emisanemu

[emisanemu]

For the love of god please stop tagging ur OCs in the x reader tag!!! Cos that ain’t me that’s some random ass person with a name that ain’t mine!!! And that’s not what I go in to the x reader tags looking for!!!

[emisanemu]

*°You Can Call Me Evil°*

Adam Stanheight x plus-sized reader

Word count: 3729

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Warnings: blood, gore, saw things, Jon Kramer, Amanda Young, depictions of bullet wounds and blood, missing limbs, prosthetics, Stockholm syndrome, nipple sucking, PiV, depictions of male anatomy, depictions of female anatomy, sex.

Genre: horror, gore, smut, fluff, semi enemies to lovers, Stockholm syndrome.

The moment you enter the room it’s cold, sending goosebumps down your arms and shivers down your spine, it is impossibly dark, so much so you can barely see in front of yourself. But you can hear his desperate whimpers, long past screaming help me, he just sits there, chained to the wall somewhere in the room and crying. You reach out, searching the wall for the overhead light switch, which you find after a moment of struggle, they switch on with a buzzing noise and they are impossibly bright. He sees you immediately and begins to back up against the wall, almost like he is trying to shrink in on himself to get away from you.

“Stay back!” You stop in your tracks at his panicked command, putting your hands up in a placating manner, “Don’t worry Adam, I am not here to hurt you, I promise.” You speak quietly, taking a cautionary step forward, hoping to not scare him any further than he already is. “Who are you? How do you know my name?” He asks, still trying to move backwards, only to be stopped by the white stained tile wall behind him. “I will tell you, but first let me help you, okay?”

You take a few more steps forward until you stop right in front of him, you pull a bag off of your back and kneel down, pulling a few items out, water, antiseptic, bandages, and a hammer, which only proves to worry him further but you give him a reassuring look, hoping to calm him down even by a little bit.

You move back a bit and lift the hammer above your head, initially he shrieks, begging you not to hurt him, that is until you use the hammer to break the lock holding the chain around his ankle in place. It comes apart with a lot of effort on your part, shattering into two or three different pieces onto the tiled floor. He immediately puts down his hands which were covering his face and head, looking at the now broken lock and for the first time in days he feels something other than helplessness and fear, hope.

You toss the hammer to the side, it clatters against the ground loudly, something you both flinch at, but you move on, knowing you have to move fast before John gets back and sees you defying his orders. ‘Clean up the loose end.’ He had told you, which meant he wanted you to kill Adam, to ‘tie up the loose ends’, everything in you told you to obey him….but you couldn’t. So here you are, uncapping a water bottle and holding it up to Adam’s mouth, which he gratefully takes, gulping it down in just a few sips, which would have made you giggle had the circumstances been different.

Next you bring your hands forward, slowly and gently and lift his shirt, something that despite the situation, makes him blush. You wince at the bullet wound in his shoulder, it is still partially bleeding and red and inflamed around the wound, with any luck it is only a mild infection and has not set deep into his skin tissue. You reach for the antiseptic, it's in a clear condiment bottle of some kind, the only thing you had on hand when packing your bag. “This is going to sting a bit.”

You warn before you take the bottle and begin pouring it onto his bullet wound, he immediately howls in pain, a loud shriek, one that makes you reach out and cover his mouth with your free hand, a hand that he can't help but notice feels almost…plastic, It is then when he realizes where he had seen you, you had been on the news, a survivor of one of the infamous ‘saw traps’, you had lost your hand, back the on the news it was still wrapped and bandaged, now it was replaced with a prosthetic. This revelation only proves to draw up more questions in Adam’s mind, why were you here and most importantly why were you helping him, His head was reeling so much he hadn’t even noticed you had bandaged his wound and were now trying to help him off of the floor.

“Come on, we have to get out of here before John comes back.” John? He doesn’t even have time to ask a question before you’re pulling him up with a strength that surprises him, you let him lean on you as you begin walking out of the building together. It is winding corridors and dark rooms before you finally find yourselves outside, walking up to your car, a grey 1999 Toyota Celica, nothing special but it gets you from place to place,

The minute he hits the backseats his eyelids feel heavy, he doesn’t know if it the previous blood loss, or his exhaustion finally kicking in, but it weighs heavily on him and then he is asleep on your stained back seats. He doesn’t wake up until nearly ten hours later, he almost thinks the rescue was just some fever dream from the infection, that is until he feels softness beneath him and a cool rag on his forehead.

Then he hears it—soft humming from the kitchen.

He lifts the cloth, eyes adjusting slowly as he sits up. His shoulder throbs but it’s been wrapped neatly, the pain dulled by something—painkillers maybe? He follows the sound, dragging himself toward the narrow doorway, blinking blearily.

You’re standing at the stove, back turned to him, stirring something in a battered old pot. You’re in a hoodie now, sleeves pushed up. Your prosthetic hand clinks faintly as it brushes the side of the pot. You haven’t noticed him yet.

“Hey,” Adam croaks, voice raw from disuse. You flinch, nearly dropping the ladle, and spin around. But instead of fear or guilt in your expression, there’s relief.

“You’re awake,” you say softly, walking toward him. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” he mutters, eyes narrowing. “Confused. And, uh… alive, I guess. So that’s something.”

You smile faintly. “Yeah… it is.”

He watches you, unease settling in. “Where are we?”

“My apartment. It’s safe, for now.”

He notices something then—on a nearby table, slightly tucked beneath a newspaper: a red spiral drawn on a scrap of paper. His stomach turns.

He walks over to it, hand trembling as he lifts it. “What the hell is this?”

You pause for too long.

“Don’t freak out,” you say quickly, stepping closer.

His heart starts racing. “Is this Jigsaw’s symbol?” he snaps. “Why is it here? Why do you have it?”

You sigh, gently setting the ladle down, rubbing your temple with your good hand. “Because I used to work with him.”

The words hit like a punch.

“I was like Amanda,” you continue, eyes pleading. “I survived a trap. I… I was weak. I thought I deserved it. And when I survived, he offered me a way out—told me I had a purpose. That I could help people see the truth. For a while, I believed him.”

Adam is backing away slowly now, anger boiling beneath his skin. “So what, you kidnapped people? Watched them die?”

“I didn’t want to!” you shout, breath catching. “I never wanted this! But once you're in, there’s no walking away. The minute you hesitate, he turns on you. That's what happened last night. He told me to kill you. ‘Clean up the loose end.’ But I couldn’t. I couldn’t let him win again.”

He stares, jaw clenched. “So what now? You just expect me to trust you? After everything? You’re just like him, a monster.” At that declaration you snap, throwing the wooden cooking spoon to the side, “Don’t say that! I am NOTHING like him, he is the worst society has to offer, he is truly a monster. I was told to kill you and I didn’t, I saved you, despite every bone in my body I have left telling me not to, that it will only cause John to come after me. Call me evil all you want, but I am nothing like John Kramer.”

Adam flinches at your outburst, eyes wide, lips parting like he’s about to argue back—but the fury in your voice silences him. For a moment, the room is dead quiet except for the low bubbling of whatever’s on the stove and the distant hum of traffic beyond the apartment’s grimy window.

You’re shaking, fists clenched at your sides, breathing hard like the words physically tore out of you. You turn your back to him, trying to collect yourself, but your shoulders tremble—not from anger now, but something deeper. Guilt. Fear. Exhaustion.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you mutter. “I didn’t ask to be part of his games. I didn’t want to help him. But when you’re broken and desperate, and someone offers you a reason to keep breathing… you take it. Even if it’s wrong.”

Adam swallows thickly, his initial rage dulling into something more conflicted. He looks down at the spiral symbol still crumpled in his hand, then back at you.

“Why me?” he asks quietly. “Why save me?”

You let out a bitter breath and glance over your shoulder.

“Because I saw myself in you,” you admit. “Alone. Terrified. Forgotten. I knew what John was going to do to you. And I couldn’t let it happen again—not to someone who didn’t deserve it.”

