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violetrainbow412-blog · 11 months

Text

Hearts [S. R] part 2

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 3.9k

part 1!

summary: morning coffees become the special moments between you and Spencer, but you also discover that he may have more competition for his love than you expected.

N/A: I never thought this would be so well received and I honestly feel so happy! I am very grateful to all the people who requested a second part, I hope you like it and if you want to tell me something in the comments I will read it with pleasure!

people who might be interested: @c-m-stuff @no-soy-fer @synthsescape @bella-fics @cynbx

That morning Spencer came to his desk with coffee in hand and set it carefully to one side, the sight of his scrawled name looming large throughout.

Spencer <3

What did that mean? It was his name, that's obvious, but it was written with such a careful and clean line that it was very beautiful to admire and the heart drawn next to it was what didn’t quite add up in the whole thing. Reid knew that it was an ideogram used to express the idea of affection or love, so the most logical conclusion was that you were trying to communicate a feeling of that kind, but then he wondered: was it affection between friends? a simple show of affection, he supposed. Nothing further, surely it could not be anything else.

There were days when you and he barely saw each other, as the team had to go out to handle cases in the field and you stayed behind to do literally whatever you could do to complete your service hours, but every morning without fail you looked for him to deliver the long-awaited coffee. You were keeping your promise and for three days you arrived with two cups on the tray, one clean and the other labeled for him: Reid, Spence, Doctor R., all titles followed by a drawing of a heart. When Friday rolled around and you handed him what he thought would be his last cup, you decided to propose a deal.

"Today I was thinking that I could buy your coffee permanently, if you want” you exclaimed kindly, while you watched him from the chair that you had pulled to sit next to him. Some mornings when there wasn’t so much movement you would stay there to drink a few shots of your coffee and share a small moment of the day "It's on my way here and it's obvious that you like it"

“Oh, I… I couldn't even think about it, no. I would take too much advantage of you"

“You're going to pay me back, Reid. I'll just bring it” you laughed, watching him turn red to the ears while he drank a little to try to mask it.

"Then, I'd love to," he exclaimed with a tight-lipped smile. He was a little excited to continue having excuses to talk to you every day and, above all, to drink the delicious coffee that he had already gotten used to.

"Although I'm running out of ideas, to be honest," you said amused, because that day the cup didn’t have any inscription due to that lack of creativity. But as by the work of fate, an idea came to your mind, so you smiled from ear to ear while you took a black marker from your friend's desk and took the cup from his hand. Spencer looked at you carefully and curiously while you were writing and just when you finished Hotch called you from the other side of the tables "I have to go, don't miss me too much" you murmured, handing him the glass and then winking at the boy, who in response only awkwardly raised his hand.

Once you left, he looked at what you had written, less neatly than the other times, and felt himself grinning like a fool:

My fav agent and again that damn heart.

“Y/N”

"Yeah?" you asked, looking up at another of your fellow interns. You had a room where everyone could stay for a while to work on their own business, but on this occasion, curiously, only women had gathered at the table, there were about five of you in the entire building. Among them Jennifer, a girl you liked very much and with whom you could presume to have something like a friendship, and for some strange reason there was also Victoria.

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Huh… yeah, I guess" you muttered a bit confused, and even though you didn't know the girl she smiled in your direction.

“Is that brown-haired guy you talk to every morning your boyfriend?”

“Spencer?” you asked, widening your eyes at the surprise with which the question had taken you. You expected her to ask what band you listened to the most, your favorite food, or some other stupid thing, but not that. Now all the girls' attention was on you, including Victoria's inquisitive scowl and Jennifer's amused look “I wouldn't say that”

"And do you think you can introduce me?" she said with more enthusiasm than she intended, and they all laughed collectively.

“I get second in line”

"Girls, girls..." Jennifer intervened and you knew that from that moment the topics of the internship would take a back seat “He may not be her boyfriend now, but that doesn't mean she doesn't want him to be”

"Jenn!"

"Am I lying?" she sneered “You smile every time you see him and you two look so in love whispering to each other every morning. Also, a week ago I saw you go out together at night”

"Jenn," you insisted, muttering to her in the hope that she would notice that you wanted her to shut up. It wasn't that you were ashamed of being associated with him, you just didn't want to spread wrong rumors that might embarrass him.

“How come he's already an agent? He looks very young”

“It's because he's a prodigy, duh. He’s as attractive as he’s intelligent”

"I imagine that being such a smart man he knows perfectly the weak points of a woman" another girl murmured, joining the conversation "If you know what I mean"

“For now we are just friends. That's all" you said trying to end the conversation, completely embarrassed that such a personal matter had ended up as the talk of all the female interns of the FBI. It was supposed to be a serious job and you guys looked like gossipy high school girls.

"Maybe he's waiting for someone better," Victoria said into the air, a venomous tone permeating every word.

"Anyway, if you give up, can you get me his number?" insisted the first girl. You nodded just so as not to break his illusion, but you knew very well that Spencer didn't use a phone beyond what was necessary for work.

Even though you yourself had told him that surely many girls liked him, you didn't expect that he really had admirers so close and to be honest a pang of jealousy invaded you. Victoria was the most obvious of them all, but you knew that being college girls they were more likely to admire the masculine charm of perhaps the youngest member of the FBI. They too were young and beautiful, but you chose to trust that you had the upper hand in winning the man's affections.

You tried as hard as you could to concentrate on your tasks, but now that his name had come up it was hard to think of anything but him. Spencer wasn't a very expressive guy, but you knew that he was comfortable with you or else he wouldn't seek you out or agree to talk to you like you did, although clearly that didn't ensure that he was attracted to you. Maybe he just saw you as a good friend.

At night, when you were about to go home, you tried to look for him so you could see him again with the excuse of saying goodbye, but you were surprised when you saw that he was talking to Victoria in an already empty section. Curiosity to know what they were talking about invaded you and you stood where you were, squinting your eyes to try to read their lips. Reid wasn't participating too much in the chat, you'd even say he looked awkward, but she was shamelessly flirting with him. Perhaps the sudden change in attitude that she had had was what your friend had missed so much and just when you thought of approaching to go save him from the situation, she stood on her toes and crashed her lips against his, leaving you standing just in your place and completely in shock.

You didn't expect her to dare to do something like that, but the reaction he had left you even more surprised, because, although it wasn't so favorable, he didn't seem bothered by the show of affection he had just received either. He just stood in front of her, looking her up and down as if he were analyzing her.

You didn't want to stay there any longer and almost instantly you turned around to walk out the front door, hoping that this had meant absolutely nothing to him and the next day you could look him in the face without feeling the jealousy boiling in your veins.

It was almost time for dismissal when Spencer remembered that he had a file to go through that he'd ignored all morning, and he cursed himself a little for leaving things until the last minute. His coworkers told him that he could finish it the next morning, but he knew that if he did that he probably wouldn't have time to drink coffee with you so he preferred to stay a little later there.

Little by little the offices emptied and when there was almost no one left, he finally finished, feeling the discomfort of the recurring pain in his back due to the bad position in which he sat. He put his things away, put on his coat, and slung his briefcase over his shoulder, ready to go back to his apartment, but a person got in the way when he was about to cross the hall. Due to exhaustion and seeing that it was a female body he assumed it would be you, but when he paid more attention, he noticed that it wasn’t even remotely possible that the ironed black hair was yours.

"Doctor Reid"

"Miss Evans" he greeted her, without losing cordiality, but not with too much emotion either.

"What are you doing here so night?"

"Job. There's nothing else to do around here at this hour,” he said without looking at her. But the girl was determined to get that one-night stand that she was sure you had, lie as it was.

“It's a shame, but I know a bar near here that you might like if you want to have a little fun”

“Bars are noisy and are one of the biggest sources of infection that can exist. Sweat, alcohol, and unknown fluids permeate the environment and it is very probable that the consumption of drugs affects not only those who consume them but also those who are close to them, so I prefer to decline your invitation" he exclaimed, hoping that this explanation would be enough to make it clear to this woman that he wasn't interested.

“So you're more of hanging out in the apartment? I have a lot of great things in mine, including a jacuzzi."

“Jacuzzies are unsanitary” he insisted. If he proposed, he would know that he would find a valid excuse for whatever plan she might suggest.

"What a killjoy, Agent Reid” she giggled, but he wasn't too amused by any of it. "Do you ever have fun?"

"I think my concept of fun and yours diverge a lot" he murmured, still not looking at her directly and ready to end the conversation.

Spencer was about to leave when she raised herself to his height and in a quick movement that caught him off guard, she smashed her lips against his. As she turned away from her the man froze completely in his place, looking at her from head to toe as if she were some strange natural specimen.

"What if I promise there will be more of that?" she asked, in a last-ditch attempt, faking a honeyed voice. He was going to respond when there was something that forced him to look in the direction of the exit door, where someone else was already walking. From the pattern of colored stripes on the jacket he knew it was definitely you and if it was you then you probably witnessed the entire exchange. He felt the urge to run after you to justify himself for something he hadn't even done, not knowing why he was embarrassed or worried that you'd seen that. “Come on, are you really going to say no to all this?”

"Listen to me, Victoria. I understand if having power over others gives you pleasure because you are the least noticed and recognized member of the family, or if you enjoy saying hurtful things to people to feed your own insecurities, but I ask that you please stay away from me and stop trying whatever you're trying. I don't like you, you're a bad person and I won't allow you to kiss me without my wanting it, or to make your sexual advances that won't get you anywhere. So again, I say don't bother me again” he said and without waiting for any answer he walked out of sight of her. Even if he had stayed, Victoria had her ego so hurt that she didn't think of anything to say back and instead she just let helpless tears fill her eyes, followed by a gesture of a tantrum.

When Spencer came downstairs he couldn't find you anywhere and the anxiety in his stomach only increased, wishing he had misrecognized the person who had left so it wasn't about you. The matter didn't keep him awake, of course, but when he noticed the next morning that you weren't at his desk, he thought it was reason enough to worry. Worse still when he noticed that you had left a lonely cup on the table, with absolutely no adorable titles decorating it. It made him feel so guilty, like he somehow knew that you were upset because you'd seen Victoria kiss him the night before and he wasn't worthy of your affection anymore.

Even Hotch noticed that he was more distracted than usual and although he had already seen your exchanges, he thought it would be better not to intervene in anything that had to do with young love. Being a cupid was a more difficult task than the one he already fulfilled at the BAU. So when night came and he didn't look at you anywhere, anxiety was already eating him to the ground, wishing he could have your phone number to at least comfort himself with hearing your voice. Going to your apartment was something he considered, but then it became unthinkable because he didn't even know how you would react.

Victoria became less of a concern as she seemed to get the message perfectly and every time during the day that he crossed her path she just looked away, totally offended.

But when the same situation arose twice, he felt that something was wrong and he wasn't going to endure a third time. It was then that Spencer left the house early that morning to stop by a bakery and buy a couple of fresh sweet buns, hoping that this time you were expecting him. But his disappointment was greater when he saw that once again there was only the bare cup of coffee.

"Didn't you see Y/N?" he asked Elle when he arrived, nervously fiddling with the paper bag he was holding in his hands.

“No, she just left your coffee and left, but I don't know where. She seemed pretty rushed”

Spencer inwardly cursed and sighed in frustration, until a few seconds later he caught sight of you on the other side of the building, carrying a stack of folders and talking on the phone. He didn't hesitate for a moment before running (at first, then he slowed down a bit as he remembered the incessant times Hotch had scolded him for it) towards you so he could finally talk to you.

“Y/N,” he said softly as he reached your side, and he took the bright smile you gave him as you turned to look at him as a good sign.

"Wait a minute" you mouthed, still answering the call you had on the line, and when you hung up you finally turned your attention to him "Hey, Reid. Good morning"

"I bought you this" he murmured, showing you the bag with food inside, and you almost moaned with happiness.

“Food is what I need most to survive the day”

"What are you doing?"

“Two days ago, your boss Gideon thought it was a good idea to make me his personal secretary. So right now, I'll do everything he asks me to do” you snorted, obviously exhausted by the work you had done and by the ones you surely would have to do.

It clicked in the boy's mind and then he understood that this was the reason you hadn't seen it, not because you were angry. Relief ran down the length of his spine.

"Really?"

“I don't even think that's legal, you know? I'm an intern, they don't pay me a penny and they take advantage of me like I earn the same as the fucking president” you complained. Until then he noticed that you were struggling to hold the papers and he decided to stretch out his hands to help you carry them, like a real gentleman "Thank you"

“Where should you take them? I'll accompany you” he offered. You led him through the halls to a file store that even he doubted he knew about, and explained that your job for the next several weeks would be to sort and categorize the case files for a more efficient process of future searches.

“I'm seriously thinking about giving this whole damn thing up and selling hotdogs in some park or whatever. I would be happier and I would earn almost the same” you joked, raising your arms to stretch your back a bit like a cat that had just woken up. The place was completely alone, silent and the lighting was so dim that it even looked gloomy “Did you get my coffees?"

"Yes, I did," he muttered, "I thought you were mad at me though”

"Why?"

"Because..." he hesitated for a moment if it would be wise to mention what he thought was the reason for your anger, until he realized that saying it out loud would simply sound absurd. There shouldn't be a reaction on your part to the facts “you weren't there. And you didn't write anything”

"Oh, I was in a hurry. I'm sorry,” you sincerely apologized. While you were talking to him you thought that you could start to categorize the documents that you would have just brought and you got to it, hoping that he wouldn't interpret that as a sign that you wanted him to leave; luckily Spencer rushed to your side to help you as soon as he could.

"Alright. I'm glad to know you're not upset."

"If I had known that you loved my notes so much, it would have taken me a few seconds" you smiled and when you turned your head you noticed that you were too close to him, or he to you, rather.

You were silent for a few moments until he couldn't take it anymore. He needed to know your opinion about what you had or hadn't seen that night.

"Victoria looked me up the other day," he said disinterestedly. You smiled victoriously for not having to be the first to mention it, even though the matter was slowly burning inside you.

“Oh, I know. I looked at you talking to her” you exclaimed bitterly, without taking your eyes off the files.

"And she too... huh..."

"Calm down" you interrupted him, taking a bunch that were already ordered and moving away from him to take them to a filing cabinet "I saw that too"

“It was so strange”

"It was pathetic," you said without any embarrassment. You finally looked up and noticed some fear in him, as if he thought you meant that he was pathetic "It wasn't even a good kiss"

"And what would one be like?" he replied without thinking. You stifled a laugh and looked at him kindly.

“That's not something I can explain to you, Reid. I would have to show you"

“Well…” he said, finally breaking away from your gaze and staring at you with those big beautiful hazel eyes.

You were surprised that he wasn't averse to it because you honestly didn't expect to achieve anything with that sentence, you just wanted to tease him a bit. Spencer kept looking at you in silence for a few seconds and you knew what that look meant, or at least you thought you did. Those pleading eyes only screamed one thing: show me. Kiss me.

You walked enough steps to close the distance and stand right in front of him, looking down at him with a smile of pure mischief.

“Well, what?"

“Nothing, nothing, I just… I thought you could enlighten me a bit on the subject. As unbelievable as it may seem, I am very uninformed about the standard of what is considered a good or bad kiss” he admitted. Even flirting he sounded like a walking book.

You weren't going to give him time to regret it so you took him by the lapels of his formal shirt and with a yank you pulled him to you. Spencer's breath caught at how sudden the contact had been, and you heard him release the trapped air over your lips, giving you the chance to deepen the kiss. At first he was tense, but after a few seconds you felt his shoulders relax considerably and that's when you slid your hands down the length of his neck until you reached to hold his cheeks. One of your hands left that position only to guide the man's hands to your waist and once you were in this way you took the opportunity to push your body against his a little more, with your torso attached to his. There was no mention of how the tip of your tongue experimentally flicked across his lips and made him sigh audibly.

Spencer nearly whimpered as the heat from your body left his.

“We just shared approximately 80 million bacteria” you blurted out, but he was too flushed and shocked to corroborate denying the information. Just to play with him you decided to give him another kiss, shorter and louder than the previous one "And you just had a good kiss"

You didn't wait for any reaction before separating completely and that made him come out of the trance he was in, still not believing what had just happened. He couldn't even say anything before your phone started ringing with a call.

"I'll see you later?"

"It's up to you," you said with a smile. Spencer nodded and not knowing what else to do he decided to walk out before he could embarrass himself "Oh, and Spence…”

"Yeah?" he answered, trying not to let you notice how it affected him that you called him that way.

