#did I ever mention that I fucking hate yellow

[argreion]

"Soft/smutty requests" you say, I can only think about comfort sex.

Putting it in short, reader is having a really bad day, or week, or month, too many thoughts about the future. Leon also is at his limit, back from a mission that lasted two weeks, mf got an injure he can barely stand.

Both exhausted with the head full of shit, not even a word is spoken during dinner, not even to ask why this man walks like he has a stick up to his ass. But when it's time to sleep and the lights off, that's when the heart opens. Cuddle and chatting session to catch up, turning into a slow fuck, full of kisses and the love both starved the time he was gone, of course, careful not to make his wound worse.

May not be a proper request, I've never done one, but feel free to expand the concept!

Sun-kissed

“Words are where most change begins.” — Brandon Sanderson

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — P in V/Riding, soft loving sex turned into Leon wanting pussy 'cause I said so. Lots of praise and sappy talk. A tiny bit of degradation. BIG hint towards cunnilingus. Talk of Leon's pain (suicide talk, drinking, possibly overdose talk cause I forgot if I kept it in. Alongside tiny blood and gore talk if it counts.) Stupid cringey argument over a table, because tables have FEELINGS.

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 7.4k

𝑵𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆❜𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 — So, uh, hi! UHM, I yapped a lot. I actually really enjoyed this! Uhm, I don't think really counts as comfort sex anymore considering this was an ask from two weeks ago BUTTTTT, I did go a lot into comfort and talking and emotions! Think it balances out! Kind of scared to post this but I know I got my moots love on this! Keeps me going! This MIGHT be shittily written cause lazily edited it so if there are mistakes you didn't see anything.

Please, make Leon wear his back brace and take his medication after he's home (P.S. don’t let Leon know we’ll be going to bingo.) — Ingrid.

Your eyes ran over the pastel yellow note from the bottom of Leon’s pill bottle. Standing in the bathroom with a hand on your hip. Brows furrowed at this peculiar find. That was odd, wondering how the government could sneak notes under pill bottles. First, it was learning who Hunnigan was and then realizing what kind of sneaky woman she could be when needed. Felt good to have her as a friend sometimes, even when it was her being on Leon's case.

That was before Leon arrived back at your front door. His arm pressed against the door frame with the most painful grin ever. Leon's teeth clenched and his breath stunk—doubt he even had mouthwash or toothpaste on hand on a mission. Not to mention the dirtied clothes, reeking of gore, and gunpowder. Your nose wrinkled at the smell and your sinuses hated it.

“You stink.” You stated the observation out loud. Hoping he’d explain, but he didn’t.

“Don’t ask about work.”

Leon brushed past you, stumbling against the wall. The grime on his shirt now taints soft colors on the painted wall. Of course, you helped him—that’s human decency—gently pushing the man to sit on the sofa, squeaking as his weight hit the cushions. Watching the dip on the sofa from his weight.

“Well, Leon," You started, reaching out to help him with his shirt. This had become the norm—the one routine you did every time he came back. Strip, bandage, bath, sleep, followed with food after he woke up. “You don't expect me to be curious when you come home stinking of ass? And you're—"

Your words caught in your throat as Leon helped you remove his shirt. Letting the stained fabric fall onto the floor, revealing many things you didn't wish to see—heaven forbid it came from Leon. Cuts, bruising, and a gunshot wound. Anger filled your body as you stared at the artwork. Is this even art? If so, it's beautifully grotesque.

“Don't ask about work, huh?" You repeated, tilting your head with a raised eyebrow. Won't even talk about work, but he'll make hints about Raccoon City like it's nothing. Nobody even knew what happened to Raccoon City still, but many could guess.

“Don't look like that, you'll get more wrinkles." The man smirked, using his fingers to flick your nose. Laughing at you flinching back and smacking at his arm.

“Dipshit, do you think this is the time for jokes!?” Concern boiled over into rage at his nonchalant attitude. Flicking of a nose, a joke, smirking, did he not value himself? Could a man not value himself but rather his looks? The jokes he makes that rarely hit and often made you cringe at the cheesiness.

Sometimes he didn't, did he? A year ago you remember when Chris pulled you along into a bar in Colorado. Colorado. You remember what Chris said without delving too deep into what was your mind,

“I wouldn't want you here unless it was needed. Please, talk to him." 

Sitting there with tired eyes he was. A bottle of ‘Aerial Shot’ in his hand. Worn biker gloves with the stench of sweat and unwashed leather. You'd never seen him look so dead before. 

The worst part was meeting his gaze. Awkwardly taking those seemingly quiet steps to sit beside him. What do you say to a man that's dying? Leon should've already been dead at this point. Gunshot wound, infected, surviving things. No wonder he never wanted to watch The Walking Dead. Why'd it take you a year to understand that? Guns and brains set him off, as did drinking too much.

“You're probably wondering why I'm here, huh?" You chuckled, staring down at the table. Blessing Chris and Rebecca for the heart-to-heart—one chance to get through to a stubborn man.

No response came from him. Body language said a lot for him instead. Tense, grip tightening on his shot glass. Impregnated silence… Was he that bad at saying a yes or no?

“This is the part where you say yeah, Leon."

He sighed, leaving you alone at the table. Picking the bottle up alongside himself like it's his baby. Did a bottle ever go ‘guu’?

Your hands laced together as you heard the gentle thumps of his boots slowly fading into the background. Chris wasn't happy, you could hear the steam coming from his ears. Wanting to cause a scene because someone was too much of a depressed loner to talk.

No, he just needs something firmer. Strong. Get the damn fucking bastard out and off of his own arse.

You moved out of the chair to follow after Leon. He always disappeared into the bathroom. Hope was something powerful, something you always had for Leon. Hoping he changed slightly, hoping that he could be changed. 

Slamming open the bathroom door to reveal that Leon was splashing his face with the sink while washing the ghost that haunted him. Their screams, tearful eyes, the sounds of people eating each other alive. Then there was you coming to lecture him on the right path—something he knew he didn't need. 

Your hand grabbed at his shoulder, halting his frantic washing. Overlooking him like his disappointed mother. Brows furrowed like her, too. Made him crumble into shambles as you reminded him so much. Remind him of an angel from the heaven he heard of. Why must you haunt him so?

“Stop avoiding this, Leon."

"You shouldn't be here at all. Chris is an idiot for even bringing you here." He snapped, shrugging your hand off of his shoulder.

He buried his head in his hands, groaning. Alcohol wasn't saving him from this vacation nor the stare of the woman he loved. Where was God when you needed him? Your angel was mean, father, mean for making him realize things. 

“Look," you started, moving his hand away from his face. “I'm here on personal matters too, not just because Chris wanted me here." 

Your arms encircled him and your chest pressed against his back. Looked like you were a koala on its mama. All snug and warm, despite the smell of a sweaty old man.

“They need you, Leon—I need you." The whisper fell from your mouth and into his ear. How'd animators draw flowing notes of music? Each word hit his heart, especially the last three.

At Leon's core, he was still like he was when he was twenty-one. Human.

Your hands moved over his, holding them. Protecting him from the mental battle in his head. You knew how much it meant to him to have you here. Regardless if it was after a fight, or when he was drinking.

“I know it's probably hard, ok? Killing things, coming home aching, and getting no break. I can't help you because I'm not exactly qualified for what you do, am I?"

The small sounds of you shuffling caught his attention. A small movement and you came into his peripheral vision. Standing there with a kind smile. Please, go away.

"I also know you probably don't want me here either. It hurts to know you can't avoid certain things. You probably couldn't avoid Chris. Just be glad it's me and not him… He's, well, something else with emotions.” You laughed, looking away from him in the mirror. Staring at yourself in the mirror then at him.

Staring at him made you realize a lot. Pain and resentment emanating from him. With each rise and fall of his chest, you could see it more. Even when he met your gaze at the mirror. You wish he got help.

Sometimes the value of man could be seen through gazes, words, and even their hands. Body language said a lot, and so did their responses. You thanked yourself and Chris for helping him become checks today. Well, mostly Chris. Sometimes, you couldn't help but think he needed something normal in his life.

Someone normal.

Something normal to him became jokes like these. Bleeding on a couch and there he was, flicking noses. Kennedy's charm never failed as you were defeated by his nonchalant attitude at home.

“Wrinkles, huh?" You sighed, kissing his forehead gently. Letting your nose rest in his hairline as you thought of what to do.

Ice…? A doctor's visit, too. Guess we're his little booker and Leon's the celebrity. The stunt celebrity who every day seemingly breaks his ass. What a silly comparison you thought of.

“Let's just make sure you're not dying, Leon. And then maybe we can have pasta. Your mother's recipe.”

“Mom's recipe was always good…” He tilted his head up slightly, using his fingers to gently push your head away. Made you flinch as he stood up, excusing himself towards the bathroom. Hearing him yell out towards you,

“And please, stop trying to eat my hair! It's not for sale, and I doubt it ever will be! Not until I'm old and wrinkly, then you can eat it. Scottie's Special Spaghetti!" 

Hair spaghetti wasn't the only thing that began to happen. Pills weren't his savior, as were the copious amounts of bandages used. Took an hour for one cut to stop bleeding, and then another started. Drove you to insanity as you stared at another box.

Shuffles across the wooden floor caught your attention. Forgetting the box to opt to peek out the door. Did Leon really not take a doctor's call to rest? Doctor's word was best, and he was too dense to not listen.

There he was, shuffling towards the bathroom where you were. Resting your hand on the door frame, you watched the suffering begin. Annoyed mutters as he finally makes it to the door, giving a smile. Hand on the wall to balance himself.

“You have a stick up your ass walking like that." 

Leon huffed, forehead wrinkling at your blunt statement. Spare him a little mercy, he can't sit down. couldn't sit down ever since Spain. He had to help one way or another, didn't sit with him right—Wouldn’t sit with him. “What do you want me to do? I thought we were supposed to help each other." He argued, his grip on the wall faltering. It'd be like Humpty Dumpty. The eggshell wouldn't crack, his back would. Well, probably a lot more than his back, technically.

"Well, Leon, I know you aren't going to sit your bum down and rest. I'm very tempted to force meds down your throat so you take care of yourself.” Your eyebrows were furrowed, pointing towards the living room. Did you need to be here? Explaining to the poor bastard to just relax? If Chris could come home more often than Leon, he was doing something wrong.

What did you say?

It caught Leon's attention, his hand twitching as he leaned up against the wall. There goes his pinky and there goes his thumb. Leaning down despite the rising pain inside my back. Exploding like pop rocks. A warzone at his lower back.

“Force meds down my throat?" The word rolled off his tongue. Followed by frustration, and that you even had the gall to say that. A bad taste settled in as words died in his throat. Being held back by his rationality. No one wanted the pretty guy to be an ass. He doesn't want to be, but what people say the least… exotic. No, exotic was a nice term to him. Peculiar, very-fuckin'-peculiar.

“Fine… I'll rest. If I hear a damsel or damoiseau in distress, busting my sticked-up ass for them.”

His white flag was accepted as he gave a kiss to your forehead. Dry crusty lips that needed that lip balm he loved. First, it was collecting guns. Then a record from the 1950s exploded into what was the wall of wonder. Wondering what deranged person decided to put records on the wall. Wish he didn't try to keep up with the times. Seeing Pinterest girls with records on their walls. Restaurants in New Orleans—a city of jazz and comfort food—follow the same deal. Now it's lip balm, lips soft and sweet. Something he adored by giving kisses. Sweet strawberry, benevolent blueberry, wonderful watermelon. Seriously, he needed to stop naming lip balms… His lips were already sweet enough without them.

With the parting of lips to a forehead, he bid adieu. Pushing himself back into the living room with the TV a bit too loud for your liking. He's already losing some his hearing, poor guy. Made you smile at him being logical, returning to check on things in the bathroom. 

Why were you buying yourself time till dinner? It was a good time to ponder what'd you make. What was near itGive? Was he near his date? What, why'd that come into your head?

To be frank, it was only a day since Leon came home. One day since he got to rest. How long could he keep this up? Were you a good lover for doubting him? Doubting someone you trust felt wrong. It was wrong, wasn't it? Watching a man come home more broken than before. The cracking of the perfect man in some ways. Leon always screamed the guy with the suburban house and wonderful wife.

Cracks weren't good for what he was. Every day, he seemed to grow another falling apart. Leon couldn't have known. He didn't genuinely know anything aside from killing. Didn't know what normal life in some ways felt like. Was his nine-to-five killing? It was like the records he collected. They're dated, like him. Spinning again with a needle to them. Instead, there was a bullet threatening to put a hole through his head.

��Why do I wonder about this theory…” Leon muttered into the air. Fading into the sounds of the TV. Letting out a heavy sigh as he let himself stare into the TV. Drowning out his thoughts.

He just couldn't, though.

Why would you shove drugs into his throat? Was he such an old man to you? 'Here you go, gramps, your medicine.’ Taken daily and gulped down with water.

The very thought of that sent him spiraling. Why was he always babied? He's not an idiot just because he has a perfect face. What was the count of proving people with his skill? Four? Three? Fuck, he lost count. His own lover? Made him pissed off at himself if he couldn't at least prove to you he's perfectly capable of taking care of himself. In his mentation, he slammed his fist on the table. Thoughts like these made him resent his parents for good genetics; he didn't want good genetics, he wanted to be treated decently.

The sound echoed through the apartment, causing you to jump. Almost dropping whatever was in your hand. Shoving it onto the sink as you feared the worst.

What if he fell?

“...Leon?" Your voice was soft, as if scared. Looked around the corner to just see a closed fist on the wood. Observing it raise to reveal a crack in the wood.

"LEON!?”

His neck snapped at the sound of your voice. Watching the frenzied grabbing of a coffee table. Looking at it like it was a baby. People and their grandparents' furniture… Ironic, giving his alcoholism still. The baby he couldn't give up.

“W-why did you do that!?" 

A sharp slap against Leon's cheek from you sent him overboard. On instinct twisting your arm. Pain sprouting through it, Indian burns hurt. Hated when kids at school did it too. All for laughs when someone's in pain.

You yanked your arm out of his grasp. Rubbing the irritated skin as you spat incensed words.

“You know how important that table is to me! How am I supposed to show my parents it's cracked? Are you dumb!? Did being shot in the back make you stupid? Or did it miss to hit your brain!?”

Words gushed out without thought. Leon is staring at you like a hurt puppy. You wanted his head blown off? Why would you say that over a table?

“You wanted me to die?" He asked calmly, gripping the couch arm as he sat up. Swinging his legs over the side. “Or did it miss to hit your brain?" 

“N-no!? I know I said it but, of course not! I-I just… I don't know!?”

Hands were thrown as you went into a frenzy. Tears wanted to fall out of your eyes as you freaked out over a table. He didn't know the importance of a table because he didn't have his parents.

Those words you said… What the fuck?

“Look, I may not be the most amazing person ever, but wanting me to be shot in the head is where the line is, ok? Why don't you cool off? There's the gas station, and the—”

"Why don't you fucking cool off the gun!? When are you going to stop your little job!?”

You were switching tactics. Want to draw him out so you feel better. Learning that during training wasn't fun, only in his early twenties. “You know what? If you want to play this game, I'll play it too.” He sighed, rubbing his face. How many times has he now? Did it at work with training rookies, with Hunnigan, friends when he rarely went out, and you, too.

“You're wishing I was dead over a table, what's the logic? Look, I know it's important but dead? Dead? I thought you were better than wanting someone dead! Besides, it's only a crack, not a smashed leg." His thumb rubbed over the crack from earlier. A gentle apology to an inanimate object.

Logic against emotions never mixed well. Always end up with one storming out—that one is you. First, it was Leon who waved his white flag a year ago, now it was your turn. Hands raised as you responded to his reason,

“Fine, fine, I'll admit maybe it sometimes. That still doesn't help the fact you cracked the table. The fact we went and got it from my parent's place?” Your hands moved on their own, motioning between the two of you to change your point. You two, a duo, couple, buddies, lovers, WE.

“Who slams their hand on a table in the first place? How is your hand even that strong to do that? Are you doing drugs?”

Drugs? Drugs? Accusatory. Did your eyes fail you? He knew you barely left the house nowadays. He recently found a study on his phone that said eyeballs needed sunlight to grow, and you lacked it. Lacked the past sunshine he knew, bright and sweet. Why'd all relationships end like this? Turning red from anger, exploding like dwarf stars as a relationship's lifetime. Exploding…

You excused yourself, going into the kitchen to prepare dinner anyway. Waving your hands as you excused. Fussy little thing you were. Leon watched you, face full of concern over your emotions and what was said earlier. He knew you didn't mean it, but if you said it, meant you thought it. If you thought it, it meant you doubted. If you doubted then he… He didn't know.

Something felt off during dinner, it could've been Leon going suddenly quiet or the thoughts in your head. The scrapes of metal against porcelain filling thick silence. Thick like mustard gas that choked Leon of his voice and made his tears fall.

“I'll take care of cleaning up, you go get ready for bed. You'll probably shower anyway." You muttered, taking your leave from the table. Collecting plates as you went, lingering on Leon as he paused. Frozen like those Greek statues—perfect even in mental agony.

Still, he didn't want to speak, words not wanting to come out. He didn't need his voice to convey his pain from earlier, the regret he had. Your answer was received through his subconscious responses and body language.

Stealing his plate away from him to bring it back to its home. You started on the obvious: cleaning up after eating. Using the same sponge you had for months alongside dish soap. Didn't understand the ads about how certain dish soaps were unique—it’s just soap.

Soap that cleaned, soap that was washed away. Just like your thoughts circling down that very drain. The fight from hours ago was still reasonably in your mind. Fuzzy as you dried your, hands off. Moving to retreat to your safe space of sorts.

Bedrooms did wonders in many ways. Offered comfort, love, passion, and the chance of reconciliation. You chose right with the sheets, cottony fabric. Was it basic? Perhaps. But it felt right for an ‘American’ home.

Tearing casual wear off for something more flowy. Nobody wanted to be hot when they slept—except the maniac Leon was. Your clothes drop to the floor, leaving you bare to the choices in their closet. Rummaging through it as the man of the day finally made it to the bedroom. Slipping on something comfortable for the night.

Now it was his turn to change his clothes, well, more like stripping from them. 

Courteousness could've helped to mend what seemed like the bridge between the two.

“Do you need help?" A question you asked, reaching out towards the male to tug at his shirt. The silent hand between each other's minds. The sorry neither of you wanted to say but had to learn.

Leon thought for a moment, chuckling as he looked up at you, “Sure, if you wouldn't mind?” His smile was soft yet confused, wondering if this was your way of apologizing. Did you think it was an apology? He could've guessed to accept it.

With a drop of a head, you couldn't help but let a smile show through. Huffing at his confused answer. Letting your fingers already help with the stubborn fabric. Pulling it over his head to reveal a canvas full of dark purples and reds. Pretty together and alone, but this canvas was… Unique. Showing the pain one has endured will bring pride. With the main fellow of the show being the fresh gunshot wound on his side.

“Are you staring at my muscles or the bruises?" Leon asked, quirking an eyebrow. Moving to sit on his side of the bed. Working on his pants to reveal Calvin Klein boxers—dark like his soul. (That's what he always said, you ball of depressing sunshine.)

“The bruises that cover the muscles?" You queryed, moving to sit beside him. Hands clutching the edges of the bed as you glanced over at him. Observing his actions as he went on with his night.

“How long are they keeping you from work?" It was a good question to ask. He never said, Leon never wanted to speak about work in his home. It felt forbidden to him like he wasn't keeping you safe from a part of him.

“A week," he simply responded, finally shrugging his pants off. Moved his elbows on his knees as he met your gaze. “Wish it was less sometimes." 

“Why less? Wouldn't you want more? It's a break, Leon. Do you not like coming home?"

If he had to mentally delve into his memories, he would've fallen off that building long ago. Floors high with a bioweapon charging for him. He couldn't leave Chris with Rebecca, couldn't leave you alone with guilt and regret. Pretty tears like yours made him feel regret.

Breaks in a sense were bad. He knew the fact he wouldn't escape the government or their work. The work pulled him away from his tear-stained pillow and favorite pair of sweats. Gave him holes in the body and sweet blots of color on his skin. Fuck him and his brain, wanting to save everyone.

“Complicated, real complicated.”

Well, complicated isn't exactly the most honest answer. It just was used as a general term with him. A cover-up.

"If it's about earlier… I was stupid, ok? Who wouldn't be? It's just a table, I know. Just that table means a lot to my family, despite how ridiculous that sounds.” Gesticulating as you talked, Leon couldn't help but notice the clear unease to admit you were wrong—oddly finding it adorable. Resting his chin in his palm as you spoke your truth.

“There's a lot I want to say to you, Leon. Mostly just… Why all this? This job, it's killing you, literally. Your back is worse than a grandma's, you're becoming a dopehead at this point, too. I get antidepressants, but then all these pain medications and others amongst them. I'm not trying to be the person who says drugs don't help problems, but too many hurts you. I'm happy that you're seemingly happy with them, I am.”

Words were bubbling up as you poured emotions out. A waterfall that never ceased and honestly could've made you gag. Those clowns that pull fabrics from their mouths, how? Each fabric you pulled made you want to cry from the emotions. The guilt, pain, resentment, love, all in each pull.

Each fabric you pulled from your mouth to Leon felt like a prodding. Slowly turning into a stab that leaked oil. Catching aflame with certain words and making him recall painful memories. He wasn't a dopehead, he didn't want to be. No one wanted to stare at the six bottles of pills he tried to take daily.

"I want you to take care of yourself, to just take a fucking break.”

Breaks… How many vacation days did he have? Time paid off? Er, he'd have to check. Tapping his finger on his cheek as he tried to recall.

“Could try, but it'll cost you a little somethin'." 

Leon leaned close, kissing your temple before resting his head on yours. Chuckling to himself as his hands reacted on their own. Interlacing with yours as he smiled to himself.

“Debt paid, guess I will take a break." This statement made you breathe a mental sigh of relief, even after countless talks of his well-being. “I do actually hear you, though.”

His voice took a serious turn, as thoughtful-sounding as he could be. Reflection on what he could improve on, which was being vocal.

“Soon, I promise. I think I may be getting towards the end of work. Losing the Kennedy spark and all I have is a title.” Leon recalled Helena, or Patrick. The title of being the savior of Ashley Graham. The other being one of the first and best of the D.S.O. "Got a tummy to show for protecting a shitty country as well.” He laughed at his own self-deprecation—the walking circus he was. “Had that talk with Chris during last year, actually. When you were at the bar with him, after you left?”

He glanced over at you with fond eyes, “I talked with him during that. Helped me a lot, you did too." The man paused, stiffly rubbing his neck. "Chris also… Said hi." 

Classic Chris, felt like a family friend now. Alongside Leon's unique bunch of friends that he called colleagues, but you knew better. Every aging man needed their little circle of buddies. Made you giggle at Leon's annoyed expression. 

“Chris and his hellos… Loves popping his head in when you're home. Do you two even still talk?”

"Rarely,” Leon replied. "He likes to go out for drinks sometimes, quite nice. Sometimes he's one the only guy who gets me.” He gave a forced smile. Earning a gentle punch in the arm. One he brushed off with a push.

“At least you have fun with him, he's a clown once you get past the sternness."

This felt odd. Welcoming. Just a simple conversation with your lover. Backs falling against the bed and limbs tangling themselves as you spoke about life. Two little squids comforted in the presence of their mate. Losing yourselves in a everyday conversation. Pretending that earlier had never happened.

As the two became comfortable, so did your words. Reaching out to stroke his cheek. Over the faint line on it from years ago he said. Doubt he'd ever tell you it was from a old mentor. Thumb slowly moving down to his lips, a kiss being put on the pad.

“I'm still sorry for earlier, ok?" You whispered. Guilt had set in earlier at your emotional outburst. Telling him to die but you meant it in a caring way. Putting a hurt animal to rest with a bullet. If it was him, you'd give him that mercy. Let him finally rest as blood oozed from his corpse.

“You’re getting too old for this job. It's too physically straining on you. Drugs won't save you everytime and the hospital isn't either. How many names and faces do you know from there, huh?”

"Probably around fifteen, maybe twenty. Same doctor but different nurses.”

"See?” Your argument was valid in your mind. If he could remember faces, he'd visited it too much. It hurt you as much as it hurt him to dislocate a shoulder or get a bullet in the back.

"I love you Leon Kennedy, I really do.” A whisper you meant, feeling solemn. Leaning over to capture his lips against yours. Fondness and desire in one simple action. Feeling his hand curling up on the back of your scalp. Leon's eyes fluttering shut as he allowed it.

Your lips left his, breathless as you stared down at him. Watching him smile and the slight crinkle on the corner of his eyes.

“Love you more.”

"More, huh?” You jested, pressing your noses together with a giggle. Gently kissing him again as your hips straddled him. Keeping him pinned at the waist down. Hands moving to the hem of his shirt to pull it off.

“Can I…?”

“Can you…” Leon trailed off, looking at you expectantly. Before letting himself take off his shirt. Revealing little wisps of chest hair and a gunshot wound on his shoulder that's faded from time. Now just a light patch of skin with a ring in the center. It's younger cousin on his side, bright red and certainly angry.

With such gentle touches, Leon smiled—such care and caution. Made him aroused at the love. Made the back of his mind also angry he was getting aroused at something so simple. Trying to make him say something or pry you off with the excuse of pain, but no.

Your eyes wandered the pretty little canvas of bruises and scars his chest was. Even with the new gunshot wound. At least it was beginning to heal. You'd be gagging if you saw it before he left the hospital. Bleeding and the inside of human muscle and flesh.

“I don't know what to say right now," you mumbled, giggling at his stare at the awkward silence pervading the room.

The awkward silence felt right, comforting as you stare at each other. Payback for whenever Leon watched you.

“A little friend does." He whispered, watching your face burn at what he meant from friend. His hands grasped your hips, pulling your pelvis in to rub against his bulge. Situating it perfectly to where he could grind against your pussy. Seeing him so entranced watching his bulge rub against your underwear. Breath caught in his throat as he loved it. 

“Gentle, Leon,” you remind, shifting your leg to not brush against his wound. A little uncomfortable with the way your muscles felt but if it made him not hiss in pain, worth it. “You don't like thinking about these things, huh?"

“You don't get to think about many things in my line of work. I only think about getting ready to be back in your arms—where I belong."

Sweetheart he was with those words, made you all giddy and embarrassed. Waving your hand like those shit Lifetime movies towards the Jock with a pea-sized brain. All this grinding and loving talk made you mush. Should’ve been a housewife at this point if you fell for such suave.

“You jest too much,” you scoff, rolling your shoulders back as you prepared for a smooth ride. Grinding sexes against each other while seducing the other with half-lidded yearning eyes. Running your hands up his chest to his throat. Wrapping your hands around the muscle to give a gentle squeeze, earning a soft moan.

“Babygirl, you know what a little squeeze does to a guy like me.” Leon purred, his words becoming husky. Rubbing his hands up and down your thighs and hips. Resting his head back on his pillow. “Pull those panties aside, gotta see my babygirl’s little pussy.”

Giggles erupted from your lips as you shuffled back a little. Instead of embarrassment, arousal was coursing through you. Simple acts could set someone aflame so fast. Dirty talk was one of them if paired with the right voice and man.

Instead of pulling it aside, you pulled them off. Albeit a bit awkwardly due to your pose, but still could be done. Dangling it in front of his face for the alluring factor before throwing them at the wall.

With your underwear out of the way, Leon got a good show of your cunt. Looking at the slick that made him groan involuntarily. Imagining the scene that would play out alongside you. Being lost in his world made his body react for him, making him grind into the warmth you brought. Rocking you back and forth against him.

“There she is! Good girl, baby, just like that.” He rasped, glancing up at you. Noticing you were entranced as well, the way he handled himself.

Leon chuckled, reaching out with his free hand to grab your chin. Snapping you out of the trance as you meet his gaze. So mesmerized by a simple movement. “Eyes on me, Miele. You're doing so good for me.”

His hand left your chin to return back to it's resting place; your hip. Guiding you to grind against his bulge.

“You're unfair if I have to be bare and you get to keep your boxers on." You huffed, impatiently yanking his boxers down. Watching it hit his abdomen with a small slap against his skin. Leaking precum onto the skin, made you let a appreciative hum. “Better, I don't wanna be lonely." You chuckled, mimicking an earlier Kennedy wink.

Why were you two chuckling or laughing so much? You felt like the two of you were having your virginities taken. The awkward sex, shuffling of sheets, and being embarrassed. To be honest, it had been a while considering Leon left home so often. Leaving you without any genuine love-making.

“How about you lie on me? It'll be easier, promise.” Leon motioned with his hands towards his chest. Free and open like the two of you. Sweet smile on his face that revealed those dimples you loved.

Taking the offer, you moved to lay on him. Ear pressed to his chest as was his cock against your opening. Your arms wrapped around his chest as you sunk down. Letting out a soft moan at the insertion.

He rubbed your back, comforting you as you grew accustomed to him again. Murmuring soft words of praise,

“Good girl, just like that.”

His fingers went up and down your back. Languidly thrusting his cock up into you. “Missed this, missed you," he moans, bucking his hips up into you on accident. Squeezing him like a vice as his cock head pressed up into that sweet spot. “Missed that face you make when taking my fat cock." 

“Missed you too," your hands go to stroke his chest. Propping your head up on his chest with your chin. Face in a faux pout as you blink slowly. Letting out a small gasp every few thrusts. “We haven't done this in a while, Leon." 

“Yeah, we really haven't." Leon sighed, letting his head rest back against his pillow. “Look, I'm still sorry for not being here for you." 

He looked back at you, eyes somber as he added more, “It's hard. I know you want to know but I can't tell you. I'm afraid of what'll happen if I tell you. The government is terrifying powerful. I don't want you to die because of me."

It was obvious the government was terrifying, seeing how it reacted to certain things. Police brutality, shitty presidents, probably running some bioweapon deal underneath it. Power hungry just like everyone else. Those who denied being power-hungry were always the ones who were most. They just knew when to not say they were—they were smart.