Adam lets the paper fall from his fingers.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” he says, not unkindly, but honest. “But… I don’t think I want to see you dead either.”

You nod, as if that’s the best you could hope for. “That’s fair.”

He sits slowly on the arm of the couch, cradling his bandaged shoulder.

It had been four days since you rescued Adam from the bathroom—the rot-stained tomb that had almost become his grave.

In that time, your small apartment had transformed into something of a sanctuary. The kind that wasn’t perfect—peeling walls, creaky floors, constant hum of a fridge that sounded like it might die at any moment—but still… safe. Quiet.

And for Adam, safety felt foreign.

He hadn’t trusted you, not at first. Even now, he still woke in the middle of the night, heart pounding, expecting chains around his ankle or John Kramer’s rasping voice echoing from the shadows. But every time, it was your voice he heard instead. Soft. Calm. Real.

Now, as he sat curled on the edge of your lumpy couch, a throw blanket draped over his legs, he watched you move around the kitchen like it was the most natural thing in the world. You were humming something under your breath again, that same faint, nameless tune you always fell back on when your hands were busy.

You were always doing something—boiling tea, fussing over his bandages, writing in that little black journal you never let him see.

He shouldn’t have started to care.

He shouldn’t be looking at you the way he did now.

But over the last few days… he had.

The anger hadn’t vanished, not completely. But it had dulled, replaced by a quiet confusion every time you sat beside him, every time your prosthetic hand brushed his arm and he didn’t flinch. Every time you looked at him like he wasn’t broken.

“Staring’s free, y’know,” you said suddenly, glancing at him with a smirk over your shoulder. “But it’s polite to say something.”

He startled, then laughed despite himself. “You always know when I’m watching you?”

“I was in survival mode for three years,” you said, turning back to the stove. “You learn to feel eyes on you.”

A pause settled between you. Comfortable, almost.

“How’s the shoulder?” you asked, softer now.

He moved it experimentally, rolling it in its sling. “Tight. Still sore. But better.”

You nodded once. “Good. You’re healing faster than I expected.”

He rose slowly from the couch and crossed to the kitchen, leaning against the counter beside you. Closer than he usually stood. You noticed it—he saw the flicker in your eyes—but you didn’t step away.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, voice low. “About what you told me. About John. About… why you saved me.”

You didn’t say anything, but your stirring slowed.

“I wanted to hate you,” he went on. “You know that, right? I wanted to scream at you, accuse you, run. But I didn’t. I haven’t.”

Finally, you turned, brows lifted but cautious. “Why not?”

Adam stared at you for a long beat. He could lie. Pretend it was the painkillers. The Stockholm Syndrome. The trauma bonding. But deep down, he knew better.

“I don’t know when it happened,” he admitted. “But somewhere between the tea, and the bandages, and that awful humming of yours—”

“Hey—rude.”

“—I started feeling safer around you than I’ve ever felt in my whole damn life.”

Your breath hitched.

“I know who you were,” he said. “But I also know what you didn’t do. You didn’t kill me. You didn’t lie to me. You stayed.”

He stepped even closer, close enough now that you could feel the heat off his skin. “I don’t think you’re a monster. I think you’re someone who survived hell and came out with enough of your soul left to help someone else survive it too.”

You looked up at him then, eyes glassy and wide.

“I don’t know what this is,” he whispered. “But I know I want to find out.”

For a second, you said nothing—your face unreadable.

And then he kissed you. .

It was hesitant, almost frightened—like if either of you acknowledged the spark between you, it might burn everything down. But he didn’t pull away. He leaned in, breathing against your mouth, letting the warmth seep in like the first rays of sun after a long winter.

When you parted, your voice trembled. “You really mean that?”

Adam nodded, resting his forehead against yours. “Yeah. I do.”

You nodded once, so slight he might’ve missed it if he hadn’t been so close.

Then you reached up—your good hand curling gently around the back of his neck—and pulled him back down to kiss you again. Slower this time. More certain. Like you were giving him permission. Like you needed this just as badly as he did.

The second kiss deepened, your bodies drawing closer like they’d been trying to all along. For a moment, neither of you were survivors. You weren’t victims or test subjects or ghosts clawing your way out of trauma. You were just two people clinging to something—someone—real.

When you finally pulled back, your breath mingled in the narrow space between you.

“You sure you’re not just drunk on antibiotics?” you asked, voice low but teasing.

Adam smiled. “If I was, I think I’d still want to kiss you.”

You huffed a laugh, your expression softening.

“C’mon,” you said, slipping your hand into his. “You shouldn’t be on your feet this long.”

You led him gently to your bedroom. He didn’t protest. The couch was fine, but it always left him aching. Here, at least, the mattress gave under his weight as he sat, watching as you moved around, shutting off lights, checking the front door lock like always.

Then you hesitated.

“I can take the floor,” you offered. “Or the couch, if you’d rather be alone.”

“No,” he said quickly—too quickly. “I mean… stay.”

Your brows lifted slightly.

“I sleep better when you’re there,” Adam added, quieter now. “When I know you’re close.”

You nodded once, then crossed the room, slipping beneath the covers beside him. He turned slightly to face you, careful of his shoulder, and you reached out instinctively, resting your hand lightly over his chest—steady, warm.

You kiss him again, more sure this time. His eyes flutter shut as your lips press against his, your bodies shifting closer on the soft mattress as you both lose yourselves in the kiss. He reaches out, his hands finding their way to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. Your good hand moves up from his chest to his jaw, tilting his chin to deepen the kiss. You can feel his tongue prod at the seam of your lips, begging for entry, which you grant him as his tongue enters your waiting mouth.

His tongue delves deeper as he explores your mouth with a mix of hunger and need, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulls you impossibly closer. His body is a furnace against yours, heat radiating from every point of contact. He shifts again, maneuvering you onto your back as his body covers yours, his knee slipping between your legs.

He breaks the kiss momentarily, both of you gasping for air in the dark. His lips move to your neck, trailing kisses and soft bites along the sensitive skin there. You arch in response, a small sound catching in your throat as his mouth finds the spot just below your ear, his teeth grazing your earlobe.

His hand slips beneath your shirt, calloused fingers dancing across your stomach as he slowly begins to push the fabric up, his touch burning against your bare skin. His mouth follows suit, trailing kisses down your jawline and to your collarbone, where he lingers, nipping and sucking at the sensitive flesh until he leaves a mark there.

He can feel the rapid rise and fall of your chest beneath his touch, the quickened thump of your heartbeat in time with his own. He lifts his head, meeting your gaze in the low light, his eyes dark with a mixture of desire and something deeper.

His hand continues its ascent underneath your shirt, his palm flattening against your rib cage, his thumb tracing small circles on your skin. "Is this, okay?" he murmurs, his voice raspier than usual.

You can only nod in response; your words lost in the haze of sensations he's awakening in you. His touch is so gentle yet possessive, igniting a fire deep inside you that only he seems to be able to stoke. As his hand moves up further, tracing the underside of your breast, you arch against him, a soft moan escaping your lips.

His touch becomes more assured as he squeezes your breast, rolling your nipple underneath his calloused thumb. You arch into his touch, head falling back against the pillows as his fingers find your nipple, rolling and teasing the sensitive bud until it hardens under his ministrations. His other hand is busy tugging your shirt up and over your head, breaking contact for only a moment before his lips are back on your skin, trailing hot kisses down your chest.

Adam's mouth closes around one nipple, his tongue flicking out to circle it before drawing it between his lips and sucking. The sensation sends sparks of pleasure straight to your core and you gasp, hands flying to his hair, gripping the short strands. His teeth graze the sensitive peak, and you cry out, hips bucking up against him instinctively.

"You're so responsive," he murmurs against your skin, switching to your other breast, giving it the same treatment until you're writhing beneath him. "I love watching you come undone."

