Come on Tommy, were out of here.” She stomps her foot in the snow and starts to pace back to her car.

Joel makes his way back to the truck and unhooks the chain from the front. He’s had a long fucking day of taking care of his idiot bothers problems and he doesn’t have the patience to help some girl who doesn’t know what’s good for her.

“Hey, big brother.” It’s Tommy’s voice in his ears when he finally closes the door behind himself, huffing in discontent as he puts it in gear. “What.” He snaps, backing away from the stuck car and those sinfully tight jeans on that tight little—mother fucking son of a bitch, stop it!—he cant stand people like her, fucking with his head and getting under his skin. The type of girls who have looked him up and down and laughed in his face at the thought of someone like him being up to standard for someone like them. That snot nosed brat can sit in the snow, for all he cares.

“No need to get all hostile at me, man—I’m just checkin’ on ya. You’re all red and pissy, and nothin’ gets you all worked up like that.” He shrugs beside him with a cocky sort of snort. “I mean, unless—“ Joel jerks on the wheel and sneers over at his brother. “Drop it. Not another fucking word or I’ll leave you here too.”

Tommy’s jaw snaps shut and he looks out the passenger window, the radio playing quietly while the storm picks up, and the road carries on. Joel doesn’t think about what he’s done, only how his knee bounces and his hands flex the whole way back to the ranch. How his heart pounds and his blood rushes and it makes his head throb.

When they pull into the muddy drive, he shuts off the truck and turns towards his brother and the bouquet of flowers. “You really need to mean it when you talk to them, I’m serious. They are nice people who’ve looked out for us for two years. We owe them that, at least.” His little brother seems serious when he nods, so Joel passes him the flowers and heads inside. They have sacrificed so much to help Joel and Tommy. They’d been through dark winters with them, when they lost half the herd to the cold and Joel spent the night in the barn with what was left to make sure they all stayed upright and dry. They’ve all had empty bellies at night, didn’t have two nickels to rub together between the four of them and they’ve stood by each others sides through it. They’ve seen Tommy lose his shit a few times, too—so they know he’s capable of coming back from it. He just hopes this time wasn’t too far—Tommy had yelled at her for simply washing his clothes for him.

When the door to the big white farm house creaks open, Joel steps inside to the warm scent of roast in the oven and potatoes on the stove, Hank in his recliner with the newspaper in his hand and his reading glasses on while the game plays in the background. Hank was a large man, kind of chubby in the joyous kind of way, kind eyes and balding on the top. He laughs a lot, but he takes no shit while he’s at it.

“Kitchen,” Joel directs Tommy, who makes his way to the conjoining room where Louise was probably busy cooking dinner. Joel makes his way over to the couch across from Hank, who drops his paper and gives Joel a long look. “You talk to him?” He nods his head and glances down at his snowy boots. “He’s been real anxious all day. Storm comin’ in is messin’ with him and he knows it's no excuse to snap at anyone. He’s in there apologizin’.”

The older man nods at him and glances over his shoulder where Joel can barely see Tommy handing her the bouquet. “She was really shaken up over it, I hate seeing her so upset. She’s been excited all day and trying to make the house looks nice. I think it was just a misunderstanding, but don’t give him any excuse to yell at her like that.”

Joel twists his hands around and looks up at Hank who wears a solemn expression. “I know, I’m real sorry, Hank.”

The man across from him sigh, then offers a faint smile as he stands from his chair. “It’s alright. You boys are like family, families fight—it happens. Lets get some dinner, forget about all this mess, alright?” Joel is thankful for the reason to drop the conversation and stands with the older man as they head towards the kitchen. Louise and Tommy are talking quietly, smiling at each other until she reaches out and embraces him in a soft looking hug. It's an ease on Joel’s wound tight mind, thinking Tommy had finally thrown a wrench in the only good thing they’ve had in ten years.

Dinner is delicious, savory roast that he can dip soft bread in, let is soak up all the juice that he tries and fails to not get all over his beard. When his bowl is empty and his stomach feels distended, he leans back in his chair and sighs contently. “That was amazing, Miss Lou—I don’t know how you do it.” The smile she gives him isn’t like one of her usuals, it’s slightly saddened and disheartened when she looks across the table at him. For a moment, he worries that Tommy’s words are getting to her again. “Everythin’ okay?” He sits up a little in his chair.

“I'm a little worried. Our daughter was on her way home from college today, she’s finally graduated and she called me this morning to tell me she’d be home before supper, so I made her favorite.” She looks towards the window. “The storm is getting worse, I’m worried her little car wont make it,” Joel’s whole stomach lurches into his throat and he nearly throws up in his hands. “I told you we should have gotten her a truck, Hank, you know she’s not the best driver in snow.”

Fuck—fuck, fuck, fuck!—he’s such a fucking idiot. He knew she was coming home today, Lou has been talking about it for weeks, the impending return of the prodigy child, home with a degree to save the ranch—or whatever it is that she was doing. He’d heard them talk about her so many times, she was all brains and no know-how, Hank always talked about how clumsy and awkward she was, but how brilliant her mind was at the same time. He’d always questioned how uncoordinated she really was, based on the photos of her as a young woman roping in the rodeo. Fuck—he should have recognized her... “What’s her name again?” Tommy asks like he has no fucking clue Joel is losing his ever loving shit right now. They left her stranded on the side of the road in the middle of this damn snow storm. He hears Louise say her name but it doesn’t register because he feels like he’s on fire and drownings at the same time. “But everyone’s always called her Honey. Since she was a little little thing. She was always so ornery and stubborn until one day she got into a bee box and got covered in bee stings. Ever since that day she was so sweet, so we started calling her Honey.” Lou has this soft smile and all Joel can think about is how he’d told her to crawl back to whatever city she came from in her stupid fucking shoes. “She’s got a real mouth on her till something puts her straight.” Hank chuckles and Joel abruptly stands from his seat.

“I’m finished, I can go out and have a look incase she got stuck somewhere.” He slings on his jacket, but Tommy is still eating and doesn’t think much of it—dumb ass. “Are you sure? She’s probably fine, she knows better than to get caught out in these storms, she probably got a hotel in town.” Joel shakes his head at them and throws on his thick Carhartt jacket that Hank gave him his first winter here after watching him shiver in the fields. “I’m sure, it’s gettin’ bad, just gonna make sure she ain’t stuck somewhere.” Joel makes his way out the door quickly, grabbing the keys to the truck that they had given to him—“how are you supposed to manage a ranch if you don’t have a way to get around?”