“I could see that, Leon. I know what you do, ok? Bioweapons? Fight them? You and the government aren't exactly ‘low-key’. I'm sure a lot of the public knows.” You answered, feeling odd while talking about the government with Leon during sex. Such a turn-on.

Of course you'd know, even if he didn't want to go into details—mostly because it invalidates his contract and have himself and you be shot; he knew you weren't dumb. Worst part it was during something so vulnerable.

"Yeah, that's the bad part." He muttered, letting his hands grab your cheek. Giving it a small pinch as he gave a smile. “You look so pretty when you're taking my dick.”

“Turn off?" In truth, it only did a little. Knowing it would've gotten you a harsh thrust into your core. “I love you, but geez… You are something else with certain words.”

"Ah, losing my charm now, hm?” Leon thought to himself, pursing his lips as his eyes seemingly ran after some cleverly thought up phrase that made girls wet. "Ah, I think I got one.”

He drew closer, tipping his head forward so your noses touched. Knowing the smile on his face as he purred out sultry words, “Been thinking about this all day, especially when you made dinner. Wanted to take you over the dishwasher and fuck that tight little pussy into being mine.” His hands grabbed at your hips, moving you up and down on his cock faster. Fucking you with a purpose. The feeling made your eyes flutter, biting your lip to stop yourself from moaning.

“Leon…” You moaned out, hearing the slap of skin behind you. "Y-you're ‘pposed to be gentle!"

A loud whine came from your throat, followed by a smack to your ass. Your shoulders jumping at the sudden harsh smack. Fingers digging into Leon's chest as he fucked you himself.

“Mmmm, I know, baby," he groaned, “But this pussy’s too perfect for me to not fuck.”

Leon laughed, eyes crinkled. All the while his dick kept curling up your walls to hit you again and again in that sweet, gooey spot. Making you leak down his cock to his balls.

Noticing his effect, he adjusted his hand to where he could rub lazy circles into your clit. Making your thigh quiver at too much stimulation. Hips tried to avoid his stubborn hand as he grew relentless in the stimulation.

You leaned forward to kiss him, before pushing his bangs back. Shutting yourself up so you wouldn't get a noise complaint from your next-door neighbors. They didn't need to hear more of Leon fucking you right. Felt amazing to finally be able to feel him again. His hands on your hips, dick curling up inside of you, lips against yours. Made a girl almost cry at the luck.

“Stop being so tight, gonna choke my dick out of oxygen and blood." Leon chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He ran his hands up and down your back, moving to your neck. Pressing your foreheads together so he could gaze at you.

“I love you…” Leon murmured, pulling you back in for another kiss you eagerly accepted. Hands curled up into his hair and pulled it. Pulling away from the kiss to pull his head back. Delivering kisses from his jaw to his throat. Nipping at the skin that made him moan. Making him roll his hips up into you quicker. How'd that angel a year ago become such a succubus in his arms?

"Love you too.” You responded, burying your head in his neck as you began to moan. Biting down on the skin that'll leave a bruise. 

With such love came passion, each thrust carrying it. Each touch of Leon's fingers on your skin lighting it afire. The nails scratched the vulnerable flesh as he started huffing. Reaching its peak, as does every man that ages.

“I got you, don't worry." His hands tightened around you. Pulling you tight against his chest as he rushed to climax. Balls slapping against your pussy and hearing the vibrations of his voice in his throat. Rumbling with each thrust. Almost seemed pathetic with how he was acting.

“That's it baby, you're doing so good f'me. Taking me so well. Just let go, squeeze my cock. Wanna feel you gush around me.”

Oh, sweet fuck those words sent you over the edge. Drenching his cock with more slick. Whining at the overstimulation with his quick thrusts. Crying as he pulls you from his neck to give you a sloppy kiss. Muffling his last groan he released himself inside of you. Hips slowly came to a halt as he panted.

“That’s my girl" Leon whispered, giving one last sweet kiss before resting his head back against his pillow. Letting his arms fall from your body to rest beside him.

Taking it as a sign to get off of him, you scooted off. Almost pulling him out of you before he stopped you with his hand being lazily raised.

“Wanna stay in my pussy a little bit longer. Too lazy to pull out.”

You groaned, brows furrowed but relenting as you pulled him into his side into a spooning position. Moving to where your back pressed against his. Arm wrapped around your waist and stubble rubbing against your neck. Leon already rubbing himself into the crook of your neck. Resting his forehead in the crook with an appreciative hum.

“Such a good girl you were." Leon praised, kissing your shoulder. Giving both your shoulder and neck small ‘good job’ kisses. “Kinda hurting, though…” He mumbled, groaning as he pushed his weight into your back.

“I did say while getting my brains fucked out you're supposed to be gentle. La mia brava ragazza.” Your hands squeezed his forearms. Sighing as you came down from your high. Tired from the dick in you and dreading having to wake up with dried cum on your thighs.

“I’ll get out in a few minutes, need to shower anyway.” Leon chuckled warmly, finally catching his breath. His hands come to hold your chest, giving a small squeeze. Not sexual in any way, just something comforting he did.

“Count me in…”

“When I wanted to come shower with you, I didn’t say eat me the hell out, Leon.” You hissed, swatting him with a towel as you stumbled out of the shower. Second orgasm within the hour and you're shaking like a little lamb. Already watching Leon drying his hair off with a shake and towel. Glancing over at you with a cheeky smile. You paused, before shrugging, ok, maybe it was good. Too good with his stubble rubbing up against you. Sucking on your clit like a lollipop.

“You expect a man like me not to take this opportunity?” He asked incredulously, a hand on his chest as he raised an eyebrow towards you. Almost as if offended you didn’t know who he was despite being his lover. “You hurt me, amore mio.”

As expected, he couldn’t help but jest at you. Watching you shake your head and pinch the brow of your nose. Offering a temple kiss in kind of his attempt to make you smile. “I’ll stop for tonight, don’t worry.”

“You should.” To keep yourself from losing another brain cell at your smitten lover, you dried off. Leaving him to his own devices while you dried your hair and body.

Leon smiled, before noticing the pill bottle on the bathroom sink. Taking it as his medication for the week is another opportunity for conversation. “So, this is what they gave me?”

He held the bottle in his hands, giving it a small shake with an estimate of how many pills were in it. Before moving to read the label and daily amount. Reading the daily amount, he hummed, before noticing the sticky note.

“You’re going to bingo without me?” It shattered his heart as he said it out loud, glancing over at you. Watching your eyes widen at the word ‘bingo’. Bingo? What’d he know about bingo? He only knew where everyone went for bingo.

“Bingo? What about bingo?” You asked, confused as you looked up to see the pill bottle in his hand. 

“Oh…”

Someone’s getting an angry phone call later.

𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 — @rigorwhoring, @xoxostarlet, @leqonsluv3r

If you wanna be apart of my taglist just send a DM or ask! I don't mind! Tomorrow I'll be dropping two bots! Then you will see me a week or so later! Love you guys! <3

#leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #resident evil smut #𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔

[kimtaegis]

favourite new duo: mimi and bart

#btsgif #dailybts #userbangtan #pjmdaily #bts #bangtan #jimin #btsedit #v(icnic) #usersky #userkelli #usersan #trackofthesoul #usermaggie #*jm #*gifs #made these while the experiments run lmao #did I ever mention that I fucking hate yellow

[wildwestdean]

transposition

summary: a spell goes wrong and ends up with you and sam switching bodies. neither of you tell dean, which ends up being the greatest decision you ever made

pairing: dean winchester x witch!reader; best friend!sam winchester x witch!reader (platonic, obvs)

word count: 6.3k+

warnings: swearing, mentions of magic use, misunderstandings, miscommunication, angst, secrets, accidental love confessions, awkward idiots, mutual pining, friends to lovers, fluff, cliches, minor use of [y/n], (female pronouns/descriptors used)

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Sam grunted under his breath, continuing to powder the contents of your mortar with more force than necessary. “If Dean finds out about this-”

“Dean asked me to do this,” you defended, eyes skimming over the page in front of you before looking up at him. “Okay, maybe not verbatim, but he asked!” you added upon seeing the look on Sam’s face. 

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m sure he did,” he replied sarcastically, slamming the pestle down with enough force to make you flinch. 

“Would you be fucking careful!” you hissed, glaring at him. “That thing isn’t indestructible and it’s important to me, it was a gift-” 

“From Dean,” he finished for you. “I know. Sorry,” he added, and even though his tone was sincere, you just knew he rolled his eyes anyway; and you chucked the closest thing you could grab at his back in retaliation. 

“Dick,” you muttered, going back to reading the passage before you. 

It wasn’t often that you used your powers - more so when it came down to a last resort option - and when Dean first discovered that you had magic, it wasn’t intentional. The two of you were on a hunt together, and it was - of course - not going to plan. You were on the brink of consciousness, having no choice but to watch defenselessly as Dean became outnumbered by Vamps. The spell came out of nowhere, nothing more than a primal instinct to protect him, and before anyone knew what was happening, the two of you were left alone with nothing but piles of ash where the monsters once stood. Dean first thought that Rowena had somehow stumbled upon them to save the day once more, though once he realized the spell came from you, he damn near lost his mind. You would have rather he yelled at you, smashed things around, anything compared to what he did. Once he made sure you were okay and had you checked out, he simply acted as if you didn’t exist; you were completely frozen out of his life. He never needed to say anything, you could see it in his eyes every time he glanced at you: How could you be a witch? He hated witches, and you knew that- it’s half the reason you never told him in the first place. He only started coming around with Sam’s convincing- and even then, it took an incredibly long time for him to trust you again. Then, one day, he came to realize that no matter what happened, he could never hate you. So, he came to you with an open mind and a peace offering- the exact mortar and pestle you had once told Sam that you wanted, because it reminded you of your mother’s- and the two of you worked on putting the pieces of your friendship back together. 

“Ass,” Sam retorted, turning and walking over to you with the freshly crushed ingredients. 

“You know,” you started, taking it from his hands. “You can’t really be against this all that much, otherwise you wouldn’t be here helping.”

“I’m only here so you don’t get yourself killed.”

“Oh, come on,” you urged with a chuckle. “You love doing this, and you know it.”

He gave you a sarcastic smile before taking the book from you. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Fine,” you huffed, snatching the book right back. 

With one final glare at each other, you started the spell. Everything was going well… until it wasn’t. 

You aren’t exactly sure where it went wrong. You don’t know if it was the ingredients, the way you said the spell, or just a mixture of everything, but before you even knew what was happening the bowl before you exploded in a cloud of yellow and sent both you and Sam flying. 

“Oh, god,” you groaned, holding a hand to your head as your ears rang. “What the fuck?” you wondered aloud, feeling strange beyond comprehension. 

“What the hell happened?” Sam croaked out.

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said through a fit of coughs. “You?”

“I don’t know. Something feels wrong,” you declared, sitting up. It was at that exact moment you realized why you felt so different. “Sam?” you asked meekly.

“Yeah?” he questioned, sitting up. “Wait-” 

“I’m-” you began, unable to finish as you stared at your hands; were they even your hands? 

“You’re….” Sam tried, staring at you then down at his body; your body? 

“You’re me!” you exclaimed, gesturing between the two of you. 

“You’re me!” he echoed, scrambling to stand.

You followed suit, using the wall behind you to help you stand. “God, how do you live like this?”

“Me? What about you? I won’t even be able to reach the upper cabinets in the kitchen!” he countered, flailing his arms around. 

“At least you’ll be able to fit on your bed! My feet are gonna dangle!” you huffed, folding your arms over yourself. 

“You need to fix this,” Sam declared, stepping towards you. You couldn’t help but take a few steps away- this was way too weird. You’ve seen shifters take your image before, but this was actually you. Only it wasn’t you. You felt like your head was about to explode. 

“Gee, you think, Sam?” you snapped, narrowing your eyes at him. “I thought we’d just stay like this forever!” 

He opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the door swinging open. You both flinched, turning to see Dean peering into the room. 

“What the fuck’s with all the yelling?” he asked, glancing around. “The hell is going on?” 

“I- uh-” you tried to answer, but nothing came to mind. 

“Just, uh…. experimenting,” Sam supplied, and you sent him a glare. 

“Experimenting?” Dean repeated, raising his eyebrows at you- or rather, at whom he thought was you. 

“Yeah,” Sam said with a shrug, not sure what else to say. The two of you shared a look, silently agreeing not to breathe a word of what was really going on. 

Dean’s face softened, and he sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re actually doing that spell. Sweetheart, we can get by without it.” 

“We don’t-” you started to argue, before Sam interrupted you with a clearing of his throat. 

Right. Dean wasn’t exactly talking to you right now. 

“Thought it was a good opportunity to practice,” Sam replied, sounding more like he was asking than telling. 

“Right,” Dean said, eyeing your body wearily. 

Oh, god. He was gonna pick up on something being wrong, it was only a matter of time. 

“You can leave any time now,” you spoke up, more irritated than you meant to sound, but you were severely on edge.

Dean turned to you with a look of surprise. “‘Scuse me?”

“I just- you know, we’re in the middle of something,” you continued, doing your best to stand your ground. 

“Yeah, I can see that,” he quipped, taking a step towards you. “What the hell were you thinking? Why are you letting her mess around with this stuff? Better yet, why are you helping her mess around with this stuff?” 

“It’s just a simple spell,” you argued, your head swirling with the fact that you were looking down on him, instead of being dwarfed by his frame like you normally would be. 

“A simple spell?” he repeated, fury and irritation dancing in his eyes. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”  

“Last I checked we could make our own decisions, Dean!” you exclaimed, glaring at him. 

“Sure,” he placated with a nod. “So long as they’re not stupid ass decisions!” 

“Can we go ten minutes in this place without a fight happening?” Sam pitched in, already exasperated with the situation. 

“Yeah, sure,” Dean grumbled, glaring at you. “Food’s ready.”

“We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Sam announced, earning a glare from you in return. 

“Don’t you think we should finish-” you tried to ask, but were quickly cut off by Dean. 

“No, you guys are done in here,” he declared, shaking his head. “Let’s go.”

“Dean-” you tried once more, only to be cut off again. 

“Sam,” Dean warned. “I’m not kidding. Whatever you two were doing, it’s done.”

“Fine. We’ll be out in a few minutes,” you relented, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “We need to clean up!” you added upon seeing the look on Dean’s face. 

“Five minutes,” Dean agreed pointedly. “Or I swear, I’ll drag both your asses out of this room.” 

“Yeah, five minutes, got it,” you huffed, watching him as he hesitantly left the room. 

You waited a few moments before hastily making your way over and all but slamming the door, turning to look at Sam with wide eyes. 

“We are so screwed,” he declared, matching your expression. 

“What are we supposed to do? He’s gonna figure out something’s wrong!” you exclaimed, slumping against the door behind you. 

“We just…. I don’t know, pretend?” Sam suggested with a shrug. 

“Pretend?” you repeated incredulously. “Sam, this is insane! We can’t just pretend to be each other!” 

“It’s not like I meant permanently!” he defended, holding out his hands in surrender. “But until we can find a way to fix this, we have to at least play the part in front of Dean.” 

“Fine,” you agreed with a huff. “But I am not going on your crack of dawn jogs.” 

“Oh, come on-” he started to argue, though quickly stopped when met with your glare. “Yeah, okay, that- that’s fine.” 

“Great. Now let’s go before Dean gets even more pissy,” you declared, opening the door with a flourish. 

With a quick nod, he followed you down the hall, the two of you lowly bickering about the situation all the way to the kitchen. 

“I feel like a baby giraffe with this fucking body.”

“You look like a baby giraffe, do you not know how to walk?” 

“Yeah, I know how to walk! I know how to walk with normal legs!”

“Normal? You’re short enough to get in anywhere with a child’s pass!” 

“Keep up with the attitude, Sam. Maybe I’ll go have a really nice salon visit and cut all this hair!” 

“Fine, then maybe I’ll call up that guy from your ‘worst date ever’ and ask to catch up!”

“Fine by me. You’ll be the one he’ll be groping and hitting on the whole time.” 

“Yeah- well-... look, just don’t cut my hair!” 

“What are you two all hush hush about?” Dean asked curiously, eyeing you both as you entered the kitchen. 

“Nothing,” you both quickly replied, taking a seat at the table. 

Dean stared at you both for a moment before nodding curtly. “If you say so.” 

Choosing not to reply, you both quietly watched as he joined the table, taking his regular seat next to you. Which, of course, meant he was currently next to Sam, and you watched in amusement as he shifted nervously while Dean got too close for his comfort. 

Attempting to stifle a laugh, you took a bite of the burger that was placed in front of you, only to grimace in response. “What is this?” you asked through a mouthful, meeting Dean’s confused gaze. 

“It’s… the same veggie burger you force me to make you every time I make burgers?” he replied, looking at you as though you lost your head. 

Fucking Sam, you thought bitterly. “Oh, right. Right, it just- it tastes different, I don’t know,” you stammered, sparing a quick glance across at Sam as you hurriedly took another bite. 

“You two are weirder than usual tonight,” Dean muttered to himself before eating his own food. 

The three of you ate in stifling silence, you and Sam both internally trying to find a way out of this mess, before Dean spoke up again and pulled you from your revere. 

“[Y/N], do you want just the usual from the store? I was gonna make a run before our movie night,” he said, turning to look beside him with a soft grin. 

You felt your stomach drop as Sam cleared his throat, looking between you and Dean for a moment. “Movie night?” 

“Yeah,” Dean said, his eyebrows furrowing in even more confusion. “Like we have every Friday?” 

“Oh, right!” Sam exclaimed, chuckling nervously. “I didn’t realize what day it is, I, uh- I’m actually not… feeling too hot, do you mind if we skip it tonight?” 

“You wanna skip it?” Dean asked quietly, making your heart shatter as you watched the hurt and disappointment flash across his face.

After the two of you made up from your falling out, you started a tradition of spending extra quality time together at least once a week. This resulted in having a movie night every Friday, no matter what. Whether that meant catching a random movie on a motel tv or settling into the Dean Cave, you both always found a way to make it. Knowing you had no choice but to skip out this time almost made you want to tell him what happened right then and there; but you didn’t. 

“Yeah, I just… I think it’s best if I just head to bed, you know? I’d hate for it to get worse,” Sam said sheepishly, playing with the glass in front of him as he met Dean’s gaze halfheartedly. 

You were glad that if you had to mistakenly swap bodies with someone, it was Sam. Given that he became your best friend from just about the moment you met, he had your behaviour down pat; you just hoped you could do the same and make this all a little easier. 

“Well what do you mean, what’s wrong?” Dean asked worriedly.

“I’m just feeling run down is all,” Sam said, shrugging lightly as he stood up, taking his dishes to the sink. “Maybe we can watch something tomorrow,” he added, turning back to Dean with a shy smile. 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” Dean agreed softly, averting his gaze to the beer in his hands. “Don’t worry about it, just get some rest.” 

“Sure. Uh, goodnight, guys,” Sam replied awkwardly, shooting you a pointed look before leaving. 

You stayed in uncomfortable silence for a moment, studying Dean as he pouted at his bottle. 

“You alright?” you asked tentatively. 

“Yeah, just… first time she’s bailed on me,” he replied indifferently, downing the rest of his beer before heading to get another one. 

“She didn’t bail on you,” you argued firmly. “It’s not like she chose to go bar hopping or something, she’s sick.” 

“Didn’t seem so sick when she was huddled up with you,” Dean said curtly, leaning against the counter as he sent you a cold stare. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked confusedly, shifting in your seat to look at him better. 

He remained silent, lips pursed as he studied you for what felt like hours, before he finally shrugged. “Doesn’t mean anything.” 

“Then why say it?” you asked in irritation. 

He remained silent once more, simply raising the beer bottle to his lips and taking a long sip before standing upright. “Night, Sammy.” 

“Dean-” you tried to press, but he only ignored you as he continued across the floor, leaving the kitchen without saying another word. 

You sighed in exasperation, quickly cleaning everything up before heading to your room, catching almost no sleep as you dove deep into researching for a reversal to your mistake.

“You need to shave,” Sam said, staring at you from across the table. 

“What?” you asked, caught off guard by the declaration. 

“Your beard - my beard. You need to shave it,” he clarified. “It’s been over a week.”

“And?” you asked, arching an eyebrow at him. “I doubt you’re taking care of all my housekeeping.” 

“That’s because I’m doing everything possible to not look at you! Like you asked!” he hissed in return. 

You rolled your eyes in response, returning your attention to the book in front of you. “I have more important things on my mind than shaving your stupid facial hair - which looks fine, by the way.” 

Sam huffed, shifting in his seat. “Yeah, well you can at least take five minutes for me!”

“I don’t even know how to shave a beard, Sam!” you argued, closing the book in exasperation. 

“Then just let me shave it for you!” he begged, leaning over the table. “I’m serious, [Y/N], you can’t just leave me all unkempt.” 

You met his gaze and sighed softly. “Damn, you can even pull off the puppy dog eyes with my face. That’s a talent, Sammy.” 

He couldn’t help but laugh, for what felt like the first time since this whole thing happened. “You can do it better than I can,” he chuckled. “At least when it comes to Dean,” he added with a smirk. 

“What does that mean?” you asked curiously. 

“Nothing,” he said, shrugging dismissively. “C’mon, let’s get you- me- whatever, all taken care of before Dean gets back with dinner.” 

“Fine,” you begrudgingly agreed, getting up to follow him.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of him as he sat on the bathroom counter, because: “How else are we supposed to do this? These arms aren’t gonna reach that face comfortably without some help.”

You fell into a comfortable silence as he did what he needed to do, the only words spoken being his occasional nagging for you to quit moving, as you were both lost in your own thoughts about the last few days.

“I’m really sorry, Sammy,” you said suddenly. You weren’t sure whether your voice was so quiet due to the shame you felt, or for the fear of breaking the silence that surrounded you. 

“It’s not your fault,” he said simply, reflexively. 

You sighed, gently shaking your head; which earned another scolding glare from him as he steadied you. “It’s entirely my fault. I fucked up big time, and we both know it.” 

“Look, it was an accident,” he urged, wiping away the remnants of the shave one last time. “Assigning blame isn’t going to change anything.” 

“Why aren’t you mad at me? You should be furious! I practically ruined your life,” you pressed on frantically. 

“Okay, that’s being dramatic,” he chided. “Yeah, this isn't an ideal situation. Though weirdly, it’s also not the weirdest situation I’ve been in. And you know what? It’s not even the first time I’ve been in this situation! Remember when that kid switched bodies with me? Trust me, you’re a much better person to be switched with.” 

“Yeah, I remember,” you said, chuckling softly. “Still, I’m really sorry.” 

“I know you are,” he said softly. “I also know you’ll find a way to fix this.” 

“You really believe that?” you asked hesitantly. 

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “‘Cause it’s you, and I’ll always have faith in you. You didn’t mean for this to happen, [Y/N]. It’s okay.” 

“No, it-” you started to argue, but he cut you off. 

“Stop,” he urged softly. “I’m not mad at you, okay? Maybe I was at first, but I’m not anymore.” 

“Promise?” you asked meekly. 

“I promise,” he said firmly.

“Okay,” you relented, not fully believing him but not wanting to push the topic any further. 

“Okay,” he repeated, gently wiping away one of your stray tears. 

“Maybe we should just tell Dean,” you suggested hesitantly. 

“Tell me what?” Dean’s voice suddenly cut through the room.

The two of you jumped, and you moved away from the counter as calmly as you could, knowing how the predicament you were in must look to him.

You turned to the doorway and came face to face with Dean staring intently at the two of you, his mind working into an overdrive as he tried to make sense of the scene he just walked in on. 

“Dean, I- when did you get back?” you asked nervously. 

“Tell me what?” he asked again, ignoring your question. 

You and Sam were both at a loss. You spent so much time trying to figure this whole thing out, yet neither of you thought to come up with some kind of story should you be cornered like this. 

“[Y/N]?” Dean asked softly, looking over to where he thought you sat on the counter. 

The look of hurt and confusion that flashed over his face and the waver in his voice all but sent a fresh wave of tears washing over you. 

Dean waited impatiently a few moments before shaking his head with a scoff. “Whatever, food’s in the kitchen.”

Before anyone could say anything else, he turned on his heel and left, leaving you and Sam stunned in his wake. 

The dynamic between the three of you began shifting even more ever since that night, and you could feel Dean slipping further and further away from you with each passing day. 

You noticed it every time Dean would catch you and Sam huddled up and whispering low; when he would stand and stare before leaving with a quiet grumble of forgetting why he was there. 

You noticed it when he started spending more time in his room or tinkering with Baby in the garage; finding any and every excuse possible to spend time outside of the bunker and away from you and Sam. 

You and Sam tried to ignore it, promised yourselves that you’d explain everything once you managed to set things right - or, if you discovered you were over your heads and couldn’t fix everything. 

The thing you hated most about this whole thing was that it was becoming easier and easier to lie to Dean; and the worst part about that was not knowing whether you and Sam really became more convincing, or if Dean just didn’t care enough to question you anymore. 

Which is exactly why you found yourself sitting in the war room, waiting for Dean to make his way through to the kitchen, in order to try and talk things out. 

You weren’t expecting him to appear with one duffle bag over his shoulder and another by his side - and he wasn’t expecting to see you, either. 

“Didn’t think you’d be up,” he declared after a moment of hesitation, continuing on his path to the stairs. 

“Where the hell are you going?” you asked hotly, standing from your seat. 

Dean sighed, throwing his head back in frustration as he considered his response. “Donna’s cabin.” 

“What? Why?” you asked, eyebrows drawing together with confusion. 

“I can’t do it anymore,” he said tiredly. “I just can’t, okay?” 

“Do what?” you asked wearily, taking a tentative step towards him. “What are you talking about, Dean?” you pressed, feeling your chest tighten with the rising nerves and fear.

“Don’t do that,” he demanded, shaking his head. “Don’t play coy. You think I don’t know what’s been going on around here?” 

“What-... what’s been going on?” you asked curiously. “The hell are you talking about?”

You weren’t sure if or when he figured out what happened, and you also weren’t sure why it would make him feel the need to leave. 

“I’m talking about you and [Y/N]!” he shouted, throwing his bags down and stepping towards you. 

“Me and [Y/N]?” you wondered, taking a nervous step backwards. 

“I’m not an idiot, okay?” he spat, his jaw ticking. “You think I haven’t noticed? Think I couldn’t figure it out?” 

“Okay, look,” you began, holding out your hands defensively. “I can explain.” 

Dean let out a humourless laugh, running a hand over his mouth before glaring at you once more. “Explain,” he echoed with a chuckle of disbelief. “Don’t waste your breath.”

“Why are you so pissed off about this?” you asked in bewilderment. “I mean, I know we kept it from you, but we figure it’d be easier for you.” 

“Easier for me?” he repeated, voice raising. “What about this entire situation makes you think it’d be easy for me?”

“Well because it-... I mean it doesn’t really affect you, Dean,” you replied, unsure of your own words. 

“It doesn’t affect me?” he repeated with perplexion. “Of course it affects me! You know how I feel about her!” he exclaimed, taking yet another step forward. 

“What?” you questioned, thrown off by his response. 

“Don’t “what” me,” he snapped. “I want to be happy for you, Sammy. I really do, but I just-... I don’t think I ever can be.” 

“Okay, I-... I am so lost,” you admitted.

“You stole my girl, Sam!” Dean all but screamed. “You know that I love her. You know I was gonna tell her, and you know how much I want to spend whatever’s left of my god forsaken life with her! You swore you didn’t feel that way about her. You- I mean how to hell could you do this to me, Sammy? I can’t even stand to look at you anymore.” 

You remained silent, staring at him in shock and confusion for what felt like hours. Your mouth opened and closed a few times as you tried to formulate a response, but all that came out was a broken whisper of his name. 

“Don’t sweat it, Sammy. Not like I can blame you for falling for her, right? I mean hey, I sure did,” he sassed, smiling sarcastically. “Not surprised she chose you, either. She deserves someone better than me. But I’m not sticking around anymore to see it first hand.” 

You watched in stunned silence as he turned to gather his bags, trying and failing to think of anything to say. What the hell were you supposed to do? The man of your dreams just admitted he felt the exact same way, and you were trapped in his brother's body. Even if you told him the truth right now, would he even believe you? 

“Do me one favour, though,” Dean said from the foot of the stairs, effectively pulling you from your thoughts. “Don’t tell [Y/N]. Don’t tell her anything. I’ll think of something to tell her during the drive and call her tomorrow.” 

“Dean-” you finally began to protest, only to go unheard by him as he started up the steps. 

“Later, Sammy,” he announced with finality, disappearing out of the bunker. 

“You have got to be kidding me. I mean honestly woman, how stupid can you be?” Rowena’s voice rang through the war room as she made her arrival known to you and Sam.

“Did you not get in enough insults over the phone?” you asked in exasperation, not bothering to move from your spot in the library as you watched her approach.  

“I don’t think there are enough insults for this situation, dear,” she said sweetly, smiling innocently. 

“Either be helpful or leave, Rowena,” you replied solemnly. 

It had been three days since Dean left, and over two weeks since the whole debacle happened. You had never been more determined to find a solution, nor had you ever felt more defeated. 

“Alright, fine. No need to be cranky,” Rowena tsked, taking a seat across from you. “Go on, then. Walk me through everything.” 

“Fine,” you sighed, steadying yourself before recounting the situation. 

“Let me get this straight,” Rowena declared, holding a hand up. “You actually let him leave? After what he said?” 

“Is that seriously your only take away from this?” you asked angrily, glaring at her. 

“It’s not my only take away, but it’s certainly a big one,” she said calmly, accompanied by a half shrug. “This is the spell you used?” she asked, looking over the book you gave her during your explanation. 

“Yeah, that’s the one,” you confirmed sheepishly. 

“Well, don’t you worry. We’ll have you and Samuel right as rain in no time, dear,” she comforted, eyes never leaving the pages in front of her.

It took another four days, but ‘No time’ finally came. You were practically itching to get this all over and done with as the three of you finished setting everything up. You didn’t even care about being in your own skin again, all you cared about at this point was getting Dean back in your life. He did everything possible to avoid talking to you or Sam each time either of you tried contacting him, and you were missing him more and more with each passing hour.