“Do you remember the other day when I told you that surely hundreds of girls liked you?” you asked and when he nodded a couple of hairs got messy "Although I'm sure it's true, on that occasion I was only talking about me" you confessed. You couldn't ignore the ringing sound any longer or you'd lose it, so you picked up the hook and started a business conversation, but not before winking at him as a farewell.

Spencer came out of it trying to look as normal as possible, but he still couldn't figure out how he'd have the strength to work objectively for the rest of the day when he'd just gotten such a good kiss from the prettiest girl he'd ever met.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jason gideon #JJ #penelope garcía

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pandoraslxna · 11 months

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human!reader taking nude and explicit photographs of herself to give to the colonel 😩

Sweet like cherry – Chapter 1

Miles Quaritch x female human reader

Words: 3.1k

Summary: Miles has a secret admirer and apparently, she has a thing for photography.

Warnings: explicit smut, (mutual) masturbation (lots of it), voyeurism, degradation kink, body worship, misogyny / bullying if you squint, obsession, corruption kink, size & age difference

Notes: apologies for the header photo, i promise there aren’t any physical descriptions of the reader in my fics (such as skin color, hair, etc).

Cherry. A symbol of both, purity and innocence.

Technology had never been Quaritch’s forte. It wasn't even his strongest branch of knowledge; a strange piece of information that always came as a surprise to anyone who knew him, even to himself. He was usually too proud to admit this flaw of his to others. But he excelled in other things instead. Leading, for example. Leading troupes, soldiers, recoms. Keeping them safe.

On a typical day, the head of security ensures that security measures are properly implemented, educates and trains soldiers and develops security processes to reduce risk and limit liability for the RDA. Oh, and guns. Yeah, guns he knew how to handle.

And this was something that he took great pride in.

Miles knew that some people use technology to create all kinds of art, as useless as that may seem to him. They draw, they create, they write, whatever, you name it. Sometimes, people use technology to document things. They videotape or photograph stuff. All that unnecessary shit that he pushes into Wainfleets area of responsibility, because hell, he couldn’t even open a stupid document on one of those data pads everyone seemed to carry around these days.

Which is why this tiny, square piece of paper, right there on the floor of his living quarters, spiked his interest so much.

A polaroid.

Quaritch knew polaroids. He knew how to use a polaroid camera too, surprisingly. Learned it back on earth when he was young, when technology was as simple as pressing a button which resolved an instant result. A photo, in that case. They often came out looking a little blurry or foggy, he admits that was probably due to the outdated technology. Nothing compared to the quality that cameras could capture today. But that’s what gave them their charm, right?

He doesn’t remember them being this small, though, but that’s probably because the last time he held one of these was when he was a kid. And when he wasn’t a little over nine feet tall and blue.

Faintly, Quaritch wonders how it even ended up here. He wasn’t really the type to carry memories with him, photographs of all things. And a polaroid? Who even brings a polaroid camera all the way from earth to pandora? As far as he could remember his first time coming to this hell hole, the list of belongings he was allowed to carry with him was fairly short, limited to the necessities only.

Instead of breaking his head over an answer to where it may came from, the Colonel chose to continue observing this strange… let’s call it gift, his eyes narrowing and squinting throughout his thorough investigation.

But when he finally turns the polaroid, his eyes widen in surprise.

There‘s nothing blurry or messy or foggy about the picture, even under the dim light of the lamp that lit his dark bedroom. It was crystal clear.

Your tattoo is the first thing Miles sees of you. Thin, red lines adorn the flawless skin right on your hip, resulting in a cherry as a whole. Cherries. Miles loved them. Small, soft round, almost heart shaped and of bright red color. And so, so sweet.

He’s never been a big fan of lingerie, truth be told, but the way those panties matched the color of your tattoo, Quaritch couldn’t deny that this was one hell of a sight. You wore a set of thigh-high stockings, same color of course, to make the match perfect.

Too bad the photo’s frame cuts off right where your head would be, so he could only wonder if whoever the woman on this picture was, she was wearing the same color of lipstick too.

A nice little gift, he thought, not thinking much of it as he laid the polaroid into his nightstand drawer.

It doesn’t take more than a couple of days for him to find a new set of polaroids, slipped under the crack of his door while he was on a mission. With a huff, Miles set his gear down to pick them up from the floor. He might not have realized back then, but he was actually pleased to find not just one, but three polaroids this time.

Surprisingly, there was something written on them this time. A fine line of red ink, reminds him of your tattoo. Handwritten in cursive, with a small heart at the end of the sentence, like a love letter directed to him, stood, "to Colonel Miles Quaritch."

As if someone was trying to make it clear that those were meant for him. That the last time wasn’t just an accident or made by a perverted voyeur that gets off from sliding naughty little photos of herself under random peoples doors. No, they were made entirely for him.

If the first one he received was already a sight to see, the ones he was holding in his hands right now were straight up mouth watering.

Quaritch couldn’t help it.

He was still a man after all and it’s been one hell of a long time since he had last touched a woman. A life time, you could say. So even though his own bodies reaction to stirring alive at the sight of your photos took him by surprise, it wasn’t actually that surprising after all. Because how could he not grow hard at the sight of that faceless woman with the cherry tattoo, sprawled out on her bed, messy satin sheets underneath her picture perfect body, legs spread wide and angled so he could get a good view of her glistening folds.

The first polaroid he had received was nothing more than a little tease, meant to get him intrigued, maybe even rile him up and make him want to longe for more. But these, these photos were straight up pornographic.

The second one is enough to make Miles sit down on his bed and rearrange his pants, as they had suddenly grown suffocatingly tight around his crotch. In that one, you were bend over what looked like the edge of your bed, spine arched just the way he liked and with your thighs spread to make room for your hand that had two delicate fingers buried to the knuckle inside of you.

"Fuck…", Miles chuckled lowly. What a pretty pussy, he thought, as he started to palm his cock through his cargos.

He held the polaroid just a little closer to his face to catch all the details. How your walls seemed to clamp down on your fingers, spread wide to swallow them whole. God, what he would give to hold your legs open and watch your tight pussy struggle to take him down to the base.

He groaned at the thought, as his hands found the waistband of his boxer briefs, pulling them down enough to free his hard cock. Throbbing painfully in his palm, he begins to move his hand up and down, stroking lazily as his eyes scanned over the polaroid like he was studying a fine piece of art.

Miles imagined how your voice would sound like. How cries would tumble from your lips, his name like a mantra as he fucked you until your entire body would tremble, unable to bear how good he was making you feel. The loose fist he’d made around his cock grew tighter, as his steady pace became a touch less steady, his body growing desperate for more friction than his lazy drag had allowed.

Miles stroked over his shaft, squeezing the blue tip of his cock just right, forcing the very first droplets of pre-cum to form and spill over his knuckles.

His eyes traveled over to the next photo, the same lithe body, biting his lower lip as his gaze settled on the way you were squeezing your soft breasts together for the shot, fingers teasing your perky nipples. A sight that would only be better if there was a cock, his cock, in between them.

While the pre-cum that leaked from his tip did serve to smooth the dry tug, it wasn’t enough to keep up with his pace, so he spat into his hand, the glide easier now, and the filthy sounds made his head spin. He could almost feel your pussy clamping down, tight and hot, around him. If he closed his eyes, it was like you were really here.

But Quaritch rather kept them open, half lidded at least, just to keep staring at those filthy little pictures, like a pathetic sailor looking at pinup posters taped on his bunk bed.

Soon, he was actually fucking into his hand, faster now, as he imagined exactly how you would take him. Perhaps you’d look best, sitting prettily on his lap. Riding him, rolling your soft hips while he gripped your ass hard enough to leave bruises, lifting you up only to slam you down on his cock. Wrenching cries from those spit-glossed lips, skin shiny with sweat and a lustful gaze through thick lashes.

Spurting his thick, warm cum into his fist definitely didn’t feel as good as pumping you full with it would, he determined that day.

Cherry, Miles named the mysterious woman of his late fantasies. Because no matter the pose, you always managed to leave your face out of your photos. Instead, you sneaked your fruity little tattoo on every single one of your shots. Like a trademark, as if he could somehow recognize you like this.

Ever since then, the days Miles received cherry's little gifts had piled up quite a bit. So much so, that the Colonel couldn’t even deny anymore, that he even grew a tad excited about coming back home from his missions just to find a new set of naughty little polaroids on the floor right behind the door.

And even when he wasn’t specifically looking at your photos, he sometimes caught himself thinking about you. With so much shit going on in his life, it was nice to have a little something to let his mind drift off to.

His sweet little cherry, for example.

Miles washes himself mechanically. Shampoo, rinse. Conditioner, soap, lathered across his blue skin. Sliding over his board chest, balancing on the cliffs of his hips, dripping down to where his cock hangs hot and heavy, tingling under the pelting water as if they were an angel's kisses. Pecking, spreading on his skin. Drowning him in drowsy heat as he slips rough fingers through his short hair.

He washes away all the grime, sweat and dirt that had clung to his body after spending most of his day in the sultry heat of pandoras jungle. Looking down at his palms, as he rinses them under the spray of hot water, he thinks about your latest polaroid, from two days ago. It was a shot of you, standing in the shower, too.

The camera was set somewhere behind you. Both of your hands against the tiled walls, you stood entirely on your tip toes, back arched and chest pushed against the wall to give him a good view of your backside. You really had a delicious looking, peachy butt. Especially delicious, if said butt was covered in soap.

Placing a hand against the wall to steady himself, Miles other hand traveled down over his toned stomach, until he reached his cock, that was now standing proud and tall, his tip an angry color of purple, as pre-cum already oozed from its slit.

There used to be times when it was a lot harder to rile him up like that, he thought with a scoff. You made him feel like he was a teenager once again. Back in his old room, on his parents farm, where he had just discovered his old man's playboy magazine. When his body was pumped full and overflowing of hormones and testosterone that desperately searched for a way out. Or when he was in college, bending over every pretty girl that willingly got into his old mustang and spread her legs for him in the backseat.

Miles thought he’d grown up since then. That he had better impulse control now. Had his fair share of women so that things like seeing one naked wouldn’t immediately get him this hard. Hell, he was a completely different man now, he has responsibilities, a team to lead, a whole damn planet to colonize.

But as he furiously pumped his cock, lubed with pre-cum and body wash, he thought that maybe he was just acting like some horny teenager because it’s been an awful while since he had last buried his cock into a wet little hole. Or maybe it’s something about those damn Na‘vi and their fucked up dna that was used to clone him. Maybe they’re so hormone driven and that’s why he has those borderline animalistic urges to fuck that faceless woman into the mattress of his bed, any bed.

Or maybe it’s just because of you. Because cherry looks just so perfectly edible, so bite sized and delicious. A pretty little thing made for him. Needy enough to send him those downright pornographic polaroids, because you were thinking about him, thinking about him stuffing his cock so deep into your pussy that you could taste him on your tongue.

Miles exhaled a shaky breath, hips stuttering to fuck into his fist at a faster pace as he continued to recreate the last photo he had seen of you in front of his minds eye.

The second polaroid of your previous set showed you in a squatting position, legs spread wide, while the water of the shower was running down over your curves, over your tattoo and pubic bone to dribble onto the white-tiled bathroom floor. Quaritch swallowed thickly, tongue lapping over his pointy canine as he imagined to dive head first between your thighs to get a good taste of you. Fuck, he bets you would taste so damn delicious, truly living up to your little nickname.

In this shot, your own hand was wrapped around your throat, almost as if you were taunting him.

I wish that was your hand instead.

"Jesus, cherry", Miles groaned in a hushed whisper, "Bet you’d love my hand around your throat. Filthy little slut."

His eyes squeezed shut even tighter as he imagined you in this exact position, squatting in front of him in the shower, your hands on his thighs as he fucked your throat, until your voice was raw and hoarse.

Unfortunately, in this moment there was no one to swallow his thick load of cum, but the tiled wall of his shower and the drain after the water had washed it down.

In his youth, and even sometimes in his years as an adult, the morning after was often filled with an emotion that his current self didn’t even possess anymore. Shame, sometimes even guilt. He took what he desired, made a pretty girl see stars and then ditched before the first ray of sun could even shine through the ugly smog that was once a white cloud in the sky –before the humans fucked up.

But ever since his sweet Cherry had bought him her little gifts and once in a while gave Quaritch a way to release all of his pent of frustration, he was in a surprisingly good mood. Not that good, of course, because Quaritch wouldn’t be Quaritch if he was running around like a brainless bimbo full of sunshine and butterflies. But good enough that he didn’t immediately growled something along the lines of "watch where the fuck you’re going" or something like that, when a small body bumped into him in the hallway.

Yesterday nights shower activities left him in a good enough mood, that all he did was scrunch his nose and scoff at the pathetic sight in front of him.

White lab coat, black pencil skirt, blouse and clipboard in a tight death grip, clasped over her chest like she thought he would snatch it from her, stood one of those scientists that were running around all over bridgehead like little ants.

Looking all the way down at you, Miles realized that you must’ve dropped a few of your books and other paperwork when you accidentally ran into him, as they were scattered across the floor all around you.

There was a long moment of painful silence, as you stared up at him with wide eyes.

Eyes, that were filled with something that looked like panic to him, like a deer caught in headlights and you blushed, blushed so much that your whole face turned red. Oh god, Quaritch thinks to himself, she’s one of those kind of lab coats. Those nerds that never see the sunlight because they’re always cramped into their little labs, studying whatever fucking plants and stuff they could get their hands on, like it’s their only purpose in life. One of those nerds that he made fun of when he was still in college, virgins he’d call them, because that’s what they were. So smart, yet too stupid to socialize and actually get their hands on another human.

You, too, looked like a virgin to him. Albeit a little too pretty to be compared to the other scientist freaks he had crossed ways with so far. Less like a sun starved vampire, with dark circles under their eyes and greasy hair that made him wonder if they even had showers down at the labs. No, you looked more like those kind of girls you’d see in those weird roleplay porn movies, dressed down to make them look nerdier, as if they were someone completely different outside of work, wearing those fake glasses that weren’t actually needed for anything other than the sheer purpose of covering them in cu—

"Oh god, I’m s-so sorry, Sir!" You finally snatched out of your trance when he crooked a brow at you, hastily hurrying to fall to your knees and collect the papers that were littered across the floor like confetti.

With an amused huff, Miles was about to turn on his heels and continue his way to meet General Ardmore at the corporate hq, when his gaze flicks to a tiny, square piece of paper on the floor. The sheer horror on your face, when he crouched down to pick it up, was actually quiet an amusing sight to him.

"Well, well. Look what we have here." Quaritch chuckles as he flips the paper over, that in fact turned out to be a polaroid, just as he assumed. It reveals the picture perfect shot of a body, with a small tattoo he’s grown very familiar with.

"If that ain’t my sweet little cherry…"

#colonel miles quaritch #avatar miles quaritch #miles quaritch x reader #miles quaritch x reader smut #miles quaritch #colonel quaritch #colonel quaritch x reader smut #avatar quaritch #atwow quaritch #recom quaritch #quaritch x reader #james cameron avatar #Avatar #Avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #recom miles quaritch

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cheonstapes · 6 months

Note

We need a soulmate au with Miguel! There are barely any in this fandom with reader x miguel and it’s such a cute trope!

Especially with someone who isn’t a complete sunshine, just a reader who is as equally as cold and uninterested in the idea of “soulmates” as Miguel would be, yet they both finds themselves naturally drawn to one another.

miguel o’hara stars in… ‘YOU AND ME, ALWAYS TOGETHER’ (=ﾟωﾟ)ﾉヽ(^o^)

a/n ~ NO SMUT?? OH EM GEE! this was so cute i loved it sm! and yes, im sorry but i hate the sunshine reader fics😭 GIMMIE EMO READER AND GRUMPY MIGGY!!

summary; your futures were sealed from the moment you both met, you two just had to accept it.

pairing; miguel o’hara x reader

wc; 1.5k

cw; FLUFF! minor angst, soulmate au!, i think reader is mostly gn! pls tell me if not🩷, blood, injuries, mutual pining, kissing, reader has a little panic attack, love love love, spanish not translated, NAWT PROOFREAD - we all caps now

As much as he hated to admit it, Miguel always knew you were different.