His hand trails down your stomach, popping the button on your jeans before slowly lowering the zipper. His fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties, teasing through the coarse hair there before finding your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that have you seeing stars.

"Oh god," you whimper, head thrashing on the pillow. "Adam, please..."

He chuckles darkly, the vibrations rumbling through you. "Please what, baby? Tell me what you need."

"I need you," you manage to gasp out, eyes fluttering open to meet his heated gaze. "Inside me. Now."

Adam doesn't hesitate, stripping off your jeans and panties in record time before climbing out of his own pants. You take a moment to appreciate the sight of him, all lean muscle and tan skin, before he's back on top of you, settling between your thighs.

He notches the head of his cock at your entrance, pausing to look into your eyes. "I want to make you feel good," he whispers, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. "I want to worship this body of yours until you're screaming my name."

With that, he surges forward, sheathing himself fully inside you in one smooth thrust. You both moan at the sensation, your inner walls clenching around him. He starts to move, setting a deep, slow rhythm that has you arching into him with each thrust.

"Yes, just like that," you pant, nails raking down his back. "Harder, Adam. I can take it."

He complies eagerly, snapping his hips forward and burying himself to the hilt. The new angle has him hitting that perfect spot inside you and you cry out, legs coming up to wrap around his waist. He sets a brutal pace then, skin slapping against skin as he pounds into you.

Pressure begins to build low in your belly, winding tighter and tighter with each thrust. You can feel Adam getting close too, his rhythm faltering slightly as he chases his release. He leans down, capturing one of your nipples between his teeth and biting down just hard enough to make you see white.

"Come for me," he demands, hand snaking between your bodies to find your clit. "I want to feel you fall apart on my cock."

A few more flicks of his fingers is all it takes and you're flying apart with a scream, your inner muscles clamping down around him like a vice. Adam follows right behind you with a hoarse shout, hips stuttering as he fills you with his seed.

They collapse together in a sweaty heap, both panting heavily as they come down from their high. Adam presses tender kisses along your jawline, murmuring soft praises into your skin.

"That was... wow," you manage to gasp out, running your fingers through his damp hair.

Adam just hums in agreement, shifting to the side so he's not crushing you but keeping you pressed close to his chest. "Stay with me tonight?" he asks quietly.

You nod against him, nuzzling into his neck. "I thought you'd never ask."

You drift off like that, twined together in a tangle of limbs, both content and safe in each other's arms.

[emisanemu]

I have so many fanfics I’m working on guys.

[emisanemu]

[emisanemu]

[emisanemu]

[emisanemu]

Reblog to give prev the power to write their fanfiction

[emisanemu]

So I have some ideas, what would you guys like to see the most?

[emisanemu]

Stick Season

Joel (Smile 2022) x Plus-sized reader

Word count: 3652

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Warnings: Minor character death, guns, cursing, kid dying, in depth descriptions of body parts, mentions of murder or death, insanity, Rose, PiV, cunnilingus, nipples, female anatomy, male anatomy.

Genre: Angst, horror, AU, ex-lovers to lovers, smut, fluff.

{Author's note: I am tired and this is bad.}

      

  It all started from a knock on your apartment door, I mean, who knocks at two in the morning. You slide your slippers on and shuffle out of your room and towards the door, annoyed and grumbling to yourself all the way. You click the lock open and throw the door open ready to yell at whoever decided to knock at this ungodly hour when you see who it is, a face you hadn’t seen in nearly five years, not since he had left you for that Rose girl, Joel.

             You had seen her name in the paper recently ‘woman commits suicide via fire in childhood home’, you almost had not believed it, but the article would prove to be true. You could’ve bet money you would never see Joel again and until now you would have been winning, you rub your eyes, hoping this is some type of dream. Yet, there he is, still standing in front of your door with that sad look in his brown, doe eyes. 

“Can I come in….please?”

        You don’t even know what to say, in all honesty you wish this was some kind of nightmare rather than the reality that it is, he is actually standing at your door waiting for you to let him in like some kind of lost puppy. You don’t even speak, you simply step aside and let him into your apartment and he makes quick work of striding in and grabbing you up in his arms, pulling you into a tight hug, once again leaving you speechless.

                 But like it is still instinct you wrap your arms around him and bury your face into his chest, which is damp from the rain outside, you would never admit it out loud but you missed this, you missed him. He smells of rain, some type of body wash and his vanilla and sandalwood cologne, something you had gotten him into years ago, back when…things were different. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t know where else to go, you would always bring me back to reality when things got too heavy on the job. I had to shoot someone tonight….god he was just a kid, fifteen or sixteen hanging with gang bangers, he pulled a gun on me. With Rose gone and with everything…I just needed somewhere to go, can I please stay the night…I will leave first thing in the morning.”

         You stay silent for a long moment.

        Joel’s words hang heavy between you, mixing with the rain still tapping softly against the windows. He’s soaked to the bone, and not just from the weather—it’s in his eyes too, the storm behind them. You can tell he hasn’t slept. Probably hasn’t for days.

      You step back and nod, just once.

      He takes it as permission and carefully shrugs off his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair before lowering himself onto your couch like he might break something if he moves too fast.

       You hover awkwardly in the doorway to the kitchen, unsure of what to do with the ache in your chest. You should tell him to leave. You should remind yourself what he did—how he left you, how he vanished the moment things got complicated, choosing Rose instead. But now Rose is dead in the most horrific way imaginable, and Joel…

        Joel looks like he might shatter if you raise your voice.

“I saw the article,” you finally say. Your voice is hoarse. “About her.”

He nods, jaw tight.

“I thought you were gone for good,” you add, arms crossed to keep them from trembling. “You disappeared.”

        Joel doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing a hand down his face.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Rose was just…all consuming. We didn’t even make it past a year, she left me for some Trevor guy and then she just went…crazy. She started going on about people smiling and curses and hearing voices and seeing things. God…I even started to believe her after a while but I could never prove anything she said, all these apparent suicides she read about…never happened. I get it, she saw a patient kill herself in front of her but she lost it and there was nothing i could do to help her. Ever since the day she left me four years ago I never stopped thinking about you and what could have been. I messed up…I messed up really bad and I am so sorry, if you want me to leave I understand, i just needed somewhere to be other than in my head for tonight.”

You look at him—the man who once meant everything to you, the man who walked away without a word, leaving you to pick up the pieces alone. And now, here he is, raw and broken, asking for a place to rest.

Your chest tightens, but you force yourself to speak.

“Joel… I’m not sure what I want right now,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “You left. You chose her. And she…” You swallow hard. “She was unstable. And now she’s gone. It’s a lot to process.”

He nods slowly, as if expecting your words.

“I know,” he says. “I don’t expect forgiveness, not tonight. Or ever, maybe. But I’m here now. And I’m not running anymore.”

You glance at the rain-streaked window, then back at him. The man sitting on your couch is not the Joel you remember—the confident, carefree guy who made you laugh until your sides hurt. He’s tired, haunted by things you can’t fully understand, but still somehow hopeful.

For the first time in years, you feel something flicker inside you—a fragile hope.

“Okay,” you say finally. “You can stay. But just for tonight.”

He looks up, relief flooding his face.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

You cross to the kitchen and start boiling water for tea. When you turn back, Joel is sitting still, staring at his hands.

“Tell me about him,” you say gently. “The kid you had to shoot.”

Joel’s shoulders tense.

“He was scared,” Joel admits. “Like me, I guess. Just made some bad choices. I don’t know if I saved my own life or his.”

You nod, understanding that some wounds run deeper than bullets.

The night stretches on, and for a moment, the past doesn’t seem so heavy. It’s just you and Joel—two people trying to make sense of what’s been lost, and what might still be found.

Joel looks up, eyes shadowed but a little softer now. “I don’t know if I’m ready to forgive myself yet,” he says quietly, “but being here with you… it’s a start.”

You sit beside him on the couch, the silence between you comforting instead of painful. “I never stopped wondering if you’d come back,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Even after everything.”