“That should do it,” Rowena declared, snapping you back to attention. “You know what you need to do?” 

“Yes,” you said quickly, urging her out of the room; the last thing you needed was for her to be around and have the spell go wrong again, resulting in all three of you being scrambled around. 

“Don’t rush it!” she cautioned. “I know you want him back, but you need to take this slowly. You can’t afford another screw up!” 

Her statement made you pause, and you knew she was right. “Go slow, I got it,” you confirmed, shutting her out of the room. 

“Ready?” Sam asked, looking at you eagerly; albeit nervous beyond belief. 

“More than ever,” you declared, taking your place at the altar. 

You began the spell, doing everything slowly and precisely so there was no room for error. Once you had finished, however, nothing had happened. You were just about ready to scream with all the emotions boiling inside of you when suddenly the bowl before you exploded in a cloud of yellow, sending both you and Sam flying. 

“Oh, god,” you groaned, holding a hand to your head as your ears rang. “This again?” you wondered aloud.

“Did it even work?” Sam croaked out.

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said through a fit of coughs. “You?”

“I think so,” you declared, sitting up. It was at that exact moment you realized what happened. “Sam?” you asked breathlessly. 

“Yeah?” he questioned, sitting up himself. “Wait-” 

“I’m-” you began, unable to finish as you stared at your hands; your own hands.

“You’re….” Sam tried, staring at you then down at his body; his very own body.

“You’re you!” you exclaimed in glee, pointing at him.

“You’re you!” he echoed, scrambling to stand.

You followed suit, taking a moment to steady yourself on your own feet. “I need to go,” you announced, not giving him time to reply before you ran out of the room. 

“You’re welcome!” Rowena called after you, watching you run by. 

“Thank you!” you called back absently, hurrying out to your car. 

The drive took longer than ever before; at least, it felt like it did. You spent the whole time trying to think of what to say, of how to explain, but nothing seemed right. Nothing seemed like enough. All you could hope for was that everything would magically come to you once you stood before him. 

If he ever decided to open the goddamn door. 

“Dammit, Dean! Open the fucking door before I break it down!” you yelled, banging your hand against the wood for the upteenth time. 

You opened your mouth to yell once more, but before you could even make a sound a voice boomed out from behind you. “What are you doing here?” 

You turned with a start, coming face to face with Dean as he stood at the bottom of the steps. “I came to talk to you,” you said simply, taking a few steps forward. 

He quickly averted his gaze, focusing on wiping the grease from his hands with the rag he held. “Coulda just called,” he countered gruffly. 

“Why?” you asked, laughing dryly. “You’d just ignore my calls.” 

He stilled his ministrations for a moment before shrugging, glancing back up at you. “Maybe ‘cause we got nothing to talk about.” 

“Dean-” you tried to argue, though you stopped short when he rolled his eyes and turned away from you. 

“Look, I know all about you and Sam, okay?” he huffed, storming across the drive and to where Baby was parked, hood still open for Dean to continue working on her.  

“Oh, for god’s sake, Dean. There is no me and Sam!” you exclaimed with a groan, quickly following behind him. 

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he placated, picking up his previously abandoned ratchet. 

“Just listen to me,” you pleaded, watching his face scrunch with a mix of frustration and concentration as he dove back into his work. 

“You don’t need to explain,” he said distractedly. “I get it. He’s good for you. I just-... you didn’t need to hide it, [Y/N/N]. I thought we were closer than that.” 

“We are! That’s not what we were hiding, just let me explain!” you said desperately, stepping closer to him. 

“You can quit the act, okay?” he snapped, stopping what he was doing as he stood up, finally turning to look at you. “I have eyes, I saw what-” 

“Sam and I fucking switched bodies!” you yelled over him, effectively rendering him speechless. “Alright? When you walked in on us doing that spell the other week… it went wrong, Dean. Sam and I, we just-... we switched!”

“You… switched bodies?” he asked slowly, scepticism starting to present itself on his face as he processed what you said.

“Yes,” you confirmed softly. ”I was Sam, Sam was me.”

He nodded, shifting uncomfortably as he anxiously tapped his fingers on Baby’s exterior. “Well, isn’t that just a great story,” he muttered, leaning under the hood once more. 

“It’s not a story,” you argued desperately. “It’s what happened.” 

“Then why not tell me?” he challenged, not missing a beat. 

“Because,” you began lamely. “You always have so much on your plate, Dean. We didn’t want to shove this stupid thing on you and add to your worries.” 

“So you lied to me for my own good?” he asked harshly, gaze not straying from his hands as he worked. 

“We didn’t lie, we just-”

“Avoided the truth,” he finished for you. “Same thing, if you ask me.”

“We thought it was for the best,” you admitted quietly. 

“Oh, yeah,” he agreed sarcastically, throwing his tools down. “Sneaking around, icing me out. Definitely for my best interest, huh?” 

“Dean, please,” you pleaded. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.” 

“Then why did you come, [Y/N]?” he shouted, shutting Baby’s hood. “What did you think was gonna happen here?” 

“Well, I thought-... I just-... I wanted to clear the air,” you stammered. “I wanted to explain.” 

“Well, you explained,” he muttered, busying himself with tidying his mess. 

You watched him silently for a few moments, trying to think of your next move. You decided to ask the question that’s been on your mind since he left: “Were you really planning on actually telling me one day?” 

He let out an irritated sigh, picking up his belongings and moving around to the trunk. “What are you talking about?” 

“Were you really gonna tell me?” you repeated, quickly taking a few steps to meet him at the trunk.  

“Tell you what?” he huffed, irritation oozing off of him as he slammed the toolbox down. 

“How you feel!” you blurted out, taking yet another step towards him. 

“The hell are you talking about?” he questioned, feigning cluelessness. Though the way his body stiffened as he idly messed with the stuff in the trunk betrayed him; he knew what you meant.  

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you replied softly. “Were you?” 

“I don’t know!” he huffed, shutting the trunk. “Maybe,” he added, walking away from you once more. 

“You said-” 

“I know what I said!” he interrupted, clearly irritated. “Can we not relive it? I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“Well I do!” you argued, exasperated. “Why the fuck else do you think I’m here, Dean?”

“To clear the air,” he sneered, repeating your earlier words as he made his way back to the cabin. 

“To tell you I love you!” you shouted after him, stopping him in his tracks. “I didn’t choose Sam. How can I choose him when I’ve loved you for years? How can I choose him when my entire world stopped spinning the day you shut me out of your life all those years ago? How can I choose him when I didn’t feel like I could breathe until you finally spoke to me again? How can I choose him, when having to watch you walk away the other day was the most terrifying thing I had to do, because I didn’t know if I’d ever get you back this time? You can put us in any timeline, in any universe, or in any realm, and I will always choose you. I love you.”

You were met with silence for entirely too long, and you watched the unsteady rise and fall of his shoulders as he kept his back to you, standing tense as ever with his head down low. 

“Will you just look at me, please?” you pleaded shakily.

As soon as the words left your mouth he spun on his heel and marched towards you, closing the distance between you two in seconds. He grabbed your face in his hands, letting a moment of hesitation pass by before crashing his lips against yours. It was harsh yet delicate, slow but needy. It was gentle and all consuming. His hands strayed from your face, one sweeping to the back of your head to hold you steady while the other slipped to your waist and pulled you close. Your hands found themselves gliding up his arms, resting on the base of his neck for a moment before settling on his cheeks. 

When the two of you finally pulled away to catch your breath, it seemed like neither of you wanted to go too far; foreheads pressed together and noses brushing as you both giggled quietly, shy smiles on your swollen lips. 

You stood like that for a few minutes, basking in each other's presence in ways you never could before, until your gentle whisper cut through the silence: “Please come home, Dean.” 

“My sweet girl,” he said quietly, planting a delicate kiss to your forehead before completely wrapping you up in his arms, holding you closer than ever. “I am home.”

tagging: @winharry

dividers by @firefly-graphics and @saradika

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester x y/n #sam winchester x reader #dean x female!reader #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #dean fluff #dean fic #dean winchester angst #dean angst #sam winchester fluff #supernatural fandom #supernatural fic #dean winchester x plus size reader #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #best friend!sam winchester

[kelstey]

who did this to you?

mattheo riddle x reader

warnings : domestic abuse, mentions of disordered eating, toxic relationship (not with mattheo)

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

"gosh, will you hurry up?" cormac paced back and forth in your dorm as you were getting ready.

"i'm trying," you said trying to control your tears. you quickly set your foundation which was heavily packed on, covering the yellowing bruise underneath.

"fucking finally," he groaned. you got up and placed your robe on before the two of you walked down to the great hall for breakfast. thankfully it was the weekend so you could avoid as many people as possible.

you had tried getting out of the relationship, but he always gaslit and guilt tripped you into coming back. cormac had essentially isolated you from 90% of your friends and anyone you ever came into contact with.

he knew what he was doing, he was limiting your options of people to go to by making you out to be a bad person when you were secretly getting abused physically and mentally by cormac.

at first, he was the sweetest boy you had ever met. you thought you had met the love of your life - the man you would marry. you were terribly

wrong.

as soon as he had you wrapped around his finger, he switched. he constantly picked apart your appearance, belittling you and leaving you with minimal confidence.

he once accidentally slapped you during an argument, he told you he would never do it again. he lied.

at first your friends were concerned, they tried helping you, but cormac threatened you that if you told them, he'd hurt you. you were already hurting enough and you didn't think it was worth the risk.

soon rumours made their way around school that you talked shit about your friends, leading many of your friendships to end. you didn't know it was cormac who has behind all of it.

you spotted matthe staring at you already as you walked into the hall. you absolutely hated him - not for anything in particular, the two of you just never got along and have disliked each other since.

you sat down next to cormac as usual. a plate appeared in front of you, and you began to put bits of breakfast onto the plate. "remember to watch what you eat," he dug a hand into your thigh which caused you to lightly whimper as his nails etched into your skin.

"yes," you looked down at the plate, hardly enough for a baby yet alone a growing teenage girl. you began eating some fruit - filling yet good and cormac always appreciated you eating

'healthy' even though you couldn't give a fuck less what he liked, you would eat whatever when you were alone without him.

you finished and gazed around the hall, your eyes landing onto mattheos again. you sent him daggers, and he rolled his eyes before speaking to his friends.

"i need to go to the bathroom," you leaned into cormac's side. he nodded and you left the hall.

you walked down the hall and to the girl's bathroom, you looked into the mirror, noticing your makeup was slightly smudged and you could see the bruising.

"shit," you panicked, you looked through your bag for some powder and concealer, oblivious to mattheo who just entered the bathroom.

"who did this to you?" you heard a voice say and you jumped, dropping your concealer.

"fucking hell mattheo, do you know how expensive that shit is?" you picked up the concealer, forgetting momentarily about the clear bruise on your face.

"answer the question. who did this to you?" he took a step closer to you.

"no one," you said, it was hardly above a whisper though. you could feel tears well up in your eyes as mattheo observed your face.

"i'll fucking kill him," without a second to spare mattheo turned around and made his way back to the hall.

you followed, quick on his trail. "mattheo, please, don't," you tried to grab onto his arm.

"no - he fucking hurt you! why should he get away with that?!" mattheo was clearly angry, both at himself and cormac.

you didn't say anything and let go of his arm, looking down at the ground. you wanted mattheo to batter the shit out of cormac, but some part of you didn't want to see the guy you were dating get punched to death.

"i'll keep you safe," mattheo's hand reached for your chin, pushing it up slightly so you were looking up at him. "i won't let anyone ever hurt you again."

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

#mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #slytherin #slytherin boys #fanfic

[nexusnyx]

keep close | part II

joel miller x f!reader [5.2k] summary: It's the oldest case of blinded by love ever seen. All of the doubts and pining must have entertained the gods all this time. That's the explanation you settle for when you discover that just like you, Joel has been suffering in silence. Wanting. Craving you. 📝 This is the continuation of part 1 but it can be read as a stand-alone. If you enjoy it, reblogs and comments make all the difference. 🏷️ Pining, idiots to lovers, sexual tension, smut build-up.

masterlist | part one ←

Everything was so fucking green. You hated it.

"Why d'you hate it?" Joel asked.

Unlike you, his recovery advanced fast. Bruises and cuts had the 'fading to yellow' tonalities, and he was now hunting deer and other animals with Ellie so you three did more than just survive winter. "'Cause I never see it." It's so beautiful out there. "Ever stopped to think about how the world looks healthier and prettier than it has in thousands of years, and we're all stuck inside walls?"

Joel usually takes a moment or two to reply, but when those moments stretch on, you look up from the floor to where he's sitting on the couch and—oh.

He's doing it again. Looking. Staring at you as if he's thinking a hundred things. You freeze under his gaze again, waiting for it, begging in your mind that he'll do it...

His hand reaches out in direction of your face, and everything inside you lights up.

He touches your hair.

Ever since that incident where you two were sleeping together a little closer than ever before, Joel's taken a liking to your hair.

Usually, the idea of anyone touching you, let alone your hair, is enough to make you break out in hives.

With him, you lean against the touch.

The hand on the side of your head starts doing sweet, caring movements, and you force yourself to open your eyes.

Joel breaks you out of your thoughts by wondering, "What would you do if you were outside?"

That takes your memory back. You close your eyes, getting lost in his touch for a moment. "Probably... play something."

"Play what?"

Ignoring how his voice surrounds you when your vision is gone is difficult. "Anything that requires a ball." You somehow manage it. "My brothers and I—" their mention chokes you. Grips you by the throat.

As always, Joel waits.

"My brothers and I loved playing... anything," you chuckled. "It's the only time I wasn't bored."

"What did you enjoy the most?"

"Uh. Probably volley? I liked keeping the ball up high." You open your eyes then, missing the sight of his. Joel's watching his own hand in your hair and, in exchange, you get to watch his face. Before he can dive more into your past for his own distraction, you nudge his hand with your head. "I'm proud of you."

Joel knows exactly why, and still, "Why?"

You roll your eyes. "For making El believe in Santa Claus."

It happens again—Joel smiles. One week's passed since the incident and you're still mesmerized every time. "I don't think she'd believe him for too long."

"Joel."

He laughs through his nose, then places his gaze on your eyes. "I don't know why you'd be proud of me for that. It's stupid."

"Letting her go hunt on her own is stupid?"

"Sure is." He had a damn point, and you hated the world for it. "We both know how it could go."

"We do. And still, you allowed her to feel like a person who has some control over her life and who's capable of using her own hands to live." As someone who waited years for that same opportunity, you knew what it meant. "You don't know what this means to her, but I do."

Joel lived a life before chaos was the new natural order. He takes a second, his hand pausing its ministrations before he nods and continues his petting. "I believe you."

That means the world to me. "Thanks."

This time, Joel doesn't answer.

His hand keeps doing the thing it's grown fond of, and you keep pretending your body is not growing dependent on it like plants need air, water, and the Sun.

You think his hands and eyes on you might be your Sun.

You wish you could do the same for him.

The idea of rejection is what holds you back from so much.

Before last week, before he did this for the first time, the physical distance kept between you both was your seal of confirmation that Joel knew about your feelings. That he knew how much you burned for him, for a touch of his.

Now, you aren't so sure.

Then, you cried. Months ago, before this last ordeal of fuckery made your little triad retreat to a cold cabin in the mountains, you cried over the mere thought that Joel saw you as he did Ellie.

Like a daughter.

It plagued you until it showed up in your dreams and made you weep because of it.

All your life you waited for the moment when the desire for someone became real. When wanting and feeling a connection became as tangible as the tension that cloaked the quarantined city every day.

When it came, it was him.

Joel breaks you out of your thoughts with a chuckle, "You remind me of a cat."

You were leaning against his touch again. This time, you keep your eyes closed. "Feels nice." More than nice. "So nice."

He laughs again. "I can see that."

That pulls your eyes to open. Joel's face is fixed on you. His right hand is hidden by his shirt, tucked on top of the cloth soaked with medicinal paste. It's why he took the touch after a lot of arguments, minutes before Ellie left for the hunt. "You're a cat, too," you argue.

Joel raises one eyebrow at that. "How?"

"Skittish."

"I'm skittish?" the smile is making its way back to his lips.

You nod. "I'd pet you too if I didn't think you'd hiss and run for the hills."

Fuck. Barely are the words out of your mouth before you feel the heat creeping up your neck to cover your face. Out here, there are lamps with candles.

Joel sees you with clarity.

A deer caught under the spotlights. Not a cat, then.

It's his smile, opening slowly but surely, that makes the tension leave your shoulders. "Ellie says I can be a grouchy hedgehog with anger issues. One that stinks. And you... wanna pet my hair?"

Ellie's a child, Joel. I want you. "El is a sharp-tongued kid who loves making you frown." It's also the truth. "And yes. I do," in a much lower voice, you finish with, "it looks soft."

Joel shakes his head, his smile widening. "Unbelievable."

"What?"

"My dirty hair. It looks soft," he repeats, fixing you under his gaze.

You look away. "Nevermind," you mumble.

Joel should remain still on that couch, but he moves. Laughing, his hand goes back to what it did before, and pulls you closer as his upper body leans forward. He sort of—nuzzles. It's not a kiss—Joel just touches his nose to your hair, and you feel his laughing coming out through his nose.

When he stops laughing, he leans back down on the couch.

His tender touch on your hair continues.

"You're so..." he trails off, and you wished you were still looking at him. "I wouldn't run," he adds.

That gets your attention. Your eyes find his, and your heart seems to grow two sizes with the way it beats. "No?"

"No."

Immediately, your eyes fall to the couch he's lying on—you hate it. It's small. Old. With no room for another person there. "I'll show later that it's nice," you settle for.

Even if the couch could fit a whole family of three, you know that you'd remain where you are.

"Later?"

"Yeah. No space for me up there."

"Oh." Joel sits up in a single motion, causing you to sit up straight. Your cheek was resting on the small part of the couch his body wasn't, but now, you watch as he lifts up his shirt to inspect his bruised side.

The second you see skin, usually, you avert your gaze. This time, you inspect the colors and healing with him. It looks... ok. Still painful, just as your own body is, but no shooting pain with every move you make.

Joel places the rag on the couch without care and nods. "C'mon. We were up all night re-making the supplies, and El's only gonna be back in a couple of hours. We should rest."

Following Joel is the norm by now. Wordless, you walk behind him in direction of the room.

The mattresses are still pushed together.

There are three backpacks with several items placed in front of them on the other side of the room, a handful of handles spread around the corners, and on top of that old brown blanket, Ellie's drawing book.

"She was here again," you tell him.

Joel's kneeling in front of his backpack with the cassette player in hand. "I don't know why. Her room's the only one with an actual bed."

"She's restless," you say as you move her notebook to the floor, "and ever since you taught her how to scout perimeters, she uses that opportunity to find 'cool shit' around places."

Joel hums in reply, and then you hear a click.

In a very low volume—low enough that only these walls must be capturing sound, his tape Saxophone Colossus fills the air with a gorgeous sound.

He makes his way to the bed and lies right next to with you a grunt.

Your bodies' sides are touching. He places his left forearm under his head, using it as a pillow, and then turns his head to the side where your waiting eyes are already observing him.

"She found the water heater," Joel agrees.

His voice is always lower here. Either that or you're in closer chambers and always use that as an excuse to drown in it. "She did."

"Can you turn it on to heat up some water when she comes back?"

You nod, smiling at him. This part is so good. "'course," you want to scoot closer, but—always but. "I'd rather prepare three baths measuring the water with a coffee cup rather than skin animals alive."

Joel's side smile returns. He stares for a moment, and says, "I don't know how you learned it that well. You hate doing it."

"I learned it 'cause I had to." For her. For Ellie, it goes unsaid. "Doesn't mean I'll ever want to ever again."

"Thank gods they didn't butcher my arm, then."

You close your eyes, whining a little. "No. Please—don't even joke about it."

Joel laughs. "I'll make sure to keep my arm. For both of your sakes."

"Thank you," you open your eyes again.

"No problem," his grin is kind of intoxicating. From this up close, watching Joel smile does to you the same that a full glass of bourbon does. "C'mere," he tilts his chin down at the same time as he stretches his arm to your head, "there's space now."

It hits you what Joel's doing. Inviting you in.

Call it instinct. When you raise your upper body just enough for his arm not to linger awkwardly in the air, you're still registering what is going on, and then—

his chest.

Joel guides your head there, and as it's custom, you follow.

It lands you where you dreamt of being for months now.

His body adjusts underneath you, getting comfortable.

You're so lost in the feeling of his heat that you miss the beat. When you feel his breathing becoming even and his hand moving in your hair, you notice how comfortable you are.

How perfect it feels.

Joel pets your hair for a little while before you manage to find yourself again.

A song must pass and in it, your mind lives through the most blissful few moments of peace and quiet it's ever had.

Nothing happens. No thoughts, no doubts, just this.

When you come back to what is reality, no matter how dream-painted it looks, Joel's heart sings under your ears.

You can hear it beating.

Then, you remember why you're here now. "Can I do it?" you ask.

Your body remembers it can move and does something else it's been dreaming of for a while. It cuddles. It adjusts itself in order to be comfortably aligned with his, and your chin tilts upwards to get a look at his face.

From this angle, all your see is beard until he looks down. "Do what?" The question is betrayed by the hint of a smile on him. It might be a product of your own rapid heartbeat, but Joel seems to gain a little bit of color. "Pet my 'soft' hair?"

"I can hear the air quotes and I don't appreciate them."

You love to make him laugh. This time, you get to feel it. Even if it all goes down someday, at least you'll always have this memory. "You can," he replies once he's done laughing.

Breathe in, you decide this position is just fine, and move your right hand up until it finds his hair. Breathe out.

The angle is uncomfortable—not the best, nor the worst, but it does its job.

It feels greasy when your hands run through them, but not dirty. It is as soft as you imagined it.

It takes him some time too — one song and a half — before Joel's body is fully relaxed. His heartbeat takes the longest.

You feel the times when he lifts his left arm to check the clock to see if Ellie is still in her two-hours time.

None of you sleep, but that doesn't matter.

Rest nowadays goes beyond hours shutting down the brain. Laying there with Joel is the most you feel truly rested, even if the circumstances are these.

Whatever leads to you in his arms, you'll take it.

It's worth the wait. Makes you feel alive.

Ellie eats like a starved animal, every time.

"Slow down, kid, jesus fuck," you tell her, without fail, every single time.

By now, she does slow. It's like she needs a reminder—there is food, and we'll find you more if you need it.

Once, Joel wondered what the fuck did they feed her in that military school. You're unsure if you want to know.

"Did you two rest?" she asks with her mouth full.

"Really?" he gives her the look of 'gross, El', but she only rolls her eyes at him. "And yeah, we did."

"I already warmed up the water for showers." The wood bath structure was perfect for a shower, and heating up all of the baths inside that room already made the temperature rise a little. "You can go first."

"Telling me I stink?" she asks you.

You grin. "Always do, bug." Little bug. That's who she was to you—a nature's wonder. "Not enough showers in the world to change that."

"We should be honest with her," Ellie turns to Joel, and you think oh here it comes. "She can't smell herself."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Joel replies in faux seriousness. "I'm certain all three of us smell like fields of flowers. The one that's most us, y'know? Like me, for example, I'm clearly a blue orchid."

It's been like that since those guys jump you three. Whatever lock kept Joel doing his best to push you two out, was just gone.

He presses his makeshift plate closer to lean in your direction and say, "Do I smell like orchids? Is it amazing? Any hints of some type of wood underneath?"

Joel's silly.

It's not something either one of you expected but welcomed with open arms.

He'll say the stupidest things to make Ellie laugh. He acts, and then winks in your direction to say 'gotcha'.

Ellie leaves for her shower, and leaves you two alone.

The air's back to what it was before she arrived.

It's always been different without her around, but now it's this. Joel finishes his meat and cleans the tip of his fingers with his lips. You try to look away. You fail.

He pulls you back. "Can I ask you something?"

You're almost done with your meal, but now that he's talking and his whole focus is back on you, the hunger left. Switched. "Always."

"Do you feel... lonely?"

What a stupid, and painfully sharp question. "No." I'm scared to ask the same. "Of course I don't," you say. "There's you. El. I'm... well-accompanied."

Whatever he was looking for, the answer must deliver. "Okay." He looks in the direction of the bathroom —Ellie— and then back at you. This time, he scoots closer to you and fits himself to fit in your side.

You open up to him, happy to create more space.

You'd wrap yourself around his whole body if you could. Make a home somewhere between his arms and his thighs. His smile always in line of sight.

With arms wide open, Joel pulls his chair, screeching the floor until he's content with the proximity. His head lays on top of your chest, and your hands immediately go to his hair.

There's no music to measure time, but you've grown fond of the 'peace and quiet' he always went on about.

Eventually, he speaks. "We can't fall asleep here."

You laugh against his hair. "It hasn't been even five minutes. You know she's mixing cold and 'hot scalding water' until the temperature's just perfect like she's a mad scientist until now. We have at least twenty minutes."

"Hmmm." He nuzzles his head, and you pray your hummingbird of a heart won't disturb him.

Joel asked you about what you thought of his plans for once you two were healed. That's what you both discussed with Ellie as you ate.

The conversation changes two or three times before he lands on it.

"Well—after all of it. Tommy, or Fireflies—what do you want?"

You're still lost in the last topic, and the feeling of his hair running like silk through your fingers. "Do we even know if we trust them?"

"Trust who?"

"The Fireflies, obviously."

"Ah. Hm. I suppose we don't," on your arms, Joel nudges you with his body. "Forget 'em for a sec."

You open your eyes and his head is lying so nicely on your shoulder. He locks eyes with you, and asks. "What do you want after that?"

Like that. As if it's simple. "Are you asking if I want ice cream or move to the Arctic?" What an absurd. "I don't fuckin' know. I hope I'm alive. In one piece. And so are you two. The end."

"You don't want anythin'?"

It's infuriating. He is right there, looking up at you with those stupid gorgeous brown eyes and, "It's not that simple," comes out before something else does.

Not enough of an answer, apparently. Joel shakes his head. "'s just a scenario. A 'what if' for the future, since we can't do them about the past. Indulge me."

"So, like, a hypothetical world where you, and El, and I, we're all good. And we... found Tommy. Or maybe the Fireflies."

"Yeah."

"And they've given us a little more than just 'she's the cure' to work with... And we can—I don't know, sit back and watch some scientists do science? That's the scenario?"

"You're paitin' it much better than me," he smiles. "Go on."

You roll your eyes. "In that scenario—I want ice cream."

Joel groans. "Oh, c'mon." He sighs, and whispers your name under his breath. He leans close enough for his hair to tickle your cheeks. "Tell me. Somethin' you always wanted growing up, I don't know."

"It's a difficult question!" you defend yourself, smiling despite being cornered by his new musings.

"It is. And you can think on it, if you want," Joel nuzzles his head to comfort once again on your shoulder, then closes his eyes. "I'm just curious about the stuff you wanted to do before someone threw a mission on your lap, that's all."

"Okay. I'm thinkin'."

"I can hear the engines turning," he whispers. You poke the side of his body, because you know now that you can, and then—, "I already know you're gonna ask me the same so I'll start thinkin' about my own answer to. And don't bullshit me—if you tell me you'd rather have an x-burger instead of ice cream I'll poke a finger in one of your bruises."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me," he laughs.

"I'd kill for an x-burger, now that you mentioned," your voice lowers to a whisper too.

"Same. Now shhh and think. I'm sure you've had aspirations beyond babysitting the unique child and teaming up with my ugly mug."

That's what stops you. Ugly mug.

Your eyes open, and the intensity in them must pierce through his darkness, because Joel feels the eyes on him and looks straight at you. "What?" he looks confused.

Your first mental lap is to be angry—

how can he not see it? it's right in front of him—but then.

Insecurities.

The ones you have and cloud your thoughts with every rising Sun—of course Joel had them, too. He was older, this world was far from kind, and—

He gets up, looking every bit as lost in thoughts as you are, and starts gathering the things from around the fire.

You took too long to answer, and his nervousness always shows up in one of two ways: sleep, or organizing.

"You genuinely think that?" you ask after a second.

Joel gathers the plates in his hand and uses the snow water to rinse them. "Which part? That I think you deserve more or that my mug is ugly? 'Cause yes to both."

"That's—wow." Your laughter is dry, something very unusual.

It makes him look at you. "Wow what, woman?"

He only calls you that when he's getting impatient. "That's crazy to me."

"What is? I never asked you either one of these questions 'cause the first one could be misread—I don't want you thinkin' I'm tryna get rid of you—"

"Thank god."

"—and the second one." He sighs, and puts the plates together. Everything that's not being used always goes back to the backpacks in cases of emergency. Joel looms there over the sink with them in hand, and you wait. "I'd say something stupid like 'does that kind of thing ever matter anymore' but the truth is, I can't see a scenario that it doesn't, and I'd rather live without your honest opinion about this."

"I am always honest in my opinions," you agree.

"Exactly. That's why I never asked you what you thought of my face—I can sleep without that one," he concludes.

"You were right, too. Saying 'does beauty matter anymore' would be stupid 'cause we always looked and always will look for things that we think are pleasing to the eye. It's human nature, don't you think?"

He nods, and then moves to where the backpacks are to put away the cans and plates. "It is."

"I think a lot of things are beautiful. Mostly it's nature, though. And woman. D'you think I'm weird for that?"

Joel looks over his shoulders and the answer is written all over his face.

You shrug your shoulders. "I know some people who definitely would."

"I know some people who have fungi tentacles exiting their mouths. We've learned these past few years that our species isn't the smartest."

"Touché," you laugh. "I do think you're handsome, though."

It freezes the air as if someone opened a door and let the cold air inside.

"Not that you asked—but," you look away from his frame, losing the confidence to look at him as you go on, "you're... beautiful." Most men would hate that adjective. You know that because you heard it from your brothers—only women are 'beautiful'. "I know men don't like that word used to describe them, but—"

"What men?"

"I don't know," you shrug again, wanting to have a shell to retrieve out of nowhere. "Most men? It's what my brothers told me."

"Well—they don't speak for me, then."