He starts up the old chevy and it fires to life despite the snow coming down in heaps now. He’s worried about the road back to her car, about the probably eight inches lining the long driveway, but he throws it in four wheel drive and tries his damndest to get through it because despite all the things stacking up against him, his biggest worry is the police finding her frozen to death in the morning and her parents faces when they find out it was Joel who abandoned her there to die. God—he’s such a prick.

The road is slippery and tricky, a winding snow covered path along the hillside leading towards Jackson. It takes him twenty minutes in this blizzard to get there, all he can think about the entire time is the half freezing girl hiding in her car and the warm food in his belly that was meant for her. He stops the truck when he gets to the car, the lights are off and it looks abandoned—his gut lurches again, what if he’s already too late? Two hours have passed since he left her stranded and the sun has set now, real cold is creeping in.

He jumps out of the truck and walks up to the window. He can't see inside because the glass is fogged, so she has to be alive in there. He knocks on the window and the door jerks against the cold. “Hey,” he pulls the door open more, she’s sitting in the driver seat, pale and shaking with a small blanket pulled around her to keep in some warmth. The look she gives him could kill a man if he didn’t feel like he was already going to die the second you tell your parents that he left you there.

“Y-Your conscious f-finally get to y-you, asshole?” She’s absolutely shaking, her fingers look purple. “I’m so sorry—C’mon, it’s warm in the truck.” He reaches for her hand, but she snaps it away from him like he might burn her. “I c-can get o-out on my own.” She can and does, wobbles on her too tall heels and starts to head towards the running truck. Joel grabs the door for her and she sneers at him—yeah, yeah—he deserves that. He closes the door behind her and runs over to the other side. When he jumps in, she’s got her hands pressed against the heater while she relishes in the welcomed heat.

He pulls away from her trapped car, he’ll come back for it when the snow has cleared up a little bit, but for now—it’s too dangerous to try and yank it out just for it to get stuck in the road because it has no traction. It's ten agonizing minutes of silence while Joel taps his fingers against the steering wheel, trying his damndest to keep a close eye on the woman beside him. She’s warming herself up and thawing out that burning rage Joel knows is inside of her. When they get closer to the driveway, she starts to fire off. “You takin’ me to some backwoods shack to tie me up and keep me?” He scoffs and looks out the windshield, trying to keep the truck steady in the snow.

“If I was going to tie up and keep some girl, I’d make sure she was less bitchy.” She growls at him, growls lowly and it actually does the job, makes his skin prick in goosebumps while he drives. “Wouldn’t be so bitchy if you didn’t leave me on the side of the road. You know I could have died, right?” He is painfully, agonizingly aware of that fact. “I came back, didn’t I?” The driveway is in view, a long fenced path up to the old farm house. “How’d you know I was comin’ here?” Her voice is a tad quieter now, less abrasive on his ears.

“Cus’ I’m comin’ here too.” He says quietly, halfway hoping it won't reach her ears, but her mom was right—she is quick, smart too. “You’re Joel, aren’t you?” She laughs menacingly, crossing her arms across her body and her left leg over her right with a scoff. “You know, my parents said it was Tommy I wouldn’t like. Said you were this big southern gentlemen.” She laughs a little harder, looking over at Joel. “They were half worried they’d have to chase me out of your bed, that you were right up my alley. My daddy said you were the type to charm any woman’s pants off. Guess they don’t know you like they thought they do, huh? Under all that chivalrous facade is just another self centered, selfish cowboy.”

Joel shuts off the truck and glances over at her. “Look, I’m real sorry. First impressions aren’t my strong suit, got a thing for people who don’t belong out here. Didn’t know you were their kid. Would’ve pulled your car out if I’d known.” She opens the door of the cab and steps out into the snow. “So you’re only a good person when someone’s lookin’, I’ll keep that in mind, dickhead.”

She slams the door and storms off towards the house while Joel slumps against the wheel with his head in his hands. Fuck…if it’s not Tommy risking their welcome, their jobs, then it was him, making an absolute ass of himself in-front of the bosses daughter. The bosses fiery, too good—too good looking—

“Son of a bitch!”

—

He gets into the house ten minutes after she does, his hands stuffed in his pockets and half expecting her parents to kick him out right then and there. He pretty much told her to fuck off and left her to freeze to death. There’s no doubt in his mind that they would have found her dead in the morning, the temperature was below freezing already.

To his surprise, it's quiet when he gets inside. Hank and Louise are in the dining room with their daughter, laughing and smiling and surprised to see her, to see her with Joel. “And he just found you there?” She looks so…so..chipper standing there beside her dad with her arm on his shoulder while he sits at the table. “Yep, got my car stuck because I was texting, I know—not bright.” She sounds so fucking fake and dramatic in her tone, Joel’s hands flex and unflex. “And I couldn’t get out and find a signal because of my stupid fucking shoes. I probably would have died there if not for…good ol’ Joel.” She cocks her head with this shit eating grin on her face that makes Joel's gut clench up and his heart pound.

This fucking bitch—is she blackmailing him right now? In those stupid fucking pants and that top he’s finally getting a glimpse at—and then…shit…

Look at you…just—his brain is going haywire right now. He hates your fucking guts right about now but his brain makes other notes about your guts and its desire to be in them—and that tight ass shirt with your tits just pourin’ out of it—Jesus CHRIST, Joel, get it together here.

He shakes his head, bites the inside of his cheek and meets your eyes, everyone else is looking at you, but you’re looking at him, fully aware of the way his eyes just ate your body up for dessert until he was stuffed. “Real winner you guys have here, mom and dad…real winner.”

If there’s one thing Joel is certain of, it’s that he is in big, big fucking trouble.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #the last of us #archive of our own #joel the last of us #joel tlou #rancher joel #joel miller moodboard #cowboy joel miller

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savannahsdeath · 4 months

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◦•≫ "A CHILD" sneek peak

a. anderson — the hunger games au

❈ warnings: sexual assault, death ❈ just a lil sneak peek of my wip ❈ prologue of a prologue ❈ let me know if you want to be added to the taglist ❈ check out #savannahsgames for more !