He gives a small, sad smile. “I guess I was too scared to face what I left behind — and maybe myself.”

The rain slows outside, leaving a quiet calm that settles over the room. For the first time in a long time, the space between you doesn’t feel like a canyon.

“Maybe,” you say, “we can figure out how to move forward. One day at a time.”

Joel reaches out, his hand brushing against yours. It’s tentative, hopeful.

You don’t pull away.

“Just for tonight,” you repeat, “and we’ll see where it goes from there.”

You both sit there for a while, the quiet stretching comfortably between you. Joel’s fingers lightly intertwine with yours, and you can feel the weight of all those years—the hurt, the silence, the unanswered questions—softening, if only a little.

“I’m scared,” Joel admits after a while, voice low. “Not just because of tonight… but everything. Losing Rose, what happened back then, and now facing you again.”

You squeeze his hand gently. “I’m scared too. But maybe fear means we still care.”

He chuckles softly, a sound you almost forgot he could make. “Yeah. Maybe it does.”

The rain finally stops outside, and the first hints of dawn light creep through the curtains. You glance at the clock—hours have passed.

Joel shifts closer, resting his head lightly on your shoulder. It feels familiar and strange all at once.

“I don’t know what tomorrow will bring,” he says, “but I’m glad I knocked on your door tonight.”

You rest your head against his, the past and future both uncertain, but for now, you have this moment. And sometimes, that’s enough.

“Kiss me.”

        The words come from your mouth before you can even register what you’ve just said, but all you know is you don’t regret saying them. 

Joel looks up, surprised — then his eyes soften, and a small, hopeful smile breaks through the sadness.

Slowly, he leans in. Your heart hammers as his lips meet yours, gentle at first, tentative — like testing the waters of a long-lost feeling.

The years of distance, pain, and silence seem to dissolve in that moment, replaced by something fragile but real.

When he pulls back just slightly, breath mingling with yours, he whispers, “I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

You smile, your fingers tracing the lines of his face. “Me too.”

Outside, the world wakes up with the morning light, but inside your small apartment, time feels like it’s standing still — just you and Joel, trying to find a way back to each other, one heartbeat at a time.

You both sit there, breathless for a moment, the weight of everything pressing lightly but not crushing. Joel’s hand still holds yours, warm and steady, grounding you.

“I don’t know how to fix the past,” he says softly, voice barely more than a whisper. “But maybe we can start by being honest with each other again.”

You nod, feeling the tension inside you ease just a little. “I want that. But I’m scared too. Scared that things will fall apart again.”

He squeezes your hand gently. “We’ll take it slow. No promises, no guarantees. Just… us, trying.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward; it’s comfortable — like the quiet after a storm. Outside, the sun finally breaks through the clouds, casting a soft glow over your living room.

You glance out the window, then back at Joel. “Maybe this is a second chance.”

He smiles, and it reaches his eyes this time — the kind of smile you remember from years ago. “Yeah. Maybe it is.”

“Maybe.” You speak just above a whisper, you brush your nose against his cheek and then move closer reconnecting your lips to his, His moustache tickles your upper lip softly, something that has always made you giggle in the past but now it just makes you hungry for him. 

Joel smiles against your lips, the familiar warmth flooding through you like a balm on old wounds. His hands cradle your face gently as the kiss deepens, slow and searching, like both of you are relearning the language of touch after so many years apart.

The tension that’s been coiled in your chest unwinds, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe maybe, just maybe, this broken thing between you can be mended.

He pulls back slightly, forehead resting against yours, breath mingling. “I don’t want to lose you again,” he admits quietly.

You brush your fingers through his damp hair, the scent of rain and sandalwood still lingering. “Then don’t,” you whisper. You pull him back in for another kiss and this time your patience has been replaced by hunger and a hint of desperation. 

Joel responds instantly, his hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you closer as the hunger between you ignites into something fierce and urgent. The world outside fades completely — all that exists is the heat of his body against yours, the taste of his lips, the way his touch sets fire to every nerve ending.

Your fingers clutch at his shirt, nails grazing skin, desperate for more connection, more of him. There’s a roughness to the kiss now, raw and unfiltered, like you’re both trying to make up for lost time in the only way that feels real.

Breath catches in your throat as his hands roam with a tentative urgency, as if afraid to lose this fragile moment again. The years of silence, pain, and unanswered questions melt away in the heat of his touch. Every brush of his fingers, every press of his lips against yours, speaks louder than words ever could.

You pull him even closer, letting yourself sink into the ache that’s been buried deep inside you for so long. His warmth seeps into your bones, grounding you, reminding you that despite everything, this—right here—is real.

Joel’s breath hitches, a low sound of need and disbelief, as if he’s just as shocked as you are that this is happening. His hands slide up, fingers threading through your hair, holding you steady as if you might disappear.

Breathless and trembling, you gasp as Joel's fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you even closer, until your bodies press together in a delicious friction. The heat of his skin seeps through the thin fabric of his shirt, setting your nerves alight with want.

Your hands roam over his back, feeling the hard muscles ripple beneath your touch. Years of longing pour out in each caress, each brush of your fingertips. The ache that's been gnawing at you for so long begins to ease, replaced by a new, urgent need.

Joel's lips trail down your neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. His teeth graze your pulse point, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. You tilt your head back, giving him better access, silently begging for more.

Joel's lips trail down your neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. His teeth graze your pulse point, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. You tilt your head back, giving him better access, silently begging for more.

"Please," you whisper, the word catching in your throat. "I need you."

His hands slide down your sides, fingers splaying across your hips as he pulls you flush against him. The hard length of him presses insistently against your thigh, and you can't help but grind into him, chasing the friction.

        He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest and through you, “God…” he breathes against your skin, hot and hard, “You have no idea how much I have wanted this, how much I have missed you.” Joel slips his hands beneath your shirt, his calloused fingers, from years on the force, slide against your soft supple skin, tracing every dimple and stretch mark along your side.

        Your own fingers fingers tangle into his deep chocolate locks, pulling at the roots, nails scraping lightly against his scalp as you pull him impossibly closer. He pulls back just enough to yank his shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly to the side. Your hands roam over his chest, feeling the defined muscles, the light dusting of hair. He's different from how you remember—harder, more chiseled—but still unmistakably Joel.You lean in and press a kiss to his collarbone, then another to his shoulder, working your way down his chest. His hands fist in your hair, encouraging you, urging you on.   

“God..” He pants out into the air, needy and desperate, “...you’re driving me crazy.”You glance up at him through your lashes, a small smirk playing at the corner of your mouth. "That's the plan," you murmur, before dipping lower, tracing the lines of his abdomen with your tongue.

His hips buck up off the couch, seeking more contact. You can feel how hard he is, straining against his jeans. It makes you ache with want, a deep, pulsing need that demands to be satisfied.

"I want you," you whisper against his skin, "I want to feel every inch of you."

He groans, fingers tightening in your hair. "Then take what you want," he says, voice rough with desire. "Take all of me."

Emboldened by his words, you sit up and strip off your own shirt, followed quickly by your bra. Joel's eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you, pupils blown wide with lust.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he breathes, reaching out to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples.

You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips. "Joel," you whimper, "please."

He sits up and captures your mouth in a searing kiss, all tongue and teeth and desperate hunger. His hands roam your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. He reaches the waistband of your jeans and pops the button, then slowly drags down the zipper.

You lift your hips, helping him as he tugs the denim down your legs and tosses it aside. Your panties follow quickly after, leaving you bare before him.

Joel takes a moment and just watches you, drinking in the sight of your naked body, so curvy and pillowy and beautiful. “You’re gorgeous, like the fucking queen, I swear.” You sit up, a smile on your face, one that is teasing and joking, “like THE queen huh?” He just shakes his head and lets out a gruff laugh, “Shut up.” 