It's the feeling of his eyes on you that makes you gaze in his direction. "I like the white hairs, too," for some reason, your voice dropped to a whisper, "and your beard. It's even. Frames your face well."

Joel looked frozen under a spell.

He stared at you with intent and focus you'd never seen before.

Since you started, you might as well finish. "The crinkles by your eyes are smile-made. I like that."

It works—it brings them out. Joel starts smiling, even if his eyes look a little lost. "Smile-made?" he echos.

"Yeah. They're there 'cause of your smile. Some people have lines 'cause they frown a lot, or grimace, or are always judging. I don't like those lines."

"I have worry lines."

"We all have worry lines, Jo. It's the end of the world."

He laughs. "Touché."

"That's my favorite part, though." He stops laughing at those words, and you miss it instantly. "Your smile."

His gaze softens. "You like my smile?"

"You almost never smile," you say, hating that sad truth, "and it's a beautiful smile," you think if anything else comes out, it might be too much. Too close to the truth, so, "in conclusion: handsome. So—I do think you're a little crazy. It might not be often, but we still see mirrors every now and then."

His silence as an answer made the jittery nerves climb up your legs, soothing like an ointment every bruise it found in its way.

Joel staring at you was the reason why you lacked sleep, sometimes.

Too many thoughts about what he was thinking. Too many scenarios about what it would be like to have the courage to make the first move.

It's he who does it.

When it comes, you're too lost in a trance to properly register his steps coming back to you.

He sits on the chair next to you again. Grabs your chair with one hand, and pulls it close to his until they're touching.

He's so close you could count the gray hairs you like so much on his beard.

When he leans in closer, you're breathing his air, and it makes goosebumps rise all over your skin. On your arms, your neck, your back.

Joel moves one hand to your neck at the same pace one moves when hunting wild animals.

As if every movement could result in being seen, and the prey running away.

When he's only a couple of inches away from your face, you feel the heat of his palm spread across your neck; his thumb caressing your cheek. He asks, "Talk to me. Is this—Am I reading it wrong?"

If you have a voice, it's gone. You shake your head and do the only thing you needed all this long—you lean, too.

Sometimes, things are so important that every second of it counts.

Joel's lips on yours are one of those things.

You're shaking, at first.

Although inexperience is part of the reason why you're so terrified of doing something, this part you know.

It's the only one you have confidence in, so you let all the worries on your shoulders go, and you kiss him back.

Joel wants you to.

The notion that he might've been as lost in his head as you were in yours makes you want to cry. You whimper against his mouth instead, pressing so much harder when the reality of what is happening catches up to you.

Joel pulls back for just a second, "It's okay, I got you," he seals the words by pressing his lips on yours again.

All of your reservations fly out of the window with those last three words.

You throw your arms around his neck, almost throwing yourself too in the process. Joel laughs right there, with his lips still on yours, and catches your weight.

With your fingers threaded through his hair and holding on for dear life, you let him do it—let him guide you.

Kissing Joel makes your head drown in every other moment you two shared and you could feel your heart beating in your throat.

He takes it slow with you, despite feeling the shivers all over your body.

Joel nips on your bottom lip until you open up for him.

He kisses by sucking, then pecking your lips, and when he finally pushes his tongue in your mouth, you forget where you two are for a moment.

The moan is involuntary, and even with eyes closed you feel them rolling to the back of your head.

Joel's hand on your nape starts massaging your neck and he says, "Shhh, gorgeous, 's okay," he licks into your mouth again.

Rewiring your brain is so easy for him. Gorgeous.

Just like when you two discovered that touching one another was an option a week ago, learning that this is on the table is almost comical. You feel like a starved person being delivered a feast, and stopping is far from an option.

When you pull back for air because there's none left in your body, the string of saliva connecting your mouth to Joel's makes you tremble again.

He needs to know. Tell him. If he knows he's the only man — or person — who's ever awakened desire in you, maybe he'll understand why you're like a leaf in his hands.

Joel's hand comes up to your cheek. It's huge, covering almost half of your face, and when he whispers, "Open your eyes," you realize that you'd closed them again.

His eyes are the warmest part of him. "Hi," you mumble. "Please tell me you'll do this again."

Joel smiles. "If you wait a few more hours, El will be asleep," he swallows visibly and you think what on Earth could he be nervous to, "I can help you... cleaning your wounds. You could help me."

Right. Bathing together, even if 'bathing' is a strong word for it.

Inexperienced. No knowledge whatsoever other than books you read in the abandoned library. What will you do with him? What will—

"We don't have to, obviously," he interrupts your thoughts. "And yeah. I wanna do this more. Of course I do," Joel kisses you again, and you hold his head in place for a few more moments, stealing more kisses to numb your mind. "God, I wanted this since I met you."

"Joel."

"It's true."

"I'm happy to know we're both idiots," and even happier that was behind. "And—I mean. A helping hand is always good... right?"

The look he gives you does it again—a shiver, and it's not from the cold.

The mere idea of his hands on you is enough to make you sweat.

Maybe that's the perfect timing and opportunity to lay it on him that he's signing up for something he might not want.

"You want my help?" he asks. He nuzzles his face on yours, rubbing his beard on your cheek, down to your neck.

You bite your lip to stifle a moan. "Yeah."

"I'll do my best."

It'll be more than enough. That is—if you can survive the next few hours. If his kisses alone are enough to almost bring you to a fever again, his hands might kill you.

You would die happy.

PART THREE →

🏷️ @sakuralikestars — @mostardentily — @thegreat-annamaria — @leiticia — @polyglot-noodle — @casssiopeia — @bistarlight

#usernexusnyx #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic #joel miller #joel miller one shot #joel miller series #joel miller drabble #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller pedro pascal #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x oc #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction

[trashmouth-richie]

pt 1: flicker

summary: Hawkins Annual Halloween Festival is in town, and this year you and your friends were lucky enough to work the event. But when some of your co-workers are missing, and a trail of blood leads to the woods behind the festival. Your friends work together to find out what’s going on. A killer is on the loose but who could it be? Or is it the town’s spooky secret of what really happened at Hawkins Lab?

[tickets] [flyer] [clipboard]

pt 2: A SCREAM AND A SLICE

summary: the day is finally here and our joyful crew arrives to get their assignments for the work day.

tw: 18+ only goodbye minors, billy hargrove smut, billy hargrove being a disgusting human being, mentions of drinking and drugs, character death x 3, hallucinations, drunk behavior, etc childhood background stories.

The air is cool and crisp, fluttering an ombré of red and orange leaves all over the carnival. Staff was to arrive no later than 8 o’clock, sporting burnt orange Hawkins Haunted Carnival shirts with red hems on the neck and arms. “STAFF” printed on the back in black bold letters. 

Robin's hair and makeup looked exactly like it did last night, a little smudgy and unkept, the style suiting her personality and image to a T. She was holding onto Steve’s arm while picking gum from the bottom of her dirty converse. 

“Fuck I hate kids,” she grumbled, wiping the last bit of the pink wad of bubble gum on the grass. 

Argyle, Nancy, and Jonathan stood and watched. Nancy with her hair in a perfect pulled back ponytail showcasing her bone structure and light makeup, was wide eyed and bushy tailed, making up for the lack of enthusiasm everyone else brought with them this morning. 

Argyle’s long pin straight hair is braided down his back, and he looks almost half asleep, or maybe he was just high, but more than likely that was just him in general. 

You yawned loud behind your hand for the second time since racing into the parking lot, Eddie poked you in the ribs and shook his head, he had wanted to stop at the gas station for some badly brewed coffee this morning upon finding out that your apartment was lacking any sort of caffeine, but you were already going to be late and Mr. Creel’s speech last weekend about not being on time, would scare anyone straight. 

That is unless you were Billy Hargrove. 

Billy rolled in a full thirty minutes past the time all staff were expected to be dressed and ready to go. A cigarette hung lazily from his mouth and the hickies on his neck were splotchy and fading yellow on the edges. He was clutching a can of beer upon walking over to the group, finishing the contents and tossing it behind his shoulder. 

His chin nodded to Eddie in that douchey dude type of greeting. One he reciprocated with flared nostrils and tense shoulders. 

Billy and Eddie used to be as thick as thieves, running like hellions through the trailer park, with you trailing behind them, trying to keep Eddie out of trouble. They had disturbed any little sort of peace that the tenants ever found there. They tormented the occupants of Forest Hills by egging their houses or lighting bags of dog shit ablaze on their steps.

But the boys were left to their vices much like their parents were. Neil and Al knew each other from high school, oftentimes spending nights at the Hargroves kitchen table laughing after many beers about the cars they’d stolen and the broads they shared. Hands around their chests like parentheses to emphasize the breast size of one in particular. 

Billy’s apple didn’t fall far from Neil’s tree, a ladies man but rotten to the core.  However when it came to Eddie and Al, it was almost as if Eddie’s apple was from a different tree entirely, rough on the edges and a little banged up, but the inside was sugary sweet, much tastier than the sour bite Billy’s had to offer. 

You never forgave the blue eyed boy for pushing you off your bike, a scar still etched into your knees, or for chasing you around with a snake he caught by Coolwater Creek. 

Eddie wiped your tears when you cried to him about how mean Billy was. His own brown eyes welling seeing you so upset. He convinced him to leave you alone. And since that day, you were the driving wedge between them at 8 years old and you stayed there up until last year, when the tie that bound them together was ripped apart.

“You’re late Billy-boy,” Mr. Creel sneered, the pierce of his blue eyes shining like heated crystals, “do you not own a watch?”

“Just got in,” Billy said with a yawn, his muscular arms stretching over his head and showcasing his abs when his shirt rode up. 

“I guess I wasn’t aware you had another job.” 

“Oh I’m not paid for this type of manual labor, I do it for free.” He glances over at you and shoots you a wink. And the shiver that shook through you was anything but pleasant. 

Steve rolls his eyes, pulling Nancy into his front and resting his chin on the top of her head. 

Eddie shifts to the side of you that billy is closest too and blocks his view. He made your skin crawl like it was infested with bugs. 

You didn’t like him anymore than he liked you, Heather Holloway was one of the sweetest girls you’d ever met, and to this day you couldn’t figure out why she fell in his traps. He didn’t care about her, only used her to keep his bed warm when he was out doing God knows what with God knows who. His dick was dirtier than a pile of laundry, and he was out of detergent. 

“Let’s not make this a habit, we have a festival to run, and you,” Mr. Creel says, thumbing through a clipboard, “… are on Corn Maze Duty until sun down, then you’re driving the Haunted Hayride like we discussed last week.” 

“Munson, you and Pebbles? Is that a real name?,”

“no,” you say with a laugh, nudging Eddie in the ribs, he was the only one called who still called you that after your moms had decided to dress you both as Pebbles & Bam Bam for Halloween one year, for Eddie, the name stuck, “it's a nickname from when we were— 

“Don’t care.” 

 “You two are on rides, Hairyten—

“It’s Harrington,” Steve interjects but Mr. Creel doesn’t stop.

“.. will take over for you at sundown and then your ‘band’ takes the stage.” 

Billy scoffs around a lit cigarette and Eddie puts a hand on your shoulder to stop you from reaching around him to slap the mustache off his face. 

“Girl Wheeler and R-guy-el are on games… Buckley, you and Hairytoes will be working the ice cream stand, Byers you’re in charge of taking promotional photos. Please make sure the children are smiling. I don’t need any snot nosed little brats blubbering while getting their face painted like a clown, it will drive down sales.” 

Jonathan nods with wide eyes, checking his bag with fumbling fingers making sure he had extra lenses and plenty of film. 

Nancy stands at attention, flipping through her binder full of the game rules, she had been studying it all week, not wanting to give Mr. Creel any sort of assumption that she wasn’t taking her position seriously. 

“Relax Nance,” Steve purred, a little louder than a whisper, “you’re gonna kick ass at this.” 

You didn’t know Steve Harrington was capable of being supportive of another person until Nancy came along. When they first started going out Eddie and you took bets on whether or not it would last. Nancy wasn’t anything like the other trashy girls at your school throwing themselves at King Steve any and every chance they got. 

She was reserved and shy. Pretty in a classy way, minimal makeup needed on her cherub features. And Steve fell hook line and simp er for her. He lost friends, lost his title at school but he didn’t care. He felt unstoppable with Nancy on his arm. 

It made you wish you had a love like theirs, minus the breaking up part, you had dated before but nothing that would last. 

You remember spending a very drunk night with Eddie once on the roof of his trailer, begging him to tell you who he thought was the hottest girl in school. Going through every grade, every single girl from the mathletes to the athletes, the teased hair of Tina down to the short bob of Barb, but he wouldn’t budge. 

“Come on, Eddie .. that was every girl in the school besides Shit teeth O’Donnell.” you laughed and rolled into his chest, spilling beer onto his shirt, your chin sitting on his sternum as he looked at you with a serious stare.

“Not every girl.” 

“Yeah huh,” you poked at his ribs and his armpits only for him to overpower you completely and pin you down, the ends of his hair tickling your cheeks had you squealing. 

“Say uncle or I’m gonna make you piss yourself.” 

“You wouldn’t dare!” 

The dark glint of mischief in his eye wasn’t lost on you,

“D’ you know me at all?” 

The night ended with your jeans and underwear in Eddie’s washing machine, his boxers on your waist after you took a shower and used all of his conditioner. A $3.00 payback for him actually tickling you until you peed yourself, you were just happy Wayne wasn’t home when you waddled through the Munson trailer with wet pants and a hyena laughing Eddie behind you. 

Diversion was his best game, because he never answer your question. 

“Remember.” Mr Creel said pointing to you and Eddie, “two minute rides if there isn’t a line, one minute rides sounds perfectly fine, three minutes and they’ll puke on the floor, 4 minutes and you’re at Satan’s door.” 

He recited the creepy poem without blinking, simply looking from your face and back to Eddie’s, a grim smile on his Curt lips. When he was through he turned on his heel and walked away, snapping at Heather and Chrissy to get to the face painting station. 

“Well that wasn’t weird at all.” Eddie said, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised into his frizzy bangs, clearing his throat. 

“Yeah no shit,” Steve grimaced, “such a weird mother fucker.”

Nancy shut her binder and spoke to you, “sorry about last night— I think I’m just a little stressed.” 

“No worries, Nance, Eddie ended up staying at my place and we smoked a bit and went to sleep.”

“Don’t forget about that weird shit with the streetlights,” Eddie chimed in. 

“Streetlights?” Jonathan asked you, “what about ‘em?” 

“Nah man it’s cool,” Eddie chirped in, lighting a cigarette and offering it to Jonathan, “Pebs and I smoked a little too much, thought we saw some weird shit, that’s all.” 

“Well, my lights went out last night, went outside to check it out and the whole street was dark.” 

Maybe you weren’t high as fuck lastnight on Rick’s Redrum. What if there was actually something strange going on. 

“Did they turn red and explode?” you ask him, trying not to seem too alarmed that someone else who wasn’t high and on the complete opposite side of town experienced the weird lights. 

He picks a scab on his arm between blunt fingernails, uninterested in the conversation, “no idea, just noticed they were burnt out..didn’t see anything else, but hey, I’ll see you guys later okay, I forgot my wallet.” 

With that he turns and leaves, holding his satchel close to his body so the expensive camera attachments don’t break. 

Steve and Nancy kiss each other goodbye and Argyle steps forward to Steve batting his eyelashes, “what about me handsome?” He laughs before Steve can smile awkwardly and walks beside Nancy, asking about her new Reeboks. 

“Six months since we played truth or dare at Munson’s and that guy won’t let it go,” Steve says, shaking his head, “see ya later, don’t have too much fun,” with that he grabs Robin’s elbow and directs her towards the Scoops Ahoy stand. 

Eddie laughs at the memory of a peachy cheeked Steve leaning in to press his lips to Argyle’s. A dare that had Nancy in tears, and had you comforting her for an entire week. 

It was the same night that you had drunk almost an entire handle of vodka and woke up naked in Eddie’s bed, next to Jonathan. 

To this day you don’t remember what happened. 

You left in a hurry when you woke and realized the sleeping body next to you was not only naked but belonged to Jonathan Byers, and you didn’t have any panties on. 

Grabbing your clothes and shoving your feet into your shoes, you stepped over Argyle’s cocooned form in the hallway— using the bathroom rug as a blanket. 

Tiptoeing over the squeaky parts of the linoleum floor you made a glance to the living room and saw that Eddie was sawing logs in Wayne’s recliner. 

You felt dirty, full of shame and guilt as you looked at him forlornly, not able to nail down why you had felt that way. Eddie and you were friends, nothing more than that. 

The door shut behind you in a quiet creak and you sped home as fast as you could, bleary eyed and confused. 

Thankfully, Jonathan wasn’t upset when you told him the next day that you didn’t remember what had happened, and he was relieved, chuckling with a hand on the back of his neck, because he hadn’t remembered that night either. 

You vowed to never tell a soul about that night, and you waited for Eddie to ask you about it, to make some crack about him finding your panties in his room, but he never spoke a word of it. 

You stifle a nervous laugh, “yeah that night was crazy.” 

“yeah no shit, Wayne’s still mad that I ruined his cowboy boots.” 

You smack his chest with the keys, laughing at the memory of his white ass and wild hair running down the dirt road, wearing only Wayne’s boots and his cowboy hat to cover his dignity, the first dare of the night, “c’mon, Munson, I’ll race ya.” 

-

The day flew by, people came from all around to shove their asses into the metal seats of the rides you and Eddie were in charge of. 

Kids of all ages ate melty ice cream and got their faces painted into princesses, witches, pumpkins and spooky ghouls and goblins. 

Eddie’s little gaggle of DnD buddies from high school ran through the carnival like they owned the place. Hootin’ and hollerin’ making themselves look like a bunch of assholes, and you wondered if he sometimes missed that part of being in school. 

Steve and Robin were fending off Erica Sinclair and her many attempts at getting free samples, but realizing if they did give her what she wanted, they’d run out of ice cream and have to close up earlier than expected. Erica Sinclair would later leave the carnival with a sugar high and a stomach ache. 

Argyle gave away the giant stuffed bear on the first ring toss game, earning him a psychotic look from Creel and whiny kids all day not having anything to look forward to when they won, but nothing a few coupons to Surfer Boy Pizza wouldn’t fix when the parents got involved. Nancy was almost in tears at the way Argyle didn’t follow the rules and his dude-like approach to the day's events. 

—

Robin was in a mood, her normal chaotic rambling mouth self was eerily quiet today. An abnormality for the freckled face girl. And Steve was doing what any normal best friend would; hounding her on what the hell was going on. 

“Drop it pretty boy, I mean it I am fine!” She tossed the ice cream scoop back into the carton container and slammed the freezer door, huffing and lighting a cigarette. 

He saw the way her demeanor changed when Vickie showed up to the carnival with her boyfriend. The same boyfriend who Vickie had promised Robin that she had dumped months beforehand. 

Steve watched as Robin’s eyes flashed with hurt and anger as Vickie sauntered up to the Scoops Ahoy booth, no look of guilt or shame anywhere on her porcelain features, she acted completely oblivious to Robin’s behavior, like she had never even met her before. 

“She’s a bitch Robin,” Steve jabbed, hooking a thumb over his shoulder and wiggling his keys,  "I'll go run her over with my car right now if that’d make you feel better.” 

She had to admit, watching the light leave Vickie’s eyes might make her feel better. The crushing of her bones would play like a symphony in her head. She wanted her to hurt just as much as she was right now. 

“Nah,” Robin says shaking her head, “not worth it, let’s just get day drunk instead, or better yet,” she pushed her ass onto the counter, and swung her hips out to the opening, her long legs hitting the dirt and crunching beneath her converse, “is Argyle still working games with Nance?” 

—

“That’s what I’m sayin’ man, fuckin’ aliens and shit,” Argyle says with blood shot eyes, “this town, it’s crawlin with em, you’re not one of them are you, Byers?” 

Argyle was on one of his many pot induced tangents about aliens and monsters. It was hard to tell if he was just high or if he truly believed in multi dimensional beings that walked the same paths we did but were hidden from us by the government. 

“I think,” Jonathan says, adjusting his camera around his neck and holding it to eye level, “that you spend too much time with Munson,” he angled the camera just right and snapped the shutter button. Capturing candids of kids throwing softballs at steel milk jugs set into a triangle.  

Argyle wipes his upper lip and throws a braided lengthy lock behind his shoulder, “and how do you know Eddie is wrong? M-Maybe Dungeons & Dragons is real. And the dice is like, the days we have left,” his eyes widen further as he licks at his lips absentmindedly, rambling on, “Eddie’s putting us all into little situations, so he’s like a- a god or a master! Like figurines and shit…”

Jonathan tries his best to drown out Argyle’s stoned ‘epiphanies’ knowing all too well the rabbit hole he’d fall down and wouldn't be able to see the light of day until the lasting effects of purple palm tree delight subsided. 

Argyle’s eyes go wide, “…yeah I hope I got a long sword or something, I’ll definitely need it.” 

“DnD isn’t real,” Jonathan huffs in annoyance, “it’s a fantasy game, one designed to make you think outside of normal everyday life, at least that’s what Will says.” 

“Will the Wise,” Robin calls from behind them, her long fingers tangled in her hair, trying to put her short cut into two little ponytails, “isn’t that what they call him?” 

Jonathan nods, “yeah, yeah it is.” A smile of appreciation on his face, “how’s ice cream going? I saw Vickie… sorry.”

“Love that kid, and yeah that’s why I’m here, need to forget,” she says leaning against the softball toss, the toe of sneaker catching the knee of Argyle’s colorful pants, her forefinger and thumb up to her lips, “you carrying today or do I actually have to pay Munson?” 

“Nah little birdy, I’m all out,” Argyle says with eyelids half closed, “but I heard Rick’s runnin’ some new shit, kinda psychedelic like.” 

—

By six in the afternoon, Eddie was crabby and ready for Steve to take over. His hair was sweaty and a bandana was tied around his head. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, showing off his muscles and the tattoos on his arms. 

“Take it easy with this shit, ‘m serious,” Eddie says passing Robin the joint and pocketing the cash, “we saw some weird shit last night after smoking, just go to the woods or somethin where no one will see you.” 

Robins fingers clasp the paper of the joint and hold it into a loose fist, she bows and salutes Eddie, “Aye aye cap’n, I promise, I’ll be good.” 

He watched her leave and shook his head. He didn’t know the entire ins and outs of Robin’s relationship with Vickie, but he knew enough that Robin was hurt more than she was happy, and he felt bad for her. 

At least Robin was brave enough to be her true self. Eddie couldn’t even tell the girl he had a crush on for years that he liked her. 

“These kids are fucking assholes,” he said to you when you brought him a lemonade and bummed him a smoke, “yeah I’m talking to you Mayfield, shouldn’t even be on this ride with two broken arms but what the hell do I know?” 

The redhead flipped him a double bird and yelled out, fucker! as her basket on the Zipper spun faster and faster. 

“Were we like this sophomore year?” Eddie asks you around a puff of smoke. 

“Oh absolutely not,” you said matter of factly, “we were worse.” A smile breaks from your lips and Eddie returns it, only his crinkled out your favorite dimple. 

“Fuck man,” he exhaled, hitting a random button on the ride, and raising his eyebrows when it beeped back at him and shook the baskets loudly, “this whole town still thinks I did that shit to Higgin’s dog.” 

It wasn’t a secret what had happened. And as much as everyone swore it was Eddie who did that heinous crime, he was with you that night, stealing cartons of cigarettes from the gas station while the attendant was busy trying to get your number and look down your shirt. 

You knew Eddie was innocent but the town wasn’t convinced, even Wayne questioned him for a while about it. But Eddie wouldn’t squeal on you, knowing that you were just as guilty as he was, and he wouldn’t tarnish your squeaky clean reputation. Not even to save himself. 

“We know the truth, and that’s what matters,” you breathe, stealing the cigarette from his hands and placing it into your mouth. 

Eddie shakes his head, “yeah I know, just wish we knew who did do it.” 

“Ri runno Raggy,” you said using your best Scooby Doo impression, “rits a rystery.” 

Eddie chuckles and shows you his dimples again, a pretty blush painted on his cheeks, “you can always get me to laugh, even when I’m pissed the fuck off at some little shits.” 

He plucks the rest of the cigarette from your lips and takes the last drag between his thumb and forefinger before flicking it off into the dirt. 

He brushes an eyelash from your cheek with his knuckle, and he holds it there for a bit, unconsciously licks at his lips,  “That’s why you’re my favorite,” he admits for the one hundredth time, but it still felt good to hear. Still made your stomach somersault and the glittery butterflies flutter. 

Before you can say anything the kids on Eddie’s ride start screaming to get off, having been spinning upside down for over the time limit. Satan’s door according to Creel. 

“Shit,” he mutters before turning the ride down, the heat on your cheeks and the burn from his finger still there. 

—

“c’mon I know you wanna,” the clink of his flask unscrewing followed by the chugging slurp from his throat burned her ears, but not more than the red pock marks on her forearm from his cigarette ashes.

She didn’t want to lose him, she knew how lucky she was that he tolerated her and kept her around. After all he only fucked the other girls to piss off their boyfriends. But she meant something to him. Right? 

“Are you sure no one will see us?” She was used to the thrill of being with Billy, mistaking the fight or flight feeling for adoration, the crazed look in his eye for lust. 

He was everything all the other guys in Hawkins were not. A legendary bad boy. All leather jackets and tight jeans, the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen, a fast car that smelled of musky cologne, cigarettes and sex on Friday nights. 

He had shown her things only seen in movies, hickied her up in spots that only he would see, and fucked her in places that would make Satan himself jealous. 

Heather Holloway was completely wrapped up in everything Billy Hargrove brought to the table, only to be leaving starved for more. 

“Who fuckin’ cares,” he grunts, lighting a cigarette and blowing it towards the orange painted sky, “ain’t nothin’ they haven’t seen before.” 

She obeyed like she always did, a simple okay Billy and she was on her knees in the soft upturned soil, nothing but a single row of pale yellowing corn stalks behind her, rustling against the breeze and knocking against one another in a broken violin screech. 

She adjusts her dark curls away from her face, and waits with an eager mouth for what he has to offer. The teeth of his zipper purr as he undoes his pants, holding a thick meaty cock up to her pretty lipgloss smile. 

He’s putty in her hands, rocking his hips up to shove himself further into her mouth, and he groans when he falls into her wet throat. 

Fuck Heather, that’s it. 

He doesn’t hear the scraping of the corn leaves on a quiet shoulder, or the way the dirt crumbles underneath footsteps. He’s high above it, drunk on the feel of his dick in Heather's mouth, and the slight graze of her teeth against his shaft. 

The blade is dull, taking much effort to slice through the muscles of Billy’s back and angling upwards beneath his ribs into his lungs.

Billy gags and gurgles on his own blood, noises that could be easily mistaken for pleasure. The knife is unsheathed and slid across Billy’s throat in a fluid motion spilling claret colored blood down the front of his shirt, he’s dead before he hits the ground. 

Heather is frozen with fear, she lets out a scream that’s stopped cold by the blade puncturing her temple, her lifeless body falling to the soft ground with a thud. 

The blade is wiped clean. Any blood splatters are left on the mask and hidden in the tree line, their lifeless bodies are stuffed further into the corn maze, vacant expressions on their cold faces. 

—

“… Jesus Christ.” 

“Beautiful isn’t it?” 

Standing 10 feet tall and brandishing slick, gray translucent skin, the flower head shaped monster screeched at the sight and smell of blood pumping, racing.

“Exactly how he described, I can't believe the tunnel leads here.” 

“The tunnels are all over Hawkins, he designed it, just like they said he would. Now c’mon, sun is about to set and I need help figuring out this code, son-of-a-bitch wrote it like a damn puzzle.”

—

Eddie wasn’t kidding, the strain was powerful. Robin was walking in a dream land of brownie covered ground and licorice grass. She was seeing things;  beautiful, ominous, things she wouldn’t be able to describe. 

And she knew she was high when she heard a high pitch scream from the corn field on her right— damn this shit was good. 

Her face was sticky and so were her hands, the sky spun above her as she laid flat on the cake bed ground, watching the tangerine soda sky as it shifted above her like a kaleidoscope. 

But no matter how many times she blinked her eyes, one piece of the dream never blurred away. A figure standing straight in the air below a tree branch. 

Upon further eye squinting, Robin realized she recognized it to be someone she knew very well. 

She had seen those eyes before. She had felt those hands on her skin. And the gold ring on the delicate middle finger looked way too familiar to just be a coincidence. 

But there wasn’t any way that this could be real, just a prop for a good gag right, or the everlasting effect of the funny smelling joint from Eddie. 

Because why was Vickie standing stone still..? With a large knotted necklace around her pretty neck, covered in red paint, and why wasn’t she moving? 

♡ thank you for reading, please consider a rb, or dropping a comment below, I would love to hear from you and your thoughts on this chapter.

♡ currently receiving messages in my askbox on who you think the killer is

part 3: THE ROCKSTAR AND THE REDLIGHTS

♡tag list: @dashingdeb16 @emxxblog @mopeymopeymouse @pretendthisnameisclever @mommybaby-witch @eddies-acousticguitar @tlclick73 @figmentofquinn @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @whenshelanded @micheledawn1975 @3rd-conchord * @leelei1980 @mopeymopeymouse @browneyes8288 @emilyslutface @mmunson86 @josephquinnsfreckles @eddiesxangel @elegantkoalapaper * @str4ngergirlw0rld * @corrodedcoffincumslut @nailbatanddungeon @katethetank @munsons-mayhem28 * @mandyjo8719 @joannamuns9n @littlebookworm86 @hunnybuns-world @littlegingerbat

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #stranger things #Steve Harrington

[cherubispunk]

CHERUB (PART I) - Dealer!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: your uncle can’t pay for his weed, joel finds another form of payment.

a note from Lucy: SHEEE'S BAAACK! im sorry but someone had to do it. I took it into my own hands. Hate myself...but I love this. When fleabag said ‘I am a bad feminist’>>>.

playlist | alternate banner by THE cherub @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

wc: 3377 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! no outbreak (but Sarah still dies sorry), no use of y/n but joel calls the reader ‘Cherub’, porn with little plot, bombastic age gap (reader is in her early 20's and Joel is in his late 50s), Smut, dubcon, P in V sex (unprotected), Creampie, Cumplay, dom!Joel sub!reader dynamic, sex as payment for drugs, allusions to oral - m receiving, Fingering, ever so slight assplay, Choking, gagging (not on his d tho *sigh*), panty sniffing and stealing, Light Spanking, mentions of using drugs such as weed, alcohol consumption, Smoking, use of pet names (baby, cherub, angel, good girl...etc), Joel being foul mouthed, cursing, dirty talk, spitting, spit play. Some of the most animalistic, disgustingly wretched and vile porn I have written thus far...with so little plot that this earned me my place in hell. Big Dick Joel Miller comes as his own warning.

series m.list | m.list

It was no delicate whisper, or hushed uttering that Joel Miller was now everywhere in you. Scraping the backs of your teeth, festering like a virus in your bloodstream. Melding to the marrow of your bones. The walls of your cunt. 