DISTRICT TWELVE

you didn't remember your childhood too clearly. you knew that you were really close to your mother. she was known as the district twelve's angel - she was a medic which helped people, even when they had nothing to give her in return. they used to say you're a little version of her, a personified reminding that a part of her was still alive, even if her person wasn't anymore.

your father couldn't handle it. he couldn't work, he didn't eat, he soaked in the big, black hole called depression. your brother didn't feel responsible for your dad, not even for himself, and you were left alone. you had to make sure they have something to put in their mouths, at least a bite of bread. how?

you started working for cray. cray was the head peacekeeper of district twelve, originaly from a rich part of panem. an older man, with a few strands of silvery hair combed sideways over his unusually red face. your job was to make sure he always has something warm and fresh to eat, his home is clean and neat and he can peacefully drink his liquor, like the peacekeeper that he is. he didn't pay you a lot, but he also let you have his leftovers.

he had his bad side, though. you were aware of the fact that he was infamous for paying young women to sleep with him. and you decided to ignore this fact - it's none of your business. until that one night, when he got drunk, more than usually. the lights were off, just like he liked. you quietly made your way to the door, hoping to get back to home while staying unnoticed - he wasn't the best person to be around after a shot or two of alcohol. but as soon as you reached to the end of the hall, you heard him raise from his armchair. you huffed and patiently waited for him.

you heard his voice from a small distance. "already going?"

"can i?" you asked, shutting your eyes and silently praying he'll go away.

he smacked his lips. "i'd rather if you stay a bit more."

you cursed under your breath but nodded. then put down your bag, passed him and went back to the living room, where you sat on the couch. soon, he stood in front of you, stroking your cheek with his disgusting, cold hands. you couldn't do anything - your family's lives depended on him.

"i'll pay you twice as much as other girls" he stated. "you could afford a full table of meals with that."

you gulped. "how much?"

"i bet you've never even seen so much money with those innocent eyes of yours before" he chukled.

it was too late and too dark, you were too desperate and everything was just too much. the next seconds were a blur of confusion and regret.

abby thg taglist: @eringranola @cherriesxinthespring @coff1nn @sturnrngs @elliesreallwife @yurrrika @spacecinnamonbuns

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beom-pyu · 11 months

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my wips! ★⋆⁺˚⋆｡ °₊*️

see what's coming soon:

(more under the cut!)

I CAN'T SWIM, IDIOT (choi beomgyu x fem!reader) POSTED.

SYNOPSIS:

your best friend just so happens to enter you both into a married-couple-greece-resort-stay-all-expenses-paid giveaway hosted by some random insurance company he found on twitter. but those things are always scams—there's no way you'd end up having to pretend to be beomgyu's wife for one week in a foreign country. and there's absolutely no way you'd end up seeing your childhood best friend in a different light after your stay. nope—not a chance.

RESET (kang taehyun x fem!reader)

coworkers to lovers, rivals to lovers, fluff, comedy, smut

SYNOPSIS:

working as a game developer has been your dream for years. you fought long and hard to work your way up to the top, and you've finally secured a stable, well-paying position at one of the lead gaming companies in the country. things are going well—until your head hires a new programmer to work alongside you for a new campaign. while you are excited to see fresh faces in the office, a problem quickly arises—you can't seem to get along with your counterpart. his know-it-all attitude rubs you the wrong way from the very beginning, and each day, you find it harder and harder to get anything done when he's over your shoulder, critiquing your every move. you don't know how much longer you can put up with his nagging until you downright lose your mind... and maybe your job as well.

(current word count: 3.24k)

TEASER:

“um, hello! nice to meet you. i’m y/n y/l/n, lead character designer,” you introduce yourself with a small bow, looking up to see taehyun smiling at you with those pretty wide eyes.

“i specialize in character design as well. i guess we’ll be working side by side this year,” taehyun shoots you with a blinding grin. your heart stutters a bit at his unwavering eye contact, nodding with a small smile.

“i guess so. you sure you can keep up, though?” you playfully flirt towards him, a low and quiet ‘ooooo’ coming from soobin and yeonjun on either side of you. taehyun remains unfazed at your comment, shrugging slightly at your words with raised brows.

“i’d like to believe so. i’m looking forward to seeing what you got, y/l/n.”

you smile a bit, your gaze unbreaking with his cat eyes.

“likewise, kang.”

END CREDITS (choi yeonjun x fem!reader)

underground boxer au, exes to lovers, heavy angst, fluff, smut

SYNOPSIS:

yeonjun feels as if he's stuck in a loop. every day is the same, boring, painful drag—work, fight club, dinner for ma, and repeat. he's completely numb to everyone and everything around him. why shouldn't he be? the only person he's staying alive for is his mother—if he were to die today, earth would continue to spin without a second thought. that is, until you pop back up into his life—and now everything he knows is flipped onto its head. you left him because of the way he is... so why are you staying this time?

(current word count: 4.6k)

TEASER:

“i think i’m just gonna head home. ma is probably waiting for me.” yeonjun forces a small, strained smile towards beomgyu, watching as the younger’s shoulders droop in disappointment.

“you are so lame,” beomgyu huffs, pushing yeonjun’s shoulder lightly. “dude, just come celebrate with us tonight. i swear i won’t ever ask you again.”

yeonjun shakes his head, shrugging on his gray zip-up before turning back around to walk out of the locker room, beomgyu still hot on his heels. “don’t feel like it, beomgyu. just drop it.”

beomgyu chases after yeonjun as he walks back into the crowded arena, shoving his way through all of the sweaty bodies as another fight starts up.

“you’re the most boring person i’ve ever met,” beomgyu shouts.

“and you’re the most annoying person i’ve ever met,” yeonjun shouts back, not even bothering to turn around and face the younger.

to be added:

rockstar!yeonjun x lead singer!reader - exes to lovers

farm boy!taehyun x city girl!reader - strangers to lovers

soon-to-be-married!soobin x wedding planner!reader - exes to lovers

#beom-pyu #txt imagines #txt fluff #txt angst #txt smut #txt scenarios #txt x reader #txt x you #yeonjun x reader #soobin x reader #beomgyu x reader #taehyun x reader #hueningkai x reader #yeonjun imagines #soobin imagines #beomgyu imagines #taehyun imagines #hueningkai imagines

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chaosheadspace · 3 months

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wip meme: Subvocals? subvocals sounds so interesting pls say more

Okay, subvocalisation is a term first coined by fanfic author Did (someone correct me if I'm wrong) for Omegaverse. It's involuntary / hard to repress sounds that express simple things like "back off / come here / I'm scared / I want you / where is my alpha / you're in serious danger of being bitten rn" stuff like that.