Before you can respond, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh, then another higher up. Your head falls back against the couch cushions, a low moan building in your throat.

He works his way higher, lips and tongue leaving a path of heat across your skin. When he finally reaches your center, he pauses, blowing a cool breath across your heated flesh.

"Please," you beg, voice shaking with need. "I need your mouth on me."

He chuckles low in his throat, the sound sending vibrations through you. "As you wish," he murmurs, before closing his mouth over your clit and sucking hard.

Your back arches off the couch, a sharp cry tearing from your throat. His tongue delves between your folds, licking and teasing and driving you closer to the edge with each stroke.

One hand fists in his hair, holding him in place as you grind against his mouth. The other finds your breast, pinching and rolling the hardened peak between your fingers.

"Joel," you gasp, "don't stop, please don't stop."

He doesn't. He keeps going, keeps licking and sucking and thrusting his tongue inside you until you're writhing beneath him, the pleasure building to an impossible height.

And then, with a final flick of his tongue over your clit, you come undone. Your orgasm crashes over you in waves, intense and overwhelming and everything you've been craving for so long.

Joel doesn't stop, doesn't let up, working you through each aftershock until you collapse back against the couch, boneless and spent.

He kisses his way back up your body, lingering at your breasts before capturing your mouth in a deep, filthy kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, salty and sweet and intoxicating.

"I want you inside me," you murmur against his lips, "I need to feel you."

He nods, reaching down to undo his jeans and shoving them down his hips. His cock springs free, hard and heavy and flushed a deep red.

You wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly from base to tip. He groans into your mouth, hips bucking into your touch.

You guide him to your entrance, feeling the thick head of his cock pressing against your slick folds. With one smooth thrust, he's inside you, stretching you in the most delicious way.

"Oh fuck," you gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist. "You feel so good."

He starts to move, slow at first but quickly building speed. Each thrust drives him deeper, hitting that spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids.

The way he drags against your walls is delicious, each vein feels a thousand times more pleasurable than you thought anything could feel. Your nails dig into his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he pounds into you. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure.

"I'm close," he rasps, "I can't hold back much longer."

"Don't," you plead, "come inside me. I want to feel you let go."

With a final thrust, he buries himself to the hilt and comes with a shout of your name. You can feel him pulsing inside you, hot and thick and perfect.

It sends you over the edge again, your own orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. You cling to him as you ride out each aftershock, until you're both spent and sated and breathing heavily.

He collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you with his weight. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you both come down from the high.

“That was…” he murmurs pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “...wow.”

You smile, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. "Wow is right," you agree. "I didn't know if we'd ever have that again."

He rolls to the side, pulling you with him so you're tangled together on the couch. "Me neither," he admits softly, "but I'm really glad we did."

You snuggle into his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Outside, the rain has started up again, tapping gently against the windows.

"I'm glad too," you whisper, "even if everything else is a mess right now, at least we have this moment."

He tightens his arms around you, holding you close. "This moment is enough," he says quietly, "for now. We'll figure out the rest as we go."

You nod against his chest, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull you into a sense of peace. For the first time in a long time, the future feels uncertain but not impossible.

[emisanemu]

GOLDEN HOUR- D. GRAYSON

day nine of the june bug masterlist

pairing: dick grayson x florist! fem! reader (sex pollen)

word count: 4.1k

summary: a handsome stranger has captured your heart and affections, so its only natural you call for him when a mysterious plant sprays you in your flower shop, and you start to feel... rather funny.

warnings: SMUT, sex pollen used, riding dick grayson on the floor (hell yeah), heavy praise kink, lots of petnames, grinding/ dry humping, man handling, fluff and yearning, making out, swearing, slight masturbation

 “ baby, don't you know? that you're my golden hour, the color of my sky/ you set my world on fire, and i know, i know everything's gonna be alright”- golden hour, kacey musgraves 

The birds chirping in the morning was so peaceful it reminded you of heaven on earth.

Or at least- your version of it.

It reminded you of the soft countryside you called home, before you moved to the big scary city of Gotham. All you needed now was the soft hum of the lawnmowers from the neighbours, or the soft patter of rain that was an open invitation for you to go out in your bare feet, letting the morning dew tickle your toes as you searched for frogs in nothing but your nightgown.

But sadly, home was far away now- and so was the country.

It was a burning dream of yours to go back, to build or find a little cottage where you could grow all the flowers you wanted, having a little garden, filled with sweet delights like berries you could make into jam for your homemade sourdough.

With whoever tended to your dreams with you.

It was what you were working for. And if you found someone along the way, you supposed it would make the cloudy days a bit more comforting.

For now, the closest you could get was your little job at the local florist shop.

It brought you joy, especially on sunny days like today, where business was booming and you could meet lovely people of all ages. Either trying to get some tulip bulbs they could plant in their yard in the fall, or if they needed a bouquet for their loved ones.

The thought of your regular, a sweet older woman named Barbra made you smile at the idea she’d come in, grumbling as usual about the traffic or whatever it may be, just to burst into a smile as soon as she saw you tie a new bouquet together with pink ribbon.

You always snuck her a little flower, typically a baby's breath for her under the counter, to add to her collection of random florals.

You stretched, letting the rarity of sunlight in Gotham trickle through your window and onto your face, savouring the warmth of the summer months. Although you noticed it was a lot more sunny than you were told it would be, since moving here.

An odd fluke, you supposed.

Taking your time, as you always woke up early enough to savour the light of the day as if you were Snow White herself, you made your bed, sheets smelling of the lavender spray from the florals you’d collected yourself.

Next was the tea of course, herbals often woke you up. Letting the soft lace of your nightgown brush your thighs, you headed towards the kitchen towards the kettle, the fresh batch of scones you made the other night your next destination.

As you waited for the water to boil, you couldn't help but lean back against the counter, a soft smile on your face as you observed your indoor plants.

It wasn't the end goal, but it was a beautiful pit-stop along the way. And that, you could be happy with.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Barbra’s presence could be felt before it could be heard.

You peered up at her little frame, slightly hunched over, but in working condition, nonetheless. You called her a well oiled machine. She called herself a grouchy piece of shit.

But today, something was different.

Was that… a smile on her face? Before she had come inside to greet you?

Odd.

You peered out the window, trying not to seem too obvious as you glanced outside, and saw her talking to… a man?

A beautiful man, at that. Tall, at least a foot or so taller than you, his  muscles practically bulging out of his little Black Canary Tour shirt.

You could tie a pretty pink ribbon around them just for it to snap the second he did so much as move his bicep.

But what really captivated you was the baby blues that gleamed at Barbra. The way his smile seemed to twinkle in the sun, real and genuine as he laughed. He was so animated, hands moving as he talked, before his fingers pointed to you.

You froze.

Quickly scurrying away, out of sight to make yourself busy, and to tend to your racing heart.

Soon, a little jingle of the shop bell rang out, and you poked your head out from the daisies, preparing for the worst.

“You’re smiling? Who are you, and what did you do with Barbra?” you teased, making her laugh.

“You got yourself a suitor out there eh? A handsome one at that.” Barbra smiled, wacking your arm gently with her newspaper. Your eyes widened.

“Suitor?”

“Yeah dolly he’s right into ya. I was about to go harass him, as he was staring at you a little too much for my liking, like some black cat on a windowsill. Spooked the damn boy, was about to give him hell until I saw the look in his eye.”

You raised your eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest.

“What look in his eye?”

“Love.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Love. Right.”

“You know better than to question me girl. I know best. I’ve lived a lot more lives than you, and I know what love looks like. That man is head over heels.”

Something like warmth bloomed in your chest at her words, and you couldn't help but hope it was true. He was so handsome, and if he could manage to make Barbra laugh, there must have been something about him that was special.

“I’m sure. In love with a nobody flower shop girl who clips flower stems in her free time.”

“The most beautiful girl in the city, who happens to clip flower stems in her free time. Now, shut up and give me some sunflowers dear. I’m on my way to bridge practice and I need to get these to my sister.”