Miguel was cautious of those around him, guarding his heart against anyone he deemed was getting a bit too close. And you — you were no exception, well, at the start. You were no ray of sunshine, that’s for sure. The way you carried yourself, so nonchalantly — almost rivalling Miguel in his own game.

He thinks about the day he first met you often, the curt nod you gave when he reluctantly invited you into the society. The moment he locked eyes with you, something changed. Maybe it was the adrenaline from the fight, or maybe it was the way your bored eyes brightened ever so slightly as you looked at him. Whatever it was, he didn’t like the way his heart momentarily skipped a beat.

He knew you felt it too, that small spark in your belly. It was impossible to ignore him, not just because he’s your boss — but because you didn’t want to. Every time you were around him the world seemed to look a little brighter, blending colours of you two’s shared connection to create an opening for you both to find each other — to explore the depths of that tumultuous abyss.

It was too good to be true, anyway. The idea of being connected to someone like that, having a ‘soulmate’, was downright stupid. You both were too busy protecting the multiverse to worry about something as trivial as love — Miguel scoured the timelines, and no matter how hard he tried, a love of his own was not part of it.

Yet you couldn’t seem to leave each other alone. The bond between the both of you constantly drawing you back to him, and him back to you. It was small things at first, asking you to go over some

mission reports, double checking data that he had already triple checked with you — then it was asking if you wanted an empanada from the canteen, bringing you coffee when he noticed your tired state, sitting you on his desk as he patched up your injuries.

It infuriated you to no end. Harbouring these feelings deep inside of you, you knew deep down you may be overreacting— but this had to stop. It would never work. It’s all you could tell yourself as you sat in silence, your mask covering your distressed face as he rambled on about the details of the next mission. “You’re with me, let’s go.”

“Huh?” You were so cute. It was a look that he’s never seen on you before, your eyes widened slightly, mouth open in a small pout. “The mission. You’re coming with me, so get moving.” That was the last thing you really wanted, being in direct contact with Miguel. A small part of you felt…excited? It was a strange feeling, one you didn’t welcome with open arms — pushing it down with a roll of your eyes and a small huff as you followed Miguel through the portal.

The universe you were in was practically a wasteland. It was unlike any you’ve seen before and it didn’t sit right with you at all. The air was filled with a noxious green smog, buildings seemingly crumbling with every swing the two of you took. “This is gonna be quick, capture the anomaly and we go. Do not engage unless it attacks first.” His stern voice cut through the heavy silence, your head flitting over to where he was perched on a rooftop.

“Yeah, ok, no problem.” It took everything for you not to respond with some sarcastic remark, the vibe here was too unsettling for you to take a jab at Miguel. He could sense something was off, not with this world — but with you. It was like he had a sixth sense, always knowing when you were upset, angry, happy, hungry. He didn’t think much of it, but something about today made the sense so much more intense.

He was next to you in an instant, towering over you as he blocked your vision of the world in front of you. “Hey, cariño, look at me.” Miguel’s voice had never been softer, even though there was still that gravelly undertone — it was calming, enough to get you to lift your head. The pure distress on your face made his gut twist in anguish, feeling his own anxiety picking up — he hadn’t felt like that in years. Those rough hands of his held your cheeks, so gently, as his thumb caressed the warm skin.

“You know I don’t like seeing you like this — all worried. I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t think you were capable of handling yourself, nena.”

“I know…but I-“

“Ah — no buts. What you aren’t gonna do right now is doubt yourself. I’ve known you for 8 years now, and the last thing I think when I see you is ‘quitter’. So get your ass together so we can finish this and go home.” Another curt nod, but this time there was the small hint of a smile on your face — the fire in your eyes reigniting at his words.

“Bueña chica. C’mon the anomaly should be just —“

It was barely touching you. The end of a sharp spike close to penetrating the tender skin of your stomach — but for some reason the pain was unbearable. It felt like blood was pooling in your organs, only there was none. The quietness interrupted as soft patter of crimson droplets hit the jagged concrete of the roof.

Your eyes trailed up, Miguel’s face uncharacteristically contorted into one of something akin to fear — the gaping hole in his stomach revealing itself when the thick shard slides out of it, the anomaly making unintelligible clicks and groans behind him. “No…no, Miguel!” The pain you felt directly mirrored his, your screams of anguish piercing the sensitive ears of the creature — its scaly body slithering off before you could stop it.

“Miguel? Miguel, stay with me ok — we’re going home, I-I’m gonna open the portal now and we’re gonna get you some help.” He could hear how fast your heart was beating, rings of red invading your eyes as tears pooled along with it. Even with the doughnut-sized hole in his torso, he couldn’t help but smile at how cute you were when you’re worried — the pain subsiding momentarily. “Ey, ¡carajo!, cálmate cariño. I…I’ll be ok, nothing I can’t handle.”

“Miguel, respectfully, that’s bullshit — there’s quite literally a whole carved out of you and you wanna sit here and tell me you’ll be ok? We’re going back right now, you’re not fucking dying on me.” Turning, you tapped around on your watch — opening a portal back to the HQ. Miguel’s presence behind you didn’t go unnoticed, despite his fatal, in your eyes, injury — he still found the time to tease you when he should be on the ground fighting for his life.

“How many times am I gonna have to tell you to look at me?” Was his voice always that deep, that sultry. His hands trail up your arm, grasping your wrist gently to stop your movements. The world turns as your spun round, eye-to-chest with Miguel before he lifts your head by your chin. He guides your hand towards his stomach, your hand meeting his firm muscles. “Where — Where did it…?” He chuckles deeply, shaking his head.

“Told you it’s nothing I can’t handle.” He was smiling, genuinely smiling as he looked at you — his eyes softening as he looked down at your expression. You were spluttering, hands waving around as you tried to process what you’re looking at — the hole now completely sealed as if nothing happened. Miguel’s rough hands cupped your cheeks, eyes flickering down to your lips — his own face heating up slightly.

You pause, hands shaking coming to grasp onto his shoulders — your bodies coming to press against each other. It was straight out of a movie, a dysfunctional one at that, but a movie nonetheless — faces meeting in the middle as your lips collide, tongues gently dancing. One of his hands move to grip your hips through the fabric of your suit, blunt nails digging into the fat as he grunts out curses against your spit soaked lips.

A few heated minutes pass and he breaks the kiss, panting down at you. “Let’s go capture that fucker.” You nod, your face lighting up from that bright smile you put on — once dull eyes sparkling up at him. “And after, I’m taking you out to that buffet place you keep talking about.”

Your hearts were beating in sync, everything perfectly aligned as you both finally found each other. You’re future together slotting into the timeline, the shared acknowledgement of your connection coming to fruition.

Whether you believed it or not, you two were soulmates, and nothing would change that.

-if you put a buck in my cup

#cheonstapes #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o'hara #miguel smut #cheonstapes films!🪷#miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #spiderman atsv #atsv miguel #miguel x y/n #miguel x you #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel ohara x reader

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liliannadelaphinehartifelt · 29 days

Note

Hi there,

Saw your post about Cajun/cowboy Alastor and OMG! I don’t have many ideas other then maybe he plays poker for souls or something like that and maybe a reader comes into town and is just as good at poker as he is. And he cannot seem to win, leading him to become mildly obsessed over winning their soul.

Thats all I have as I don’t know much about cajun/cowboy stuff.

I’ll let you know if I have any other ideas!

Thank you!

Alastor - [ ACE OF HEARTS ]

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A/N: Omg, I love your take on cowboy Al! It got me thinking about it for days. I have never played poker, so I had to watch multiple YouTube videos to understand the game while writing this. Hopefully, it came out accurate enough! Also, this is a very, VERY traumatic/smut-heavy fic I'm working on, so please be aware and know I don't endorse anything I write.

WARNINGS: [ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ MATURE THEMES ] + [ FEM READER ] + [ GUN PLAY… ] + [ SLIGHT DUB CON….eventually.] + [ SLIGHT/IMPLIED AGE GAP ] + [ MENTIONS OF GORE/BLOOD/CANNABILISM ] + [ KIDNAPPING…sort of?.. ] + [ PARENTAL PHYSICAL AB*SE…eventually..] + [ ANGST/TRUAMA…]

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**Cowboy Alastor** is known for his record of killing, is a skilled bounty hunter, and is far from a decently moral one. Everyone assumes his motives, guessing who his next target is and if he’ll ever feel guilt for what he does to them.

He doesn't.

What kind of demon would he be if he did…

Besides, the people he kills owe him in one way or another, all in debt to the red demon by their stupidity and lust for life, so he feels nothing for them when the time comes for the price of their deals to be paid.

Alastor arrives for them in the dead of dry nights, taking their last breath with a single bullet to the head or a clean cut across the throat. Their pleas do little to affect his decision.

“A deal is a deal…”

He reminds them that escaping a bloody end is impossible, already solidified by their selfish desires, and no amount of begging will change his mind. They curse his name, glaring at the grin on his face as he draws nearer with deathly intent in his eyes, and it only grows as he derives pleasure from their refusal to cooperate.

The riches, the riding, and the roughness he endures daily are nothing compared to the satisfaction he gets from killing. Others may deal in chasing oil, farming land, and cattle, but he stakes his fulfillment in the business of blood.

**Cowboy Alastor** dabbles in gambling when he's not off-striking deals with lowly souls or wreaking havoc on those he deems deserving.

Every city south of New Orleans with a bar or saloon welcomes his visits and not by choice.

Those who don't meet his standards or demands of hospitality drop from the face of the earth at his will, burning to a crisp full of the dead occupants who so lightly offended him, and never to be rebuilt out of fear he'd return to demolish it again.

He surely would, but no one has yet to test the theory in fear of a painful death by his hands.

Alastor leisurely travels the expanse of Louisiana's countryside, partial to riding wherever the wind blows, but he’ll always return to the rumbling city of New Orleans.

Whether for personal reasons or because his beloved mother wished to see him, it becomes second nature for the deer demon to reside there randomly. It was his hometown, after all, and he preferred the taste of whiskey from a familiar place over foreign alcohol in far-off dusty taverns he'd never visit again.

The saloon he fancies sits opposite the central townhouse, a tall building at the end of a main street that never seemed to rest.

Lafitte’s Blacksmith Bar

Summer nights brought out and drew in more people, filling the bar with patrons who knew of his deeds and those who’d only heard scarring stories about him through the ladder. The knowledge of a red reaper roaming the towns of Louisiana varied, but their fearful respect of him was abundant the moment Alastor stepped foot into the bustling bar.

He was there, in good spirits for the most part, but still an impossible threat they couldn't brush off.

**Cowboy Alastor** greets the silent patrons with a sly grin, tipping his hat to the fear-stricken owner who eyed him from behind the packed bar.

“Don't let me interrupt the fun, Cher. I'm not here to cause you trouble… that's if you're kind enough to indulge me.”Alastor chuckles, not waiting for a proper response from anyone as he stalks over to his usual spot in the smokey parlor.

A group of cattlemen stiffen in their seats as he walks by, all grabbing their drinks as swiftly as possible before leaping up from their table to avoid him, and their skittish actions cause Alastor to laugh as he settles into a particular backroom booth.

It was customary for people to keep their distance from him, some deterred by his striking appearance while others simply didn't want to risk involvement with a known killer. He saw nothing wrong with their aversion, glad that his reputation proceeded him, but there were those single few who saw him as a challenge rather than a threat.

Poor fools…

Mortal or not, he ran into them regularly, welcoming their duels like a bored child getting a new toy to destroy, and though he knew they'd fail to win against him, he'd never turn down a good game.

Ever…

**Cowboy Alastor** lets the saloon wind into chaos again, humming along to the melody of music and rowdy singing while getting comfortable in his secluded spot.

His hat rests low on his head, shielding most of his red gaze from those who look his way, only leaving the view of his Cheshire smile and effectively signaling his oddly calm demeanor. Alastor slipped his riding jacket off, tossing the tailored burgundy clothing across the back of the booth, his leather and suede black gloves following suit.

“What a day it's been…” he mumbled while flexing his long fingers, relaxing his posture while leaning back and rolling his neck until a soft ‘pop’ was heard.

Consequently, the tension tangled in his limber body from riding all day unraveled. Alastor sucked his teeth at the feeling, licking his lips as a satisfied groan left them, and just as he sat forward again, the owner hurried to his table with a bottle of alcohol and a tray of cigars.

“Your usual, Al,” he split out, setting the items in front of him with shakey hands, and Alastor clicks his tongue at the nervous tick. He'd come to this bar for years, and the old man still trembled in his boots around him. The poor fool wouldn't dare admit his fear either, rushing off as soon as he reached for the bottle, and though some might consider his retreat rude, Alastor found it amusing.

Flattering, even.

**Cowboy Alastor** drinks slowly, letting the whiskey burn his tongue and drowning the malt taste with languid drags from a cigar.

Eyes scan over him, women whisper about him lustfully under the rowdy music, and the men keep their senses about them with happy trigger fingers.

Because as they say: “Red Reaper, Red Reaper. The devil's solemn deal keeper. Beware him & the hell he seeks…”

Alastor imposes his intensity, grinning at those who stare too long, watching the women who drink him in with an equally sultry stare, and daring the men to throw a bullet his way with a knowing smirk. He invites trouble, waiting for it like a preying snake in tall, dry grass, but after some time, he assumes no one in the saloon will accept his invitation.

That is until you step in, looking lost among the worldly thrills of a bar but unafraid to venture further into it with an air of certainty surrounding you.

**Cowboy Alastor** makes no move to approach you, laid back as ever, as he observes the gentle way you speak to men who drunkenly approach you. They make offers to dance, almost crowding your more diminutive form as you trail to the bar.

“Sorry, boys, but I'm here on business, not pleasure. Now, run along..” you wave them away playfully, purposely flirtatious but avidly stern.

He expects them to continue bugging you; you're a doll, after all, prettier than most women he's seen. However, the men retreat politely, leaving you be as the owner approaches your side, and you immediately turn to hug him despite his apparent concerned expression.

Alastor observes the exchange closely, reading your lips perfectly while sipping at his drink, and it's all too easy for him to assess the situation.

The daughter of a businessman returns home after finishing school in the north, wanting to visit him at work as a pleasant surprise, but he's far from happy about a young lady like yourself being out late at night in a place like this.

You're too mannered to be seen around the patrons, it's dangerous for you to ride alone in the evening, and your father isn't pleased you intend to stay out to celebrate your school completion.

He tells you it's best to go home, that he'll come with you, but you insist on staying and remind him, “I'm not your little girl anymore, Daddy!..” The older man can't seem to rein you in, having to drop the lecture as a small brawl breaks out in the corner of the saloon, which draws his attention immediately, and this leaves you to wander the scene freely.

A perfect time for Alastor to reel you in close and personal…

**Cowboy Alastor** whistles when you walk past his area, catching your attention with a short, soulful melody, and you quickly notice him in the dim back room.

“Hi there, lil’ lady. Searchin' for somethin'?” He inquires playfully, tone bordering sensual, and his grin slipping into a closed smile as your gaze settles on him.

You’re curious, not scared of him like most are, and the moment he speaks to you, questions race through your head.

Who is he?

How have you never seen him here before?

Why, in God's name, is he sitting away from the masses?

Is he a rider, a hunter, or maybe a convict?

It was hard to tell from a distance, so without a second thought, you flashed him a gentle smile, gradually approaching where he sat, “Hello, and who might you be, sir?” You chirp a greeting, resisting the urge to bite your lip as he stares into your wandering gaze.

Alastor assumed you’d been away from the South too long to realize who he was, that your father's earlier warning didn’t sprout from overprotectiveness but rather fear of his presence.

You didn’t see him as a threat, nor a danger, but a new face in an old town.

He chuckles, putting out his cigar after taking a particularly long drag from it, blowing smoke past his lips with a coy hum. You blink as the convoluted air fans your face, unbothered by it and itching for a taste of tobacco yourself. It’d been a few years since you’d let loose, not allowed to frequent bars or act unladylike in the limelight of northern modesty.

“A loyal patron, but it’s been some time since I’ve paid this place a visit.” He answers you politely, an odd trait that most men only reserved for themselves but refreshing to experience.

“Oh, well, that’s nice to hear, but your name is what I would like to know.”

A tender smirk stretches your lips, a red hue dusting your cheeks as he tips his hate apologetically before uttering a response, “Alastor Hartifelt. A pleasure to meet you, Miss…” he pauses, quirking a brow at you expectantly, and you take a moment to analyze him further.