So this would be a Dreamling fic where everyone is part of the Omegaverse system, even the Endless. Due to his eldritch shenanigans, Dream's subvocals are in a pitch no living being can hear, so he just goes ham / he never learned how to maybe tone it down.

Cue Hob who's hearing is a little fucked. One day, while out with his friends, starts hearing those weird noises. You know where this is going, haha. Dream being called out on his bullshit by his own body, naturally.

Snippet under the cut, possibly OOC. (also, I'm not italicising all the *, I'm on mobile, I won't do that to myself)

Hob just smiles gently as his friends laugh about another story Alrin is telling, imitating the purrs and trills of his latest Omega conquest. Hob's had trouble hearing ever since he was kicked by a horse as a kid. He can't even hear his *own* subvocals, just feel the vibrations of them in his chest whenever they happen. Funnily enough, he's also grown up to really like horses. But his friends and their jokes are still a mystery to him.

So when he suddenly hears a small, discontent mewl through the din of the white horse tavern, so *clear* through all the ruckus, he doesn't even know what it is, at first. Just that it tugs at his heartstrings rather severely.

*Alone. Miserable. Hurt. Go away. Hello? No. Bad smell. Alone. Alone. Hurt. No. Don't touch. Go away.*

It's a string of sounds just a hair's breadth away from thoroughly distressed and Hob feels his chest rumble. *Hello. Hello? No threat. Here. Here. Come? I will protect. Hello?*

It's impossible to make out a specific smell here in the tavern, but Hob's eyes search frantically until they land on the most defiant man Hob has ever seen. His posture communicates that he clearly wants to be anywhere but here, his cheekbones say 'I will cut you', and his eyes say 'don't you dare'.

And the sweet, high notes coming from his throat sing *alone alone alone, please, no, help me*.

Sharp blue eyes find his and say 'do not dare. If you dare, I will kill you'. His song beckons Hob closer. Hob stands, barely registering the questioning looks from his friends, and goes to him as if drawn on a string. The high notes of the plea shift and lap over the purr in his own chest.

The stranger is silent. Hob takes a good look into his eyes, cutting himself up with masochistic joy, before saying, "I won't, you know. Die, that is. Unless you plan on killing me yourself."

The stranger tips his head, looks at Hob as if studying a mildly interesting bug and Hob knows, deep inside himself, that he could. He's fine as marble, possibly as strong, too. Hob takes a surprised breath and that's when he knows for sure that this man is not like any other he has met. He's got no smell, a weird absence of one, like fresh wind, like a torn-down forgotten memory.

And still, his body sings to Hob, sings *for* him, now a litany of *alone, alone, will you come, are you, do you, will you hold me, please, please, I'm so alone all the time*.

#tag game #Chaosheadspace's writing

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hayatheauthor · 9 months

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A Step-by-Step Guide to Crafting a Compelling Storyline

I'll warn you, this is a long one. I kind of took 'comprehensive guide' a little too seriously.

You have a fantastic concept burning at the edges of your imagination, a collection of characters whispering their stories to you, and a world just waiting to be explored. But how do you weave all these elements into a story that grips readers and refuses to let go? The answer lies in effective plot planning.

A well-crafted plot isn't just a sequence of events; it's a carefully orchestrated symphony that takes readers on an unforgettable ride. Whether you're an experienced writer or someone trying to start their first book, here are my personal steps to crafting a compelling storyline with good plot planning.

Step 1: Idea Generation and Conceptualization

Every great story begins with a spark of inspiration. It's that moment when an idea ignites in your mind and beckons you to explore its potential. The journey from a fleeting thought to a fully-fledged concept is an exhilarating one, and it all starts with idea generation and conceptualization.

Techniques for Idea Generation

Mind Mapping

Grab a piece of paper or use a digital tool to create a mind map. Write your central idea in the middle and branch out with related concepts, characters, themes, and settings. Mind mapping can help you visualize the connections and possibilities within your idea.

Bullet journalling

Bullet journalling is my personal favourite way to generate ideas for your WIP. Get a piece of paper or open a Word/Docs document and create three different sections: world, characters, and plot. Now add facts to each of those sections that you've come up with so far.

You can even go a step ahead and create more detailed sections, for example, you could do this for your different characters or different places in your world. Usually, one bullet point leads to the next and once you have an idea of everything you've already established you'll naturally start adding more to it.

Blurting

Talk to someone about your WIP, or pretend that you're talking to someone and write down everything that comes to mind. You can even use AI tools like ChatGPT and ask it to hold a conversation with you about your WIP. Tell it to ask you questions along the way, this will get the wheels turning and even help fill plot holes.

Prompts and Challenges

Explore writing prompts or challenges to spark your creativity. Websites, books, or even random word generators can provide the nudge you need to generate fresh ideas.

Refining Your Concept

Once you have a collection of ideas, it's time to refine and shape them into a cohesive concept.

Identify Themes

What themes or messages do you want to convey through your story? Is it a tale of redemption, the power of friendship, or the consequences of ambition? Pinpointing your core themes will guide your storytelling and also give you a clear image of the end goal.

Find Your Angle

Consider what makes your idea unique. How can you approach a familiar concept from a fresh perspective? For example, if you're doing a classic murder mystery, what makes your book different from others? Take some time to look up titles similar to your WIP and find any repetitive themes/patterns.

Maybe most murder mysteries end with the partner being the killer, or maybe the fantasy books written in the same mythology as your WIP's all involve a war. Knowing what is currently a popular trend in the market can give you a clear idea of where you can be different from comparable titles. This is especially important for genres like horror and romance.

Develop a Premise

Your premise is the foundation of your story. It's the "what if?" question that drives your narrative. For instance, "What if an ordinary high school student discovers they have the ability to control time?" You need to have a solid premise before you even think about writing your story.

Step 2: Character Development and Motivation

Characters are the beating heart of your story, and crafting them with depth and authenticity is key to creating a narrative that truly captivates. Your characters often leave more of a lasting impact on your readers than the plot itself.

Think of it this way: a good plot will get you readers, but memorable characters will get you fans. Some of the largest communities in the book space all run on the readers' fondness for certain characters rather than the story itself. Yes, your story and the way you tell it is very important, but nobody wants to listen to the story of a boring person.

Bringing Characters to Life

Personal Histories

Delve into your characters' pasts. What experiences shaped them into who they are today? A traumatic childhood or a life-changing event can influence their motivations and behaviours. Maybe your antagonist has a soft spot for single parents because their mother was the only person who cared for them. Maybe the love interest seems like a sunshine character because they feel the need to always seem put-together and perfect.