He had a devastating habit of seeping through the cracks of your closed lids. Ready to pillage and plunder his way through your head in its numbed state of sleep. When you could have finally— finally stopped and not felt. But he ebbs deeper.

He did not belong there.

He would not belong there. You’d not give him closure to live and breathe in intimate parts of your anatomy. The only place he would be from now on was between your legs. And maybe in your bed until the wee hours of the dry morning. 

That is where you would let him sit.

That is where he would stay. 

You hate him. You hate his face. You hate his voice. Hate his fucking temper. But worst of all— the cataclysmic catalyst in your small world of four bedroom walls—you hate how you don’t hate him at all. Not really. Your heart wouldn’t let you. It would break your own ribs clean in two to lurch from your flayed chest and into his palms. If only he’d open them. 

Joel Miller gnashed you between his teeth to let you splatter past his lips on the sun cracked dirt. He circled you like a wild cat. His pretty gazelle. Graceful, light on her feet. You felt the splintering distraction of him in the base of your skull. Dull and aching. Still there to rot into earth.

You came for the pleasure but you stayed for the pain. 

Distraught with him, you contemplated desertion. Something akin to treason for his tyranny. Cowardice churning at your gut. The pleasure you would draw from the curling scowl of his coarse brows. The thin line you’d make of his lips and dark mist of hickory that would cloud his eye and better judgement. 

But then what? You soon learned  that if it wasn’t devastating, reaping its agony in your silly little fractured chest— you didn’t dare need, nor crave it. Joel Miller was harrowing. 

Broken. Broken, broken, broken — Maimed, shattered, blistered to burst like waterlogged paint. He made you all, and nothing. Made you shrivel into your own shell at the phantom of his thought. Baring your teeth at the need to divulge in feeling deeper than satiation. 

—

You’d cycled back home, hair damp and lank with rare Austin rain. Slow circles of the pedals around a pivot, swerving gently from one side of the empty road to the other. Eyes ahead of you. It was like you were floating in a daze under the yellow saturation of the streetlamps. Past shabby housing estates back to the trailer park you called home. Tips from tonight tucked into the pocket of your apron, ready to be stored under the mattress in the moth bitten pillowcase. Ready to find your flight out of this town. 

You skidded to a halt in the pebble speckled dirt outside your trailer, brakes squealing in protest. Standing to lock up your bike to the railing by your uncles beat up, busted down truck. A heavy thunder cracked above, a swollen storm cloud rolling in to send the summer out on its departure with a bang. September was here. And the air smelled acidic with the promise of downpour. 

Glancing at the trailer next door, you came to realise your neighbour was in. Lights on, music rattling aluminium walls of his shabby home. You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes at him as he caught your eye in his window. Watching, thumb swiping over his lower lip as he eyed you in your uniform. A stupid yellow dress and pinafore, scuffed mary janes, frilly white socks. Ketchup stains. Doe eyes glued to him, you saw a swallow pass down the thick column of his throat. His deep hickory eyes were dark black in this light, pupils blown to devour the colour.  

Before the heat licking up your cheeks could pull to your centre, you moved one foot in front of the other, crashing through the door. The TV was on, a barbaric film of screams drowned out the thunder outside, rattling in your ears. Jarring? No. The regular. Your uncle, ever the washed up cop out he was, was on his fifth beer, no doubt would send a nightcap of whiskey down his throat before lugging himself off to bed. The bottle hung limp in his drunken hand, loosely dangled over the armrest of the leather couch.

He did not spare you a glance. 

“I’m home.” You called out to him, waving out a hand in his direction. His sunken stoner eyes didn't drift from the box television in front of him. Merely garbled grunt, followed by a beer burp passed his lips. You sighed through your nose, teeth set on edge. “You had dinner?” 

Another grunt. One you took as ‘the fuck do you think?’

You sighed, “Okay, i’ll throw somethin’ in the oven, yeah?” This time he did not spare an answer. 

You took it as a blessing. Could have been worse. He could have struck you for being late, taking on overtime for Dee, the young mother who worked alongside you on friday evenings. You needed the money. Uncle Luke got laid off last month, turning up to the impound lot drunk, reeking of hard liquor and staggering around machinery. 

So you left it at that, disappeared to hide your money, counting out the bills into piles of ten. Just shy of ninety six dollars. All gathered and stuffed under your mattress. Next was dinner. Nothing much in the fridge, a box of frostbitten waffle fries, out of date in the back of the freezer. Or leftover pizza from the night before. Why not both. ‘Have a feast!’ you humoured yourself dryly. 

It was an hour or so later into the evening when your uncle finally spoke up, empty plate resting on his beer belly, another belch to punctuate the first words he said to you all evening.

“Do me a favour and drop by Joel's will ya, doll?” You sat up, looking at him from the lazyboy seat you perched in, feet kicking down from the coffee table. 

“Joel’s? Why?” He looked over to see your brow furrowed in question. 

“Usual dealer is outta town. Joel’s hookin’ me up with some in the meantime.” 

“Come on,” You sighed, tilting your head at him the way a parent would do with a child in pity, “I thought you were clean.”

“It’s just weed.” He snapped, voice gruff in his thick drawl, slurred. “Aint gonna fuckin’ kill me. But you might. Expensive brat.” 

The thought flickered across your mind to argue. Fight back. Tell him you were fighting tooth and nail for the rent due next month. But the bruise of his handprint and the simmering burn of his slap to your face the night before stopped your words dry in your throat. 

“Fine.” You sighed. 

And so, with heavy feet and a grudge in your tight chest, you ambled on over to the next door, knuckles rapping on his door three times quickly. 

Joel Miller opened the door with a puff of air out his nose, cigarette hanging loose from his lips. A barrel chested man in a tight wife beater and low slung dirty jeans, brow set in stone. The corner of his lip curled into a sneer of a smirk, taking no shame in the fact he was eyeing you head to toe. The devil down smirk. It made something disgusting tug at your insides, pool deeper in the thick of tension. 

“What can I do for you?” He asked in a drawl, crossing great oaks of arms over his chest. The neck of his tank let tease a smattering of salt and pepper hair over the top of his chest. Bristly, wiry. You ignored the urge to feel it catch in your nails. Do the same with the scruff, scant over his jaw. The same gradient. Just as coarse. 

“Um,” You eyes dropped from their ogling to the step your feet were planted on, head hung with them, “Uncle Luke said you had somethin’ for ‘im.” You mumbled after clearing your throat. 

“I do.” He nodded, pinching his cig between his thick thumb and forefinger, taking a drag and parting it with his lips. He squinted as he exhaled, the stench of the cigarette catching bitter in your nose. “He sent you over here to get it? A sweet lil’ thing like you.” 

You nodded hesitantly, still not daring to look at the man in front of you. Above you. He chuckled inwardly at your display of subservience, cock twitching behind the zipper and denim of his jeans. “Look’t ya.” He mused, tossing his dying cigarette onto the gravel, hooking his tobacco stained fingers under your chin to lift it. While your head tilted up at his touch, your eyes strained to stay on the floor. He watched as the stretch of your neck struggled to accommodate a nervous swallow, skin rippling deliciously under his hold. “Lil’ angel aint ya?” He thumbed your head to the side, eyes relishing in the sight of more skin, the wash of yellow light over your profile. “A Cherub.”  Cherub. That’s what he named you. His little Cherub who was defiled and taken in a heated, frantic assembly of limbs. Pulled to fire at hell's mouth. Joel Miller's mouth.

Still you looked down. “Look at me, Cherub.” And with a heavy sigh you did. That was what was so easy about Joel. It took nothing to obey. Nothing to give in and keel over at his side. “That's better.” He mumbled under his breath, watching the rise of your chest. You could feel the pert tips of your breasts pebble at the meeting of his eyes, mixed with his touch. How delicate it was now. How deranged it would be later. “Come on in…Cherub.” He practically crooned the pet name, stepping aside. 

You passed the threshold, a mistake for the best and words parts of you. Because stepping across that line was the damning event in your experience of Joel Miller. Pandora’s box had been opened, left to decay in the woods somewhere as evil poured guilt free from it.

He rummaged around for a second, pulling a clear plastic ziplock bag from a duffel in the corner, dangling it in front of your face. A dirt green, clustered in form. You reached to take it, but he snatched it back with a cruel smile, making the walls of your stomach curl in dread, jaw clamp shut. 

“Luke’s gotta pay up, first. He give you money for me?” You shook your head. His eyes clouded darker.  “No?” He raised an amused brow, “How you gonna pay for it, Cherub?” 

You're stumped. “I– I…” Your voice died in your throat. But Joel can seemingly peer inside you to your own mind, part it like a page of a book or your own legs. 

“I don’t want your money, baby.” 

“Woulda been mine, anyway.” You sigh. And he narrows his eyes at you, tutting in disappointment. 

“I can think ’f one thing that’ll make it up to me.”

And that's how you ended up here. His thick, intruding fingers hooking into your mouth, unhinging your jaw as he speared you on his cock. Everything about him was larger than life. Even the way he breathed was domineering. Fucking you with flared nostrils that gave way to a billowing a breath. The other hand at your neck, revelling at the feeling of your pulse hammering under his splayed palm. Worming your way though cracks in his thick ribs while took you.

He had folded you in half, pressed the knobbles of your knees up to the sides of your head as tears ran thick, hot and slow down your temples. He made it hurt. But you loved it. Needed him to evaporate into air so you inhale him. Devour him. 

He grunted, watching in furrowed brow amusement while his thumb pressed into the soft flesh under your jaw, middle and forefinger coated in your slick form earlier and now your own saliva. 

It was a primal image. One some may find disgusting. To see him bent over you and ravaging your cunt raw. Bleeding you dry of a semblance of sanity. It was so easy when the tip of his hot, angry cock nipped at the mouth of your cervix with vigour like that. His hand is at your throat, pressing a purple bruise into your flesh over the old one made by another man. For you to marvel at later when he once again staggers from bed to refresh himself with a cool beer, clutching the ache that curled at the base of his spine. 

In his eyes, you needed a big god. A man to keep you to yourself. Never have you stray. Ground you with the slamming of his pelvis into your hips. Legs parted for him to eye the very core of you. The seam he would part with two fingers, hot, needly, wet for him. Aching and pinching and shuddering around his digits, tongue, dick. Letting him invade you like the good girl he told you you were, crooning into your ear with hot damp breaths. 

Joel dredged up an ache of humanity in you that felt numb so long before. Lay dormant in the chasm of your stomach. Swallowed like a peach pit to choke on later. After the sin had dried like the sweat on your skin.

“Fucking easy, ain’t ya, Cherub.” He would say as he penetrated your walls, invaded your mouth with his fingers. His lips draw open mouthed, wet kisses to the delicate column of your throat, down the bone between your breasts. Then he leans back, watching intently as his hips slow to grind, dragging the slick of your walls to drench the base of his cock. Ready for you to take down your throat later if he wished to meld you into that position. A hand let free the grip on your throat, instead watched with fascination as he slapped your tit, took the swell of it in his palm, cupping it, tugging at your pearled nipple. “Gonna take all of it for me, Cherub.” 

You garbled out a yes, a cry of submission to him. Before, Joel never felt the acidic aftertaste of guilt for being selfish. Since he lost Sarah, he took it upon himself to have what he wanted and when he wanted it, without a damn for the rest of humanity.

The only time he felt a shred of remorse was when he stole you; Hid you away from the warm, nurturing touch of others' more loving, less brutal hands. But you were his Cherub. All that was pretty a beautiful and to be desired in the world.

With his lip between his teeth, his thumb swiped tight circles over your swollen clit, slick aiding him in the fluidity of his strokes, heavy balls drizzled in your arousal as they slap wetly against your ass. A nod and his fingers slip further into your mouth, opening your jaw wider to peer inside. A glob of his spit drooled past his lips, splattering thick and warm upon your clit. It slid down to your entrance, where he punctures moans out of you, shaft stretching you, fucking you out, and thrusting with the intent to break you. You can feel the curve of it, the vein that runs steady on the underside of it. Heavy, full. You remember the slap it sounded out when you reached to pull it free. Before he parted your legs wide and sheathed himself in your pussy with one swift wane of his hips.

Joel smiles when you sob and break down for him, pull back a layer for him to slip into you. The walls of you drag him down into a grounding. A centre of a universe. Gravity strong enough to implode, create dark matter, compress tightly into a black hole. The centre of his universe. 

“Does my baby want it?” He crooned, and you yelped a yes, strangled by his being. The scent of him clinging to you, your sex. It gnarled at your skin. Scratched marks into flesh. “Does she want to come for me?” 

You didn't have to nod, he made you with his grip on your jaw. It was going to be your answer anyway. “Want you to say it for me too, Cherub.” 

“Yea, Joel!” You yelp, voice shrill, and cracked like the callus on the heel of his hand. “Yes!” 

He grins, wicked and wrapped with the inter to tear you apart from the inside with the jackhammering of his cock inside you, The delicious, toe curling numbness of it inside you. 

“Come on, Cherub, sing f’me.” 

“Yes-” It's a shriek, a quick, frenzied shriek. One that filled the hollow of your chest and then deflated it. “Yes! Please, please, please- Please!” 

Your begging melts in his ears, the sight of eyes rolled back, mouth open for him. And he needs to feel, reaching between where the two of you join with your own hand. The base of his cock now between your middle and ring fingers, his length swiping your fingers in combined precum and slick as he bucks his hips violently. The headboard shakes and trembles beneath his frantic movement. And he presses the heel of your hand into your clit, having you seeing stars. Crying to the heavens you fell from. 

His little Cherub. Plush skin and plump curves for his teeth to sink into and mark his territory. Whenever he may please now. 

“Come.” 

And you do, screaming his name to him as a numb weight fills the pit of your core, has your pussy pulsing in waves, ebbs and flows. It sucks him deeper, a lew squelch gaining his attention when his lower abdomen and balls tighten. He lets out a strangled groan, filling you with one final push upon your cervix. 

It has you gasping for air, chest heaving when he looks down between you, the white sticky ooze of his come seeping from your walls, softening cock still sheathed inside of you. Not ready to pull from the warmth your cunt hugs him with. 

“That’s it, angel, down you come.” He coos, before sifting his hips, leaving you to whine as your gaping hole fluttered furiously around nothing.  

He stands, pulls his jeans on, fly still undone, belt buckle loose and clinking at his sides. He swipes your underwear from the scattering of your clothes over the musty carpet, bringing it to his nose to inhale. “Part of the payment.” He mumbles, not that you’re listening, mind still swimming in its pool of oxytocin. And he slips the lace into his jean pocket, baby pink peeking out from denim. 

“Better get back, Cherub.” Joel said plainly, fingers dancing over your used hole, as cum dribbles gluttonously from it, down your crack to your puckered asshole. He thumbs it gently and you squeal, squirming away. His hand clamps down upon your thigh, dragging you back down the mattress to his unyielding touch. 

“Don’t be ungrateful now.” He growls, collecting the creamy spend with two fingers, scooping it back inside you. Your body jolts from the intrusion, but gathers itself again and desire swims low in the swell of your belly. “Want it all in ya’. Fillin’ you nice and good for me, Cherub. There we are, that’s it.” He smiles, eyes unmoving from your cunt as his fingers disappear inside and stretch it out, scissoring you to overstimulation. “Maybe one day i’ll get to use this one too…” And you feel his thumb once more at your butt, adding the smallest tease of pressure.

Joel pulled back, clapping a hand down on the plush, malleable skin of your thigh. 

“Up ‘n out, Cherub, ‘fore your uncle gets suspicious.” 

You know Uncle Luke won’t know any different. He’s passed out on the sofa when you get in, legs trembling with an ache weighing the marrow of your bones. You shut the door with your back and a shaking huff, tossing the weed onto the coffee table, retiring to your room, sobbing to nothing and no one but your grimy pillow, licking your wounds like the wounded bitch you had now become.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x #the last of us #the last of us fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #joel tlou #lu’s little bookshelf #joel the last of us #tlou #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal #dealer!joel

[cookierin-simp]

CYBERSEX! - A DIRTY FANFICTION OF OBEY ME

“we do it the best….when we have cybersex”

Pairing : Mammon x fem reader

Warning: pure smut, jerking off, stranger to fuck, squirting, fingering, praising, encouragement, provocation

Note before reading: Mammon and MC are both stranger, they don’t know each other. Nada! No student exchange lore stuff!

Author note: HELLO GUYS I AM BACK. ITS MY BIRTHDAY TODAY SO I GAVE YALL A PRESENT *muah* I’m giving a google form at the end of the story for birthday wishes because I am a slut for attention <3

6:30PM

“Well! Ya prolly needa learn a thing or two about patience!”

“Says someone who stole my food!”

Mammon and Beelzebub had their mouths throwing words of condemnation as Lucifer stood between his two brothers, squeezing his nose bridge as he sighed in frustration. His shoes tapping the kitchen’s concrete floor, his other hand latching to his waist.

Satan and Asmodeus jumped to the crime scene, watching the heated arguments boiled tense inside the cookplace that had been destroyed in half by the orange beast. Beelzebub's wavering form trembled due to his struggle of not furthering any harm in the place.

Plus, he knew Lucifer would not tolerate far more ruckus.

“Listen, Mammon. Have you ever learned not to steal?” Lucifer growled with vapour hints to threaten him further. His crimson eyes flashed as he looked at Mammon.

The frosty haired demon stutters, finding his first brother’s glare as the second stage of his anger. “W-well! It's not stealing! I’m hungry! Aren’t we all family? We share things! That's what a family is!” Shouted the guy, constructing his reason well and brilliantly to trigger Lucifer’s weak spot by mentioning the words ‘family’. He knew that his sadistic brother would find his arguments logical. If anyone in this mansion understands how family works, Lucifer is the top so to speak.

Satan hummed cunningly, a devilish smirk painted his expression. “Mammon is dumb, but he even thinks his way to escape from Lucifer’s rage..”

Asmodeus crossed his arms to his chest, sighing awkwardly as his eyes stayed still to the spotlight of the show. “Maybe he could use that mind before eating Beel’s pudding…”

Having Lucifer’s eyes on Mammon did make the second born restless, but what was even more threatening was the way Beelzebub looked behind his first obstacle. Two beasts in front of him. One with sensible rage and the other just destroyed half of the kitchen because of a pack of convenience store bought custard.

Lucifer was back to rub his temple, while the hungry beast barked more and more insults and threats to Mammon that it was surprising to know how much of curse words the sixth born demon possesed.

“That’s it. You two. You are both grounded in your room for two days!” Lucifer confessed as he yelled, asserting dominance from Beelzebub ear-scratching abusive words. His hand stopped rubbing his forehead and both crossing to his chest, puffing up and confident with his punishments towards the two of his brothers.

Mammon clicked his tongue, hated the way he had to spend 48 hours inside his boring, luxurious room. It had nothing that could satisfy his sins. Sure, there was a big screen for the ultimate experience of watching movies, a pool, a personal computer set, etcetera..but all of it was a temporary experience of happiness. Plus, his favourite casino will be landing at the travelling carnival! He couldn’t possibly miss it! That casino changes their locations every week to blur the eyes of authorities, and keeping up with their route is exhausting.

“Why are ya punishin’ me like imma five years old?!” Mammon's accents thickened as well as his rebelliousness. Still not trying to lose the arguments that was clearly his fault to begin with. His yellow sunglasses properly to his face, meaning he actually planned to go out after eating the custards. Lucifer’s mind figured it out. Otherwise, Mammon would have just retreat and go to his room without being too defensive about it.

“Why? Are you planning to go anywhere?” Mammon’s upper brother asked, and for some reason did the chocolate skinned demon feel like he was a small statue. Lucifer cannot know about the casino. ���If you feel like my punishment to you is lenient, I can put more rocks in your bag” stated him. Poetically, Lucifer means to put a heavier burden on Mammon’s body.

That made Mammon instantly react with fast head shakes. Satan smiled curtly and whispered to the interested Asmodeus. “His head is going to fall off”

“That’s more like it” Lucifer calmly says as he walks towards the kitchen’s exit. He eyed the two observant with no words, but Satan quickly grasped the order. The blonde sighed and muttered an agreement. “Yeah, yeah. I know a great contractor. I will ask him to fix this…”

Finding Satan's quick capture of his sign a relief, Lucifer’s nod sternly.

“And as for you two troublemakers. Go to your room. Now”

9:45 PM

“Graah! That ol’ man must be thinkin’ with his goddamn dick to put me ‘n here”

Laying on the bed with no motivation to complete any schoolwork ahead, Mammon positioned himself where his whole body starfishing his king-sized bed while his head hung low at the edge of it. Never minding the cold inside his bedroom, Mammon’s body latched with a thin white fabric called ‘singlet’ and paired it with his black shorts.

When the greedy Mammon gets uneasy and agitated, his thick accent surfaced, making people wonder if he was raised in the countryside. Lucifer had trained him well to suppress his style, but even the second, most powerful demons could slip from time to time.

Frustrated by the fact that his favourite casino is probably having all sorts of beauty over, the confined demon spit to the ground, but never really shoots his saliva out. “Curse ‘ya! Curse every second one of ‘ya!” He whined, tossing all the blankets and pillows away to the wall.

As the grousing subsided, Mammon finally sighs his defeat. “Curse ‘em? More like a curse on me…”

His feet touching together as he sat on the bed, both finger toes intertwining out of boredom when the out of blue message lit up his brand new phone. Mammon lazily plugged his phone off from the cable, and opened to see the texts

Bro levi : yo

Bro levi : should hv not ate that custard

Bro levi : *laughing sticker*

Mammon’s eyes glared disgustingly towards Leviathan’s provoking message. Being stuck in the room for two days is a thing, but to miss out on the opportunity to gamble is another crucial reason to be pissed off. Topped with his otaku-headed brother's unnecessary remarks, Mammon decided not to push his button further. Putting his phone down, the mocha tinted demon retreated.

Bro levi : yo

Bro levi : should hv not ate that custard

Bro levi : *laughing sticker*

Mammon : ✅✅ seen

And as he thought that ignoring his brother’s snarky remarks would help Leviathan to shut up, another notification came through

Bro levi : seen?

Bro levi : ight sorry kay

Bro levi : boot up your pc. Lets match

He let out a low growl.

Mammon : not feelin it

Mammon : ya winnin’ anyway

As five seconds passed, his brother quick to reply

Bro levi : aw man

Bro levi : pussy

Mammon’s fingers typed hurriedly

Mammon : a pussy wont eat Beel’s custard

He set the phone aside, watching his ceiling with a heavy heart. If he agreed to play games with Leviathan it would just be another frustrating event.

DING

Bro levi : mkay

Bro levi : i know you are lonely and all

Bro levi : but usually when I’m bored I go here

Bro levi : *send a link*

Bro levi : it's pairing you with random people on the internet. But be mindful that you can come across humans so don’t really act like a fucking demon

And so on, the notifications kept popping up from Mammon’s device, making him one step away from tossing it away just like the fate of his pillows. Yet, how dare he do such a thing? It is a brand new phone that he had shown off for a week to his brothers, and one of them is betting that he can’t take care of it. He intends to prove the cunning Satan of his wrong assumptions.

“Ya fuckin turd I already told ya I dont wanna any ma—“

His voice stuck to his throat when he realised Leviathan was not trying to convince him to match, but instead recommending a sketchy website to kill his boredom off. Mammon blinked once, twice, triple, quadruple and so on. His mind contemplates his brother's sudden kindness that is definitely uncomfortable. The dominant hand of his stretched the thumb to the link, ready to press it yet still trembled ever so slightly.

“Fuck ya if ya scammin’ me”

He clicked on the link, and a big banner popped on the screen of his smartphone

“FOR BEST EXPERIENCE, PLEASE USE YOUR DESKTOP. CONTINUE?”

Mammon clicked his tongue. The first impression he had with this page was ‘annoying and complicated’. Yet still he crawled down his bed, bare footed as he walked on the carpet floor of his bedroom. Curiosity and indignation mixed together when he reached his personal computer set, which was built by Leviathan himself. From branded CPU to the highest quality of face camera, all was like a professional gaming set picked by the master’s selection. The first time Leviathan set this up, Mammon was drooling and spent nearly ten hours battling online.

He grabbed his gaming leather chair, turned it around as he dove his bottom to the seat, moaning in pleasure at the way it supported his spine. His slim finger pushed certains buttons as the computer booted up, and it does not take long for it to be completely accessible.

“Now let's see…” he murmured, grabbing the wireless mouse with his right hand, and supporting his chin with the left one. His silver rings stacked gorgeously to his slender digits. As he opened the browser, Mammon’s left pinky brushed his lips, teasing his own opening.

Copy pasted the link to his computer, the site quickly unveiled. Revealing a black and gold themed colour as there was a message of permission greeting the demon’s quick eyes.

“THIS SITE REQUIRE THE ACCESS OF YOUR FACE CAM AND MICROPHONE.”

“GRANT THE PERMISSION?”

[] yes

[] No

Another sound of tongue clicking softly emits from Mammon’s lips. “Too many requirements. This better be worth some time”

“GRANT THE PERMISSION?”

[^] yes

[] No

Mammon jumped from his seat lightly as a live recording of him appeared to the left side of the website, while the chatting box was at the bottom. The empty square at the left side of his footage was empty. He stared to himself, biting his lips as the live recording of him mimics the very same action.

“Goddamn I look hot!” He cheered. Admiring his own beauty under the scope of a hundred grimms face camera. The button ‘start’ waits patiently for him to click, and for some reason Mammon finds the toggle even more appealing than his reflection on the screen. When his right hand landed back to the wireless mouse, he angled it there, but fingers hesitantly clicked to the mouse.

The other square box buffered slowly.

For references:

Fullscreen mode:

10:15 PM

“Fuck ya dickhead!”

He clicked the skipped button as soon as he finished off his curse. Mammon buried his head to his palm as the next pair was still buffering. For the past 35 minutes, all he had ever done was cursing out to impertinent fools he met. Some of them were by groups, some were solo and some were indecent kids biting his head off through offensive words of insults.

“Not fun at all! What the fuck!” His teeth greeted, raging chagrined dwell in him for trusting Leviathan. The man laid his back more, making the backrest recline in a jot as he manspread and both of his limbs cover his face. For once did Mammon find himself wanting to go all out with his rage, turning the mansion into dust. But as if it will gain another entertainment, sure not.

Grabbing his charged up phone, he pressed Leviathan’s contact number and use the tiny bits of grain left in his soul to patiently wait for his violet haired brother to pick up. His other hand rests onto the armrest, tapping all of his fingers like a wave, over and over until the coarse voice of his brother’s hail.

Leviathan : yo

Mammon : you dumbshit everyone here kept pulverising me

On the other line, Leviathan laughed his heart out, adding the fuel to the burning flames when he decided to blame Mammon for his lack of control in social skills. If it were up to Mammon's desire, he would throw bullets to Leviathan’s mean remarks. But in all honesty he needs to admit, he is kind of sick to have more fights today. His impatience towards the strangers online scaled up, just a push away for him to rebel against his own sensibility. Mammon groaned with each of Leviathan sarcastic comments, but never letting his mind speak of its own.

The devil wished for his God to send him a life saver, and the faint sound of the bell from the site blazed his speaker.

DING

Quickly reacting to the noise, Mammon’s eyes darted to the random pair that the site had just matched him with. His phone is still on the line with Leviathan who was still spouting disrespectful jokes. Tightening his grip to the device when he realises that this stranger stupefies him, to the point he almost loosen his hold for the phone, Mammon can’t believe that God had answered his prayer in a whip of a second.

“Yo bro be right back” Mammon speaks softly but enough for Leviathan to hear it through the phone as the hot-blooded demon hanged up. He kept his legs in the same position, manspreading to look uninterested. Mammon’s fibrous inner thigh exposed as his shorts wrinkled up when he adjusted his position.

“S—sup”

Right on the screen shows a woman’s figure, sitting tightly to a normal chair. Mammon's assumption about her was that she is accessing the website on a normal laptop. No fancy camera or a computer setup, her face dismayed, her lips matched the colour of blood. Her hair brushed, and her upper body…tantalising him. She was wearing a black negligee, the lace upon the breast side aroused Mammon’s fantasy. It’s as if the dirty thoughts played like a river. ‘What is it like if the lace is off?’ ‘I can see her nipples, but not entirely. Is it her nipple there? Or was it just my eyes? No. That’s definitely her nipple. God, if that’s really her nipple…’

He swallowed a lump, trying his best not to let himself overtaken by just a teasing sight. The woman did not reply verbally as she was muted, but her arms quick to the keyboard as a message appear in the chat box

Stranger : hi

Mammon’s head did not move, only his eyeball reacted to the pop up chat. He nods slowly as if telling the woman he is engaging in this conversation.

By any means will he not let her skip him.

“S—so, what’s uh, your name?”

The girl eye’s unwavering to her own laptop screen, then a small smirk curt on her lips as she brings her fingers to her mouth, gently nudging it as she typed with one hand.

Stranger : y/n

Discovering her name somewhat triggered Mammon’s pheromones. He barely even understands himself now. It was just a name, and why is his dick raging to get out of his pants? His eyes constantly searched for a focus point that could turn his attention away from her body.