You've heard your father utter his name many times before your departure to the north. He'd described him brutally, having less than pleasant things to say about bounty hunters in general but especially about the man in front of you now. You'd heard people talk of his deeds, deals, and evil.

He was dubbed the ‘Red Reaper’ for a good reason, lurking around in the bitter nights and drawing blood from one poor soul or another in his travels.

Supposedly, he was a terrifying monster, but you'd always found beauty in the demented. It was one of the reasons your father had sent you away, but fortunately, the influence of the posh upper class did nothing to change your consciousness.

Besides, the rumors had failed to mention how attractive the red reaper was, let alone dashing. He seemed nice enough hadn't flashed his weapon, threatened, or catcalled you disrespectfully.

So, you found no harm in telling him your name, “Y/n L/n. It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Hartifelt.” You blink slowly, drowning in his red eyes, unconsciously swaying where you stood, back to a wall that hid your presence near him from your father's eyes and the curious stares of others.

Alastor glanced at the space beside him, silently asking that you join him, but unlike most women, he rarely took an interest in, you didn't move until he asked you outright.

“Would you care to join me for a drink, Miss L/n? I'd like to have your company for a while..”

He doesn't speak any louder than needed, using every bit of charm he has to lure you in, and you let him believe he's succeeded with a sensual laugh and purring laugh.

“Why, I thought you'd never ask..”

**Cowboy Alastor** asks a lot of questions. Subtly gathering information about you that he has no use for.

You give him answers; some are lies, others are indiscriminate truths, but you can't bring yourself to be completely honest with a stranger known for his cunning. He keeps your glass full, pacing the liquor with you, reveling in your gentle laughter after every sip, and softening faster and faster the longer you conversed.

You kept your wits about you as best as possible, inviting his fleeting touches but never going further than whispering in his ear or tapping a finger under his sharp chin when he'd stare too long.

Alastor didn't mind your soft hands on him, nor your lingering gaze and confident provocations. He absentmindedly returned the gestures just as boldly.

Your fifth glass of whiskey was running low, and without a hint of hesitation, he refilled it alongside his own. You watched as the amber liquid filled each glass, utterly relaxed as he spoke to you tenderly, “You say your father sent you far up north. May I ask why?…”

He peers at you, sliding the transparent glass into your waiting hand, and you chuckle wryly while taking a sip. “Daddy says it was for my good. You see, my mother is a stickler about manners, and I didn't have much of any growing up. Ironic, seeing as I was raised well enough.” you paused, frowning at the memory of your strict but loving mother.

She was lovely to look at and kind most of the time, but her ambitions for you outweighed her patience. Alastor noted the haunting sadness in your eyes but said nothing as you continued, looking out into the crowd of patrons fussing about as you did.

“My mother died a few years back, leaving daddy to handle me, and when he realized he couldn't manage the business and a daughter, he sent me away. Couldn't blame him either; I was getting into trouble left and right and had some bad habits on the rise, too.”

His ears perked at the words ‘bad habits’ leaving your lips, naturally drawn to knowing a mortal's darkest secrets, so he pressed for clarification.

“Bad habits, you say? I couldn't imagine a sweet thing like you havin’ such things.”

You scoffed, glad your cheeks were flushed from the alcohol buzz to mask the blush his comment invoked, “Well…I did. Still do if I'm honest.” you admit in a hushed tone, knocking back the last of your drink before glancing his way.

“It's hard to resist doing things you're good at.”

Alastor leaned back into the seat, drink in one hand, the other fixing his hat so it sat back on his head. The adjustment gave you a peek at his fluffy red hair and the distinctive blood-marked x on his forehead. You thought to ask what the mark meant but saved the question for later, as he agreed with your statement.

“Very true, ma chere. Although I'm one for killin’, your passion may not be so grizzly and easier to alleviate.”

“My father thinks gambling is just as bad as killing. It doesn't matter if he's addicted to it himself or not. If I do it…I'm the devil's daughter in his eyes..” You roll your eyes, an action that jolts a nerve Alastor hasn't felt in years and subconsciously doesn't ignore.

“Gambling? That's your unproper poison?” he narrows his gaze as you nod lazily, a few ringlets of your hair falling from its pinned-up style as you do, resting on the skin of your shoulders and neck.

Soft.

Your locks look soft and silky to the touch, tempting him to run his fingers through it, across your skin, and, god forbid, under your dress.

A heavy breath settled in his chest at the possibility, a familiar rush coursing through him as you moved your lips to speak, “Yes. I see a stack of playin’ cards, and I just can't help myself. I got rather good at playing too but when you beat everyone in town at it people start to be less kind about your reputation.”

You laugh, attempting to make a light-hearted joke but ultimately grimacing at the mention of lousy sportsmanship from others. You couldn't help winning a challenge in poker, and many saw the talent as disgraceful, which prompted I'll rumor about you.

“That's a shame, sugar. Everyone deserves a chance to play a good game of their choosing.” he feigns concern, meeting your curious eyes as you shift to face him, “Everyone except me if my father has anything to say about it. Still, I suppose it's best I let it go…” you sigh, grabbing the bottle of whiskey to pour another shot.

Suddenly, you freeze, feeling his body heat invade your space. Alastor tilts his head down close to yours, breathing in your scent discretely before pressing his lips to the lobe of your ear as he mutters into it, “Why don't you play a game with me, chere? One lil’ round for fun… right under your daddy's nose, hm?”

The burn of excitement seizes your body, a shakey breath leaving your lips as his voice settles in your mind, inviting you to indulge his offer. That same heat pooled in your core with every second he spent in your space, inhaling the scent of bourbon and sweet sugar cane grass he rode through radiating off him, words just as inviting and addictive.

For a horrifying, well-feared killer, he sure did entice a woman like any natural-born gentleman…

It was a deathly combination you knew he often used, killing or not, and though it'd be wise to avoid his idea, you didn't want to risk missing an opportunity for the thrill.

It'd been so long, too long, and what's the worst that could happen?

Losing to him?

You'd never lost to anyone before, and you were confident that fact wouldn't change -even going up against the Red Reaper himself.

**Cowboy Alastor** relishes when you utter a ‘yes’ to his offer. His grin widens menacingly for a split second as he sets his glass down next to your empty one, conjuring up a meticulously detailed deck of playing cards and placing them on the table.

“You can choose which game we play, sugar…”

Alastor shifts away from you, letting you regain your composure and watching as your delicate fingers reach for the top card of the deck.

“Poker. A favorite of mine..” You didn't think twice before answering him, admiring the red and black ace in your hand, wondering where he acquired such personalized playing cards.

“Poker it is then, chere,” he smirks wickedly, removing his hat entirely to set it on the table before gingerly plucking the card from your hold and sliding to sit opposite you while dishing out equal amounts of cards between you.

Your eyes light up under the oil lamp's golden hue, studying the flick of his hands as he worked, trying hard not to wander up to his piercing gaze. Afraid he'd immediately see your attraction to his nimble hands, well to him in general, and use it against you somehow, so your focus remains on the hand dealt and not him.

As you both plucked your respective set from the table, studying the cards intently, you asked the singular most crucial question every poker match was built on.

“What will the bets be,” Your innocent inquiry earns sultry laughter from him, filling the air, raising feverish chills on your skin as he stares at you through half-lidded eyes.

“I prefer bargains of the soul, my dear. The use and price of one's existence is always more valuable than money, don't you agree?”

xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxxx xxxxx xxx

A/N: Don't be mad AT ME, GUYS, PLEASE. I HAD EXAMS LAST WEEK. I'm SORRY FOR DROPPING OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH… sort of, but I'm back now (please do hate me :((( ). Uh, so I might merge “Down in the Dust” with this because both stories kinda originated in my brain at the same time. However, since this is a request, I wrote a two-part tangent smut as a sort of prequel to the other fic! Also, the phrase “Save a horse. Ride a cowboy” will be unironically used…I'm sorry (I'm not lol) ❤️

[ BONUS CONTENT + ] VOLUME WARNING!!! 🗣️

Fun fact: In the South, we have a rule that if you take a cowboy hat and end up wearing it, they catch you with it (preferably in the mutual interest of getting to know each other). That cowboy gets to fuck you (hopefully, but technically you're initiating a flirting game wearing their hat, lol). It's a cute concept and one any Cowboy Alastor enthusiast should think about. ❤️ credits to the creator.

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cherryxblossxms · 8 months

Note

I saw your reblog that says your ask box is open, so I wanted to request/ask for a small fic with officer!Toji? Like you had been pushing his buttons for the last three days and he finally gets fed up and handcuffs you to the bed and uses you like a rag doll 🤤🥺🫶🏼 thanks in advance love!

Villain

Officer!Toji x reader

: ̗̀➛ A/N: hello hello! oof Toji using restraints is a very yummy idea. I don't usually take fic requests but I liked this idea, and I always enjoy some rough Toji! There's a song that makes me think of Toji which is "Villain" by Bella Poarch, so that's a bit of inspo for this! Sorry this took a bit to answer!

: ̗̀➛ Warnings: afab reader, not really an established relationship; FWB??? Enemies to lovers??? Idk, very brief mention of oral (m receiving), no protection with backshot, rough sex, doggy style, use of handcuffs, edging, spit as lube, spanking, a lil manhandling, degradation (slut, whore, princess as an insult lol), mean Toji with some sweetness at the end

: ̗̀➛ Word count: 1628

You always knew just how to push his buttons, and Toji hated you for it. Or at least, he could have hated you for it, if your pussy wasn't so damn addictive.

Toji wouldn't consider himself any particularly special or hardworking kind of cop. He did his job, he earned his paycheck, and went home. Most days, shifts were boring, with giving a ticket being the most exciting thing happening all day. If he was lucky, he got to tackle a thief to the ground. However, the excitement level changed when he met you, and like some kind of twisted fate, he seemed to be running into you more and more lately.

The first time he'd run into you, you were speeding down the street in a classic bright red Mustang, catching his radar in more ways than one. When he'd caught up to you in his car with the lights flashing, shiny badge on his chest and his scariest face on, he expected the usual sob story to try to get out of a ticket, maybe some crocodile tears and honeyed words to butter him up. But the minute you two made eye contact, some electric shock going through your bodies simultaneously, suddenly it didn't matter anymore.

Of course, the way you took his cock down your throat shortly afterwards may have helped, as well.

After that, it was almost comical albeit suspicious, the number of times you two would "meet up" after that. It was as if you knew his schedule and his route, but he wasn't complaining. Of course, his job was on the line, fucking someone that was essentially a perp, and he'd be fucked if anyone caught you two in the act. But with a cunt as sweet as yours, he was happy to take that risk.

Sometimes he'd take you in the back of his police car, or against the wall in an alley, fucking out his frustrations with you and unloading them into your cunt. But today he decided he wanted a little more privacy, taking you back to his apartment for the first time to make sure you would get the full lesson from him.

Now he had you face down and ass up, handcuffs tight around your wrists and connected to his bed frame as his hips slammed into yours. You'd been really pushing his buttons lately, simple things like jaywalking right in front of his car, stealing merchandise in clear view of him, to speeding by in your damned Mustang again. Once or twice, with little things, he was willing to look the other way. But as you kept pushing his buttons, something in him finally snapped, and he was going to teach you not to play with fire— the hard way.

"Fucking filthy little slut," he grunted out, the loud sound of skin slapping against skin filling the air. "Think you can just do whatever you want, huh? Think you can get away with anything?"

Your face was shoved into his pillow, the only thing muffling your moans and cries of pleasure. His words simply drifted over your head, too lost in the pleasure to pay attention anymore. He always filled you up so well, thick cock with an equally thick mushroom head reaching deep inside, and it never failed to draw out noises you'd never made before meeting him. And now in this position, you could feel him bump up against a particularly sensitive spot, leaving your mouth in a constant "O" as he pounded you without mercy.

You could feel your orgasm start to creep up on you, a roaring fire growing in your belly and ready to consume you whole. That rubber band of tension was ready to snap and Toji could tell, too, by the way your pussy was hugging and tightening on his cock, begging for his seed and for release. Unfortunately for you, Toji was still trying to teach you a lesson, and just as he knew that pleasurable wave was going to crash over, he pulled out, making you cry out in distress from the sudden empty feeling.

Your hole clenched around nothing, your whole groin aching for relief and begging for the stimulation to come back. But Toji simply pulled your asscheeks apart to get a better view, a dark chuckle rumbling in his throat as he started at your core unashamedly.

"T-Toji, fuck," you couldn't help but pant out, trying your best to turn your head in his direction.

"What's wrong, princess, angry that you didn't get to cum?" he responded, taunting you. Not that he could say much, either. His dick was aching, wanting to unload in you already. His hands came up to rub around your hips, squeezing you, waiting for your response.

"Of course I am. Just let me cum already, please," you begged, trying to wiggle your hips at him.

Toji hummed, seeming to think about your words. You tried to wait patiently as he did this, feeling one of his hands leave your body, but the loud smack that resounded caught you off guard, followed quickly by a sharp, stinging pain from your asscheek where he'd just spanked you. It drew out a loud cry from your mouth before you could stop it, and Toji just chuckled in response.

"Hmph. I don't think you deserve to cum yet." His hand rubbed over where he spanked, a soothing motion in contradiction with his words. "You've been acting like a little whore around me for weeks now, doing dumb shit to get my attention. Imagine if one of the other officers caught you, I don't think they'd be nearly as.. lenient as I've been. If you wanna cum, you gotta beg a little more first."

His hand came down on your asscheek again, and you tried to stifle your cry, body still jolting in response.

"Please, Toji, I want to cum," you said against the pillow, tugging weakly on your handcuffs. Your core ached for release, and the spanking was only sending tingles straight to your clit, making it all worse.

"I can't hear you, sweetie, what was that?"

Another slap to your ass, this time a little harder for emphasis. Your asscheek stung, and your whole body was hot, pleasure and shame fighting hard against each other. You hated begging, and Toji knew this. But damn your body, it just wanted to get off already. Your shame could wait til later. Swallowing down your reservations, you moved your head to speak more clearly, glancing back over your shoulder for emphasis.

"Please, Toji, make me cum. I promise I'll behave, just please, don't stop this time."

A smug look crossed his face, and he huffed out a laugh.

"That's what I thought."

Toji spread your cheeks again, spitting down on your cunt. The sensation made you shiver as it quickly cooled, but before you could respond, he angled his hips before sliding back into you to the hilt. The depth he reached made you jolt, but Toji's hands were a vice on your hips as he pulled back, nearly popping out before thrusting back in and setting a harsh pace.

The sounds of his thighs slapping against yours filled the air, and his heavy balls matched the motion against your aching clit, drawing out curses from your lips. It wasn't long before that roaring fire was in your belly once more, ready to overtake you, and with the way Toji was rutting desperately against you, you weren't the only one.

The head of his cock started to rub up against a particularly sensitive spot, and combined with the barrage on your clit, it was enough to push you over the edge finally, and your body twitched hard in your lover's grasp.

"Oh fuck—!" You cried out, before moaning loudly, body shaking as your orgasm completely overtook you.

Toji cursed as he felt your cunt clamp down on him, trying to milk him desperately, and it almost worked. He continued thrusting a little longer, drawing out your pleasure to the edge of overstimulation, before having to quickly pull out. Not even a second later, he was cumming across your ass, deep grunts coming from his throat with each throb of his cock. It was copious, dripping down your cheeks and across your cunt.

Your knees trembled from the hard orgasm, struggling to hold yourself up, but thankfully Toji moved up to unlock your handcuffs, helping you settle down on your stomach finally. He used his shirt to quick wipe you down of his fluids before falling back onto the bed beside you, closing his eyes.

Silence filled the air, and as the lust faded away and was replaced by fatigue, the rational part of your brain began to wake up again. You'd never been in his apartment before, and now you weren't sure what to do next. You'd definitely been breaking the law, and while you could fuck your way out of trouble before, you'd also been in easy-to-escape places. But before you could make any sort of plan with your fatigue-addled brain, Toji's muscular arm came around your waist, pulling you in close.

You had a moment of panic, but although he was strong, you could feel the movement was simply cradling you rather than trapping.

"Stop thinking and go to sleep. I won't do anything."

Toji's eyes were still closed, but you could hear the sincerity in his tone. Against your better judgment, something in you said to trust him. And anyway, with the way he'd just fucked your brains out, you weren't sure you could make much of a quick escape right now regardless. Finally settling down beside him in the warmth of his body, that would be something to think about later.