Physical Traits

This might sound obvious enough, after all a character's appearance is the first thing people think of when visualising, however, many authors fail to have a clear image of their character's physical traits which can lead to inconsistent or boring descriptions. Sure, your protagonist can have bushy hair and brown eyes, but what else?

Think about their body type, height, fashion sense, the way they carry themselves, walk, and sound. Do they have a random mole at the back of their neck? Do they always smell like a certain perfume because their dead father gifted it to them? It's important for you to have a clear image of who you're writing.

Strengths and Flaws

Just like real people, characters have strengths and weaknesses. These traits affect their decisions and interactions. A courageous hero might also struggle with recklessness, adding complexity to their personality. It's easy to create 2D characters by using tropes or shallow descriptions 'an all-powerful villain' 'the chosen one who trained their whole life and is perfect', but 3D characters are what will actually catch your readers' attention.

There's a reason why people often love the grey characters, the anti-heroes or anti-villains. Those who have complex personalities that make them seem human. This makes us empathise with the characters, and as a writer, it also helps you think of your characters as real people with flaws and problems.

Motivations: The Why Behind the What

Goals and Desires

What do your characters want? Their goals drive the plot forward. A detective's desire to solve a mystery or a scientist's quest for a groundbreaking discovery sets the narrative in motion. Why is your protagonist doing what they are doing?

You could simply give yourself a generic answer like 'they want to save the people' or 'they're a good person' but this can lead to confusion in the long run. If as the writer you yourself can't understand your character's goals it will get very hard to showcase them to your readers. Try to pick apart each character and genuinely consider why they are the way they are.

Inner Conflicts

Characters often grapple with inner turmoil – the clash between their desires, values, and fears. This inner conflict adds layers of intrigue and reliability. Maybe your protagonist realises the antagonist's qualms with the government are actually valid and suffers from moral conflicts as they contemplate whether or not they are the 'good guy'. Inner conflict adds dimension to your characters which in turn makes it easier for your readers to empathise with them.

Step 3: Outlining the Key Plot Points

Now that you have a clear idea of what you want to write and who you want to write it with, it's time to consider the how. You have a story, but how do you want to tell it? Break down the key plot points that shape your narrative, creating a roadmap that guides your characters through their trials and triumphs.

The Building Blocks of Plot

The Inciting Incident

The spark that ignites your story. It's the moment when your protagonist's world is disrupted, setting them on a path of change. For example, in "The Hunger Games," Katniss Everdeen's sister being chosen for the Games is the inciting incident that propels her into the arena.

This can be a little harder to recognise in genres outside of SFF and horror. For a thriller novel, this moment could be the moment your protagonist uncovers a sketchy detail in their relative's death. In romance, it could be the moment your protagonist is introduced to the love interest.

Turning Points

These are pivotal moments that shift the course of your narrative. They introduce new challenges, reveal secrets, or force characters to make crucial decisions. Think of them as the gears that keep your story machine turning. It's important to have some sort of turning point in your story to keep things interesting.

Maybe the character your protagonist was suspecting throughout the first half of the book ends up having a solid alibi, or a seemingly innocent character suddenly seems sketchy.

The Climax

The peak of tension and conflict. It's the moment your characters face their biggest challenge and must make their ultimate choice. In "The Lord of the Rings," the climactic battle at Mount Doom decides the fate of Middle-earth. In a murder mystery, this can be the moment the real killer is unveiled, or in a rom-com, it could be when the love interest moves to a new city to follow the protagonist.

Falling Action and Resolution

As your story winds down, the falling action ties up loose ends and provides closure. Readers witness the aftermath of the climax, and the characters' arcs find resolution. This is the bit where you make sure you aren't leaving any plot holes behind. Remember that random character your protagonist suspected at the start of the book? What's their alibi, why did they suddenly get out of the picture?

Structuring Plot Points

Introduction of Stakes

Introduce what your characters stand to gain or lose early on. This creates a sense of urgency that propels them forward. What if your protagonist fails to complete their missions? What if the detective never unveils the killer's identity? What if your protagonist doesn't win over the love interest? Show your readers the worst possible outcome early on so they know why they should be rooting for your protagonist.

This doesn't necessarily have to be something big or scary. In Harry Potter, many of us wanted Harry to stay at Hogwarts because his life with the Dursleys was cruel and he deserved happiness. That was a small yet significant stake that made the readers empathetic and silently root for Harry.

Foreshadowing and Setup

Plant seeds of future events throughout your story. Foreshadowing builds anticipation and adds depth, making later plot developments more satisfying. I have written a lot of blogs that either cover or briefly mention foreshadowing so I'm going to keep this point a little short.

Foreshadowing helps your readers slowly piece everything together and have that 'I knew it!' or 'how did I not see this coming?' moment. It might also encourage them to turn back and reread your work to focus on the little hints you left throughout the book. Foreshadowing is especially important in murder mysteries.

Step 4: Subplots and Secondary Storylines

Subplots and secondary storylines are the secret ingredients that transform a good story into an unforgettable masterpiece. They add layers of intrigue, provide character development opportunities, and keep readers eagerly turning pages. If you're confused about what is a subplot and how to create one you can visit my previous blog that focuses on this topic.

The Role of Subplots

Enriching Character Arcs

Subplots allow secondary characters to shine. They can showcase different facets of your characters' personalities, revealing their strengths, weaknesses, growth, and relationships.

Theme Reinforcement

Subplots can explore and reinforce your story's themes from various angles. For instance, a romantic subplot can underscore the theme of love and sacrifice, in turn making your protagonist’s heroic death at the end of the novel seem more impactful. We all know Pepper’s reaction to Tony’s death in End Game made the moment more emotional.

While creating subplots and considering which one might be relevant to your book you should think of how this subplot would impact your end goal and whether it would help emotionally connect with your readers.

Parallel Journeys

Subplots can create parallel journeys that mirror or contrast with the main plot. This dynamic adds depth and resonance to your storytelling. Maybe the antagonist’s assistant has a similar backstory to your protagonist but while the protagonist was rescued by the government they were taken in by the antagonist. As the two geniuses face each other your protagonist can’t help but consider whether they would still be fighting for the ‘good’ side had their roles been switched.