You nodded, collecting her flowers and ignoring her payment.

“Well, get on then you grouch.”

She laughed, slipping you a twenty despite your protests, and was out the door before you could process the sneaky bill slip she performed and give it back to her.

For an older woman, she was fast.

The bell rang again, and you expected her to toss another comment about getting your head out of your ass, but you were royally surprised when the handsome stranger was there instead.

Sun shown from the back of his head, illuminating him like he was an angel, halo burning brightly. You urged yourself to not let his beauty consume you.

“Do you always just watch girls from outside their work, or is this special treatment?” you asked, leaning against the counter.

He smiled. “Only you. Isn't that so cheesy?”

“Or creepy, depending on how you look at it. But Barbra likes you. So I suppose I can find it in my heart to forgive you for your vigilante activities.”

His hand went to his heart, bowing his head almost in solitude.

“She really knows how to scare a man.”

“I heard one time she twisted a man's balls so hard he had to go to the hospital, because he thought they were going to fall off.”

You laughed at his shocked reaction, turning into an easy grin as he walked towards you, towering over you from behind the counter.

“Now, are you here to buy anything? Or just flirt with me?” you asked boldly.

“Both. Is that okay?”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks and you looked away quickly, shrugging.

“Suppose.”

“Y/N…” he read your delicate nametag, the writing in your own penmanship, swirly, girly font with a little blooming tulip next to it.

“Forgive me if this question sounds odd but… what's a pretty thing like you doing in Gotham? You’re the human form of the sun. You shine so brightly here it's almost blinding.”

You froze at his words, trying to not let them know how much they impact you.

You’re the human form of the sun.

No one, no man- had ever said anything so kind to you. So near and dear to your heart. It nearly caught you off guard. All you could do was smile at him softly, batting your lashes at him as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, letting your bracelets jangle.

“I’m here to shine.” was all you said as you shrugged, turning your back to him to gather flowers that matched his energy.

You didn't even know what he was in here for. You were too flustered to ask.

Instead, you felt his eyes following your figure as you selected the blossoms, reaching up on your tiptoes to select some that were out of reach.

Soft blues and whites- blue stars, baby's breath, and columbines. You sprinkled in some soft yellows, buttercups and primroses. Tying it all together with a soft, pale baby blue ribbon, humming to yourself softly.

“For…?” you asked, pen hovering just above the little card.

“Dick. Dick Grayson.” You nodded, writing his name, and feeling even so bold as to even scratch your number just under it. Maybe your countryside future could be closer than you thought.

And by the look on his face as he saw your number on that very same tea stained card, he must have thought the same.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

You had fallen.

Hard.

And god, could anyone blame you?

God himself couldn't blame you, for all the time Richard Grayson had swirled through your mind, clouding your thoughts until they were sprinkles of pollen.

He was sweet, like the lemonade you made for him when he first came over to visit your place.

He had a green thumb. He liked mint chocolate chip ice cream, which you would never give him the satisfaction of knowing, but you liked it too. He was polite, always holding the door for you, a soft palm on your back as he’d lead you inside, always closing his eyes whenever you changed in front of him, claiming it wasn't gentleman like to watch a woman change (though you caught his fingers peel from his eyes a few times).

He was an animal lover. He was nurturing, and wanting nothing more than to provide for you.

And he always listened. About anything, really- but especially when you talked about your future.

With him in it.

It made his heart swell up so large he feared it would break his ribcage, at the mention of your garden, and your chickens, dogs, ducks, cats- the homemade meals and soft cuddles by the stone fireplace.

All involving him.

Of course you included his interests- referring to the dogs as his dogs, mentioning his favourite dishes, and his brothers coming to visit whenever they wanted. Talks on your couch turned into sweet kisses, gentle touches and addicting tastes of mint, coffee and the musk of cinnamon.

It was all you had wanted, and if God, or anyone judged you for the temptations of Eve’s apple, it was something you’d collect seeds from and grow yourself.

An apple tree of temptation, the branches of Dicks embrace wrapping you tightly.

Barbra noticed it too, the effect he had on you. How somehow- someway, she had stated, you seemed even more bright.

Butterflies had practically found their way to you, fluttering on the flowers outside the store, resting on your fingers as you sent them off to the sun. Birds chirped even louder, the faint smell of honey and cinnamon a constant warm embrace around you as you left Dicks arms in the morning, spreading your wings to go off on your own, to tend to the store.

It was an unusual day today though, you noted.

It was cloudier than it had been lately, though that was Gotham. Light sprinkles of rain pattered off your umbrella as you walked to the floral shop, and despite the rain, you still found it in your heart to smile at anyone who passed by.

It was quiet today, and you had expected just as much. Tonight would be equally as quiet, as Dick had plans with his brother, Jason. You urged him to go off and do his own thing, as even sometimes you needed your own space.

Tonight would be filled with fluffy blankets, buttery popcorn, some mint chip ice cream, and superhero movies. A perfect night, in your opinion. Perhaps a beeswax candle could be lit- a reminder of Dicks sweet smell that stained the pillows.

Your thoughts of the Friday night ahead were whisked away as a customer stepped inside, shaking the rain from her bright red hair.

She smiled, waving slightly as she adjusted her very large purse, starting to browse around. You smiled back, turning your back to resume your task, letting her browse in peace. You never liked to hound anyone, knowing how annoying it could be as a customer yourself, when pesky store owners nagged at you, or pressured you to buy something you were having doubts on.

Plus, if she had questions, she’d ask.

You were approachable enough. Or at least you hoped you were.

By the time you turned around again, she was out of sight. Nothing left of her but the gentle chime of the door bell as her heels clicked against the pavement.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

As you were doing your rounds before closing, something had you stop in your tracks.

A plant.

Of course, a plant was not out of place in a florist shop, but this particular one, captured your attention. It was foreign to you, which was unusual, considering you had spent countless years pouring over plant textbooks, and gathering as much hands-on experience in the garden that you could muster.

But this… this was not something you had ordered in.

Then how the hell had it gotten here?

You picked up the pot, observing the unusual markings on the petals. It was beautiful, the flowers almost mimicking those of a lilly. But you knew deep down, it wasn't.

As you picked up the pot, you were blinded.

You gasped, inhaling pollen as it sprayed at you, almost like a mist of freckles that splattered on your cheeks, getting in your nose, your mouth, clouding your vision.

You coughed, setting the plant down where it had rested, waving the air as your vision blurred, tears starting to trickle down your cheeks. Making your way over to the counter, you started to sneeze and cough, feeling as if the vapors were choking you.

At least you could see now, scrambling off your apron and tossing it somewhere- unknown to you.

You’d deal with it tomorrow. For now, you needed fresh air, and a clear head. Whatever had sprayed you, it was having an effect- fast.

Your body felt tense. Like it had been strung up on a live wire. Heat curled in your gut, strong and fast- like a current that threatened to drag you under its vicious waves.

Sweat dotted at your forehead, your fingers curling into fists. It was so hot you fought the urge not to strip naked and lay on the cool wooden floor.

But no, god no- you needed to get home. To lay down, get some rest, and let this do its thing.

But your head was clouded. Foggy.

All you knew was that you felt hot, bothered and needy.

You wanted Dick. But Dick was with his brother and he needed time to himself, and to enjoy his family… and yet you dialed his number anyways.

He would know what to do. He could help you, could touch you, could take away this pain, this need- this want that consumed you whole- like Goya's Satan consuming your very flesh.

It took two quick rings before his gentle voice answered, quickly turning to concern as you moaned.

“Sweetheart? What's going on?”

“Some plant. I found some plant when I was closing, I don't know what the hell it is but it sprayed me and now I can’t- I can't think- God its so hot-” you panted, slouching against the counter, grounding yourself onto the floor as you let your head lull back.

“Fuck. Fuck sweetheart, where are you now? I’m coming right now.”