Wow it's been a minute since I've written Toji smut but I hope you enjoyed! As always, comments and reblogs are appreciated!

#toji x reader #fushiguro toji #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #toji smut #toji thirsts #the minx can write ✍️#spicy minx 🔥

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yukidragon · 3 months

Note

May we have a story about Jack's clingy side and uses his puppy dog eyes to make MC to cuddle with him longer? (He uses the puppy dog eyes whenever he wants something and it works 100% of the time) Jack kind of reminds me of a giant puppy.

I love this idea! Jack definitely knows how to channel puppy energy to his advantage, and my MC Alice definitely falls for it every time.

In fact, I love this idea so much that it inspired me to turn it into a quick writing prompt. I also remembered that I owe everyone a nice little Jack x reader fic from the poll I made last year, so I wrote this writing exercise in 1st person gender neutral perspective.

So here it is, just a short but sweet first draft story about clingy Jack giving his sunshine some puppy dog eyes and pleading to get a bit more cuddle time. I don't think any real warnings apply, though it does get a little suggestive. Also, I think this might count as GrovelCore?

Anyway, I hope you enjoy my writing, and consider leaving a comment please!💕

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur @kurokrisps

...

It was nice to have moments like this, just the two of us on the couch cuddled up together. The way Jack wrapped me up in his big, strong arms made me feel so safe, so content. Even though I was tucked comfortably in his lap, he practically surrounded me with his warmth. It was the perfect way to spend a day off from work.

The show on TV was entertaining, but it wasn’t enough to draw my attention away from Jack for long. He didn’t seem to be paying attention to it at all. Every time I looked up at him, I never failed to see those beautiful dark brown eyes of his gazing back at me. His mouth was shaped in a gentle curve of a smile, his expression almost dreamy as he admired me with so much love and adoration in his eyes that it sent my heart racing. I had to look away when the butterflies in my chest fluttered so hard they were ready to burst out of me.

Fuck, I was so down bad for this man, I was down atrocious.

A gloved finger brushed against my cheek, slowly tracing the contours of my face until reaching my chin. The sensation sent a delicious shiver down my spine, and my eyes returned to Jack as he gently guided my face back towards him.

“Looks like the show’s over,” Jack said. I blinked, caught off-guard, before my eyes darted to the screen to see the credits scrolling by. His honeyed voice drew me back before I could get distracted from his loving gaze for long. “What do you want to do now, sunshine?”

The first thought that popped into my head made my cheeks burn and brought back those damn butterflies. The second thought reminded me to check the time.

Ah damn it. Curse must-watch binge-worthy television. Why must I always fall for your siren song of “just one more episode”?

“Not run errands, that’s for sure, but it’s getting late,” I said with a heavy sigh, banishing the butterflies and steamy thoughts to whence they came. “Groceries aren’t going to buy themselves, and I’ve got a bunch of other stuff I should get out of the way while I’m out too.” I sighed again, shoulders slumping.

Being a responsible adult dealing with all the responsible adult bullshit sucked sometimes. A lot of the time. Actually probably most of the time considering how many hours in a day got eaten up by a cringy job and entitled customers.

I twisted away from Jack and tried to stand, but his large muscular arms kept me locked up tighter than iron bars. I turned back to him with a questioning look, only to see him pouting at me.

“I know it’s important to be responsible, sunshine, but don’t you think you’ve been pushing yourself too hard lately?” he asked. “We have plenty of food to last a few more days, and you’ve been working overtime for the past five nights in a row. You come home too exhausted to do anything but sleep, then you go right back to work. It’s not good for you.”

“I know,” I said with a helpless shrug. “But what can I do about it? Bills aren’t going to pay themselves either.”

Jack adjusted his hold on me, not enough that I could slip free, but I could feel his hands glide slowly along my back, sending a shiver up my spine. “I know, but it’s just been so long since we’ve had any cuddle time,” he said, his pout making its way into his voice now.

I couldn’t help but chuckle a little at the way his lower lip jutted out just a little further. “You see me every day,” I teased, trying to lighten up the mood. “Besides, we woke up cuddling this morning, didn’t we? You sleep with me every night.”

“You’ve been too tired to cuddle lately,” Jack said, whining a little. “Even this morning, you didn’t really wake up until halfway through breakfast. This is the first chance in days that I’ve had to really have you all to myself.” He dipped his head down, closer to mine, and I couldn’t help but notice the way the TV’s gentle glow made his dark eyes shine. “I missed you, sunshine.”

His big soulful eyes tugged at my heartstrings, and his gentle caress along my back made me want to melt into him. “I missed you too,” I admitted after a moment. We couldn’t exactly talk when other people were around, and work had been too busy for us to even sneak a kiss without the risk of getting caught in the act.

I was pretty sure Jack wouldn’t mind even if someone else could see him making out with me. In fact, I had a sneaking suspicion that he might even enjoy getting caught. Sometimes this man acted like he had no idea what it meant to feel shame.

Then again, Jack was always painted up like a clown 24/7. If he wasn’t embarrassed by the bright face paint or his silly jokes, then he probably didn’t know the meaning of the word.

Sometimes I wished that I could say the same. The idea of being seen making weird faces while holding onto the air left me feeling a level of cringe that not even the greeting at my job could match. It probably would be a kiss with tongue too knowing Jack.

The thought left me burning, both with mortification and the memory of the way his kisses made me feel.

Maybe it would be worth the embarrassment considering how good of a kisser Jack was.

As if reading my mind, Jack brushed his lips against mine, just a peck, but it was enough to snap my attention entirely to my boyfriend. “Then stay with me,” he said with a hint of desperation to his breathy voice. “Please?” He planted another kiss on my lips, just a little longer but still only a tantalizing taste of what he could offer me. “I need you.”

Jack finished off the last of my resistance by saying my name in that same pleading tone while looking at me with so much love and need in his beautiful dark brown eyes. His desperate voice and puppy dog eyes made me melt like cotton candy in water.

I gave in to him. I couldn’t help it. I was weak to him when he begged me like this, and I needed Jack just as badly as he needed me.

“Jack,” I sighed as I looped my arms around his neck and drew Jack in for another kiss. I could feel him smile against my lips, and he murmured my name again before his tongue slid into my mouth to get a taste of me.

Soon I was pinned against the couch, breathless and panting, with Jack looming above me. His arms were a cage that secured me there and ensured that I wasn’t leaving anytime soon. Not that I wanted to with the way his mouth moved along my neck, hot and wet. I couldn’t help but moan his name as he sucked on my skin, arching up into him.

Even before Jack started tugging at my shirt, I had a feeling that I wasn’t getting any errands done today, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Every touch, every kiss, and every murmur of my name along with sweet praise made the world around us fade away, until nothing else existed but the two of us and our love.

#Sunny Day Jack #Something's Wrong With Sunny Day Jack #SunnyDayJack #sdj #swwsdj #My Writing #Sunny Day Jack x Reader #Yandere x reader #X Reader #Reader Insert

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ponderingmoonlight · 5 months

Note

Rengoku taking you on a date to some festival (like the on in my dress up darling) and watching fireworks with you + lots of fluff

Ahh this instantly reminded me of that official art I used in the cover, so cool! Please let me know what you think <3

Kyojuro Rengoku taking you on a date to a light festival

Pairing: Rengoku x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,1k

Synopsis: Even though Kyojuro never saw more than a kind comrade in you, he decided to take you to the light festival he arranges every year for his beloved mother. All it takes is one evening for him to realize that you are way more than just a comrade to him...

Warnings: This is my first ever Rengoku fic so please take your time and leave a like, comment or reblog if you enjoy 🥹 fluffness overload, reader being shy, last part not proofread bc I reeaaaallyyy need to work on my university papers right now, hope you still enjoy!

One last glance in the mirror just to make sure you look alright while your heart beats out of your chest.

Finally. This is the day you’ve been waiting for since weeks. The minute none other than Kyojuro Rengoku asked you to accompany him to the yearly night festival in his hometown, you thought about it each and every day. What are you supposed to wear? Are you skilled enough to do your makeup? What if he doesn’t like you in something apart from your demon slayer uniform? It took ages to decide on a festive yukata you’ll wear, hours to do your hair decently enough. And in the end, you decided to wear no makeup at all.

“(y/n), he is awaiting you at the door”, your beloved mother gently announces into your room.

He’s there. Your fingers run over the soft fabric of your yukata frantically one last time before crossing the room and walking down the hallway.

“Oh... (y/n)”, the man at the door breathes out, eyes widen and mouth hanging open.

Huh, why is he looking at you like that? Is a stain on your yukata that you’ve missed? Is your hair already falling apart? Your mind goes blank, staring at him through doe eyes. What is wrong?

“I’m sorry for staring at you so shamelessly. It’s just…You look strikingly beautiful.”

In an instant your cheeks heat up, skin turning dark red without mercy. Did he just call you beautiful?

“Oh…Thank you so much, Rengoku-san. I really don’t deserve your praise”, you reply, bowing down in gratitude.

In the corner of your eye you catch a glimpse of his festive black yukata and white cape. How is a single man able to look so elegant and breath-taking? How is it possible that he invited you to this festival right by his flamboyant side?

“May I ask you to call me Kyojuro, please? No need for formalities.”

Your heart skips a beat. Are you dreaming? This is too good to be true. Over the last few months, you worked close to him, always admiring him from afar. Officially, he was never more than a hashira, the ideal you grieved for. But when you got to know him better, when you were able to talk about anything but the demon slayer corps…There was no way out of hopelessly falling for him.

He stretches his hand out, smiling at you so widely that you forget how to breathe to a minute. Why…

Does he want you to take his hand?

“Go on, dear. Have a nice evening and stay safe.”

With a gentle push, your mother draws you closer to him, making you grab his warm hand out of instinct. Despite you went on multiple missions with him, you were never this close to him, never meeting each other in privacy. But this…

This feels like a date.

“Are you alright, (y/n)? I hope I don’t make you feel uncomfortable.”

You hold onto his arm tightly, gazing at him through widen eyes. Oh no, you’re messing it up with being so nervous. Should you tell him the truth? Or just pretend there’s nothing wrong?

“Can I be honest with you?”, you mutter, making him tilt his head in a way that makes you see stars.

“Of course, you always can!”, he shouts back in the matter of seconds.

“You know…This is the first time a man ever took me out…”, you stutter, gaze fixated on the grass underneath your feet.

His eyes dart towards your face, looking for a sign of humour in your bright orbs. But by the way you blush so deeply and how you fumble his sleeve he can tell you are serious about your words. A gorgeous woman like you was never asked out? This is impossible, this is absolutely unacceptable. He clenches his hands into fists.

Kyojuro Rengoku will make sure to make you feel special throughout the entirety of this day.

“Then I am beyond honoured to be the first one”, he replies along with a bright smile that lights up his entire face.

You smile at him widely, that cute little blush still tinting your cheeks in the most admirable way Kyojuro has ever witnessed. He never thought about asking a woman out, let alone another member of the demon slayer corps. For all these months, you were nothing but comrades, a pair that worked really well together.

Until it became more for him.

Until he couldn’t stop thinking about you even though you left long ago. Until he started to ponder about your breath-taking smile and soft hair instead of your fighting skills. Until he saw more in you than just a demon slayer.

No, you are a woman. And what a gorgeous one. Maybe Uzui was right, after all.

“So you and (y/n), huh?”

“What are you talking about, Uzui?”

“Come on man, I see the way you look at her. And I get it, she is really stunning and pretty smart on top. She’d be a great catch for you, especially for the first one.”

“The first?”, Kyojuro repeated in shock, widen eyes staring at you shamelessly.

He never planed on having a single wife in the first place. Why would Uzui suggest something so ridiculous? You are nothing but a comrade to him with your shiny eyes, strong body, and the delicate way your body moves in the sunset. And oh, your character made of pure gold, how you treat others with infinite kindness. So delicate, so lovely…

“Oh my, look at all those delicious sweets”, you cry out in excitement, arm wrapping itself around Kyojuro’s tighter.

“You never told me that you like sweets”, he replies gently.

“Would you…Would you mind getting something to eat with me? I really love sweets and here are so much of them to try.”

The way you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear almost drives the flame hashira himself insane, eyes glued to your delicate frame in nothing but admiration. How did he never really notice how unmistakably lovely you are?

“Not at all, let’s get you something to eat!”

Proudly, he watches how you slowly but surely get comfortable around him, telling him everything he needs to know about your favourite sweets while your eyes sparkle in sheer excitement.

“I love chocolate as well, especially the darkest one!”

“I heard that far away, someone invented a white chocolate. White! Can you believe it? How is it even possible to make something like that? I wonder what it tastes like.”

“Someday, I will take you to find out yourself”, Kyojuro suddenly blurts out.

Your eyes dart towards him, hands completely frozen in place. Calm down, don’t freak out, tame your excitement.

“Would you really do that, Kyojuro?”

“If it makes you happy, I very gladly will!”

You don’t know what has gotten into you. Maybe your endorphins are all over the place because of all the sweet you’ve ate, maybe it is the sake that was in the pralines from earlier, but you can’t contain yourself. With a swift motion, you put the last piece of chocolate in your mouth before wrapping your arms around none other than Kyojuro Rengoku.

Kyojuro Rengoku, the man you’ve been eyeing since joining the demon slayer corps. Kyojuro Rengoku, who seemed to never see more in you than a simple friend.

Kyojuro Rengoku, who instantly wraps his strong arms around you as well.

He didn’t expect you this close to him except for training. But oh does it feel good. How did he never notice how intoxicating good you smell and how warm your body feels? How did he never notice how much smaller your hands are compared to his? And the softness of your perfectly made hair. He can’t help but wonder how long it took you to make them look this way?

You are so beautiful.

“Thank you for taking me here. I never thought you…You would do something like that with me.”

Your hot breath tickles against his neck and makes shivers run down his spine.

“Of course! After all, I really enjoy your company!”

Discretely, you return to your own seat, the slight tint of red displaying your embarrassment. Did you really just hug him? Hopefully he doesn’t think you’re a freak. Or even worse: what if he doesn’t want to work with you anymore? You’d rather adore him in the dark than not seeing him at all.

“Excuse my outbreak. I guess I got a little carried away. Oh, where are all the people going?”

Your eyes follow the multiple people around you who seem to meet up on the other end of the well-decorated village. By now, it’s already getting dark, the sun is almost completely set.

“Didn’t you know! In just a few moments, the traditional firework will start! Follow me!”

He grabs your hand. Kyojuro’s warm hand wraps itself around yours while he leads you to the crowd, an excited grin plastered on his face.

This is what he waited for, finally he is able to show you the firework. Since you’ve mentioned in a training session that you never saw a firework before, he knew he had to change it.

“Here you’ll be able to see everything.”

Kyojuro”, you breathe out, eyes roaming around the lovely area.

Despite the fact that there is a crowd of people around you, you’re standing next to him in a small pavilion, decorated all over with the most delicate flowers.

“Many of the buildings around us are owned by my family, like the pavilion we are standing in at the moment. After my mother died, I arranged this festival in her honor. She would have loved to make other humans happy by the sight of fireworks.”

Your breath hitches, heart almost overflowing with emotions. Even though he smiles at you softly, you can tell by the pained gleam in his otherwise bright orbs how much he misses his mother especially today.

“I will enjoy every second of it just like she does. I’m sure she is proud of the man you have become, Kyojuro.”

You place your hand on his, fingers intertwining as you lean your body over the railing.

“I bet she watches over you right now from afar.”

“I hope she does”, Kyojuro replies unusual calm.

Then it begins. Your eyes dart towards the sky and the play of colours that lays itself out over your head. So many colours that sparkle like stars, the burnt smell in the air. You don’t know how you imagined a firework to be, but definitely not this exciting.

But unlike you, Kyojuro isn’t able to look at the sky. No, all that he’s able to see is you and how the fireworks reflect in your widen eyes.

This. This must be what dreams are made of, the reason why Uzui is married to three women. Just the way you carry yourself is enough to drive him insane, to make his heart jump out of his chest. And especially now, he just isn’t able to resist any longer.

Before he decides against it, he wraps his arms around you from behind, holding you close with one arm resting around your waist and the other on your shoulder.

“The fireworks will never shine as bright as your eyes, (y/n).”