“Yeah, s—so, whatcha doin’ here?” Even though Mammon hated the battlefield he was now with his own arousal, most part of him never wanted to leave the conversation. He wanted to see how far things could go. Y/n apropos dress must have come with amiss intent.

Though muted, the woman’s grin bared her teeth, and Mammon could feel a laughter come through. He gulped again, his Adam's apple betrayed his pokered face. The way it moves when Mammon swallows his dirty thoughts away caught y/n’s nippy eyes. Her hand moved to the mousepad instead of keyboard, clicking to the microphone button as she unmuted herself.

“I can feel like we are going to go for the voice more” she eyes Mammon’s body response that was twitching discreetly on the camera. A mischievous smirk plastered on her face, amused by the result of her own seduction. For an innocent lad, her statement seemed like nothing. But y/n could see the salacious behind Mammon’s expression. Besides, Mammon was the first stranger she got paired with tonight, and he was perfectly suited to be her midnight entertainment .

Meanwhile for the try-hard demon, his stomach felt as if there was a knot that was just being formed, and her loose shorts started to expose his bulge.

‘Shit! The heck!’

Mammon straightens his back, trying to angle himself where his bulge can’t be recorded on the camera. His feet to the ground, scooting himself to the desk where his lap was covered underneath it. He cleared his throat for a hope to avert her attention away to his body language. But all y/n had in her mind right now was to toy the flustered stranger on her screen.

“You good?” Her voice came through, and Mammon flinched subtly that y/n couldn’t catch. Her negligee strips fell down teasingly from her shoulder, which provoked Mammon’s reaction.

Both arms to the armrest while his palm clutched, Mammon let out an awkward laugh. His eyes turned away to the screen, but occasionally back to look at y/n left shoulder that had its strip fall off.

“Look, ya shouldn’t dress like that” he advised, words by words were lies. The more he stayed in the room, the more his chest felt impaled by his struggles to breath normally. In this state, Mammon felt like time had stopped, and everything outside had not enticed the rebellious demon. All he wanted was to stay in this very room, with this woman named y/n, and let his imagination run wild.

“Says the one who got excited by it” y/n snarky response caught him off guard. He had try his best to show the untruth of his desire, and yet she figured it out as if he was a transparent being.

“Huh?” He fluffed his way out but the way y/n blasphemously curled her lips hindered himself to stay under control. Sweat had trickled from his neck. His stomach feels like a thousand tied ropes. The rim of his shorts burn his waist, plague to not tossing it away.

For y/n, she didn’t care. With more tingling sensations down her wetness, she made sure to whimper between every word “Oh come on, tough guy. I know why you hide your lap.”

Y/n eyes lowered, though through the screen, Mammon realised she was eyeing his crotch that was blocked by the desk.

“Shit. Ya fucker”

He damned her. There was no point to bandage the situation now. The woman definitely aimed to be a vixen on this site. Mammon wasn’t hallucinating things, he finally grasped that she reciprocated to his desire as well. Growling while his lips shut together, Mammon bites his lower lips, pushing himself as the chair moves away from his setup, revealing the full picture of his body once again.

Y/n’s eyes eagerly aimed to the centre of Mammon’s leg. Watching the way his cock tensed hard underneath his loose short. She gulped her excitement, grabbing a pillow near her as she sat on it. Under the provoking lingerie she wore, it had nothing beside the thin layer of negligee wrapped loosely to her body. Y/n straddle her pillow, making sure she could feel her sensitive clit jolted as she slowly rocks her hips, moaning softly while maintaining to watch Mammon’s hard bulge quivered underneath the fabric.

“Oh fuckin’ naughty. I was tryin so hard to hide. Thought ya too pretty to not creep ya out” he confessed, muttering softly but enough for y/n to hear. Leaning more to his gaming chair, Mammon spread his legs, his nipples perked through his white singlet as his right hand softly stroked his clothed dick. Veins rose on his hand proving the sexual frustration he gets, watching the show y/n presented to him.

“Lower ya laptop a bit, lemme see those fuckin’ thigh in action” Mammon command with no shame. His hand abandoned his frisson tent and made its way to the end of his singlet. His actions were rough, yet somehow addictive to witness. He undressed his top, showing off the muscle on his abdomen. Mammon’s broad chest is clean and clear, but even with the naked eyes that y/n can spot the glisten of his sweat. His dark nipples erected, and so does his clothed shaft.

Her curse was indistinct when Mammon threw his top to the floor. Sinful womanly eyes caught the v-shaped line at the lower part that Mammon had teasingly showed. He proudly exhibits the happy trail, but covers the end of it as to let her imagination undress his crotch. Y/n lowered her laptop screen a bit, where the sight of her hips humping rhythmically with the man’s stroking game visible entirely on her camera, but Mammon still can see her face. God damn it, this girl knew well how to angle the camera.

Y/n’s clit stroked as she moved back and forth, feeling the dry fabric gradually wet from her own coat. “Hnn…” she mewled to Mammon through the screen, still looking arousingly to the demon’s bulge.

“Fuck yes. So hot…” Mammon turns to sough as he caught the action smoother when she adjusted the camera for a premium view.

“Shit my fucking cock can’t hold it anymore”

His large hand grabbed the rim of his shorts, pulling it down with such intensity as the faint sound of teared fabric entered y/n’s laptop speaker. Unlike the top, Mammon threw his shorts away from the camera sight, his cock sprung out, tensed proudly like a tower with throbbed veins spiralling around his dick. He smirks while y/n’s humping gets aggressive as soon as she sees Mammon’s cock, ready to be pumped until his sack is empty.

He caressed the skin of his shaft in brutal motion, and the new moan that escaped his mouth was totally different from when he just rubbed it through the clothes. “Oh sh—, yes girl….” He groaned. “Shit…take off your clothes, let me see your body”

Y/n stopped, nodding and obeying him not because she felt like it was a command, but to thank the stranger for his beautiful nude, and she figured to reciprocate it as a gift. Her hand both reached for the end of her nightwear and disrobe it with a faint tingle of embarrassment. Y/n had never done this to a complete stranger, but her stressed out day changed her mind. After all, everything had its first time.

Y/n breast jumped out as she bared, tossing her negligee away. Hand cupped around her breast, kneading it softly in front of the Mammon through the cybersex they had. Her nipples erected as well, and she still didn’t stop to hump. “Mmm, I want you to touch me so bad…” she provoked, but it was not a lie. “Your hand seems strong, I want it to squeeze my boobs until it's red” she moaned, adding more intensity as she rammed her breast sensually.

“I fuck ya tits until its all swollen, cum on it and suck until I fuckin’ suffocate” he expressed his desire, pupils dilated as he saw her pussy lips glide back and forth to the pillow. “Fuck…fuck…” he muttered, hand still stroking his cock like a frustrated virgin. His legs twitched, and his breathing danced in ragged rhythms.

Y/n paused her action, her pussy cutting the contact with the pillow. The sticky liquid caught clear on the camera as y/n grabbed the pillow to her mouth, licking the wet spot she had just fiercely humped. Her tongue nudged her own liquid, then she entirely licked her own taste. “Mm— you want to taste me don’t you…?”.Y/n threw the pillow to the side, spreading her legs in front of the camera.

Mammon swore that he could feel his dick get bricked up more, precum spill out from his cock hole as he pumped his dick harder. His mouth parted while his eyes half closed but still could see the bared pussy on his computer screen crystal clear. Y/n ran her finger to the slit of her pussy, her hole quiveringly contracts, driving Mammon’s to the edge of his climax.

“Fuck wait”

Still jerking himself off, his other hand grabbed the wireless mouse, aimed for the fullscreen button as he clicked it. When y/n’s folds dominate his entire screen, Mammon leaned against his gaming chair further, hand still pleasing his cock, tightening his grip to match the sensation of her hole. “That’s more like it…” he sighed as his other hand released the mouse, making its way to his own chest.

“I kinda want your mouth sucking my nipple…” Mammon spoke with a quivering tone, his hands rolled between his tensed nipple as he pinched it. “Aack…! Yes…!” He whimpered, eyes closed for a moment while his cock was near to the end. “Shove three fingers inside your pussy dear…” he pleaded, eyes showing nothing but a pure slutty soul. “Please ... .I wanna cum by seeing your pussy hole fingered…”

Y/n had her hesitation thrown in the garbage, and she quickly reacted to Mammon’s pleas. “I wanna see you cum so hard too…” the woman responded. Three digits seemed like a lot, she had only fingered herself with two, she isn’t entirely sure if she can perform well in three. But her determination to see the male’s semen shoot out from his needy cock because of her action excites y/n further.

With two fingers, y/n nudges her hole, tracing the small circle of the wet tunnel of her pussy before shoving it slowly as she squeals. “Hhng…” cried her.

“Come on dear, I know you can do it…” he encouraged as the pace of her stroke became slower, keeping his orgasm when the woman’s finger was all in. Y/n took another whiff of boldness breath, now with three fingers, she circled her pussy, teasing her hole, making it ready to be stretched with new digits.

“A—ah…I’m…doing it…” mewling as she jerks, the three of her brazen finger shoved slowly inside her pussy, stretching it tightly around her as she unhurriedly fingers herself. “L—look….hhn…it’s….it’s in….f—fuck…” talking in a messy breathing, y/n tried to keep up with Mammon’s instructions.

“Oh fuck yeah, good girl…” Mammon watched her rhythm, realising she’s matching his steady stroke on his own cock. Mammon fastened the pace, gripping it so hard that he could feel as if his cock could just latch off his groin.

As Mammon expected, y/n reciprocated the tempo, his finger curled to her g-spot, rubbing it with aggression as she moaned loudly, unexpectedly squirting herself to the camera.

Mammon’s eyes darken, witnessing the way her fluid slipped off her fingers, shooting it to the camera as well as wetting it too. “A squirter?….I’m so lucky tonight…” he whispered with a shaking vibrato, face scrunched as he felt his stomach ready to untie the knot, all because of y/n sudden squirt that he thought he couldn't last any longer.

“I’m….cumming…! Goddamn… fuck..! I’m so near baby..!” His whimpering words were like a desperate man. His inner thigh bricken, spasm as he threw his head to the back, and then returned to watch the homemade porn on his computer screen.

“Me…too….one more…squirt…” she replied in an instant, her tone matched Mammon’s needy voice.

“Moan my name baby. Moan my name…it's Mammon…”

“M—mammon….cum…let’s cum together…let me see your cock shoot that fucking load on your stomach…”

Mammon nodded eagerly, eyes teared from an extreme palpitation his heart had beat. “Ah…oh yes…! Shit…!”

She shoved her fingers harder, the mattress of her bed pooled with her love liquid. Y/n threw her head to the back before crying out her orgasm away as she squirted once more to the camera. “Mammon….! Nnngh Mammon…!”

Mammon heard his name being called in the sweet tone of sultry as his cum shot to his abdomen, painting his mocha skin to white as he pumped it until it’s all gone and done. He breathed like an inexperienced being, the broad chest puffed and flattened. As the load slowly jizzed out from his cock, he let go of his tired cock, letting it rest onto his stomach as he looked at y/n who was already falling to the bed, legs wide open with her mattress soaked from her orgasm.

“Hh…hh…” trying to catch his breath back to normal, Mammon let out another desire he had held back since.

“Y/n gimme your number”

Author note : hellloo!! How was it hehe! As I said, today is my birthday and I made a google form for you to fill it out with wishes! You can even ask me questions and I will answer it on my next post! Aren’t I seemed like an obnoxious brat that wants attention?! Hehehe!

Please fill it out! I love you guys!

#obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me! #obey me prompts #obey me smut #mammon obey me #om! mammon #mammonobeyme #mammon smut #mammon avatar of greed #mammon x reader #shall we date mammon #obey me mammon #mammon x you #o

[letsgetrowdy43]

Short Stack—

Luke Hughes x reader

A quiet groan left her lips as she turned on the light in the kitchen a dim yellow light lit up the whole room, her stomach groaned as she opened the pantry door to see absolutely nothing good on the shelves. Tomorrow was the designated grocery run she thought to herself as she scavenged the rest of the kitchen for anything edible.

She found herself staring up at the box of mac and cheese on the top shelf of the kitchen cabinets, a big downside of living with university-level hockey boys was that nothing was ever conveniently in her reach.

"I hate living with boys" she grumbled under her breath before walking into the dining room to drag one of the kitchen table chairs up to the counter. She cringed at the noise of the chair scraping the floor, carefully picking it up to not wake any of the sleeping boys.

The sophomore house was dead silent, the boys had long gone to bed after a loss to their rival Notre Dame. Meaning that dinner had been skipped and replaced with hushed conversation up in bed with Luke, words of praise lulled him to sleep after a night of letdowns.

A quiet groan left her lips as she climb up onto the granite counters, the cold stone against her skin made her pause for a second to adjust, a hand grabbed her by the thigh making her scream out. "Holy fuck!" "What are you doing?" Luke's voice was hoarse with sleep, his free hand rubbing his eyes as he adjusted to the bright kitchen lights, the other hand kneading the soft flesh of her inner thigh as he examined the position she found herself in. "You scared the shit out of me" she whispered and flicked him on the forehead, "we skipped dinner," she said ushering him to the box of Mac and cheese that was out of reach from her crouching position.

The boy smirked at her and looked at her attire, noticing how big his t-shirt was. Softly smiling at the fact that she was wearing an article of his clothing, giddy at the thought that she had his last name displayed across her back.

Luke grinned once again and looked over at the chair, "very innovative" he watched as she grew embarrassed. "I couldn't reach the box" "Short stack" he jokingly poked her on the apple of her cheek as her smile dropped.

Luke's smirk grew as he raised his hand and grabbed the box from the shelf before she could get her hands on it. “Luke” she groaned as he backed away from her, the box behind his back as she hopped off the counter and tried to take it from his grasp. A sickly-sweet laugh left his lips as he held it above his head, far out of her reach. “You’re a bitch Moosey,” she said tugging on his forearm trying to get him to lower his arm, his laughing stooped at the mention of the childhood nickname.

“I could be persuaded to give it to you” “Choke,” she said before jumping up to grab it from his hand, “I feel like a child when you do this shit” she frowned as he laughed at her bitter tone. “I said I would give it to you if you did something for me” he smirked making her roll her eyes at his suggestion and smacked him in the chest, “you’re a dog” “I meant a kiss sweetheart, get your head out of the gutter”

An unimpressed look appeared on her face as she took his face into her hands and pecked him on the lips. “You’re gonna have to do better than that pretty girl” She sighed before wrapping her hands on the nape of his neck and lowering his face to meet hers, a prominent smile on his face as he kissed her back, his free arm wrapping around her frame to pull her close.

She reached up and grabbed the box from his hand as she pulled away from him an unimpressed look on her face as she watched him pull away with a dazed look on his face, “you’re no fun” he pouted and tried to lean back down to kiss her again before she gently pushed him in the chest to back him up. “Put the chair back at the table” she instructed as she grabbed a pot and filled it with water. “You’re the one who put it there!” “Yeah, and you’re a pain in my ass so do as I say and maybe I’ll let you have some of my food” he closed his mouth, leaving any sort of comeback to die on his tongue and nodded.

She shooed him away and turned the stove on to let the water come to a boil, Lukes's arm wrapped around her torso, his free hand moved the hair from her should so he could place opened moth kisses to the exposed skin of her neck. "being a kiss ass isn't going to make up for it, you gonna have to do a lot more than that" she mused, now having the upper hand on him.

"I'm sorry" he squeezed her torso. "For what?" she pushed, her hand placed over his as she leaned back into his frame. "I'm not sorry, I'm just giving you my condolences because of your height" he grinned into her skin. "I will go crawl in bed with Duker if you keep it up" she jokingly threatened as he gasped.

"Take that back" he mumbled and pulled away from the girl, using his hands placed on her hips to turn her around, a look of fake betrayal on his face as she stares up at him through furrowed brows. "You're gonna have to make it up to me" she raised her brows as he nodded.

Luke thought for a second before taking her face in his hands a placing a gentle kiss on her lips, her arms a wrapped her around his neck and pulled him in closer. Luke urgently picked her up and places her down on the counter, his fingers digging into the skin of her thighs as his lips trailed down her neck. Her fingers pulled gently on his hair as she placed soft kisses where ever she could.

“You're forgiven” she mumbled as he pulled away momentarily to smile at her before capturing her lips again.

-

-

-

#luke hughes #jack hughes #quinn hughes #new jersey devils #nhl #umich hockey #ethan edwards #luke hughes x reader #umich imagine #dylan duke #trevor zegras #vancouver canucks #luke hughes imagine #hockey au #hockey boys #hockey

[m4rs-ex3]

i "did a thing" if you will

kefta's oh me oh my!!

*canonically ignorant keftas

(individuals n in-depth analysis aka rambling under cut)

darkling

i mean. what do you want. B L A C K.

the pattern (which you must zoom in to see) is a swirly deal, different from the sun summoner swirls; more like wood grain

sun summoner

sun rays! swirly swirls! yellow! idk just look at!!

squallers

more swirls! these were kinda hell but idk i like em

inferni

first big divergence: orange as opposed to red. i made sure not to have any repeat embroidery colors.....even though i changed alkemi so there is no red anymore.............anyway. i'm iffy on this one bc i suck at drawing fire but i think it turned out (it's mostly just the upper side panels cuz they look a lil too fur-ish)

tidemakers

they were teal in the show right?? idk but. this one might me my favorite, but i do fear it's a lil complicated, but then again: i can do whatever the fuck i want. and no i cannot draw water without copying the great wave. whatever it's sick

heartrenders

coporalnik were harrdddddd. heartrenders are--naturally-usually symbolized by the heart but i hate drawing real hearts so cartoon hearts it is!! kinda feel like that kinda heart wouldn't exist in this universe..... but hey look it pointy

healers

heart but upside down!! (seriously what r u supposed to do.) plus bandage imagery, as a treat. these two were really just Vibes.

durasts

also pretty hard, also mostly just Vibes. btw it is a distinctly different shade of gray (1 of 50, i've heard) from the squaller silver. u will not catch me lacking nice try bud

alkemi

the most notable sticker-outer--yea she's green. i mean cmon we have enough red and no green and everybody knows science is green. anyway this is another one of my favs. vapor clouds and bubbles what's not to love

i do love the embroidery in the show, especially how, yk, much there is of it, and how identifiable it makes it, but on the other hand the books only ever mention the cuffs and hems so i like to think i struck a nice balance

#and yes. no tailors i know #full transparency 1 i was lazy 2 i've never liked the red and blue and the white would feel rather flippant #and 3: the excuse #true tailors are rare enough that they can choose whatever the fuck they want #anyway #grishaverse #shadow and bone #shadow and bone trilogy #shadow and bone netflix #s&b #s&b trilogy #s&b netflix #grisha trilogy #the grisha trilogy #soc #six of crows #leigh bardugo #kefta #kefta designs

[omori-neon-black-au]

OFFICIAL NEON BLACK SPLASH ART IS HERE AFTER LITERALLY A YEAR. REJOICE. details and design notes and whatnot under the cut you know the drill

black: the plot never got to this point, but yeah the book of death would’ve allowed him to summon white space hands. also small thing about the mask i never mentioned - it’s asymmetrical to represent both sunny and omori. sunny’s side is a lot softer, with the broken horn and smaller fangs, while omori gets the fucked up eye and significantly sharper points. idk. fun detail.

orange: his rabbit’s foot is visible now, yay! the streak of light behind him is highlighted yellow instead of green because like. yes his card is torn yes he’s activating stomp’s discard but consider - stomp discard is hard to visually show. just pretend he’s doing it. also his shoes are supposed to resemble a paw, to lean into the dog aesthetic.

navy: i never want to draw guns again. the boots are more styled after green’s, but that’s basically the only change.

pink: oh yeah, other than her bat her signature would’ve been illegally modified fireball cards. that’s why their halos are so shaky. the actual modification would’ve been making them double barreled as opposed to the in-game single barrel. didn’t draw her with them because guns suck and i hate them.

lavender: did i ever mention she’s a non-combatant? she does the bare minimum to qualify for the 10 days of judgement but otherwise does not participate. that’s why she doesn’t have any cards.

mint: like black, mint uses the book of death to summon extra help. his is vines instead of hands because duh, it’s basil, he’s a gardener, that’s his whole thing.

#omori #omori fanart #omori au #omori sunny #omori kel #omori hero #omori mari #omori basil #neon black au #YAY YIPPIE YAHOO #thank you all for sticking with me

[sashi-ya]

𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 [+18] 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐟! 𝐩𝐫𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 [chapter one] ʚ masterlist

ʚ synopsis ɞ reader enjoys cosplaying, slowly but surely she became more and more noticed by the community. However, from exposure also comes dangers. Thankfully, a modern knight will be there to protect a modern princess. Will they protegonize a cute fairy tale? or will be a tale full of dragons to defeat?

ʚ tw ɞ MDNI. not the sweetest story (yet). SEXUAL ABUSE INTENT (she is fine and safe). usage of drugs. medical terminology and treatment. I wanted to have the opportunity to spread some awarness about certain topics; being in danger is -unfortunatelly- something common nowadays when you are a woman or part of any minority, therefore having information to avoid those dangers seems absolutely necessary. So you will find some bits and pieces of information inside the story. If you need any type of support regarding these topics, please contact with someone who can help you. I am here to help you as a nurse and a woman.

ʚ masterlist: part 2, part 3 part 4; part 5; final

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧

He wasn’t very fond of conventions. Since Sora the Warrior of the Sea had ended, he didn’t enjoy the crowded space of geeky events. But his friends, did.

“You owe me one” Law grunts, as he clenches his tattooed hands to the steering wheel. They are absolutely stuck in traffic, the line to get to the convention centre parking seems endless.

“Captain!! Don’t get mad at us!” Penguin, one of his best friends, chime. The rest of the “crew” echoes him, giggling and full of good vibes.

“Do not call me captain, Pen… I- we were kids!” Law grunts feeling his cheeks turn red; he cringes every time he is called “captain”. Yet, deep inside his heart, the word reminds him of whenever there were no worries, and they would pass their free days playing “pirates”.

Half an hour later, and having listened to Uta’s song thrice, they finally find a spot to park. Soon, as they do, Bepo jumps off Law’s yellow SUV urging Shachi to help him fix his cosplay.

Bepo, the man of pristine white spiky hair and everlasting blushed cheeks, has taken a liking into dressing up as his favourite characters from books and anime. And so, his friends, are there to support him no matter what.

As they walk towards the entrance of the biggest hotel they ever been to, they hear some commotion approaching them. Like a violent gust of wind, a bunch of photographers and fans pass, pushing them to the side, completely unaware of their presence.

“What the fuck?” Law grunts, annoyed. -even more. “SHE- LOOK…!” Penguin and Shachi gawk at the beautiful angel walking through the entrance of the conference room. “It’s Princess Uta!!”

Law rolls his eyes. He seems to be over with those new idols, and, not to mention those who also cosplay. He considers that they are a bunch of “kids”, immature and annoying. Truth is, that deep inside of him, things weren’t like this that much.

“Come on, I don’t care who she is we should get going. Bepo, you will be missing the cosplayers alley… didn’t you tell us you wanted to meet someone in particular?”

The white-haired boy, with the cute expression of a polar bear, widens his eyes. His friend is right, he wanted to meet some beautiful cosplayers there.

The four friends begin to walk inside, avoiding a bunch of screaming teenagers -and not so young ones-. It’s hard to breathe, the place is packed with people buying stuff, taking pictures, or simply hanging out.

“Tch… all these people…” Law grunts; the more people around, the more he feels overstimulated. He hates loud noises, and the crowd around isn’t helping. However, despite his annoyed countenance, some merch catches his attention here and there. Deep inside, Law is still a nerd.

Many people pass by, scanning his façade that hides beneath a white dotted cap. His icy eyes couldn’t care a less; no woman receives a reciprocated smile, nor even a look. Law is above all things; he is not interested in finding love in a place like this.

In between many heads and fake swords made of cardboard, the banner that announces the start of the “cosplay alley” stands out. Law, who has noticed it before than anybody else, sighs. “Bepo… there” he points out, with his E inked index.

Desperate squeaks from Penguin and Shachi accompanies the excitement Bepo shows. The first two, run towards the place. Yet Bepo, stays right by Law’s side. They walk calmly; or at least that’s just Law, because his snowy haired friend seems to be consumed by the flame of anxiety.

“It’s just some guys dressed in weird clothes, Bepo. You are as great as them” Law spits, as if he didn’t understand the meaning of social anxiety.

“I know, Captain… but- you know…” Bepo fidgets his furred gloved hands; the character that he is cosplaying is some kind of hybrid in between a human and a polar bear.

Law looks at him, and reassures him with a soft smirk that’s barely noticeable for the rest of the world… but for his brother? It’s enough to feel encouraged.

The tables where many girls and boys are sitting, are all packed with people taking pictures with them, buying prints of their cosplay photos and some -like Penguin and Shachi- are simping. Some of the women are wearing pretty revealing costumes; other, show amazing props like their proudest treasures.

And the one that Bepo went to meet, was calmly taking some pictures with a red-haired little girl. She was dressed as a princess, or perhaps it was a warrior… no, she must be an angel…

“Captain, there she is! I wanted to take a picture with her since forever!” Bepo fans over the kind looking woman, smiling so sweetly to not so many people around like the rest of the cosplayers.

Law stands right there, getting pushed by many people as they pass and want to take pictures. He is just blinking slowly; never, in a million of years he has lost contact with reality just by looking at a woman… but it was happening, and soon the approaching rest of the “crew” noticed…

…

“Hi! A photo? Of course!” you chimed, happy to be reached by young kids willing to follow your steps in the cosplay career.

As you fleet goodbye the last kid, you notice some young men staring at you. One of them, particularly handsome, covered in tattoos, has a soft pinkish blush taking over his cheeks and seems to be frozen in time with no signs of even blinking whatsoever.

You think if he is ok. But soon you roll your eyes; surely he is watching at any other cosplayer looking bomb as all of them… he is probably another pervert.

Yet, you couldn’t be more wrong.

The white-haired guy by his side gets pushed to your booth by the other friends. He is wearing a cosplay that coincidentally share anime with yours. You smile, he is just timid.

“Hi… (Name). I’m- I am a fan of your work!” he shily says, when reaches your table. You smile, sweetly. This guy has never done anything wrong in his entire life.

You bow your head in gratefulness, standing up to get ready for yet another photo. “Thank you so much! What’s your name?” you ask, chiming and inspecting the amazing details of his costume. It seems made entirely by hand, and it couldn’t be more pretty.

“I’m Bepo!” he kinda screams, taking his hand to his forehead as if he was some kind of military or marine.

It makes you giggle, but soon the moment gets interrupted when the other two of them pull the frozen handsome guy with them to meet you.

“Hi! He is Penguin. And he is Law. Forgive him, I don’t know exactly what happened to his brain, but he wants to take a picture with you” a red-haired man with a funny looking hat says, pointing at the tattooed one.

That might have been the needed slap to wake him up. “NO!” he awkwardly screams, making you laugh.

He takes a look at you from the side, with sharp eyes that are pretty scary to look at. And it is enough to make you stop giggling. “I’m sorry ~” you whisper, looking down almost immediately.

“Captain!” the one that was introduced as Penguin scolds them, and the smile returns to your face. Why are they calling him captain?

“I’m sorry… I- I didn’t mean to scream at you” he stutters, looking now with that same hateful stare at his friend who takes two steps back.

You bite the insides of your mouth. He is way more handsome when he speaks, a raspier voice, low and sensual, that makes you kinda weak.

“Don’t worry. I get I look a little bit intimidating with this costume on!” you joke, taking a huge replica of a sword from the table and showing it to him. It’s almost as tall as he is, with a furry tsuba and golden details on its tsuka.

The man covered in tattoos look at the sword, and then at your eyes. You spend what feels like eternal seconds getting lost in them. He is something special.

Handing him the prop, your fingers delicately graze, and you discover how soft are his. He either never worked in his life or is some kind of surgeon.

He inspects the sword, amazed at the details. Bepo, while he does so, finally takes the picture he wanted to with you. And soon, the encounter has to inevitably come to an end.

All of them wave goodbye to you, but, you aren’t willing to let the man of frozen eyes go without learning his name.

“Bepo! If you post the picture we took together, please, tag me! I will love to follow your Instagram account” you chime, waving back at them. “You are an amazing cosplayer, we should team up someday!”

The white-haired boy has almost a stroke from your words; and you can only hope for his friend to also have an account…

You sit back for some minutes while more people come to your booth, and while you curl a lock of your wig you can stop thinking about him. “What a handsome guy…” you giggle, noticing your cheeks get hot as hell itself.

Sometimes, throughout the day, you take a look around. You wish you could see him again, but unfortunately you can’t get a glimpse of him.

Your thoughts, however, right an hour before the day of the con is over, get interrupted by a guy asking you something.

“Excuse me, I’m a photographer. You can see my portfolio if you scan my QR code. I would like to offer you a photoshoot for free” he kindly says, looking like the respectful man you’ve ever met. Besides, he has something attached to his cheek, something like a sweet? Did he seriously not noticed?

You aren’t fully trustful of him; you know some men, specially in your ambience aren’t exactly the best so you proceed with care.

“I… I really appreciate the offering. I would love to collab with you, but you see it’s been a long day” you try to decline, respectfully. It’s true that you are a little bit tired, but it was the fact that you had went alone to the event this time. Nobody could keep you company during the first day of the convention.

The man insists; he shows the pictures of his work, and they look awesome. “We wont go any further, I think right there will be enough for the pics to look amazing!” he chimes. You think twice, but since he didn’t request for you to go outside or far away you finally accept.

As you start packing up your staff, the photographer offers himself to help you. You are really happy someone is giving you a hand, and you kind of feel guilty for mistrusting him before.

When you crunch to pick up your bag you notice a little charm on the floor; a polar bear plushie lays almost forgotten under the table’s booth. “Oh… someone might have lost it! I will keep it and see if anyone comes back and asks for it” you think, clasping it to your bag.

 And soon when you are set to fleet, off both of you go.