Balancing The Main Plot and Subplots

Interconnectedness

Subplots shouldn't feel disconnected from the main plot. Instead, they should interact and influence each other, creating a harmonious narrative flow. Your subplot could help bring a satisfactory end to a certain arc of your story, or it could sow the roots for the important climactic moment of your book.

Pacing and Tension

Strategically introduce subplots to maintain pacing and tension. They can provide moments of relief or heightened drama, enhancing the overall reading experience.

Character Integration

Ensure that characters involved in subplots maintain relevance to the main plot. Their actions and decisions should contribute to the overarching story, even as they pursue their own paths. You should also think about whether or not your character is overshadowing the protagonist. In Harry Potter there were several characters such as Ginny, Luna and Neville with subplots and backstories of their own, however, they never overshadowed Harry’s tale.

Step 5: Crafting Scenes and Sequences

Welcome to the realm where the magic truly comes to life – crafting scenes that resonate, captivate, and propel your story forward. Scenes are the building blocks of your narrative, each one a window into your characters' world and emotions. They help infuse your story with tension, emotion, and unforgettable moments.

Again, this is a topic I’ve covered separately in another blog so I won’t go into too much detail here.

Scene Structure and Elements

Objective and Conflict

Every scene should have a purpose – a clear objective that drives the characters. Introduce conflict that challenges their goals and motivations, creating tension that keeps readers engaged.

Emotion and Stakes

Characters' emotions are the heartbeats of scenes. Amplify emotions by highlighting what's at stake for the characters. Whether it's a heated argument or a tender moment, emotions draw readers in.

Sequences: Crafting a Flow

Cause and Effect

Scenes connect through cause and effect. Each scene's outcome sets the stage for the next, creating a seamless flow that propels the narrative. A character's choice in one scene can reverberate and shape subsequent events.

Rising Action

Craft sequences with escalating tension. The stakes should intensify, drawing characters deeper into challenges and dilemmas. This creates a sense of anticipation that keeps readers eagerly turning pages.

Step 6: Mapping the Journey: Creating a Visual Plot Outline

Visualising your plot, characters, and world can be very hard sometimes. Let's be honest, words can only do so much and if you don't have a clear idea of what you want to show your readers you can end up going down a path of 'telling' them everything. This can take away from the point of your story and end up boring your readers. If you find it hard to visualise where you're going with your book, here are some tips that can help.

Visual Tools for Plot Planning

Timelines and Flowcharts

Create a timeline that outlines the sequence of major events, from inciting incidents to resolution. Flowcharts visually depict the interconnectedness of plot points, making it easy to track the evolution of your story. You can also cut out or add bits depending on how far along you are. This will also help you keep track of what scene/development should be introduced when and why.

Index Cards or Post-Its

Write down key scenes, plot developments, and character arcs on individual index cards or sticky notes. Arrange and rearrange them on a board or wall to visualize the narrative's flow. You can also do this if you're confused about the climax of your novel by adding different ideas to the post-its and putting them alongside the rest of the book's plot to see what things would look like from a reader's perspective.

Infusing Creativity

Playlists

Curate a playlist that captures the mood and emotions of your story. Music has the power to transport you to the heart of your narrative, helping you channel the right atmosphere while plotting. You can listen to this playlist every time you sit down to write WIP. With time, this will also help you overcome writer’s block since you can put on this playlist every time you struggle to get into the right writing mindset.

Moodboards/Pinterest Boards

Create a visual feast by collecting images, aesthetics, and visuals that embody your story's essence. Platforms like Pinterest allow you to craft moodboards that serve as visual touchstones. I would recommend creating a separate pinboard for every character so you can get a clear idea of their vibe and appearance. You can even refer to these every time you're writing about or from the perspective of a new character.

Step 7: Flexibility and Adaptability

As you embark on your writing journey, remember that stories have a life of their own. Embracing flexibility and adaptability is your compass through uncharted territories.

Allow characters to surprise you, let plots pivot, and themes emerge. Balancing structure with spontaneity ensures a dynamic narrative that resonates deeply. Listen to your characters, explore ethical complexities, and evolve alongside your story.

By staying open to the unexpected, you infuse your writing with authenticity and richness. Your plot outline is a guide, but your characters and themes have the power to shape the course. Embrace the unpredictable, and watch your story flourish beyond your imagination.

I hope this blog on A Step-by-Step Guide to Crafting a Compelling Storyline will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks?

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey!

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itwasthereaminuteago · 3 months

Text

|| Sunlight ||

Matt Murdock x GN!reader

Warnings: breakup angst, Matt sad, confused, and crying, 😭

I am working on WIPs but just bashed this out this afternoon, heh, sorry. 😔 Hope you enjoy and please reblog/comment on stuff you like, it makes me so happy, thank you so much! 💜

The morning is still cool, Matt's face is mostly covered with a veil of the morning shadow, the first visible curve of the sun only just starting to peek above the horizon as you sit on the roof together. You had both been up almost all night when you had said you wanted to talk to him, tell him you were going somewhere that he couldn't follow, out of the kitchen, out of New York. Out of the country entirely. And that you didn't want him to follow you, it wouldn't be fair on him.

The Devil ignored the pained sounds of his city only to listen to you break his heart. You had talked all night and he was in need of some air and space to process what you were saying.

You're asking him a question.

“Do you remember them, the sunrise and sunset?” you say softly, staring out over the twinkling grid of the city below.

It takes him a moment to answer, the silence between seeming to stretch on endlessly until he can swallow down the emotion and speak.

“Yeah, I think so. Sometimes it's hard to know if I'm really remembering how it was, or if my brain is just filling in the blanks.”

You take his hand in yours. How did you both end up here?

“Can I describe it to you?” you ask.

Matt tries his best to smile, to lie. Anything to make this easier.

“Please.” He says instead of anything else, instead of begging you to change your mind. He doesn't want to remember this sunrise, this beginning of the first day of many that he'll spend without you near. However much it hurts to hear your voice illustrate how the dark reds and purples are gradually giving way to burnt oranges, pale yellows, and lighter blues, how there are wispy trails of cloud scattered across the canvas of the wakening sky, he makes himself listen. Everything is ephemeral.

“I can’t decide if I like the sunrise or the sunset the most.” you quietly muse.

Matt only knows he prefers those days that were bookended by your presence. He vividly remembers the heat of the summer evenings and the sound of your laughter as he chased you around the apartment for a kiss after work, cold beers and cold fingers skating over warm skin and making you scream with the sudden shock of the contrast and then later, making you cry out his name for a different reason on the couch.