“K-kyojuro…”

“I love you with all my heart. All this time I thought it is nothing more than sympathy, that I see nothing more than a comrade in you. But you in that delightful kimono, your eyes shining like the stars above…It’s love, (y/n). I love you.”

Suddenly the fireworks above are out of your sight, eyes locked with Kyojuro and his slightly redden cheeks. This can’t be true, right? You dreamt countless night of him, imagined what it would feel like to lay in his arms like you do right now. Is a man like him really able to love a women like you, are you worth his time?

“I’d love to kiss you right now.”

You hold your breath, head nodding ever so slightly when his face draws closer and closer until…

Fireworks around you explode in a grand finale when he presses his lips against yours softer than you ever imagined. He feels as warm and comforting as you expected, his grasp keeping you from sinking down to the ground.

“I could watch you for a lifetime, (y/n)”, he hushes against your lips.

“You…you are way better than a firework”, you breathe out.

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld @froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @kayleegomez

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

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Silver Lining 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, speech impediment, bullying and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: silverfox!Bucky Barnes

Summary: You have an unpleasant encounter with an older man.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You yawn as you look into the barren depths of your cup. Bucky sits up and rolls his shoulders, a dimple in his cheek. He looks you over as you furrow your brow curiously; do you have something on your face?

“W-what?” You bat your lashes.

“Should've got ya something with caffeine,” he says.

“Oh… little l-late,” you look over as the baristas wipe the counters. It's almost closing time, “s-s-speaking of-f.”

“Mm, yeah, I suppose,” he slides over his stapled papers, “you got all my notes. When I get back, we'll figure out the final draft and get the mic going.”

“S-sounds g-good,” you stutter and swallow another yawn. When you're tired, you can barely speak straight. “I sh-should head ou-out.”

You chomp down as yet another yawn rolls up your throat and your eyes nearly roll back. You smile as best you can and stand, grabbing your bag to pack up. He gets to his feet and pulls on his jacket.

“I'll give you a ride,” he offers.

“No, n-no, it's o-okay–”

“You shouldn't walk,” he looks outside as the night contrasts the white ground, snow still piling high.

“J-just as bad d-driving,” you comment.

“I got snow tires,” he insists, “really, I'd… I'd feel bad if you walked.”

“Y-you would?” You snort.

He gives you a look. That look. The one that warns caution. You put your hands up defenselessly.

“Fine, I-I'll let y-you drive m-me,” you surrender. “B-b-but you should know, I'm n-not that h-ho-hopeless.”

“Never said you were,” he pulls a beanie over his gray hair, “not a big fan of the cold myself.”

“Yeah, i-it probably m-makes your b-bones hurt,” you slide your arms into your coat.

“You making fun of me?” He scowls.

“No-o, I just… my st-stepdad always says–”

“It's fine. It does,” he sniffs, “cracked a few ribs playing ball in college. They never heal right.”

“Ouch,” you hook your bag on your shoulder.

“You got a curfew?” He checks his watch.

“Wh-what? I-I'm thirty,” you exclaim.

He chuckles. That takes you off guard.

“I know, I'm not too old to make jokes too.”

“Y-yeah, I w-wasn't–”

“Relax, it's fine. Better go before we're snowed in,” he leads you to the door, thanking the staff as he opens the door and waits for you to go ahead of him.

Well, there might blizzard brewing outside but he seems to be thawing.

🩶

You get home to a quiet house. Your sister, Kira, hushes you as you come upstairs, her children already asleep. She has a clay mask on as she hogs the bathroom going through her nightly routine. You dip into your room and hide.

You didn't expect them to wait up for you. That's ridiculous, but no one even asked about the job. It must be the excitement of a full house. Your sister does everything right so of course they'd want to focus on her. Maybe tomorrow.

You get in your pajamas and settle into bed. It’s hard to still your mind and the jittery energy still swirling inside of you. You put on a lofi video and let it play as you close your eyes. You have the weekend to make the last tweaks and you’ll finally be onto the next step. You hope.

You spend Saturday penned up in your room, hunched over at your desk as you go through the notes from your meeting. As the clock ticks close to noon, your phone vibes, drawing you back to the land of the living. You rub your eye sockets and groan. You need to eat.

You check your phone; you have a message. You flick your thumb up and blink at the text. It’s Bucky. You still haven’t saved him as a contact, recognising him only by the last four digits of his number.

‘Quick pitstop. Forgot to ask last night. How can I pay you?’

You chew your thumb as you think. That’s the awkward part. Even though you’re doing work, it’s still a bit strange. It isn’t like a company where the money just pops into your account on schedule.

‘I can give details when you get back. Hate to add stress to your trip.’

You hit send and sit back, stretching your neck. Your phone buzzes again. You don’t expect a quick response.

‘Asking now. Will be heading into no reception. Wanted to pay you for scriptwork. Will pay rest after recording.’

Your stomach knots. You’re trying to be polite but you can’t deny that you could use the money. With Christmas tiptoeing closer, you should really get on gift shopping.

‘Right. I have Venmo.’

You tap the arrow and wait. He doesn’t answer right away. When he answers, it’s just the thinking emoji, followed by another text.

‘I’ll figure that out. Do I need your email or something?’

You sweep away the chat and tap into your app. You copy your payment code and paste it into the chat. You follow it with a quick message; ‘should prompt you how. If you need to wait, it’s fine.’

Thumbs up. That’s it. You accept that. To be fair, from him, it’s an improvement. It seems you’ve found a tenuous truce with him. You’ll take that if it means you’re not scooping into your savings.

You can hear your sister and mother gabbing as you leave your room. You stop at the top of the stairs and brace yourself. Things didn’t exactly leave off on the best terms.

You descend and sneak past the dining room where they sit and sort through your mother’s vast Christmas card collection. You’re careful not to draw any attention as you enter the kitchen and quietly pop a pod into the keurig and set your mug on the tray.

Your coffee brews with a grind, giving away your endeavour. You don’t look back as you hear the scuff of slippers. Kira enters and clinks her empty cup down on the counter not far from you. She couldn’t wait until you finished.

“So, how was your job? A bit late to be rushing off to work.”

“It’s f=freelance,” you say. “It’s g-g-good.”

She scoffs, “ah, well, that’s great. You can get out of mom and dad’s hair soon enough.”

“Y-yeah,” you agree, cheeks scalding with embarrassment, “w-working on i-it.”

“Oh, I’m sure. You know, Catherine called me the other day…” she mentions your previous coworker, her friend from college, “guess she got a promotion.”

You nod. She’s goading you. What does she expect you to say? Does she expect you to apologise for leaving a bad situation?

You take your cup of coffee and sidle away. She chuckles, the way she always does when you don’t feed into her drama. Her mug hits the tray heavily.

“I’ll tell her you say hi,” she preens.

You keep going without an answer. You yawn as you come upstairs and hear whispers ahead of you. You rush forward, sloshing hot coffee onto your hand as you approach your open door. Why didn’t you close it?”

As you get to the threshold, there’s a sudden clatter and you gasp. Jamie sits in your desk chair as your laptop lays face down on the floor. Casey is underneath the desk tugging on the power cord. You shriek and sloppily slam the mug onto the shelf mounted just beside the door.

“W-w-w-what are you d-d-doing?” Your emotion overwhelms your voice, “how–”

You hear footsteps rush up the stairs and Kira hisses as she marches down the hall, “shhh, my kids are sleeping.”

“No, th-they aren’t,” you hurry forward and take Jamie out of the chair. As you shoo Casey, your sister enters your room.

“Don’t hurt him,” she demands.

“Wh-what? I w-wouldnt–”

“Don’t touch my kids,” she comes forward and scoops up Casey then takes Jamie’s hand, “they’re just curious.”

You bend down to pick up your laptop. You turn it over and find lines streaked up in a spectrum. Smashed. Broken. Demolished.

“They b-broke it,” you whimper.

“Ugh, whatever,” she hauls her kids back to the door, “it’s just a computer.”

You stare at the ruins and shake your head at her back. What are you going to do?

#silver lining #bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #drabble #au #silverfox au #marvel #mcu #winter soldier #avengers #series

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rayslittlekitten · 4 months

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Longest Nights

A/N: Okay, this isn't perfect but I think it mostly captures what I was going for. I'm done working on this. I've listened to "Last Christmas" by Ariana Grande on loop for literally the last like 8 hours trying to finish this. It's weirdly the song that inspired this (YT link below). This isn't the first Kai fic I thought I'd finish but here we are. Kai had already broke my heart so this fic is just me jamming the knife even deeper and twisting it. This fic is spoiler free.

Rating: T/M

Word Count: ~1.3k

Pairing: Kai x Pilot! F! Reader

Plot: When you run into your crush who you have a working relationship with on the loneliest night of the year, you find comfort in him.

Contains: mentions of sex, heartache, Kai is a warning in itself

It’s that time of year again, the shortest day and longest night, where all the travelers go home to be with their families and loved ones to celebrate the Winter Solstice. You don’t know the origin of the holiday but it’s celebrated universally. Traditions may vary from culture to culture but usually children get presents for being well-behaved all year and families gather around to sing and dance.

But where do the ones with no family go? The same place where you are right now, seated on the stool at the bar in this saloon. The orphans, the loners, the outcasts. This is their home and it has been yours as well for the last few years. It can get lonely this time of year making the longest night seem even longer, but at least you’re not doing it alone.

While working on your third pint, a familiar voice behind you draws your attention. You slowly turn around to take a glance and as expected, you see him. He has his arm around a woman’s shoulder and they look cozy as they walk across the saloon. Probably a mark, but with Kai, you never know until it’s too late.

Your eyes follow them as they seat themselves at the other end of the bar. He leans in and whispers something into her ear and she giggles with her hand over her chest. She is definitely getting something stolen tonight, whether it’s the big shiny ring on her hand or her heart. You would know first hand.

When you finished off your ale, you sensed a presence next to you. Before you could order another pint, they ordered it for you as well as one for themselves, sliding a few coins to the bartender.

“Oh, hey Kai. You don’t need to-” you started, but he cut you off.

“Don’t worry about it. I got a bigger payout from my last job than I expected,” he waved his ringed hand to dismiss you. “Besides, I owe you one.”

Kai brought his freshly-poured pint up to clink with yours before taking a large gulp.

Last time, he tried to swindle a swindler and he almost had it but when they caught on, Kai would have lost his head if you hadn’t happened to be there to back him up. He’s always getting himself into all sorts of trouble for a shilling, but he’s usually smart about it. Once in a while, he just liked to do it for the challenge.

“It’s nothing,” you shrugged after taking a sip of your own ale. “I’m sure you would have done the same for me.”

You noticed the mischievous smirk forming on his face, flashing his shiny teeth. The precious metals in his mouth brightens his smile. Your gaze moved up and you’re suddenly lost in his bright blue eyes. It wouldn’t be your first time.

“So what are you doing here by yourself on a night like this? Shouldn’t you be with that bounty hunting fellow you’ve been planet-hopping with?” Kai asked curiously.

“You mean Jaxson? We’re not together anymore,” you told him, then took another sip of your drink, looking away from him in embarrassment.

“Well, that’s too bad for him. You’re a great person to have around,” he commented.

“Thanks, Kai. Guess he didn’t think so,” you threw him a tight-lipped smile. “He found somebody more suited for him at the brothel.”

“Eh, screw Jaxson! I never trust bounty hunters,” he replied. “Especially ones who can’t even see the value of someone.”

His crystal clear eyes met yours again and he winked. You felt your cheeks quickly heating up and it’s not from the ale. Kai was very charming and charismatic which is why he’s great at what he does and you’re not immune from it even knowing this. His accent certainly adds to it.

“Enough about that scoundrel. How’s business going, by the way?” he asked, changing the subject.

Kai would sometimes outsource jobs to you when he wasn’t able to do them himself and would take a small percentage of the payout as a finder’s fee. You never knew what you were transporting but you always took the job. It wasn’t just for the money; any opportunity to spend time with Kai was enough of a reason.

“Not many people have needed things transported lately, believe it or not. Might have to find other ways to earn if this keeps up. Fuel is not cheap.”

Kai leaned into you, his shoulder pressed right up against yours and his face mere inches away from yours.

“You know, I heard on Veldt, the farmers have this belief that making a lot of loud and passionate love appeases their god and will make their soil fertile so they will have an abundance of crops,” he started.

“Interesting,” you commented, wondering where he’s going with this.

“Maybe it might work in the same way. Abundance of transportation needs,” he shrugged.

You let out a chortle, nearly choking on your ale.

“Kai, that has to be the silliest thing I’ve ever heard,” you replied while wiping the corners of your mouth.

“It might be, but it made you laugh,” he said. “Has anyone ever told you how cute your laugh is?”

Your face got hot again as the corners of your lips curled up and you tried to hide your face in your shoulder. That handsome smile made an appearance again and there’s a twinkle in his eyes. He scanned your face before settling on your lips and leaning in even closer.

“Interested in appeasing the gods tonight?”

You let out a small laugh but stared at him for a few moments when his facial expression didn’t change. When his hooded eyes found yours again, your breath hitched.

***

The next morning, you found yourself alone in the bed of the room you both rented out for the night at a nearby inn. You scanned the room and there was no sign of Kai. It was as if he never stepped foot in here. The soreness between your legs is the only proof you had, that you hadn’t dreamt it.

You had lost count of how many times he made you climax, but that wasn’t even the best part of it. It was the most intimate and passionate love making you had ever experienced. He said and did things that made you feel like the only person that existed in this universe. He took his time with you, worshiped you, and left no part of your body untouched. He made your body react in ways you didn’t ever think was possible. You opened up to him and shared parts of yourself that you hadn’t shared with anyone else, as it seemed like he did with you.

Admittedly, you were in a vulnerable place, but it didn’t take away from what had manifested last night. You then suddenly checked all your belongings to make sure they were all there. After thoroughly searching, you found something that didn’t belong to you: one of Kai’s rings. You sighed in relief to confirm Kai didn’t steal anything from you, but it still felt like something was missing.

A few days later, you ran into him, although you didn’t know if it was by chance or it was by his design because he was in need of your services again. You returned his ring which he thanked you for, but things went on like nothing had ever happened between you. You had thought there was a connection. He had never brought up that night to you so you didn’t either, especially seeing him with another woman that day. You didn’t want to make things awkward.

You quickly finish your drink and tip the bartender as you gather your belongings. From your peripheral vision, you see the woman throw a drink onto Kai’s face before stomping out the swinging doors. You can’t help but smirk, but you hide it from him. You glance over at him for a quick moment as he wipes his face before finally heading out yourself. The last thing you need is for him to drown you in his eyes again.

youtube

#charlie hunnam #charlie hunnam fanfiction #kai #rebel moon #kai fanfiction #rebel moon fanfiction #kai x f!reader #kai x reader #christmas #Youtube

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 1 year

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Fic: The Birds and the Bees

Read on Ao3

Fandom: The Last of Us (HBO)

Ship: Joel Miller x you (cishet f reader) / Ellie x Riley mention

Tags/warnings: underage child overhearing sex (but it's not weird I swear), queer thoughts, Joel is such a dad, Rough Sex, unprotected sex, piv sex, some mild dirty talk, trying to stay quiet during sex.

Summary: Ellie hears mommy (you) and daddy (Joel) have sex. I guess that's the plot.

Words: 2,257

A/N: WARNING can be a bit spoilery for episodes 6 and 7! Thanks to @rambling-in-purple for reading the Ellie part to make sure it wasn't weird <3

Ellie is almost asleep when something draws her back into the real world, and for a moment she has no idea where she is. Where did these clean sheets come from, this comfortable bed, this warmth? It takes her brain a few moments to realize that she is in Jackson, the safe haven reached yesterday. Today. What time is it?

A sound makes her sit up in bed, heartbeats quickening with growing fear. She had thought this place was safe, but that sound is definitely not reassuring. She reaches for her knife on the bedside table, just as she hears the sound again.

A creak. And it's growing rhythmical. And along with it, muffled moans.

Ellie's first instinct is that there is a fight going on in the next room. A life or death struggle between Joel, you, and a deceitful Jackson resident. Or maybe the infected finally got in? Is Jackson already overrun with infected, or did a roaming band of bandits get in?

Another creak, then a louder moan that gets cut off, and it dawns on Ellie.

Oh. Oh.