“N-no s’okay stay with Jason. I just didn't know if you knew-” you hiccuped, groaning again as you felt your clothes start to stick to your body.

“If you knew what it was. Maybe I can sleep it off.”

You heard a low voice in the background, catching some of the words the man, presumably Jason, mumbled. “Its Ivy. That sex pollen shit we saw a while ago, but fuck Bruce hasnt found a cure yet.”

“Sweetheart, did anyone new come into the shop today that looked unfamiliar?”

You nodded, even though you knew he couldn't see you. The drug was making you hazy.

“Some redhead came in with a large purse. But I didn't think anything of it. She was gone before I could offer her help.”

You heard cursing on the other line, before Dick begged for you to stay conscious. “I’m gonna be right there sweetheart, you just stay put okay? Shut the blinds, lock the door and if it's me, I’ll knock three times.”

You tossed your phone as he hung up, tugging at your top. You had turned the air on, yet it felt so stuffy and hot you felt like you might puke.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck I need-” you gasped, letting your hands cup your breasts, toying at your hardened nipples through the lacy floral bra fabric, feeling heavy and aching. You started to unbutton your pants, shimmying them off your body, sweat sticking to them.

Trapped in your own head, you let your fingers trace your body, but it wasn't enough.

Whatever had sprayed you, it wanted more. It wanted him.

And almost as if it was some divine intervention, the plant weaving its vines around Dick Grayson to tug him to the front door, you heard three quick wraps on a knuckle on the door.

“Sweetheart? It's me honey, can you let me in please? I’m gonna make you feel better okay?”

You groaned, starting to crawl to the front door, reaching up to unlock the door for your savour. And fuck, the sight before him made him hard.

It felt wrong, and dirty to feel so turned on at the sight of you- but he couldn't help it.

There you were, on your knees, looking up at him with so much need in your eyes, lips quivering as sweat trickled down your neck. The pollen stained your cheeks like golden freckles, like constellations in the sky that sang to him.

“Oh my poor, sweet girl.” he cooed, locking the door behind him as he crouched down, cupping your cheek with his palm, stroking little circles gently with his thumb.

“M’gonna make you feel better little dove, okay? You just tell me what you need from me. But we gotta, we gotta get this out of your system.”

You nodded, wincing slightly, not from pain- but from overstimulation as his hand trickled down to stroke your bare collarbones, eyes darting to your pretty pink floral set that sent his mind reeling.

“H-how do we fix this Dickie?” you whimpered, his heart nearly crackling into pieces at how sweet his nickname sounded from your cherry blossom lips.

“Well it's a sex pollen honey so I think- well we have to…”

“Have sex?” you asked and he nodded.

“That would make me feel better. All I can think of and feel is this fuzzy, burning need. It hurts.”

He cooed, letting his hand rest just above your throbbing core. “Right here honey? Is this where it hurts?”

You nodded frantically, guiding his hand down to your soaked panties, juices already coating his fingers from the simple brush of his fingers.

He groaned, the sound making you whimper in delight.

“And right here. M’so sorry Dickie-”

“No, no you don't get to apologise for this honey. You take what you need from me, okay? I’m gonna help you feel all better again, get that fuzziness out of your head.”

Your hands slipped up to tangle in his hair, tugging at the soft, dark raven locks hungrily as your lips found his. He melted into your touch, and you couldn't help but savour the feeling of dominance you had over him.

Even if it was an illusion.

You felt so hungry you couldn't help but straddle him, letting your hands roam over his body, touching anywhere you could reach. It was as if he had been sprayed as well, with the way he was touching you back.

Manhandling you up into his lap, gripping your ass as you began to grind on the fly of his jeans, letting the cool flicker of the zipper soothe your ache as you dampened the fabric.

Guiding you with his hands, urging you to do whatever you wanted to him. As if he was in this as much as you were.

Your equal.

“Need- need you now please.” you practically whined, tugging his shirt over his head, his warm chest now flush with yours, his fingers toying with the back of your bra strap. You gasped as it fell, sliding down your arms, his fingers wrapping around the nipple and tugging on it harshly.

The pain was delicious. You needed more.

“Take what you need sweetheart. My sweet flower.”

You wasted no time tugging his pants off, throwing them haphazardly on the floor with your undergarments, hands guiding him down to the floor.

“You’re so good to me.” you whispered, head bowing as he ran his cock through your soaked folds, before slowly guiding himself in.

Your eyes widened, as if sparks had gone off and illuminated throughout your body.

This. This was what you needed.

All of this, the feeling of him stretching you, guiding you in with such compassion and tender praises, cooing at your little expressions and sounds as he filled you to the brim.

It was as if the pain had stopped, just briefly. Dick Grayson was your cure.

“Big stretch I know baby. I’m sorry, I didn't have time to prep you m’just worried… oh-” he was cut off by your sudden movements, riding him like your life depended on it.

Which it did. You didn't have time to waste. And it was like this thing- this pollen had taken hold of your body, and you were a puppet on its strings.

Gripping his chest, your nails dug and scratched him as you tossed your head back, letting him admire you as much as he wanted. The way your lips hung open as your sweet little moans trailed from them, your forehead scrunched in concentration, letting the waves of the pleasure consume you.

Your eyes, closed, lashes fluttering your cheeks, crying out his name.

The sight alone almost had Dick Grayson come undone. But he had to hold off for you, had to help you first. That was always his rule.

“There you go sweetheart, doing so good for me. Feels so fuckin good oh my god- ridin me like that..” he cooed, hands firm on your hips as he thrusted up, meeting you half way.

Until he couldn't control himself, picking a rhythm that you mindlessly followed, body going limp as he pounded into you- taking control. Knowing that was what you needed.

You didn't even need to tell him where you were, he knew, could feel you squeezing him.

“Let go for me honey. Good girl..” he cooed softly, holding you close to his chest as you came down from your high, legs quivering as you clung to him like a teddy bear.

“Is it over?” You asked softly, your head on his steady heartbeat as he stroked your hair. He shook his head.

“I’m not sure honey. You might need a few more rounds, but I promise, you’ll be okay. Its almost out of your system.”

You nodded, feeling the surge of pleasure lap at your insides, letting it consume you wholly again.

“I’m so sorry Dickie.”

He stopped you, silencing you with a kiss. “Stop apologizing, my sweet girl. We’re gonna get through this. We’re in the home stretch, and I’ve got you. I’m here. Gonna make it all better.”

And deep down, you knew that was the truth.

It had taken a few more rounds for your fiery insides to burn down to little embers, loud moans turning to soft whimpers and hiccups. And he was there with you for all of it, on the floor, against the wall, up on the counter.

And each way he handled you, made you feel like a delicate little petal, despite your actions being anything but.

Holding you in his arms when the flush from your body subsided, and your skin had cooled to a normal temperature, when sleep consumed your body as you lay curled in his lap, his shirt acting as a blanket that you breathed in deeply.

His cum trickling down your thighs, that he had cleaned up before slipping you back into your clothes, and carrying you back to your apartment.

And you knew then, that he’d never leave you. Not now, and not ever. 

[emisanemu]

I have a confession, all of my fanfic titles are song lyrics.

[emisanemu]

Two fics in one day, momma is feeding her children that’s for sure.

[emisanemu]

*°Where I’ve been°*

Word count: 1901

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Warnings: mentions of death, body gore, blood, depictions of an amputation, vomit, depictions of vomit, hospitalization, kissing, making out, strangers to lovers, minor character death mention, man wearing nail polish.

Genre: Angst, fluff, gore, horror.

“Ian! Ian watch out!”

You scream, your voice loud and shrill as you run at him, dodging people screaming as they leave the fair grounds. Your feet carry you as fast as you can go, your lungs burning with each and every step. Yet you keep going, just in time to push Ian out of the way and to the ground as the sign falls, he makes it to the ground unharmed, but you, you are not so lucky. Your foot gets caught under the sign and with a sickening crunch and the sight of blood splatter you know your foot is done for, most likely gone. You scream loudly, your hands digging into the dirt, pulling the grass at its roots, tears immediately springing to your eyes as you continue to scream.