Walking through the now almost empty halls, you get some chills running through your spine. Is not the first time you see the con’s alley deserted, but you usually end your day now and go back to your hotel. You shake the feeling and get distracted with the man by your side offering you a something.  

“(Name), bet you haven’t got anything to drink in many hours. Please, drink some water. You gotta stay hydrated” he says, with a smile that’s difficult to read. The bottle is closed, so you thankfully accept it.

Once you have finally reached the now solitaire photo set, specially adapted for the convention, you take a big gulp of water. It feels refreshing; you honestly needed it. You were taught to never accept anything edible nor drinkable from the people that come to see you at events, but since it the bottle was clearly new, you didn’t give much importance to the dangers.

When the camera is set, the man calls you to stand and pose in front of him. At first, things went smoothly. But then, everything changed…

“You should lower the cleavage a little” he suggested.

“I…” you stutter, fixing the collar of your dress. Perhaps it was too high and it wasn’t looking good.

“More, honey! You should show a little bit more skin. That will attract more followers!” he insists, pointing the camera towards your chest.

“No. I don’t feel comfortable!” you straightforwardly deny. You want to stop, but you begin to feel your ears buzzing, and the flashing lights of the camera become almost unbearable to look at. You try to look at your sides for help, discovering there is nobody around and the guy coming closer and closer.

The bastard laughs, grabbing your arms and whispering things you can barely understand. “Don’t get all worked up, honey… you shouldn’t drink stuff people give you… now, cooperate with me…”

You try to let go of him, scared of what he could do to you, unable to scream or even kick him away. Yet, there is always a glimpse of hope in everything...

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ“Get the fuck away from her!”

continues in ➡ chapter 2

#trafalgar law headcanons #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law x you #trafalgar law scenarios #trafalgar law #law headcanons #trafalgar law smut #law smut #law one piece #law scenarios #law x reader #trafalgar law x y/n #law x you #law x y/n #law imagine #one piece smut #one piece x reader #one piece x reader smut #heart pirates law #law #one piece x you #op smut #op x reader #op scenario #op imagines #op law #law op

[satuguro]

*ೃ࿐ BLUE MONDAY

[ ACT III: KNOWING, WANTING ]

ethan landry x reader

#SYNOPSIS— you facetime someone first and you hate it, ethan can't tell when you're joking or serious, and you really hate richie's style.

#CONTAINS— murder!, gore!!!!, satire (!!), familial issues (implications of abuse), mentions of anxiety/ptsd, richie x reader (heavily one sided), stalker behavior!, fake dating, richie (yes, he needs his own warning), suggestive content

#AUTHORSNOTE— i'm so sorry for such a late update and the lack of activity on my blog, my mental health took such a plummet.

ACT I, ACT II, ACT III

the low hum of the computers in the radio studio and the soft sound of music paying through the control room speakers were the only sounds you heard as you spun around in your chair. a clean spotify playlist— something you weren't supposed to technically use for radio, but your station manager used it, so who cares? — played soft music on air as you waited patiently for your last song to end.

humming softly to yourself, you scrolled mindlessly through social media, taking in the last few days of relaxation you had until you finally began with you and ethan's little plan.

reluctantly date richie. gather information. get the fuck out and give it to the police.

and if all else fails? well, you'd kill him (something ethan was surprisingly not that disturbed with. talk about sibling rivalry.).

you hadn't spoken to either of them ever since sunday, when you and ethan formulated your little plan at an aesthetically pleasing botanical cafe.

the music came to a slow end, and you paused the playlist before turning on your mic. "that was my last song of the night. remember; variety hour with blackmore university radio's music manager— which is me, if you've been paying attention —is every thursday from 9 to 10. good night, new york." and with that, you returned the radio on auto play, allowing it to bleed into a few promos.

the radio and studio office was dark at this point, lacking any form of life other than you. with an entire radio station being led only by college students, it was common for everyone to be gone by the time 6 pm hit.

but you were a bit of a masochist. so here you were, doing your mandatory radio show in the ambiently lit studio and office of your station. it smelled of soft lavender from the plug-in wall scent one of your co-workers put up, and the only lights came from the lamps and soft yellow light that was put in to replace the fluorescent white that you swore made days go by longer.

your headphones were over your ears, one of them pushed back behind your ear to allow yourself to hear the outside world (you had to be cautious nowadays). pulling your tote bag over your shoulder, you locked the studio door behind you and closed up the station. and as you walked down the dimly lit stairs to the exit, you half listened to the echoing of your footsteps as you shut the door behind you.

fall was your favorite season. not just for the fact that the weather was a perfect mix of not too hot and not too cold, or that it was the last few months before you fell deep into procrastination due to the lack of sunshine, but it was because it was always so beautiful. red and browns, yellows and oranges, all painted on once-green leaves before they fell.

the crunching of the leaves below your feet as you began to walk back to your dorm was soothing behind the autumn playlist (which you had carefully curated, of course) you were listening to. and it would've gone on like that for the entire walk home. the same walk you did every thursday without fail, when barely anyone was out and about on campus and when it was only you and whatever weather there was that evening.

but you could feel someone watching you.

as though someone had poured water down your back, your skin prickled and the hair on your body stood up as your walking suddenly came to a stop. pushing your headphones down around your neck, you dared to look behind you.

nothing. nothing but the darkness of the rest of the campus, barely lit by the flickering street lamps. the light from the lamp you were standing next to bled into nothingness, revealing practically nothing to your eyes.

your hands dug into your pockets as you grabbed your phone, swallowing thickly as you dared to stare deeper into the night. deeper into the darkness you stared.

and then you dared to turn back ahead of you, walking with a stride quicker than how you usually walked. step by step, shoes crunching in the leaves as you briskly walked, keeping your chin up in faux confidence, as though you weren't hearing another pair of footsteps walking in the same exact pace you were.

and then you came to a sudden halt.

and you heard the extra footstep from someone that certainly wasn't you.

and you began to walk faster. step. step. step. feeling those heartless and emotionless eyes staring in to the back of your head much like you had stared at the back of your father's head. hungry. blood thirsty. desperate to feel the warm crimson on your skin.

you could hear them breathe. heavy and warm, excited and thrumming with adrenaline because it felt as though you were paying attention to them. you were finally reacting to them in the way they wanted you to; by running away in fear.

you pulled out your student id card, slamming it against the card reader before opening the door to your dorm building and shutting it behind you, chest heaving as you tried to compose yourself.

you went to the elevator, slamming on the button to get you up to your dorm room.

your feet walked briskly on the hallway as you made a beeline for your dorm room, hands trembling as you found yourself disassociating, barely showing any emotion at all if it weren't for your shaking hands. but as you were pulling out your key, you saw the flower on the ground.

lilies of the valley. your favorite.

looking up and down the hall, you grabbed it hastily and you unlocked the door, shutting it behind you and letting out a breath. staring down at the flowers, you pulled out a single note with a heart drawn on it in crimson red ink.

"fuck," you breathed, shaking your head as you walked into your room and locked it behind you, throwing the lilies into the trash as you swallowed thickly.

who else could have done this? who else in your life was most likely to follow you like a predator stalking its prey, waiting for the perfect moment to strike?

richie.

he was stalking you. richie was fucking stalking you.

you grabbed your phone, scrolling before you found a contact, clicking facetime on it and waiting patiently as you tried to clam the harsh beating of your chest. once, it rang. then twice. then three times, and you almost reached over to hang up, if it weren't for the face that the little sound came out of your phone speaker, signaling that he actually picked up.

"hello?" ethan said, his face squished by his pillow as he peered into the phone screen. "you actually called me. i never took you for a facetime person, but uh—"

"is richie there?" you hissed, almost scared to raise your voice as you paced your room frantically. your hands moved on their own as you took your ring off of your finger and began to run it over your knuckles.

back and forth. back and forth.

"no, i don't think so— what's going on?" ethan sat up in his bed, voice hushed low as he looked down at you. you were moving— he could see it —and he looked haphazard as he stared at you through the phone. protectiveness striked at his chest again as ethan gripped his phone tighter. "y/n, what's going on?"

"ethan, he's stalking me," you hissed, panic evident in your tone as you tried to compose yourself.

back and forth. back and forth.

"i— i was walking home from work and i swear to god, e, it was him. and he probably left these fucking flowers at my door too." you flipped the phone camera to show ethan the trashed flowers. "i'm not having second thoughts or anything, but if i have to deal with his stalking it's honestly just gonna be a pain in my ass—"

"you're not having second thoughts?" ethan ran a stressed hand through his hair, breathing out a heavy exhale. "jesus, y/n, if i were you i wouldn't even pull through with this shit."

"good thing you're not me then, huh?" you swallowed thickly, walking to your bed and throwing yourself onto it, letting your back hit your mattress. raising your phone so that ethan could see your face clearly.

you hated facetiming people.

"okay, that's all," you stated, as though letting him know that his brother was a stalker was just the most casual thing in the world. "i'm hanging up now."

"w—wait!" ethan said hurriedly right before your finger pressed the bright red button. face dusted light pink, ethan looked over your (once again) unreadable face. "can we.. stay on call?"

"no." you blinked. "why would we?"

"because i'm basically sleeping in an apartment with a stalker-murderer!" ethan hissed, voice coming down to a harsh whisper as the sound of the apartment door opening and closing rang in his ears. "i don't want to be, like, attacked in my sleep or something."

"he's not gonna attack you when quinn is there," you stated bluntly, finger still hovering over the big red button. "even if he does suspect something. you'll be fine." and you almost pressed the red button again. almost.

"y/n," ethan groaned, letting his free hand cover his face. you were so stubborn, so brutally honest, and yet ethan found himself not even minding it as he practically pleaded for you to just stay on call with him. "just.. just stay with me for a bit, okay? promise you can hang up once i fall asleep."

you narrowed your eyes at him. "do i look like a guard dog to you?"

"you basically act like one."

you stared at ethan, practically challenging him silently as he stared right back at you with those warm hazel eyes. "please?" he added, making you suck in a breath as you huffed.

"..fine."

an appreciateive smile spread on the boy's face as you set your phone down, murmuring a half hearted, "i'll be back," as you went to do your skincare routine and get ready for bed. "don't die," you added before you shut your room door behind you.

bad joke.

you washed your face, letting your hands move slowly down your face as you let out a long sigh, feeling your continuously tense shoulders relax. staring at yourself in the mirror, you found your face blurring into the background, melting into your bathroom walls, features seeping into the tile, melting into the grout.

you stared at yourself in the reflective one way mirror, face blank, pupils constricted as your reflection stared back at you. it felt like you were floating far above your head, unable to anchor yourself in the present.

the voice of the detective felt like someone was speaking to you from underwater. his voice was so garbled, so muffled, you could barely comprehend it. “y/n. you have to at least say something.”

but what was there to say? that you mashed up your father’s brain and liked it? that was a bit straightforward. and only a little bit too guilty.

what were you doing? you were putting yourself into the same position you were in those few years ago; a position of danger, playing a victim just to feel the satisfaction of watching someone’s life melt from their face. and that satisfaction didn’t come with any kind of remorse, because it took a special kind of person to make you want to see their brains on the outside rather than the inside.

you were regressing. maybe you really weren’t over what had happened to you. maybe you never would be, and you felt tour skin prickle at the thought, your hands gripping the sides of your sink as you stared at your mirror.

“your mother says you were protecting her.” the detective leaned in, putting his arms on the table in front of you both. his gaze weighed heavy on you, and you could feel him scan you like a file; taking in how expressionless you were, how even after everything that had happened, you didn’t shed a single tear. “was your father abusive, y/n?”

and that made your eyes snap towards his, cold and cunning, staring at him, unblinking. but if you peers too closely, focused too much on the emotion behind your eyes, the exhaustion of living, you could see that you had every reason to feel nothing for what you had done. you had every fucking reason to smash your father’s head in.

the door to your bedroom shut behind you as you walked back into your room, throwing your shirt over your head and grabbing one to sleep in. "hello?" ethan's voice came through your phone, your breath hitching when you realized he waited on call the entire time while you disassociated in the bathroom. just another day.

"hey." you made yourself comfortable in your bed, hands coming together under your head as you laid it down on your pillow, staring at your phone right next to your bed. an awkward silence followed for nearly five minutes, the only sounds coming from your breathing and ethan's mild shuffling. your eyes had fallen shut as you listened to ethan's breathing through the speaker.

"are you scared, y/n?"

the question, the sudden break of silence didn't make you move. you only kept your eyes shut, silently manifesting for the sweet arms of sleep to clamp around you. you hummed in response, pretending to think, but you knew how you felt. how this exact situation made you feel like you were 16 again, killing your own flesh and blood for just an ounce of freedom.

you hadn't broken at the seams yet. you were still here, breathing, eyes shut, on a phone with some boy you had taught how to smoke only a few days ago.

that's what mattered.

"are you?" you asked, dodging the question easily.

".. yeah." ethan sighed, the sound loud through your phone (he needed to move away from the phone just a bit, but you didn't feel like telling him that yet). from his side, he laid on his back on his bed, eyes set on the white ceiling above him as he spoke to you, someone emotionally stunted (he would never say that out loud, a it would be hypocritical of him to do so), about how he was feeling. "i think i've always been scared. of richie, i mean."

you stayed silent, your eyes slowly opening as you looked at your phone. the waver in ethan's voice, the way he almost felt ashamed to tell you how he felt.. he was being genuine. "what has richie done to you? to make you scared of him, i mean."

ethan's jaw clenched, eyes unblinking towards his ceiling. staring. gathering memories he had tried so desperately to forget, but every time he saw richie's face, he could only remember them. "he was always the more popular one. him and quinn— i was like.."

"a nerd."

"rude, but true." ethan sighed slowly. "one time, during middle school, i snitched to my dad that richie had brought a girl into our house —he was in high school, mind you —and i couldn't sleep because they had been fucking in his room. and that lack of sleep made me late. my dad doesn't like it when we're late." he breathed in shakily. "a few days later, after my robotics club, i was walking home and a bunch of high school kids drove up next to me and, uh..."

your brows furrowed. ".. beat you up?"

"yup." ethan popped the 'p', breathing in deeply before exhaling again. "and i saw him. richie. sitting in the back seat of the car just watching as these teenagers more than half my size beat me up to a pulp. and he smiled at me. as though i deserved to have my torso bruised and my face slammed on the concrete in the 7th grade." ethan chuckled humorlessly, his laughter quickly fading. "point is.. he always gets what he wants."

he sounded so.. defeated. years and years of being tormented by your own blood made him so afraid to speak up; to the point where he didn't even feel like doing so anymore.

you didn't know how to respond.

".. you're still up for killing him?" you asked, voice slightly unsure due to the fact that ethan had just casually spilled some of his trauma over the phone to you, who was half asleep and barely coherent at this point.

"i wish it didn't have to be this way—"

"no you don't."

"what?" ethan blinked, brows knotting together in confusion as he looked at his phone in disbelief over your words.

"you don't mind that it went this way. because you hate him." you sounded so factual. so casual, as though the entire situation was a case you could easily dissect and observe from a far. "and he's done a lot of shit to you and others. the people he's killed. the people he's manipulated. people like richie don't deserve anything." your words became sour, laced with the poison from the past.

"how do you do that?" ethan asked you.

"do what?"

"be so calm in this situation. this is dangerous shit— y/n, you're willingly putting yourself in danger."

you swallowed hard, weighing your words in your head. "it's because i don't want anyone else to die like his victims did. and i," you blinked, "i want to get them their revenge."

"by killing him?"

"if i have to." a beat. "are you still okay with that?"

was he okay with that?

ethan didn't know. he had been walking through the entire week as though he was nothing more than a ghost— eating and drinking to survive, speaking only when spoken to, living his days out of fear because if his brother had been killing people, when would he turn on his siblings? when would richie kill quinn, or chad, or mindy, or tara, or sam, or him?

he didn't want to tell the police and had his brother escape from their confines the next day.

ethan sighed. "if i'm helping you, then yes. i am." a beat of silence, as though his thoughts were overcoming him, as though he was weighing his options in his head. he knew you were perfectly content with the silence over the phone (as you probably didn't want to be on the phone with him for so long in the first place), but ethan wasn't like that. he wanted to talk, but about what?

he wanted to talk to you.

he wanted to know you.

"if we're going to be working together, don't you think we should know each other more?" and his question came out as such a pure example of simple curiosity, simple human want to know of someone simply for the sake of knowing someone. to walk past one's walls and know the little facts about them.

you were not one to let people do that. you were not one to let someone simply know you, because your mind didn't work that way. it felt off, it felt odd— the idea that ethan wanted to know you before the shitshow began.

"you don't have to get to know me."

"i want to know you." ethan's breath hitched. "nothing like.. personal, or anything. just like.. what's your favorite season?"

"well, that's really pushing it." you heard his small chuckle on the other end, your eyebrows softening ever so slightly at the sound. "it's autumn. and yours?"

"spring." ethan blinked up at his ceiling. "i like the rain. the smell of petrichor— a lot of people hate it but i just.. don't."

you hummed in acknowledgement, turning your head towards your phone. "favorite color?"

"forest green. and yours?"

"greyish blue. like the kind that appears at dusk when there's fog over the ground." you felt your body relax a bit; the questions were fortunately far more shallow than you thought they would be. ".. are we gonna do this until you fall asleep?"

"if you don't mind," ethan murmured softly, shifting gently in his bed.

"what if i do mind? i do have shit to do tomorrow, you know," you muttered under your breath.

and ethan would've felt pretty bad by your words. you were always so brutally honest yet so horribly awkward (it was painful to watch at times, he had to admit), but there was one particular question weighing on his mind ever since he picked up your call. one that you had easily deflected moments before. "y/n, you didn't answer my question."

your brows furrowed. "what question?"

"aren't you scared?" ethan swallowed thickly, eyes spacing out as he stared at his ceiling, at the darkened abyss of his room. "for your life, for your friends, for anything?"

were you?

you didn't want to be honest with him. you didn't want to tell him that in all honesty, you were terrified. terrified of losing the friends (that was a strong word for it) you barely had, of losing the small bit of family that was still speaking to you with faux smiles and condolences even though they were under the impression that you were an unpredictable woman.

and unpredictable women terrified them.

but your emotions were always increasing tenfold with every passing hour, the thoughts being so jumbled up and so strong that you had simply learned to drown them out. to continue on with your life with your tornado of thoughts and no one to speak to and no one to look for because you were used to doing this all on your own.

you had dealt with it on your own before. you could deal with it again.

but rather than lie to ethan's face, you found yourself confessing much like a sinner to an angel. "i am. i'm terrified, ethan." and that was all.

your fingers flew over your keyboard, the past year of having to write essay after essay finally paying off as you typed furiously into your laptop.

evelyn campo murder 2020

evelyn campo murder cambria california

evelyn campo case

you had only found a few articles on her murder, most of them not even mentioning the girl's name, much less many details about her case (unless you counted grim retellings of the crime scene). there was only a brief mention of a possible suspect (the man you had a date with in literally a day), but other than that, nothing. the police had no leads.

"why isn't there much on her murder?" you asked, scrolling down an article with a frown on your face.

ethan sat next to you on your bed, peering over your shoulder as your eyes scanned your screen. jesus, you read fast. "quinn told me that her parents wanted to keep it under wraps," he murmured, only catching glimpses of the article's words. "but i heard they got some private detectives on the case, too."

"sounds like small town gossip."

"oh, that's cause it was." ethan's eyes landed on one quote from the article as your scrolling finally came to a stop. adam's apple bobbing at the sight of it, he read, '.. found stabbed an approximate 78 times ..' the sheer strength and passion, the excitement richie must've had when he killed evelyn made his stomach sick. and ethan would've easily puked over the side of your bed if you didn't speak to him, breaking him from his stupor.

"hey, stay with me."

and just like that, ethan did. his mind was brought back to the present.

"right. sorry." you oculd feel his breath fan gently over your neck as he continued to look over your shoulder. "if we find the fingertips of his current victims, we can connect him to her— evelyn's —murder."

"maybe he kept them." you looked at ethan, confusion written over his face at your words. "it's just a guess, i dunno. but if evelyn was richie's first victim, then he might have kept parts of her. like a—"

"trophy. oh, this is so fucked," ethan muttered under his breath, moving to lay horizontally on your bed, the situation at hand easily driving him to exhaustion as he stared at your ceiling.

"we should first find out who his most current victims are, if possible. see if anyone our age has gone missing in our university or nearby universities." you looked down at ethan, whose face laid near where you sat. "if we can't, then we need to find those fingertips."

"right."

a beat.

"richie's working, yeah?" you asked ethan, who nodded as his doe eyes turned to you.

"yeah. he can't really be anywhere but work right now.” a hint of a smile graced his features. “i stole a look at his scheduling. he’s probably knee deep in papers right now.” he saw your eyes flash over in worry, the glint disappearing just as quickly as it arrived, and ethan knew. he simply knew that ever since richie gave into his impulses and followed you home, you were on edge.

you were just good at hiding it. good thing ethan was a little bit too observant when he wanted to.

"y/n, he's working." silently reassuring, ethan gazed at you, reading your indifferent face, searching for any more sign of fear or worry, but it was gone. you had gotten rid of everything before it could show even more.

"right." you looked away from ethan, feeling his stupidly innocent gaze still lingering on your as you looked back at your laptop. if you were to meet with ethan anywhere else but your dorm, richie surely would've gone out of his way to see. at least in the safety of your dorm room, you could shut the blinds and lock the door and be sure of your safety.

"what're your guys' plans tomorrow?" ethan asked you, finally allowing your to move on from the indirect topic of your emotions.

you shrugged. "no idea. i never texted him first— that's embarrassing."

"you seemed fine with calling me first last night."

"i never said that wasn't embarrassing." you rolled your eyes, almost hearing the stupid small smile that graced ethan's face at your words.

a minute passed in silence, the only sounds being your typing as you tried to build your list of articles on evelyn's murder. you had a grand total of 5 articles; better than you thought, but not as much as you would've liked.

he shifted umcomfortably in his seat, the dead silence only a bit too awkward for him. "shouldn't you know your plans, though? just in case he, uh," ethan clears his throat, raising his brows knowingly. he didn't want to say the word; but you already knew what he was implying.

"kills me?"

"well, yeah."

"he's not going to kill me," you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. "not yet, anyway. i'm too close to mindy; if i suddenly go missing after a date with him, mindy will find out for sure."

ethan's lips twitched into a small frown, hazel eyes darking with turmoil as he listened to you. "evelyn was my neighbor, y/n. she literally lived down the street from me; he's unpredictable—"

you almost winced at that word.

you could feel them all staring at you. whispering harshly, practically pointing at you as you stood at the doorway of your aunt's house, hands clasped together in front of you. your mother believed that having you locked up in the room of your new shared apartment in new york was unhealthy; and maybe she was right. for once, she had your best interests at heart, only you knew the outcome of her plan to assimilate you back into society under your shiny new last name.

"she's unpredictable," your aunt hissed as she talked to your mother, shamelessly looking you up and down as though you were some freak of nature, ignoring the clouded look over your eyes because you were barely keeping it together as it was. "you saw what she did, didn't you?"

luckily, you barely reacted.

"i know that, e."

"you know," he sat up in his seat, moving to sit next to you, facing the opposite way with his long legs splayed out on your bed, "after he was questioned by the police, he'd come home as though he had just come home from work or something. and he'd," he let out a sigh, "talk about it. like it was something so fucking casual."

"around you?" your eyebrows raised at that.

"no, never around me. but he would around my dad." contempt laced ethan's tone as he continued. it was hatred, but there was something underneath it that was something akin to jealousy, you realized. ''he'd tell him everything. what they asked that day. the leads he thinks they have— and he almost sounded proud that he was their only suspect."

"can i ask something?" you shifted to face your body towards his, your legs lightly touching his side. "if you were so sure that richie was the killer, why didn't you say anything?"

"because my dad worked for the department. so richie had an in." there it was again, you noticed; that familiar contempt. "and even though wayne bailey wasn't a part of the case, he upheld richie's innocence."

you blinked. "your family is fucked."'

"oh, i know."

"do you think you're the same way?"

ethan's eyebrows raised at your blunt question. he would've laughed in your face at your honesty if it weren't for the fact that you were dead serious. you stared at ethan, almost unblinking, expecting an equally honest answer back. "oh, you actually want to know?"

"yes?" you frowned a bit, tilting your head to the side a little. "did you think i was joking?"

"maybe?"

your brows knotted together. "i'm not joking, though."

"well, i know that now," ethan groaned, cheeks dusting pink out of slight embarrassment. "i haven't been diagnosed with anything other than like.. seasonal allergies and peanuts. maybe my moral code is a little messed up because i told you last night that i'm willing to help you kill my brother if i need to," his hands moved as he fell deeper and deeper into his ramble, "so maybe? the answer is maybe."

you listened to ethan ramble intently, watching his hands move as he spoke, as he ranted his jumbled thoughts in his mind to you. and in any other circumstance, you would've found ethan bailey annoying. he talked too much, couldn't handle silence, and had a way of going back and forth on things.

but you didn't mind ethan. he was tolerable.

you liked tolerable.

"or maybe the answer isn't maybe and i need to see a therapist. because i don't particularly feel bad for trying to put my murderous sociopathic brother in jail — not as much as i probably should, by the way — so the answer might be a yes, but for the sake of my sanity the answer is still.." ethan's string of words died in his throat when he realized he had been rambling for a good minute now.

you seemed like the type to interrupt someone who was speaking far too much and far too fast in a short period of time, but you hadn't said a word.

you were listening to him. staring (albeit a little creepily; had you blinked yet?) and observing ethan as he spoke too much about an uncomfortable topic to try and get rid of the unsettling feeling in his chest.

ethan cleared his suddenly dry throat as he stared into your eyes (for someone who hated to socialize, you held eye contact a little bit too much sometimes). "the answer is still a maybe," he managed, officially finishing his ramble. offering you a tight lipped smile, he added, "i rambled."

"you did." you replied.

"i'm sorry i did."

"nothing to be sorry about. i don't mind it." you stared at him for a little longer, blinking before turning back to your laptop, failing to notice the way ethan's face turned a prettier shade of red at your nonchalance. "when richie and i are out on our date, you should look for any ids or items he may have kept from his victims."

"right." ethan focused his attention to the task at hand, ignoring the way your prior words seemed to echo in his mind. how could he be thinking so deeply about such a thing when you were acting as if it was nothing? you were just a nice person; there wasn't more behind your words. "you should try and be out with him for a good few hours just to give me time."

"a few hours with richie. sounds great." you clenched your jaw, your fingers stopping on your keyboard. but they were still thrumming on your thumb, each finger tapping your fingertip in an undisclosed rhythm. "any pointers? like anything he may like in a person that'll make him," your nose wrinkled at your words, "not want to go home?"

"he likes you as you are already." ethan paused, biting his bottom lip gently as he reevaluated his words. "actually— he likes girls who he can't really have. like sam?" he rolled his eyes as he remembered their hellshow of a relationship. "he pined after sam for like a year just because she was dating someone before they got together."

ethan avoided your gaze as he looked at your laptop screen. "you know when he listened while we pretended to have sex? how he waited," from his peripherals, he could see your expression sour with anger at his words, "until you 'orgasmed'," ethan made faux quotations with his fingers, "before he left?"

"yeah." the memory of richie's shadow under ethan's door made a sick feeling broil in your stomach. and that feeling only grew when your mind came to a horrible assumption. "you don't think richie's interest in me grew after that night.. do you?"

ethan finally looked at you, his jaw clenched in anger and protectiveness as he nodded once. and that alone made your face fall in horror.

richie partly wanted you because it meant he deemed you 'forbidden' territory. because he believed ethan was interested in you first.

you groaned, letting your upper body fall back on your bed. "your brother's disgusting," you stated, staring at your ceiling.

next to you, ethan sighed. "i know."

you stood stiffly as you stared at the black dress you wore. in any other circumstance, you would've been comfortable with how you looked. you had styled your hair and this was one of your many black dresses that fit your features well, and to top it off, you wore a heart locket necklace and had your bag over your shoulder.

but knowing what you were getting into, it was hard to stay completely confident. you had basically shoved more of your strongest emotions into the deep dark hole in your mind just to keep yourself sane, but you couldn't even deny the sickening feeling in your chest that seemed to grow with every passing minute.

you still had no idea what richie's plans were. maybe it was something boring, like a movie then dinner. or maybe a walk in the park that would eventually lead to your death.

all you knew was that he would pick you up at 7 pm. that was all richie texted you, and now it was 6:45.

15 minutes.

"hello?" ethan's voice on your phone made you snap out of your thoughts, jaw clenching as you looked at yourself one last time, making sure not a hair was out of place just to keep up the facade.

you had called him again. at this point, you were wondering if you were lacking self respect for yourself, choosing to continuously call ethan during times of high stress in your shared situation.

you really needed to stop calling first. it was getting embarrassing.

"hello." you looked at your phone, watching as ethan tried (and failed) to set up his phone on his bedside table. you had been in a call for 30 minutes now, and while most of the conversation was honestly just ethan talking and you replying with short comments, you didn't mind it too much.

"are you, uh," ethan swallowed hard, "ready? hasn't been back since work so i'm guessing he's on his way to you now."

"i'm ready to get this over with, if that's what you mean." you set your phone up on your table, thankful that anika and mindy were out on another one of their movie dates (mindy was a little too excited to watch evil dead rise), so you could speak without interruptions. you sat on your desk chair, showing the upper half of your body to ethan, who was sitting on his bed, his back laid back on his head board.

but when he saw you, dressed up and looking a little bit too nice for his shitty brother, ethan sat up. throat running dry like it always seemed to and cheeks heating up, he managed an almost shy smile as he looked at you. "you look.. nice."

"thanks." a pause. "do i not usually look nice?"

ethan's eyes widened in shock (and slight fear). "i didn't say that! i just haven't known you for that long and i've only seen you like a handful of times but i swear you always look nice! you just look especially nice tonight. for richie." his nose crinkled in disgust at the thought.

you were all dressed up for his brother. and while the entire situation had made ethan throw up almost daily and feel far too many negative emotions that he didn't know how he felt anymore, he knew one thing as he looked at you, sitting so casually as though you weren't stopping ethan's train of thought.

he was jealous. and worried. and feeling far too protective over you, someone who could definitely handle everything on your own.

you tilted your head a little as ethan ended his short ramble. "ethan, i was joking."