Being shown around Jackson, you seemed relaxed for the first time in, well, all the months Ellie had been with you and Joel. It was nice to see you like that, and Ellie wished that Joel could unwind a little as well, but Joel wasn't a person who did that. Maria had taken you and Ellie to the house, Joel had gone to see his brother, and returned in a huff. Ellie, in clean clothes washed hair, had gushed to him about the hot shower, but his demeanor had been so dark that she had fallen quiet. Just then, you had appeared out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, and Ellie had seen the looks you and Joel exchanged. You excused yourself to have an early night and took to your bedroom - the one you shared with Joel. Ellie didn't think twice about you two sharing: she had understood long ago what you were to each other, in addition to the protectors, family, you were to her.

But it's one thing to understand that two people love each other, and know what people in love with each other do, and actually hear it.

Conflicted, she lies back down, turns onto one side, wrapping the pillow around her head to muffle the sounds. It's too intimate, too private. It's wrong to listen to it.

Still, the reverberations travel through the wooden build of the house, and she feels them on her skin. Rolling onto her back again, she lets go of the pillow and stares up at the dark ceiling.

It's not the first time she's heard people having sex. She knows what's going on between the two of you and for what it's worth, she's happy for you. There is something so comforting about your obvious feelings for each other, and how they have spilled over onto her. Ellie knows that she was more or less forced upon you but since that night in the Boston QZ, a lot has happened. You're her family now, and she's happy that you and Joel can be safe and comfortable enough in your borrowed bedroom to have sex.

And it is kind of exciting to hear it, even if it's private. Ellie may be a virgin but she's not frigid. The moans she can hear must be from you, and she wonders what it is Joel is doing that's making you sound like that. Not that she wants to think of Joel like that, God no, that's just gross. The whole idea of a man sticking his dick into her feels gross. But surely a woman must be able to make another woman sound like that? Maybe she could ask you. If she wants to talk to you about sex, and that's a big if.

It hits Ellie that if you're her family now, then it would be like asking her mom about sex. And whatever is going on right now is like hearing mom and dad have sex. And that image is just too much for her teenage brain. When the bedframe starts knocking on the wall between her bedroom and yours, she sits up again and bangs her fist at it.

"Keep it down, you two, some of us are trying to sleep here!"

The noise stops at once, and she grins to herself as she imagines your aghast faces - especially Joel must look absolutely shocked.

"Serves you right," she giggles to herself before scooting down and tucking herself in. Sleepy and amused, she wonders what sex feels like. If she will ever have it. If she even wants it. Is there ever going to be anyone that she'd care to do it with? Will anyone ever find her attractive? Her thoughts stray to Riley, and how sweet it would be to share this comfortable bed with her, whispering in the night, kissing, maybe more - but she quickly brushes those thoughts away. That wound is still too fresh.

A muffled thud is heard from the other bedroom, but she doesn't care anymore. Curling up on her side, she succumbs to exhaustion and the soft mattress.

"Shit!"

"Fuck!"

Your heart is pounding, your mouth is dry, your breathless profanity barely audible against Joel's cheek as he's buried to the hilt in you. He was in a mood when he came back from seeing his brother, and you knew there was no point in trying to make him talk about it. Even in a huff, however, the sight of you in a towel was rare enough for him to stop and stare.

"Take a shower," you told him, seeing that all he wanted to do was pull the towel off of you, "and come to bed."

Strangely enough, he did as he was told, but even hot water wasn't enough to keep him in the shower for more than a few minutes. When he came out, naked and dripping after barely having had time to dry himself off, he joined you between the threadbare but clean sheets.

"It's been too long," he told you, breath hot against your skin, hands already cupping and squeezing and claiming. You hummed your agreement as you let him cover your mouth with yours, sucking the breath out of you as he laid on top of you, his broad frame blocking out everything else. His weight on you, his clean, naked skin against yours... it had indeed been far too long for indulgences like these. You remember stolen fucks and sleepless nights in the QZ, clothed on cold hard floors during runs, but the last time you could take your time like this? And even with all the time in the world, both of you were in a desperate hurry. He sank his thick cock into you before too long and you welcomed him deeper by wrapping your arms and legs around him. When you moaned, he covered your mouth with his large hand and grunted in your ear:

"I know, pretty girl, I know, I feel it too, but you have to stay quiet for me."

You whined into his palm, and he replaced it with his mouth, swallowing your moans as he thrust into you with a renewed fury. The bed creaked but you were too far gone, too cock-hungry to care if Ellie heard you.

Which she did, of course.

Joel froze at the banging on the wall, and he inhaled sharply when Ellie yelled out her request for silence. Mirth replacing dismay as you recognize the teasing tone of Ellie's voice, you start to tremble with held-back giggles. With a grunt, Joel heaves himself up on his elbows.

"It's not funny," he lets you know in a morose voice. You raise your hands to his cheeks, feeling the heat in them. It's too dark to see, but your tough, no nonsense man is fucking blushing.

"It is a little funny," you whisper back and pull him in for a kiss. "She's fucking with us, you do know that, right?"

"We're gonna traumatize her - "

"This is gonna traumatize her, and not everything else she has lived through and seen?" you scoff. Your hand slides around to the back of his head and grab a fistful of hair. "Wise up, Miller, and fuck me."

"We can't - "

"I swear to God, Joel, if you don't get me off, I'm gonna go naked into the street and find someone who will!"

Your threat, unfounded though it is, gets him back on the right track.

"Yeah?" he breathes in a low growl, lowering his face over your chest, his tongue licking a wet trail around your knotted nipple. "You'd let just anyone touch you? Let anyone do this to you?" He licks your nipple into his mouth and sucks hard, making you arch your back as you clench your teeth against the moan threatening to spill out of you.

"Joel...!"

"Hush, my pretty," he hisses, sliding one hand to your breast and burying his fingers into the plump flesh as he lowers his mouth to your ear. "You have to stay quiet if you want me to fuck you till you cum. Can you do that?"

Your whimpered yes is followed by a choked cry when he slams into you anew, this time wrapping one arm around your thigh to get in deeper. You hold onto the bedding, the headboard, willing it to creak less as Joel picks up where he left off, doing his best to resume his devastating pace yet without causing any more noise. It's difficult, but when Joel puts his mind to something, he always follows through. He braces himself against the bed and you whine when he takes his weight off of you. You want to be deliciously crushed, taken, rendered breathless and immobile, but now you are free to rub your clit as he fucks you. Your slick walls clench around him at once.

"Fuck, that's tight," he groans above you, baring his teeth. "So fucking tight when you do that."

You stare up at him through the dusk, caress his flexed neck muscles with your half closed eyes as the pressure rises inside you. You whisper bitten off words, as if Joel needed your words to know that you are so close to exploding, imploding, the mesmerizing rise and fall that you so desperately need. He dips down to steal your breath away with a kiss and you suck eagerly on his tongue while simultaneously panting for air.

He almost slips out when you cum, your slickness and spasming muscles nearly pushing him out. You press your lips together, will yourself to swallow the sounds that threaten to come out when your body trembles under him. Your body, so sensitive all of a sudden, wants to push him away, but instead you pull him down over you and move with him, desperate and wanton.

"Cum," you beg of him in a whisper that might just as well be a scream, you have no idea as the blood roars in your ears, "cum, baby, cum in me, please cum."

Your overstimulated pussy feels the heat of his load spreading inside you when your words rush him to his climax. The strangled sound he emits is one that you've never heard from him before, and you wrap your arms around him, holding him tightly to you. His heart beats rapidly against your chest, where your own heart trying to match his rhythm, and when he tries to catch his breath there's only a stutter. He's sweaty but you can smell him and it's clean, fresh perspiration. His hair is still damp, and you run your fingers through it, smelling the shampoo which no doubt is handmade of herbs by someone in Jackson. He clearly took the time to wash his hair, which surprises you.

It feels nice. Normal.

"You smell nice," you murmur to him, sniffing his sideburn demonstratively.

"You do too." He brushes his lips across your face in a light peppering of kisses, each one a lingering declaration of love on your skin. "You felt so good, baby, this was good."

You hum softly as he slides out, slick and seed trailing in the wake of his softening cock.

"Might want to go again in a minute," you warn him with a happy smile that you hope he can hear, even if he can't see it. Joel groans as he rolls over onto his back next to you.

"Too old for twice in one night."

You chuckle, feeling the post-coital relaxation weighing you down in the most delicious way. Once was definitely enough. But you wish that every night could be like this.

"You think she's still awake?" Joel asks, and for a moment you have no idea who he's talking about. You had quite forgotten that the two of you were not alone in the house.

"I'll talk to her in the morning," you offer with a yawn. "Woman to woman."

"And tell her what?" Joel sounds both cynical and troubled, which amuses you greatly.

"About the birds and the bees," you giggle, shoving him playfully. "And what happens when two adults like each other very much."

He scoffs but takes your hand and brings it to his lips for a kiss before placing it over his heart. The conversation is over for his part, so you lay your head on his shoulder and close your eyes.

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

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witchysfics · 6 months

Note

Hey! I loved your fic a lot, thank u for adding some fluff to his romance <3

You mentioned the requests are possible, what about Gale and Tav spending one of their nights in town? Maybe cafe, tavern or restaurant? Or just a slow walking promenade through the alleys? Or slow dancing somewhere near musicians? Whatever inspires you the most :D

Thanks!

author's note : Thank you so much for requesting!! I will be finishing up other requests and finishing my rules soon. Feel free to keep requesting for now! I love all your ideas!! this is not proofread and may have many mistakes. It was soooo late when I was writing this. enjoy <3

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The party had stopped at a quaint little town for the evening. You had practically begged to rest here. Why be outside in the cold dark night when you all could cozy up a fire and warm up to a little a drink. It would be great!

And you were right. The tiny town was filled with happy families, couples strolling along and a quaint tavern, perfect for your traveling party.

As the sun disappeared behind the horizon and night filled the air the town grew even more bustling.

Now the patrons of the tavern sat outside nursing their drinks and watching the locals dance to the music.

The party had settled on some outdoor seating as well, Karalach and Wyll loading up on ale, laughing boisterously. Astarion hung to the shadows, probably looking for a snack out of one of the clueless town's persons. And you sat with Shadowheart chatting like a couple of gossiping old ladies while Gale sat with you two, listening.

An upbeat song began, drawing your attention to the dancers.

"The aroma of the night is relaxing. It's a nice change of pace isn't it?" Gale asks, turning to you and Shadowheart.

You nod, smiling. You could definitely agree, after the countless battles and hours of exploring the party really needed this off time.

A sudden bump of your table had startled the three of you.

"Op! s-sorry!" A giddy, and possibly drunk, Karlach called as she dragged a nervous Wyll to the dance floor. "I told you Wyll, Blade of Frontiers. You will be bested by me! Karlach! ... uhh The Dancing Demon!"

You and Gale chuckled at their antics while Shadowheart shakes her head, amused.

"How long do you think before Wyll finds competing with Karlach is too hot to handle?" Gale asks jokingly.

You shake your head at that, "Haha, I thought you were a Wizard, not a comedic bard." You quip.

"I can be anything you'd like my dear. Maybe even a proficient dancer?" He look expectantly at you. His delivery is confident but the message in his eyes holds of other, more nervous intension.

You blush slightly at the implication of the statement. Opening your mouth, trying to formulate something to say but nothing comes out.

"I- uh."

"I can't remember the last time I danced." Shadowheart sighs, gazing at the dancers.

You turn to her and fan your heating face. Thankful that she unknowing shifted attention to herself you ask, "Really? Shar doesn't like dancing?" You joke, smiling a little at her.

"I wouldn't say that, its just... I can't remember the last time I danced, because of the...you know" She gestures to her head, "memory spell"

You make a silent 'oh' in realization.

"I'm not too sad about it though, I know I'll get my memories back. And in the mean time," She suddenly stands from her seat, standing in front of you. "I get to make new memories now. Starting with you!" She makes a quick motion for you hands and pulls you up to her.

You let out a surprised yelp as she laughs and she drags you over to dance. You look over your shoulder to Gale, who looks just as surprised but recovers and mouths for you to 'go on it's fine' with a smile. You give a apologetic smile in return.

Shadowheart, still holding your hands, spins the two of you. Dancing in a way that is reminiscent of young school girls. Twirling, spinning, jumping and laughing all the while.

You spot Karlach an Wyll who both shoot you friendly smiles. Wyll's a little more crooked and weary while Karlach gives you two red thumbs up.

Eventually you have traded dance partners as more people join the group. You switch from Shadowheart, to Karlach to Wyll. Even Halsin joins in during a slower song. You danced with strangers too, some old some young. Some flirted with you and some you made a friendly banter. You had noticed Gal tried to slip in a few times only for you or him to snatched up by a different partner. Both of you expressing contrite smiles to one another.

By the time you got back to your table, and Gale the whole town might as well have turned in for the night. The music was slower and the dance floor was lighted by dancing fireflies and the occasional ground lantern.

"Well, it's been a while." He says looking over to you. "You seem very popular."

You sigh falling into the chair, exhasuted. "I'm so sorry!" You exclaim, slumping to your knees and placing one of your hands on his own that sat on his high. "I had meant to answer you question ages ago, but well..." You chuckle, "I just I was preoccupied."

"Oh no my dear, I completely understand. Of course everyone would want to dance with a beautiful individual like yourself."

His voice is smooth, like a stream gliding over flat stones. His face is soft though his tone is flirty.

You gulp and roll your bottom lip between your teeth. You've danced with strangers all night, how could he make just taking to him overwhelming?

"Is something the matter? You seem, stunned." He asks a smug smile spreading across his lips

"Oh! No no. Not at all." You clear your throat. "Sorry I just...." You trail off, unsure of what to say.

"You know," he begins, taking your hand into his. "You never did answer my question. Would you like me to be your dancer?"

You nod breathlessly and he smiles down at you. His eyes filled with an indescribable softness.

He pulls you gentally to the dance floor and a song kicks up as you wrap your arms around his neck and he placed his hands on your waist. His chest presses to yours and the warmth from the contact warms the cool air around you. His shoulder is soft as you place your head upon it. Drinking in the smell of his, now clean, robes. They have a hint of petrichor and vanilla, as well as a slight lingering smell of ale. But that is to be expected near a tavern.

The playing song is cheerful, but romantic as it belows out it's slow rhythmed melody.

Gale's eyes haven't left you once since you'd begun dancing. Taking in the view of your eyes as they sparked from the light of firefies.

It's only when he begins speaking are you snapped out of your trance.

"You know, I've been trying to get to dance with you all night. I was almost convinced I wasn't going to just because I couldn't seem to even catch a small moment with you." He chuckles. "But I'm glad I waited. Dancing with you then would have been a privilege but I would have had lost you as soon as I got you. But this, dancing with you, watching your darling face lit up by the stars? This, this is a dream."

Footnote : Thank you so much for requesting! I hope this is sufficient to what you had in mind, this was really fun to write. Had me kicking my own feet. Sorry it took me so long to get to, midterms have been biting my ass. Love ya! - Witchy

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art · 2 years

Photo

Creator Spotlight: @min-play

I’m Min! I’m an animator and storyboard rti t who also posts comics and fan art online. So far, I have worked on the Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and LEGO Monkie Kid. I run on AAA batteries.

Check out our interview with Min below!

How did you get your start in animation and storyboarding?

Fanart! My hyperfixations kept me drawing and posting online since I was around 16. Later I dropped my Computer Science degree to study animation. After graduating, I worked as an In-between Animator, Key Animator, and Storyboard Artist. My fanart of a couple funny skeletons played a big role in getting hired.

What do you wish you knew when you first started out creating content that you know now?

It’s ok to make mistakes. All the flaws in a drawing make it look much more interesting. Also, it’s a lot more fun than spending ages perfecting one line.

Have you ever had an art block? If so, how did you overcome it?

I always get 3 different flavors of art block (that I remember):

Art block from perfectionism

Sometimes there’s this self-enforced pressure that what you make has to be of a certain standard. Gotta loosen up and forgive yourself for not meeting an imaginary quality. Do it for the fun of it. Instead of thinking’ needs to be better,’ think ‘eh good enough lol.’ It’s cool to strive for improvement! Just don’t do it to the point it becomes self-deprecating.

Art block from burnout

Art hibernation! It’s ok to take breaks. Not every waking moment needs to be productive. Treat yourself to something yummy, hang out with people you’re comfortable with, or pick up a new anime series. Take the time to get some well-deserved rest.