Or the simple taken-for-granted comfort of waking up on a fall morning with you right there beside him, pulling you closer and indulging himself by breathing in your scent and listening to the steady beat of your heart. He thinks about the future, the silence and emptiness that would fill the void left by you in his home. He doesn't know if he can stand it.

When you turn to look at him there's a glimmer from a tear hanging ready to fall from his lashes. All the beautiful colours of the sky reversed within its reflection before it rolled down his face. He had never expected to hear such clichéd words come from your lips - “it's not your fault” and “we just want different things” ring in his ears accompanied by the increasing noise of the waking city below. He never saw any of this coming. He wasn't looking for it, he thought you'd always be together. His guiding light. There was no warning, no noticeable change in your behaviour or the way in which you loved him.

And you had said that you still loved him. How could that make any sense when you were letting him go?

“You'll be alright, Matt. I know you.”

He sniffs, barely nodding at your attempt to comfort him. You did know him, and that's why he can't even try to persuade you not to leave. He couldn't stand to make you feel trapped and unhappy, but he was losing a limb, a piece of his soul. You were tearing yourself away and he could feel it physically hurt like a fresh, deep awful wound in his chest.

The strengthening heat of the sun's cheerful rays dilutes the warmth left on his skin from the touch of your hand. Already he mourns the memory of the softness of your cheek pressing against his, all traces of you fading fast as he hears the click of the front door closing. The sound of your heartbeat, one of the precious constants becoming more distant with every step as you walk away and take the sunlight out of his life.

#matt murdock angst #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x gn reader #oh no sad times 😔

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month

Text

To be alone with you 8

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, power imbalance, cheating, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your babysitting gig becomes complicated. (f!plus sized!reader)

Character: dilf!Clark Kent

Note: who predicted 2024 would be the year I converted to Cavill.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The blinds are drawn as you hug your pillow with one arm. Your body is stiff as you sleep with one leg hooked around your blankets, the bottom of one cheek exposed to the steady blow of AC. You shiver and roll onto your back, pulling the covers around you fully.

The night before is a vague shadow in your mind. You remember starting the movie but not much else. You’d been so tired after the break-in, you must’ve passed out almost immediately. You feel bad, hoping that Clark doesn’t take it to heart.

You push yourself up. Your head is thick and full with sleep. You haven't slept like this in forever. Your mouth is dry but tangy. You swallow the gritty morning and cough, turning to dangle your legs over the edge.

Your striped shorts are crooked and wrinkly and your tee shirt smells like sweat. Ugh. You're a mess.

You stand and lumber around clumsily. You grab a change of clothes and try to stretch out the kinks as you cross the hall to the bathroom. You close the door and put your clothes on the counter, facing your reflection.

You look rough. You feel just as bad. You turn on the cold water and splash it over your face before you brush your teeth, scraping out the stale taste stuck to your tongue. You turn on the shower and undress, wincing as your thighs meet.

You must be close to your time of the month. You get a bit sensitive. It would explain your fatigue and the soreness. Great.

You step into the glass booth and wash yourself. The warm water is soothing against your stiff muscles. God, you really hurt. You reach down to touch your folds, checking your fingers for blood.

PMS is a bitch. Not enough to bleed for a week, your body has to gaslight you into thinking you are already.

After, you pull on the fresh clothes but hardly feel more awake. Just sluggish and achy. Coffee. You don't live off it like your sister but you need it in that moment.

Thinking of, where is your sister? Not too unusual for her to he errant but it's been a few days.

As you come downstairs, you hear snoring rumbling through the first floor. You slow and tiptoe into the front room. You cautiously approach the couch and find Clark, arms crossed, sleeping on his side, cramped into the small space as he slumbers. The small throw stretched over his shoulders.

Your stomach pits. You're certain he'd much rather be at home in his own bed. Your guilt keeps you from disturbing him.

You creep into the kitchen, making your movement muted and staggered. You flip the switch on the kettle and wait as it hums. You load the french press with grinds and teeter on your toes, dancing nervously around the tile.

You pour the boiling water into the press and check the time on the stove. You give it time to brew and lean on the island, listlessly cupping your chin and tapping your cheek with your fingertips. As you blow out, you hear the floorboards and stand up to greet Clark as he enters.

His hair is askew, eyes droopy, and the blanket still draped around his neck. You didn't realise before he hadn't been wearing a shirt. His pajamas hang low on his stomach, the dark hair across his chest and trailing down his stomach exposed shamelessly. You gulp and focus on his face.

“Smells like coffee,” he grins crookedly, “morning.”

“Morning, uh, I hope I didn't wake you up,” you squeak.

“Not at all,” he waves you off, “you passed out so quick, I figured you'd be up and at em. Besides, Jonny’s an early riser.”

“Oh, okay,” you turn to press down the plunger on the press, “I'm sorry I zonked out so fast–”

There's less resistance than you expect and the coffee splashes up and overflows, splashing your hands as you recoil with a yipe. You try to shake it off but a particular spot on the back of your hand singes badly. Before you can think, Clark has your arm and angles you to the sink as he flips on the cold water.

He guides your hand under, crowding you as your arm shakes in pain. You hiss even as the water soothes.

“Oh, I'm so clumsy,” you murmur.

“As long as you're okay,” he slowly lets you go, “you let me take care of this.”

He swipes up the dish towel and sops up the errant drops of coffee. He dries off the outside of the press and patiently pushes down the plunger. You turn off the water and use a fresh towel on your hands.

He faces you, “blistering?”

You look at your hand, “just tender.”

“You're lucky I'm here,” he chortles, “scare away all the bad men and take care of your burns.”

“Ha, yeah, I–”

“Mm, something smells like cherry blossoms,” he interrupts, sniffing the air, his blue eyes narrowing on you, “is that you?”

“Um, yeah,” you catch a wafting scent from your body, “that's my body soap. Oh no, is it setting you off?”

“Not at all,” he smiles, “I was more worried about you.”

“Ah, no, it's fine. The soap doesn't trigger me surprisingly.”

“Hm,” he leans on the counter, gripping the edge as you notice how his stomach muscles clench, “I bought Lois some cherry blossom soap once. She never used it. Guess it isn't her scent.”

“Not for everyone I guess,” you turn and open a cupboard, taking down two mugs.

“Mm, yeah,” he agrees dully, “well, I should call your dad over my coffee,” he pushes himself straight and nears, stopping right beside you as you pour into the cups, “maybe after we can go get breakfast. My treat.”