"oh." ethan nodded, clicking his tongue as he tried to play it cool. "right."

lightly glossed lips curled up slightly, revealing a small smile. "thank you." your hands pulled your ring off of your finger. you let it run over your knuckles; back and forth. back and forth. the heated metal (you hands were and it was only a little disgusting) moved easily over your skin as you tried to calm yourself.

9 more minutes.

"y/n," ethan said, making your eyes focus again. "be careful, okay?"

your mouth opened to protest, but ethan continued on.

"and i know you said you could handle it," he said pointedly, making you shut your mouth, "but i want you to be careful."

three loud knocks at your dorm door made you jump, hand closing over your ring and curling into a fist as your steady heart began to pound loudly in your ears.

he was here.

"i have to go." you grabbed your phone, voice lowered down as you looked at ethan one last time. and for a brief moment, he saw just how worried you were. "you know the plan. be careful." and with that, you hung up.

the door to you and mindy's shared dorm felt far away as you walked out of your bedroom, shoving your phone into your purse before opening your dorm door. richie stood outside with a single orchid in his hand, its petals pristine and white as he held it. sleazy eyes traveled down your body, as though he was silently taking in your every curve, every exposed area of skin. and not even caring to seem the least bit subtle, richie took his time traveling back up to your face, his cold eyes watching you with interest.

as though you were some unpredictable toy for him.

"you look beautiful," richie murmured, making you force a smile as you tilted your head to the side a bit. shutting the door behind you, you looked him up and down; an open button up black shirt with a white shirt inside and some black jeans. the lack of effort in his style was infuriating— why did you have to dress up but he showed up as though he robbed old navy?

"you look.. good," you managed, unable to keep your honesty at bay as you managed a tight lipped smile. your lackluster response made you want to walk back into your dorm and lock it, but richie only chuckled at your response.

"nothing else?" he asked, handing the orchid to you. "i got you another flower."

another flower. you tried to hide your disgust at the confirmation that richie really was your stalker, instead taking the orchid with a tense hand. as you took it, richie began to walk down the hall of your dorm building, ready to lead you out.

"thanks," you stated, walking next to him and reluctantly allowing him to take the lead. wary eyes watched him, taking in the way he seemed to have perfect posture, how pleased he seemed in himself, as though his mere presence was a blessing to you, and the way he was staring right back at you.

observing. watching, pupils almost dilating as he took in how perfect you looked under the fluorescent light of the hallway. richie could feel his heart pounding, adams apple bobbing as he took a moment — just a moment — to admire his date. his date. the phrase rolled off of his tongue quite nicely.

you immediately averted your eyes back to the hallway in front of you. "so," you began, ignoring the way his eyes felt on your skin, "you were pretty enigmatic about this whole date. i almost thought you'd kill me or something." the dry humored joke fell from your lips before you could stop it, and yet you kept your eyes focused on the hallway in front of you, barely a reaction on your face as blood rushed through your ears. as you both began to take the elevator downstairs, you heard richie laugh.

even his laugh sounded ingenuine.

he stood next to you, arm pressed against yours, a little too close for comfort in the empty elevator. "just wanted to keep it a surprise, that's all." richie's eyes traveled to your hand, watching as you rubbed your ring subconsciously, a lopsided smirk appearing on his face. "are you nervous for our date?" he asked.

eyes blinking, you looked up at him confusedly. "no," you said with a tilt of your head, "why do you say that?"

"because," richie said, looking down at you with a mischievous smile, as though he was always one step ahead of you. "you've been rubbing that ring of yours ever since i arrived. i'd call it a," he thought for a moment before clicking his tongue, "nervous tick." a knowing glint appeared in his eyes, and suddenly you felt a wave of sick paranoia wash over you.

you immediately stopped rubbing your ring, your head turning back to the closed elevator doors in front of you both. your distorted reflection stared back at you from the steel of the elevator doors, and it was as though you realized just how trapped you were. there was no going back from this plan.

again, you began to subconsciously rub your ring. and richie continued to watch.

#AUTHORSNOTE— i'm actually soso sorry for the long update & the cliffhanger, but thank you for reading!

#TAGLIST— @cham9ions , @netey6m , @mskitkatbubbles , @onlyangel-444 , @cyueksims , @tisthedamnseason69 , @helpimgoinginsanehaha , @anthemabby , @clemenscove , @vanillawhale , @lanascinnamongirll , @rhaenyra4ever , @shebreathedherlast , @datingspiderman , @marurubahbah , @taetae123094 , @kn1n3 , @nox222 , @ch9mpi0n , @ooyuhgetitig4

#scream 6 imagines #scream 6 smut #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x you #ethan landry #ethan landry smut #ethan landry fanfic #ethan landry fanfiction #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry fluff #scream 6 imagine #scream 6 fluff #scream 6 #scream 6 fanfiction #scream vi imagine #scream vi smut #scream vi #sub ethan landry #scream fanfic #scream 6 fanfic #scream vi imagines #ethan landry imagines #ethan landry imagine #blue monday—!

[singmyaubade]

warning : contains MATURE CONTENT such as mentions smut and cursing.

cheater!eddie x y/n

as you continue, i am not responsible for your media usage.

part 1 / part 2

It certainly wasn’t an overdramatic use of words when you said you were done with Eddie. You were truly done with him in all, you didn’t want to be with him anymore.

He was a great boyfriend starting off, fantastic in fact. He cared for you and always gave you tenderly and attentive kisses all over, not missing any skin.

You guys would never argue nor have fights in general. Everything was utterly perfect and you were happy.

That was until you caught Eddie with the cheer captain, Ruby Sinclair. She was riding him which you had done many times, moaning about how big he was and he was praising her by saying how tight her cunt was.

To make matters worse, you were on the cheer team and Ruby was one of your best friends.

And to make it even more disgusting, they didn’t notice you until you gasped. Tears were already streaming down your cheeks.

You couldn’t even believe the sight because you loved Eddie and had no idea why he would betray you like this.

You ran out of the trailer, completely betrayed. He did -n’t even chase after you.

He just let you go.

You had cried for what felt like an eternity until you went to sleep and you didn’t have the ability to think anymore.

You felt like shit in the morning, wearing your cheer skirt that had yellow lines on the bottom and a white hoodie.

You hadn’t seen Eddie for almost the entire day so you thought that it would be easier until you saw him at lunch. He spotted you out almost immediately and started walking up to you.

Of course you didn’t want to give everyone a performance but you were furious and didn’t have the chance to take the high road, not when either of did.

He went up to you, “Y/n.”

You slammed your tray on the table causing others to look, “Don’t even try to fucking explain yourself Eddie.”

He scoffed, “If you let me at least try to ex-“

At that point, you just slapped him causing everyone to gasp, “Don’t you dare try to justify your actions, you asshole.” You pointed your finger at him, “I liked you when others said you were bad.” Tears started rimming your eyes.

“I dated you despite being on the cheer team and handled the harassment by Ruby who you chose to cheat on me with for months.” You panted, “Regardless of what others thought, I still fucked you, loved you, and appreciated you and you spat in my fucking face and basically said I wasn’t worth and of it.” You were hysterically crying now.

Eddie frowned, trying to touch you as you dodged him completely, “I fucking hate you and I don’t ever want you to talk to me again.” You spat, grabbing your backpack and leaving.

#eddie munson #stranger things #cheater!eddie #eddie munson x y/n #eddie #eddie mundon #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader smut #stranger things x reader #singmyaubade #munson #st4 volume 2 #st4 #st4 vol2 #st4 fanfic #st4 eddie

[kerubimcrepin]

Liveblog - Dofus, livre 1 : Julith [PART 11]

As I've mentioned, Kerubim and Julith have Beef.

As far as she is concerned, whether he was behind her framing (he wasn't) he is one of the people to blame. He defeated her that fateful day, and then she never saw her son again.

I've already went into detail, on the way "killing" her has affected him, (A mixture of horror and duty. Killing a mother and making a child an orphan for the sake of a city. Being grateful for her dying because it made him a father instead. Feeling awful for that thought.) but it is interesting, how he reacted to her turning out to be alive, when he killed her with his own hands.

Seething. Perhaps even coping.

This is chichala, which we had seen. I suppose he uses it to buff himself up before the boss fight. Drinking alcohol before a fight is very much RPG logic.

Sadly, there are no interesting buffs to it in-game:

I think a lot about the way Kerubim, Joris, and Atcham would be characterized in video game logic, by the way. I still have no working theory of how the hell their fighting styles would synergize. Would Joris be their buffer/debuffer? Their glass canon? Both? And do any of them take ranged weapons on missions...?

They probably do. It'd be kinda dumb not to. Personally, I like to imagine that Atcham would be the one using those, most of the time. He has that "skyrim stealth archer" vibe to him. (Though they're all melee users, through and through.)

Despite how smug he is at a couple of moments, he really was struggling during this fight.

My honest reaction whenever Kerubim does this fucking face is just:

This is very much a "deeply mentally ill adoptive father (who inadvertently ruined his child's life by adopting them to atone for his sins + because he was abused as a child) fighting through an army for his child before dying in their arms and saying they're the only good thing he ever had" look for him.

Another reason that one has to support both women's rights and wrongs when talking about Julith, is that, like.,.. what was she playing at, here? There are two possibilities:

That she would destroy whoever has the dragon's soul and set it free, giving her an advantage.

That Kerubim would shield that person.

Either one is good. :)

Either way she was perfectly willing to risk/attempt blowing up a random, innocent person, who was hiding from her.

My personal headcanon is that while Julith is physically stronger than Kerubim, she lost ten years prior because she couldn't stop thinking about The Baby. Where were they taking Joris? Did Bakara leave with him? Is Joris alright? Didn't Jahash give him to this cat man, who was now trying to kill her? What the fuck is going on, who did this, why, why, why?

I imagine seeing him lose for the exact same reason brings her great pleasure.

the nonbinary slay here was insane

Guys I think this might be bad for Joris's long term mental stability.

On a more serious note, I think there should be more content about Joris fucking hating Julith. During the movie? There's too much going on to work out what he feels.

But after? He has all the time in the world to hate her for everything she did.

I do think that he probably grew up and found whoever framed her to take revenge on/to get justice. But hating her, and wanting to clear her name of the crimes she DIDN'T commit so she could have some peace in death, so that people would stop smearing her name, — are two things that can coexist.

Like to slap his bald scaly head, reblog to slap his bald scaly head.

Kerubim never changed his stupid ass baka "George George the Farmer Farmer" name.

Though we've been knew.

BAD. I DON'T LIKE THIS.

AND she recognizes him by the blue eyes. AND, this implies that, for the entirety of the Dofus show, — and the entirety of Wakfu as well, since he, once again, has yellow eyes there, — he had dragon eyes.

Imagine being Simone, waking up at 3am, realizing because you forgot something in Joris and Kerubim's bedroom, sneaking in, and seeing this.

It also raises some questions about adult Joris, because we know he no longer has Grougalorasalar in him. The easiest explanation is that he spent so much time with the dragon, that after their final separation, his eyes couldn't change anymore.

After all, — the changes the dragon made to his height/skin/hair are permanent. It would make sense that, with time, even his eyes would be permanently altered.

I don't think it's a sad thing, by the way. Imagine going your whole life with beautiful brown eyes that look a bit like your adoptive father's. Then imagine suddenly having blue eyes (scary) and that they're your Dead Father's Who You Never Met but whom everyone misses. Like which pair of eyes would you choose? Because I think there IS a right answer to this riddle.

I think Julith has convinced herself that whoever took her and Jahash out wouldn't want loose ends, and that Joris was taken out as well, or something. Maybe that's why he wasn't really on her mind.

Mind you, this is a tinfoil hat headcanon.

This is so beautiful, to me... She was so emotionally stricken by seeing him again as his mother, that his father, who was both fatally wounded and stricken by seeing her perform deeply painful dark rituals on his son after traumatizing him, could land one last hit on her to save said son.

Julith has been a mother for a grand total of a few days to a month, while Kerubim has been for 10 years. Of course, her first concern is getting surprised it's him, and not that she hurt him. Because she couldn't even dream that she'd ever see him again.

There's a tragedy in that. She never even had a chance to learn how to be his mother, or who he is as a person, — she was the mother of an infant. Her love for him is far more theoretical than Kerubim's.

It's a love for Joris not as a person, but as a lost opportunity.

So she has no regrets about hurting him, — and she will hurt him as many times as it takes, if that's what it takes to get back her family.

#ro liveblogs dofus #dofus #wakfu #krosmoz #dofusmovie #Youtube

[moon-huny]

Stole the Moon - Chapter Four

CW: My content is not for anyone under 18. Minors DNI. Youre kidnapped, hostage situation, standard pirate stuff. mention of attempted assault, murder, afab reader, she/her pronouns.

Word Count: 3.6K

Summary: Going ashore, something about Buggy seems off.

A/N: I could not fit all of the smut that I wanted to include in this chapter so onto the next, which will exclusively be the chapter. I would just hate to rush and waste all of the angsty potential.

Learning more about our reader in this chapter tho. Gotta love some backstory. You know what they say, uncertain pasts make the heart grow fonder.

Okay, that's all, enjoy.

masterlist ✧˖°

previous • next

“Fuck off to where you came from Cabaji, you can pry her from our cold dead hands!”

You were laid out on the yellow loveseat sipping water while Lettie kneeled beside you and gently cleaned the red makeup from your neck. Marie was on the other side of the small cabin, pushing the door shut and spewing threats. She gripped the little iron knob and pushed her entire body weight against the door to keep the swordsman out.

“You forget that I happen to know at least eight different ways to kill you,” Cabaji shot back, the door once again shuttering against Marie’s attempts to keep it closed.

Last night, the two young women stumbled their way to the kitchen for a late night snack – and to perhaps steal some of the wine you and the captain might have left behind. Only what they found was you slumped forward in a dining chair, Cabaji with his feet up sleeping and an empty bottle.

Lettie’s eyes had gone wide at your predicament and Marie nearly slit Cabaji’s throat. Immediately the two of them carried you to their room to let you sleep the rest of the night.

“And you forget, Greenie, that I know just as many!” Marie shouted.

The hangover you had was impossible to ignore. Lettie’s gentle hand nursed you back to health for the most part, but that blanket of pain draped over your head didn’t make it easy to get off your feet.

You kept thinking back to last night. The way his lips had connected with your skin lit a fire that you couldn’t put out. The places where his kiss landed on your body had left an imprint like steps on the sand. Every thought you had the whole morning fell back to him, and his hands, and his voice, and his kiss.

You almost regret pushing him away. Your head was swimming with all of the potential things you could be doing this morning had the night gone in Buggy’s favor. 

His incessant need to have your allegiance was a subject you had no intention of ever budging. He kept you in a cellar on his ship as a prisoner, it’s not exactly strange that you wouldn’t want to join the very crew that imprisoned you.

“Captain wants her on land with him,” said Cabaji. “He said she has to be there.”

“Oh, come on!” said Lettie standing up from her place next to you and walking to the door. “What good will it do for Buggy to tote around this poor girl?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Cabaji said with a mock confusion from the other side. “I didn’t realize we were staging a mutiny! Although, for you two surely that’s not a new concept. In fact, maybe I should remind Captain Buggy about your backstory? Hmm?”

They both looked at one another nervously. After that comment, you immediately stood – dizzy as you may be – and made your way to the door. Moving around Marie, you pushed the threshold open to see Cabaji standing there waiting for you.

“Leave them alone,” you said. “I’ll come with you, just let me get dressed. That okay with you?”

Cabaji just shrugged and leaned against the wall with a bored expression. Closing the door, Lettie mouthed an ‘are you sure’ to which you simply nodded and began pulling some clothing together from their crammed reserve.

///

Cabaji did as was instructed and escorted you above deck. The two girls followed behind under the guise of wanting to go into the town just like every other crew member. 

Stepping out onto the deck of the ship, you looked out over the island. It was seemingly small, but with the amount of buildings stacked on top of one another you wouldn't have known it. Teeming with life in every direction, the little city was unlike anything you’d seen before. 

The sight of land caused you to remember –

A small seaside town.

 just big enough to spend time alone but small enough to know the names of all the residents. You were eleven years old again and walking the dusty road to the dock. The sun was setting through the beautiful trees and over the open pastures, the bridges on your path took you over sweet little streams reflecting the warm orange glow of the sky. 

Nearing the rocky shore, you came upon the tiny dock. Stomping your little feet to the end of the planked walkway, you hopped onto a woman’s boat. It was a fishing ship, large enough for three to be comfortable but small enough to be sailed by one.

“I told you to wait for me at home,” said the woman. In your memory you saw her wearing your necklace. The beautiful antique moonstone pendant. She was putting away fishing nets with a swift precision only someone with intense experience could do.

“I got bored,” you said with a shrug. “I want to go out on the boat.”

“You know we can’t do that, it’s getting late,” replied the woman hardly regarding you and continuing her chores.

“Aw come on,” your youthful self replied, crossing your arms and dragging out all the syllables in a whine. “I want to go see them.”

The woman stopped, put her work aside and strode up to you. Gripping both of your shoulders she said in a serious tone, “just because they let you live that one time, does not mean that those monsters will allow you to live a second.”

“They aren’t monsters, they are my friends,” you responded.

“And I am your mother, and I say no.”

“(Y/N)?” Lettie touched your shoulder gently.

“Yea!?” you jumped out of your memory. “Yes, yes, I’m sorry. I just had a moment.”

She looked at you with suspicion. You looked visibly shaken like you’d seen a ghost.

“Okay, well, if you need anything,” said Lettie.

“Just call for us,” chimed Marie.

You nodded back at them in return. Cabaji, Lettie and Marie marched off the ship and down the dock to enjoy whatever the island had to offer. Watchinging them continue up the street, no one ran in fear or called for help, yet the three acrobats did instill respect. People moved out of the way, regarded their presence humbly.

The clothing you’d chosen was suitable for the warmer climate. A long patterned dress with a slit up the side was perfect for the tropical air. But you would be lying if you said you didn’t pick it with him in mind.

As you stood looking out over the side of the ship, you heard footsteps approach from behind you. You turned to face him. His expression was blank, no self important smirk, no drag of the eyes along your body, nothing. He simply stopped, eyes connecting with yours, and with a bored expression, looked off toward the town.

“Let’s go,” he said, making his way toward the ramp down to the dock.

“Hey!” you called after him from higher ground. He turned to look at you with a dramatic head turn.

Raising his eyebrows all he said was, “what?” in the most annoyed tone you’d ever heard him use with you.

You scoffed, mostly in shock at the way he was speaking to you. You’d been threatened, sexualized, and outright ignored, but never had he been this … this … petty.

“What is your problem?” you said with all of the accusatory intent you could muster.

“My problem,” he responded. “Is that you wont shut up and follow where I am telling you to go. Now Let's. Go.”

You were stunned, absolutely in shock. Your jaw hung open but no words came out all you could do was stand there and attempt to find the right insult to throw, but nothing came to you.

He simply chuckled at your astonished expression and continued down to the dock. The events of last night sat with him late. He barely slept and while the lack of rest certainly contributed to his mood, seeing you this morning looking like that made him a whole new level of irritated.

Deciding you had nothing better to do and nowhere to go, you followed him. Chasing after the clown you felt your feet finally connect with land, you said what you’d been thinking since you docked.

“I could run away you know,” you said over his shoulder trying to keep up. “There isn’t anything keeping me following you, I could just book it and you’d never see me again.”

He stopped quickly and spun to face you, the quick movement causing you to bump into his chest. He’d forgone his coat and hat opting to keep just the vest and throw his long hair into a bun high on his head. The shorter pieces fell down around his face and some tucked behind his ear. 

“Then why haven’t you?”

His eyes had finally connected with yours and stayed there. You couldn’t explain it, but it felt exactly like what you’d been waiting for. Locked in his gaze you couldn’t think or speak, you just stood and let yourself search his beautiful green eyes.

“Yea,” he whispered for only you to hear. His eyes flicked down to your lips and back up. “That’s what I thought.”

Turning away from you and continuing on his way up the busy street, you snapped out of whatever trance you were under. He spoke loudly enough for you to hear him as you followed behind.

“Plus, even if you wanted to escape nobody here would aid or abet you,” he detached his torso and spun, arms crossed to face you while his legs continued walking on their path.

Outstretching his arms, “I own this city!”

Taking the time to look at the buildings you passed and the people all around, you saw a spectacular amount of Buggy related iconography. His jolly roger hung in bars, on fruit stands, and hotel welcome mats.

“You’re joking.”

“Is it really so hard to believe that some people would rather live under the banner of a pirate than between the iron jaw of the Marines? Isn’t that right ladies and gents?”

When you both rounded the corner, as if on cue, a chorus of “That's right, Captain” fell sweetly from the mouths of a gaggle of gorgeous young men and women standing on the street corner. They were dressed in beautifully scandalous clothing. The name Madam Zell’s hung above the door of the dimly lit building.

“I love when they call me that,” Buggy said, shooting the group a wink before floating back to attach himself onto his hips.

“Know them?” you asked, feeling jealousy making a home in your chest.

An all too proud smirk pulled on his face looking over his shoulder to say, “intimately.” 

You saw red. The gorgeous nymph-like gathering outside the bordello made you second guess yourself. He clearly didn’t have a type, the look of each individual completely different from the next. And yet, you still found yourself jealous of the beautiful individuals Buggy clearly visited. 

“Almost there!” he called back to you.

///

After a few more blocks, Buggy turned into a skinny alleyway squished between two larger brick buildings. At the end was a heavy carved wooden door. 

“Wait here,” he said, turning to you as he placed his hand on the knob.

“In the alley on an island run by pirates? Very funny clown,” you replied.

“Suit yourself,” he said, as the door opened into one of the strangest places you’d seen.

There were incredibly detailed scarves and lamps hanging from the ceiling. All around the room was bathed in different hues of light. The front foyer branched off into a few different hallways and rooms, from around the corner, someone popped their head out.

Their long lavender hair was pulled into a high ponytail, small circular glasses sat on the end of their nose, they wore a long black skirt, a dress shirt and a tailored waistcoat. 

“Ah, Captain,” said the shopkeep. “And … guest?” Their eyebrow went up inquisitively and their eyes darted back and forth between you. They then disappeared into the other room.

“Who is that?” you asked

“Beau,” said Buggy. “Chemist, alchemist, fortune teller.”

“And we need them because…?”

“Because they have all the goods that I need to keep making my very special ammunition, sweet cheeks.”

From the other room on the right, Beau reappeared. Walking over to Buggy and handing him a small purple sack. They turned to address you. Their eyes were done with beautifully colored makeup that would put the blue haired pirate to shame.

“In case you hadn’t yet had the pleasure, Captain has an affinity for flashy projectiles. My alchemy produces the kind of ingredients he needs for –”

Beau’s face fell. They stared at you for a long moment, something that made you noticeably uncomfortable. 

“You don’t even know what you can do,” they said.

“How did you –” you began before Buggy grabbed you by the wrist and led you to the door.

“Plans are just that, Buggy, plans. You can’t make anyone do anything,” Beau called out after you both. His comment clearly struck a nerve with the pirate as he stopped and turned around.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” said Buggy. “And it’s Captain to you.” He finished, pointing a finger in Beau’s all too relaxed face.

The alchemist leaned around their boss to speak directly to you.

“You’re going to have to figure it out for yourself. But, I suggest getting reacquainted with the moon … in your spare time,” Beau smiled. “I see a certain someone in your future taking up those nighttime hours.”

You were dying to know what they meant, you wanted to stay longer, ask more questions. If they could see the future, could they also tell you your past? Before you could open your mouth to speak, Buggy was pulling you out the door and back into the alley.

“Hey, no wait,” you tugged at his grip on you. “I want to go back inside, I want Beau to tell me more about myself.”

“And I want to get a drink,” he said, pulling you out of the alley and around the corner. You were able to get one last look at the door before it disappeared from view.

///

You sat on the small rooftop bar alone. Buggy had long since disappeared downstairs to one of the other floors of the nightclub to do whatever it is that pirates do best. Truthfully you had no idea what he was doing.

The night was beautiful. The bar wasn’t far inland, but it was also one of the highest points in the city. You could look down and see all the way to the ships in the harbor.

Like Beau had told you, you began to watch the moon. Surely it could tell you something about yourself. Unless, of course, the chemist was lying and working for the round nosed menace you can’t keep your mind from wandering back to.

“If I made a run for it, would you tell the clown?” you asked the only other lone soul in your vicinity.

The stoic bartender simply nodded his head and you rolled your eyes.

“Hey gorgeous,” said a voice you had hoped wasn’t directed at you. “Sitting all alone at the bar isn’t something a pretty girl like you oughta be doing.”

“I’m not alone,” you responded quietly.

The guy was twice your size and clearly used to getting his way. He started to lean over you, forcing himself into your personal space.

“You look very alone to me,” he said, leaning further into you. Out of fear, anger and god knows what else, you reached over the bar and picked up the nearest wine bottle before bashing it over the man's head sending him staggering back in pain.

“I’m going to run now,” you said to the bartender as you pushed yourself out of the bar chair and made a break for the stairs.

You ran and jostled your way through people right and left as you heard Goliath chasing after you. Each floor you’d sped down you would stop and look around frantically for Buggy before descending again at the sight or sound of your pursuant.

Eventually, when you realized the blue haired slacker was nowhere to be seen, all you could think to do was book it back to the ship and hope that climbing aboard would be enough of a deterrent for this ridiculously angry and frankly very insistent maniac.

Taking off down the street, the ship was insight, however, as you reached the docks, he had caught up with you and grabbed your arm.

“You pant little pant bitch!” He pulled your body to his face and spit his anger through gritted teeth. “Nobody gets a hit on me and lives, I am going to fucking kill –”

He is cut off by the view of a massive wall of water erupting behind you. The wave, stationary and towering fifteen feet tall descended.

You imagine the water encasing him, forming a barrier around his entire body. He floats there, in mid air in a sphere of ocean you created with nothing more than pure thought.

He is drowning. He tries to swim for the sides of his prison, the bottom, the top, but the current you’ve created is too strong. Eventually he stops fighting and you let the water go and crash upon the wooden dock hearing the thud of his body hit the deck.

Your body crumpling from exhaustion. 

The last thing you hear is him calling your name. You catch a glimpse of the full moon as you slip into unconsciousness.

///

You stand in his quarters, still, and boiling with rage. All he does is sit in his chair and look at you. The tension in the room was thick as blood, something you coincidentally have on your hands.

“You should not have left me alone.” you say. “I killed him.”

“Baby, please, I kill people all the time.” He replied sticking to his petty nonchalance from early in the day.

Your eyes went wide daring him to keep talking. He shut up very quickly then.

“I don’t even remember what happened. All I can remember is running and when he caught me I blacked out.”

You paced in your spot of the room across from him biting your thumb and plastering a worried expression across your face.

Buggy knew exactly what you did, he watched the whole thing happen. He watched you call up the sea and use it to drown a man midair. But it would be a cold day in hell before you knew that.

Sea water might as well be poison to him. The devil fruit inside was responsible for his inability to swim and if you so happen to get a hold on those powers before you had a loyalty to him, he’d be a goner for sure.

“What happened?” you asked the pirate. His long hair down and shirt changed into a loose linen.

“You know I wish that I could tell you, doll,” he said from his relaxed position in his chair. “But I didn’t see anything.”

He had lied dozens, hundreds of times before and while on the outside it seemed no different, he felt an uncomfortable weight on his chest, like he could feel the lie pushing him down. The way you looked so out of control. This wasn’t like you. You were confident and strong and always trying to stay one step ahead of him.

Your body fell into one of the other chairs in the room. Your head in your hands, all you could do was sit there and feel overwhelmed.

Perfect thought Buggy. He may have felt bad but he wasn't about to go back on a plan, not one so developed as this. You were in the palm of his hand all he needed to do was squeeze.

The clown captain made his way over and knelt in front of you. You peeked at him from behind your hands.

“Let me take care of you,” he said quietly, running his hand up the side of your leg from ankle to knee. 

Usually, you’d say no. Kick at him, demand a fight, challenge him. But him before you like this, begging in such a delicate way. You just wanted all the stress and frustration and fear to go away.

You nodded your head as he began to move the slit of your dress to free your left leg. He placed a gentle kiss to the inside of your knee and made his way higher, and higher. Soft lips connecting with your even softer skin.

Then you did something you’d wanted to do for so long. Between your hands you held his face and lifted him to your lips. Still kneeling before you with his hands moved to firmly grip your thighs in the chair, Buggy hesitated. The plan was just to eat you out, send you over the top with pleasure on his tongue, then discard you, make you beg for more.

But to kiss you ... could it possibly be so bad.

You ever so gently touched your lips to his own, teasing and testing to see what he would do, but he let you take the lead. Pressing your lips to his, Buggy was hit with a wave. It was unlike anything he had experienced before. The gentle supple feel of your kiss sent butterflies careening in his stomach. His chest felt tight and his pants felt even tighter.

He was used to the kinds of kisses that people share when they're just looking to fuck but never something like this, like you. It was addictive filling him with a desire he hadn’t felt in a long time. Not a want or even a need, a desire.

He could kiss you forever this way, his hands massaging up and down your pillowy thighs. You grew hotter pushing further into his kiss and moaning for more. This kiss, it was the kind that could seal the deal, make you love him.

But that was when he realized. He understood Beau’s fortune. He was already too far gone and losing control with every moment his mouth was on yours. He pulled away.

“Get out,” he said. His head hung in front of you still on his knees.

“Wha– What?” you questioned.

“I said get out.” He pushed himself to get off the ground and made for his desk to busy himself with something, anything that wasn't your body.

“Did I do something?”

He didn’t answer.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚

taglist: @tokoyamisstuff @mommymilkerfanclub @chaoticqueen33 @tootoomanycats @cefni @ruledbyproblematique @crayolacat-lilybelle @melissahew

taglist is open.

#stole the moon #buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy fanfic #buggy x you #buggy opla #buggy x y/n #captain buggy #buggy d clown