“Fuck!”

You shriek as loud as you can, your throat protesting the sound. Your hands continue to pull at the dirt and you can not bare to look down, knowing the sight would be gory and would only make you throw up, actually you might throw up anyways. You can not even form words, all you can do is scream and scream, Ian rushes over to you, looking at the carnage which is…was your foot. You can hear Wendy’s sister vomiting in the background and can hear Kevin and Wendy screaming as well. You hunch over, trying to get onto your knees but your legs just won’t move, and just as you predicted, you vomit all over the ground, chunks of churro and cotton candy staining the bloody grass below.

You manage to hunch up onto your knees and look down for the first time since the sign fell and- “oh god!” Your foot is gone, trapped under the sign and crushed beneath it, you can see the blood spurting from your ankle, pooling onto the ground. The world is spinning, you always hated blood and this doesn’t help, especially since you realize you have yet to stop screaming and wailing. You don’t remember much before you hit the ground, going unconscious in a pile of your own vomit.

That was all two weeks ago, two agonizing weeks. You had been rushed to the hospital right away, but there wasn’t much they could do, your foot had been severed that night. Leaving you with a nub that is currently being drained of blood and any puss by a nurse. You lay there, feeling just as miserable as the day it happened, balloons and stuffed animals and wilting flowers fill the room, like some sort of homage to your lost appendage. You would have a nurse clear the room out but you figured it wasn’t worth the trouble, you already felt like a burden. Everyone had come to visit it would seem, your family, people from the school, Wendy, Julie and Kevin, everyone but the reason you are here today, Ian. At least that was until now, you can hear the signature rattle of his chain he keeps on his belt as he walks into your hospital room.

“You look like shit.”

He says bluntly and you almost want to have him removed from the hospital, but you keep quiet. The nurse looks at you quizzically as she finishes draining your stump, wrapping a delicate white bandage around the area before stepping out of the room to empty her bucket.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed. What are you doing here McKinley?”

He shrugs and takes a step towards you, pulling something out from behind his back, a beer, which makes you roll your eyes. Of course he had brought something so trivial, so typical of Ian McKinley.

“There’s no alcohol allowed in the hospital, plus I’m on so much pain medicine a drink would kill me, but maybe that’s what you want.”

You say with an annoyed tone as you cross your arms over your chest, giving him a pointed look. He shrugs and grabs a chair, spinning it around so he’s sitting backwards in the chair, his arms resting on the back as he looks at you, the beer placed on the table next to your bed. Not that he would admit it but he felt stupid, out of everything he could’ve done he brought you a beer, he thought it might make you laugh but perhaps dark humour wasn’t the best in this situation.

“Yeah, yeah. That makes sense.”

He says plainly, his hand coming back to rub the back of his neck nervously. His rings are cold against his skin and his black nail polish glints under the light of the overheads. He looks at you and at your leg and lets out a loud groan causing you to startle and jump a bit, a jolt of pain going through your leg and up to your hip. You wince and rub at your leg, hoping to ease the ache by even a fraction.

“Fuck…fuck, I’m sorry. I’m….I’m sorry okay? You shouldn’t have gotten hurt that night, it was me death was after, not you, not your leg or foot. I should be dead right now and I’m not, because of you, I owe you my life and all I can do is bring a stupid beer. I’m sorry you got hurt and I’m sorry there is nothing I could possibly think of to make up for it. Hell, half the damn balloons and shit in here are from me, who do you think has been sending them?”

He rambles off, each and every word feeling like poison to say as his head pounds with guilt and a small bit of anguish. By the end, he has tears in his eyes, and he places his head against the edge of your bed, his face in his hands as for the first time in two weeks he lets himself feel something other than anger or fear, he feels sadness. He cries, not just a few tears but full on sobs as he sits there next to your hospital bed, while all you can do is sit there shocked. Ian McKinley was crying, he was sobbing, all because of you.

“Hey hey….uh…it’s alright you know? Shit happens, at least it wasn’t my good foot, yeah?”

You force a chuckle trying to do anything to get him to stop crying, his affinity for dark humour may be your in. But that only proves to make it worse as more choked sobs fall from his lips. You awkwardly raise a hand and place it on his head, giving him a few gentle pats as if he were an upset child or dog. He just swats your hand away and picks up his head, his black eyeliner is running down his face and tears are streaking along his cheeks. He slams his hands down on the bed angrily and lets out another huff of anger.

“No, it’s not alright, not at all. First Erin dies because of ME, and now you’re in the hospital because of ME and you have no fucking foot because of ME. How can any of this be alright?”

He nearly screams, only minding his voice as to not alert a nurse to the room. He lets out a few more tears, his head falling back into his hands. You have no idea what to do, you went from feeling miserable about yourself and your situation to having Ian Fucking McKinley crying into your lap in your hospital room. There was only one way to get to Ian, not that you wanted to do it, but you also didn’t want him crying anymore.

“Mckinley, nut up man, knock this crying shit off. You’re a man, not a little boy, I’m the one who lost a foot, not you. If anyone should be sobbing in this room, it’s definitely not you. Now knock it off before I give you a reason to cry, okay?”

You speak sternly, not stuttering for a moment. He looks at you with his mouth slack open, his eyes wide and in shock as he just stares at you. He goes to speak but you give him a pointed look and he shuts his mouth immediately. You internally sigh with relief that it worked, had it not you wouldn’t have any idea on what to do.

“I saved you because I wanted to, Ian, not because you forced me or because of some cosmic force in the universe. I saw something bad happening and I saved you and I would do it again. Okay? Because….because I like you, freak and all I like you and I can’t help it. I saved you because I wanted you around long enough for me to tell you. So please, stop crying and just….just be thankful to be alive, okay?”

If he could look more shocked he would, you liked him? No one but Erin had ever shown interest in him, and even then they were only friends, even if he had wished they were more. You were a grade A student, the quiet girl, the girl who always had a club during gym so no one would watch you change in the locker room. The girl whose body should be a crime because of how thick and beautiful it is. You weren’t anything like the girls who would show interest in him, but damn if he didn’t care. You liked him, the sweet girl, voted ‘most likely to be a saint’ in the year book, you liked him and he would be a liar if he said he didn’t like you too.

“You like me? Like….like me?”

He asked confused, still trying to wrap his head around how you of all people could like him, could possibly want him.

“Yea you dope, I like you, I’ve liked you since freshman year and I saw you punk out Tommy Donner when he was bullying Erik Crogan for being on food stamps. You were just too obsessed with Erin to realize."

You mumble the last part and cross your arms over your chest, annoyed by his audacity to even question you. You go to speak again but you can’t, his chapped lips are on your soft ones and he’s kissing you. You don’t know what to do or say so you just freeze as he practically kisses the life out of you. When he finally disconnects your lips, you look at him amazed, almost as if he is the only man in the world.

“Damn.”

You whisper softly, and he laughs slightly, you have stars in your eyes for him and for that moment everything else is forgotten. You’re not in the hospital and he’s not the reason you’re there, he is just him and you are just you. You grab the front of his black shirt and pull him in for another kiss, this time this one is strong, and almost dominating, as if you are trying to swallow him whole and he fucking loves it. He grabs the sides of your face deepening the kiss, and you lace your fingers through his hair, everything just feels perfect. You kiss him with purpose and with fervour, anything to convey the emotions that have been building inside of you for years. This moment is everything and this moment is perfect, foot or no foot you have Ian and you sure as hell aren’t letting him go now.

[emisanemu]

Fics I’m planning or working on:

Alex Browning x reader

Cas + Dean x reader

Ian McKinley x reader

Billy Hitchcock x reader

Which one are you most excited about?

[emisanemu]

Ian McKinley X Reader in the works.