“Oh, you don't have to–”

“I want to. Kinda weird not having Jonny around, looking fir a distraction,” he accepts a mug as you slide it over to him.

“Makes sense,” you say, “well, who am I to deny a free meal?”

🏡

After searching your coffee cup for an ounce of strength, you give in to the persistent glaze in your eyes. Maybe eating will help. Clark's offer is generous, almost too generous, yet your stomach clenches at the thought of food.

You grab your purse and head down to find Clark. He's in the kitchen, rinsing his mug, your own forgotten on your night stand. He dries it and puts it away as you wait for him to notice you.

“Did you talk to my dad?” You ask.

“Yeah, actually, couldn't get through. They must be on the road. Service gets spotty, right?” He hangs the dish towel neatly, “so you ready? I gotta stop by my place and change but then we can eat.”

“Sure, uh, well, you know, if it's too much…”

“Not at all, I'm excited. There's this place I've been meaning to try for a while but Lois hasn't felt like it,” he says, “tried calling her too. Think she's still mad at me.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Kent.”

“Clark,” he corrects you, “you make me feel so old.”

“Sorry,” you apologize again.

“It's fine,” he shrugs, “we should get going. I'm starving.”

“Not gonna lie, me too.”

“Must've been all the salty snacks last night,” he kids.

🏡

After you stop at the Kents', you set off for breakfast. The more you think about it the hungrier you are. You grow restless as you watch several options pass by, holding your tongue as Clark keeps driving.

You're surprised as he passes the city limits and you shift in your seat, craning to watch the sign pass. He clears his throat and turns down the radio, "almost there. Guess I shoulda mentioned it's all the way out here."

"Nah, it's fine," you shrug, "just curious."

"Really cute place, locally owned," he explains, "I prefer to give my money to an honest family business, you know?"

"Totally get it," you say coolly.

He taps his fingers on the wheel, as if he's restless or even agitated. He pulls into a gravel lot off the country road and you look up at the painted side. You passed this place with your parents a few times but never pulled over. It's a quaint brunch restaurant in a cottage-style house.

"Oh, this place," you chuckle.

"You been here?" He asks.

"No, but I've seen it."

"Right," he intones and clicks free his seat belt.

You free yourself of your own seat belt and climb out as he mirrors you. You let him take the lead and follow him to the front door. He holds it open and you enter ahead of him. You're greeted inside by an elderly lady.

"Good morning, may I show you to a table?" She offers.

You nod as Clark gives a vocal response over your head. She leads you to a table for two. You notice the place isn't very busy. There's an older man in the corner drinking coffee over a newspaper but no one else.

You sit as she introduces herself as Lena and promises menus. She shuffles away as you look at Clark who seems enamoured with the place. He admires the painting of flowers not far from your table and the lacy curtains around the front windows. It's cute but a bit outdated.

"There ya go, honies," she lays two menus on the table, her knobby hands shaking, "would you like coffee or tea?"

"Coffee, please, and..." he looks at you.

"Green tea, please."

"Coffee and green," she repeats, "lovely."

She hobbles away and you shift awkwardly in your seat. She must be the only waitress. In a place like this, you're not surprised. You just hope the food is decent, not that you can be picky.

"This place is nice," he muses, "peaceful."

"Yeah, it's interesting," you say as you pick up the menu.

"I'm glad you got some sleep," he takes his own menu and browses it lazily, "glad I could be there to keep an eye out. Protect you."

"Ah, well, yeah, I don't think they guy would come back anyway but it did help," you give a small smile and settle on eggs benedict.

"Great," he puffs out his chest just a little.

You peek up at him. It must be a good distraction for him. With Lois and Jonny gone, he needs something to keep him busy. You can humour him.

"Here ya go, sweets," Lena returns with a mug off coffee and a teacup on a saucer. She places both shakily and stands as straight as she can to ask if you've decided on what you want.

Clark lets you order first and you speak loudly and slowly to the woman as she cups her ear. She repeats it back to you before listening aptly to Clark. When she's done, she gives a soft clap and goes back behind the counter. She scribbles on a piece of paper and puts it in the window.

You glance over at the window, distracting yourself with the blowing grass. Somehow out here, you don't feel the same tickle in your sinuses. You sit back and cross your arms, watching the lazy blue sky.

"Oh, it's so romantic, a nice breakfast for two," Lena startles you as she appears again. She places a candlestick in the middle of the table then puts a wax taper in it. You can only stare and share look with Clark as she lights it, "you are so darling together. Is it a special occasion?"

"Uh," you bite your lip and look at Clark.

"Just breakfast," he answers as he throws his hands up, "spur of the moment, you know?"

"That's precious," she squeals, "you are such a beautiful pair."

"Thanks," Clark says and you just smile awkwardly.

She winks and leaves once more. You watch her cross the restaurant and sit with the old man and his newspaper. He lowers it as she whispers to him. You turn back and face Clark, leaning forward.

"I think she thinks we're together," you keep your voice quiet, "like a couple."

"Eh yeah, I didn't want it to be awkward," he shrugs, "no harm in it, really."

Your mouth slants as you consider his response. You guess he's right. What will it hurt? She's just a lonely old woman.

"What?" He tilts his head.

"Nothing," you answer.

"Really? I mean, I could correct her if it's a big deal--"

"It's not, really," you lean forward and cross your arms over the table, "just funny, I guess. Second time it's happened."

"It is?" He furrows his thick brows.

"Yeah, the ice cream guy..." you trail off, "whatever. Just... I'm kinda young but maybe don't look it."

"It's flattering, really," he insists, "people really think I could be with someone like you."

"Well, I mean, Lois is gorgeous," you laugh, "so..."

"Lucky man, surrounded by beautiful women," he grins.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you sit back awkwardly, not expecting the compliment. You're nothing like Lois, love handles excluded, you still couldn't compare. You're just the babysitter. “Thanks, that's… you don't have to say that.”

“Well, you are,” he rubs his neck bashfully.

“Ha, yeah, well…” you clasp your hands in your lap and look again out the window.

As you watch the horizon over the dusty road, your heart roils in the tension. There's something nipping at your mind, just on the edge of your memory but you just can't grasp it. Is he just being nice or is there something more behind his compliments?

Don't be silly, he doesn't see you like that. He couldn't.

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #babysitter au #superman #dc #dcu #to be alone with you

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