Art block while drawing as a full-time job

WELL DANG.

Switch your ‘drive.’ If you’re running off on passion or interest as a motivator for work, that’s great! I do too! But also, it’s finicky. Set up routines for when that high runs out. I have a ‘Do task’ mode where I play a song or a movie I already watched on loop in the background (sometimes for weeks on end). I don’t know why but it helps me concentrate. Last week, it was the movie Cars.

These are personal methods and may not work for everyone, but I hope it helps!

What are 3 things you can’t live without as a creator?

Music + Noise-canceling headphones + Big blanket = Comfort force field

What is a medium that you have always been intrigued by but would never use yourself?

Does blacksmithing count as a medium? I’d like to try it out at least once, though.

How do you want to evolve as a creator?

To connect with other creators more. Especially writers. They are so powerful.

Warm tones or cool tones?

Cool tones! Especially this one particular blend of blue and green.

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

So maaaanyy. At the top of my head, though: @northpen. I am obsessed with their vivid-imagery writing style, and immaculate characterizations. Their character banters always have me in a gigglefit. They have this fic I binged in one sitting and left me crying and empty in a good way.

Thank you for such amazing answers, Min! You can check out more of Min’s creations over at @min-play!

#creator spotlight #animators on tumblr #storyboard artist #artists on tumblr #min-play

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slytherheign · 1 year

Text

CONNECTING ARTS | tasm!peter parker

PAIRING: photographer!tasm!peter parker x painter!fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 8.4k

SUMMARY: peter is slowly losing hope for his love of photography when he finds himself at a loss of inspiration. to give his passion a last chance to prove it’s worth holding on, he decides to do one last project: to capture a stranger’s life for 1 week. unbeknownst to him, with every click of his camera, he’ll slowly fall in love. unbeknownst to you, with every stroke of your paintbrush, you’ll realize your lives are more connected than you both initially thought.

WARNINGS: mentions of death, cursing/swearing, parent's negligence, reader being an orphan, anxiety, depression, inaccuracies (?) there may be some because i’m not a photographer nor a painter. let me know if i missed any warnings. [⚠︎︎RATING: G]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is angsty towards the end but it’s hurt/comfort and there are more fluff moments so the destination is sweet street instead of angst avenue. this took so long to write but it’s only bc i added a little bit of mystery here about the person in the reader’s painting and their pasts. i hope y’all forgive me. enjoy reading!

DESTINATION: Sweet Street | GO BACK TO THE STATION. CLICK HERE FOR ALL THINGS CONNECTING ARTS (reviews, commentary, etc. about this fic).

It’s truly terrifying how a person could suddenly lose interest in something they have spent their whole life yearning for.

This was Peter’s greatest fear—to watch the once-ignited flame of passion within him get slowly extinguished. Photography was supposed to be his lifeline. How could he let himself get drained of something that was his escapism?

Was it his surroundings, his personal life, or just life in general that made him uninterested in his hobby? He had no answer. He truly, certainly, absolutely did not know.

He stared at the camera that was atop the center table, and as he did so, flashbacks of the joyous moments he spent capturing people and places struck him. He had held that camera for years—garnering both little and grand memories that were far too special and memorable to forget. He couldn’t just let it go.

One more chance, he thought.

“Okay, let’s try again,” he said to himself. “One last time.”

So he grabbed his camera and went to the nearest place he thought would spark even just a pinch of inspiration—the park.

The busy yet calm buzz of people's chatter met him as the wind blew softly against his skin. He walked a few yards until he saw a bench which he sat on almost immediately. He raised the camera close to his eyes, adjusting the lens as he took pictures every now and then while scanning the surroundings.

A couple on a bench that was turned back from him and facing the city bay. The guy had his arm around the girl’s shoulders while her head rested on his.

Click.

A mother gently pushing her child that was giggling so hard at the swing.

Click.

A lovely couple walking the grounds, holding each other’s hands without an ounce of care in a world that judged them because they were both women.

Click.

A large oak tree from which the outline beautifully clashed with the slow setting of the sun.

Click.

Suddenly, his hands seemingly moved on their own as the camera panned over downwards without him even noticing.

A girl underneath an oak tree, gracefully sitting on a paint-covered cream blanket. Art supplies were messily scattered over the soft blanket while the girl was drawing something on a canvas in front of her.

Click.

He zoomed in, focusing on her face. He couldn’t help it, she was mesmerizing. The girl must’ve felt it because she looked straight at the camera, piercing his eye that was behind the lens.

He put down the camera instantly, mouthing an apology towards you as he realized he probably distracted you from your drawing. You shook your head, letting a small smile form on your lips. You gestured for him to come over, and without hesitation, he did.

You quickly but carefully moved some of your things to give him space on the blanket to sit on. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “What are you drawing?” he asked.

“Someone,” you replied, showing him the canvas. There wasn’t much on it at the moment, just the initial sketch of a person’s body and a white fence in the background. The person did not have a face yet.

Click.

Peter captured the canvas with his camera. As he looked up, he saw your puzzled face staring at him. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I haven’t asked for your permission to take pictures of you and your work. I can delete it if you want to.”

“No, it’s fine,” you reassured him. “I’m just curious, do you take pictures of everything?”

“No, usually just the interesting stuff,” he chuckled at your question.

“So you think I’m interesting?” you winked playfully.

“I…” he started to say, but then stopped before smiling. “Yeah, I do. The most interesting, actually.”

He noticed your cheeks redden, but before you could think of a reply, Peter’s eyes slightly widened as an idea dawned upon him.

“Can I ask something crazy?” he asked.

“I love crazy,” you beamed with excitement, putting down your canvas to face him. “Go ahead.”

“I was thinking… if maybe I could capture the process of you completing your artwork? Like… capture your life for a week?”

He noticed the slight skepticism in your eyes. “I know this is kinda weird considering we just met but I–I just think you’re really cool a-and awesome and I’m really fascinated by you.”

“You know, usually I don’t entertain strangers much more let them stay in my apartment… but I have a good feeling about you,” you admitted. “So…” you nodded.

“Okay, just so we’re clear, you are agreeing for me to capture and document your life for a week?”

“Yes.”

Perfect. This was the exact thing he needed. A good and worthy ending for his slowly dying passion.

“I feel like shit,” he said suddenly. “I haven’t even asked your name. I’m Peter,” he offered his hand.

You chuckled as you shook his hand. “I’m Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. How do you want this to work?” he didn’t want to decide by himself since it’s your life he would be documenting in the first place.

“Uhh–here,” you ripped a piece from a sketchbook you weren’t using. With a pencil you pulled from the back of your ear, you wrote your address on the piece of paper. “That’s um–where I live. Come by tomorrow morning.”

“Okay.”

Peter smiled on his way home.

He was ready for his very last project.

DAY 1.

You awoke from the same ray of sunshine that visited you every morning through your large window. You wasted no time as you made your bed and took a shower quickly. Normally, you wouldn’t even bother to leave your bed for at least half an hour after waking up but today was different. You had a visitor and for some reason, you wanted to impress him. After all, he was the first person to ever visit your place.

The place that you called home was a studio apartment with a loft bedroom. You had no usual living room because you turned it into a painting studio. The only places where paint—with exception of white—didn’t reach the wall or the floor were the small kitchen area and the loft bedroom where you sleep every night. But above all things, your favorite part of your apartment was the large window that occupied the entire wall facing the first floor and the loft floor.

After dressing yourself in a white shirt and brown overalls, you decided to put your hair up in a ponytail. The moment you started to heat water for your morning coffee, you heard a knock on your door.

“Hi,” Peter greeted.

“Hello,” you smiled in return, opening the door wider for him to enter your humble abode.

Peter’s mouth slightly parted from the aesthetic of your apartment. His eyes scanned the place like a child in a candy store. He saw the canvases on the floor that were both empty and painted on, and the large wooden table in the middle of the room that had art supplies and an unreal amount of colorful paints scattered on top of it.

Click.

And from that moment on, he knew your place was something else.

“This place is amazing,” he complimented.

“Thank you,” you said, a proud grin presenting on your lips. “Coffee?”

“Thanks,” he smiled, accepting your offer. “How long have you had this place?”

“Since I was 19. A year after I moved out from the orph–uh from my old home.” Thankfully, Peter was too busy admiring the place to even notice you almost slipping out.

No one gets to know your past. That was your life rule. The present and the future were what mattered.

“Here,” you placed the mug atop the side table near the entrance. There was a small couch—noticeably thrifted—beside it where Peter sat. “Careful, it’s hot,” you warned him as he tried to hold the mug and drink while still being distracted by your paintings.

You sat beside him, sipping your coffee as well. “How did you get into photography?” you asked.

“I think I’ve always been interested in the art of photography since I was a kid. I’ve always loved taking photos back then and I think it’s really cool that memories can be captured in the form of pictures forever.”

You agreed, nodding your head. “Same goes with painting. Sometimes, I paint my surroundings, mostly people that I see around me; sometimes, I have pictures as my reference; sometimes, I like storing memories in my head and then painting them when I get my hands on a canvas. But the best thing about it though is that I can paint not what I see but what I want to see.”

The last line you said seemed to get his full attention. “What do you mean by that?” his face showed an intrigued expression.

“It means that I can paint whatever I want. I can paint the past, the present, and the future. And sometimes, you hate the past and the present, so you just change them in your paintings. And then when you start hating the future too, you just paint what you want the future to be. Basically, what I’m saying is, you can manipulate life through a painting. Reality and imagination share a room, and there’s really no limit.”

There was something about the words you said that made Peter realize just how deep of a person you are. It wasn’t just your paintings he was mesmerized by anymore, but also you. He would love to get to know you more.

DAY 2.

Same time, same place, different day.

“Good morning,” he greeted you once you opened the door. You let him in, excited for the day because you planned on teaching him how to paint. It wasn’t your idea, he asked you yesterday if he could be the first person you teach how to paint and you accepted the challenge. You didn’t consider yourself a good teacher, but oh well, you weren’t going to back down from a challenge.

“Coffee?” you offered.

“Oh no. You promised to teach me how to paint and I would very much like to start learning now,” he had a huge excited grin plastered on his face.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” you smirked proudly.

“How do you know which canvas to use? There are so many sizes,” he asked, standing over the piles of empty canvases on the floor.

“It depends on what you’re going to paint. Do you have something on your mind?”

“I-uh… no? I thought the idea would come naturally honestly.”

“That’s fine! Sometimes, it comes naturally. Sometimes, it doesn’t and you have to push yourself until it eventually comes.”

“Why would you push yourself if it doesn't come naturally? Wouldn’t you just take a break and wait?”

“I could wait, But I prefer not to. I push myself because I want to paint and the lack of ideas won’t hinder me from painting. This is my passion, I want to do this forever. If I took a pause every time I had no idea what to paint, most of my paintings wouldn’t exist and I would’ve given up this passion years ago.”

“What about rest? Do you even take a rest?” he asked as you handed him a small-sized canvas. You thought it was the best for beginners.

You chuckled lightly. “I’m human, Peter. Of course, I rest. But not when I know I’m getting uninterested in painting. When I get over that phase and I’m inspired again, that’s when I rest. I don’t go to bed until I have that fire in me again that dances with the art of painting.”

Now, that was something that hit Peter all the way to his core. How could you even manage to do it? To answer the question he didn’t even know he had in his heart so effortlessly and precisely?

He now knew his mistake—he let the lack of inspiration slowly extinguish the fire in him whenever he was feeling uninspired. He realized now that he didn’t push hard enough. But that would change, starting now.

“I think I know what to paint now. And this size is just perfect, thank you.”

You watched him put his canvas on an easel. He looked at you, his eyes asking a question about what to do next.

“You can draw first, sketch what would be the outline of your painting, and then let it guide you when you start painting. Or you could proceed to paint immediately. But if you ask me, I would recommend sketching first so you won’t make a lot of mistakes later when you actually start painting.”

“Okay. I’ll sketch first. Thank you,” he said as you handed him a pencil. He started drawing lines, and then curves, and then came the shapes.

“That’s really good. Damn, didn’t know you were good at drawing,” you complimented. He laughed lightly. “Thanks, I think I got the genes from my mother. My aunt always told me she was a really good artist.”

Once he was close to finishing his drawing, it dawned on you that he was drawing a sunrise. You wouldn’t tell him, but it reminded you of one of your paintings. It wasn’t a sunrise, but it was similar. Maybe you’d show it to him when he finishes his painting.

“I’m done!” he announced proudly. “Nice!” you replied. “Are you ready to paint?”

“Oh no no no… please, I think that’s enough for me today,” he laughed. “Don’t get me wrong, but that little drawing took a lot of work. I’d like to go back to my camera now.”

DAY 3.

Same time, same place, different day.

“Good mo–”

“Morning!” you cut him off as you opened the door. He laughed seeing your proud face. “Come in.”

“Coffee?”

“Actually–yeah. I’d like a coffee,” he answered, yawning.

“Had trouble sleeping?” you asked.

He nodded. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

He felt how the silence almost swallowed the room and how your eyes never left his. Only then did he realize what he said.

“I–uh-I m-mean ab-about the things… y-yeah about the things you said yesterday w-when you talked about painting an-and your passion and your–uh… like making sure the fire that dances within you stays lit,” he was rambling.

You let out a giggle. Deep inside, you were struggling not to blush. “I understand. You know, if you want me to stop saying deep things about life and other stuff, just tell me.”

He was quick to raise his hand, as if stopping you from doing something idiotic. “Oh no. Please, don’t stop. Don’t ever stop saying things that are so deep that it makes other people unable to sleep just thinking about them.”

“You make it sound like you don’t like it,” you chuckled as you turned your back on him to prepare his morning drink.

He shook his head. “Oh, I like it. I like it when you say things like that. It makes me double-think my life or just life in general. For the better.”

“Thanks. I don’t really have a lot of people to talk to so I can understand if you think I’m being too much.”

“You’re not being too much, I assure you that. You’re just wise… and I love that about you.”

You almost dropped the mug by turning almost instantly to face him. No one has appreciated you like that before, and it certainly felt good. You couldn’t stop—and didn’t want to stop—the smile that formed on your lips.

Click.

You were out of words if you were being honest so you instead chose to ask why he took a picture of you just then. “What was that for? The picture? I wasn’t even painting.”

“It’s for memories… beautiful ones,” he winked and you swore you felt something in your stomach that you never felt before. Oh, this can’t be happening.

“Um–anyway, here’s your coffee,” you said as you handed him the drink. You quickly changed the topic. “I was thinking maybe we should continue doing our paintings? You continue yours and I continue mine. If you need my help or you have any questions, just tell me.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

This was harder than Peter expected it to be. There were so many colors to choose from. How could he know what were the right colors to use? This was his first painting and he was being mentored by an incredible painter. He wanted this to be good. He wanted to impress you.

“You could always start with orange or yellow,” you said as you noticed him struggling.

“I feel like I need a reference just to know where the orange starts to blend with yellow.”

“Okay,” you agreed with him. “The internet has a lot of pictures of the sunrise.”

“I know, but I kinda want my own?” he shrugged. “Those pictures are the sunrise from other people’s eyes that they took from their cameras. I want to know the color of the sunrise from my perspective, you know? It’s just that I just realized I’m doing a sunrise painting and I haven’t even seen the sun actually rise… I want to see it for myself and then take my own pictures of it while it happens. Maybe then I could connect more with my painting.”

You stopped painting as you stared at him, feeling extremely proud that you couldn’t help but grin. “You want to connect more with your painting?” you repeated.

“Yes.”

“Then let’s do it. Tomorrow, let’s meet up at the park early in the morning just before the sun rises. I’ll take you to my secret spot.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’m excited,” he smiled and you reciprocated it. He then picked up his camera again to take pictures of you.

By now, the background of your painting was finished. A white picket fence, on the back of it was a brick-walled house. A figure was in front, but it was yet to be painted on. The outline of the man was the only blank surface left on your canvas.

Click.

You were glad Peter still hadn't asked any questions about your painting.

DAY 4.

Different time, different place, different day.

You immediately saw Peter the moment you were close to the park. It wasn’t hard to spot him since it was early and not a lot of people roamed the place just yet—only the ones who jog there every day.

You didn’t notice him click his camera when you rushed towards him.

“Good morning!” Of course, he couldn’t forget about his daily greeting. In response, you greeted him back.

“And before you offer me coffee, I’d like to take you to my favorite coffee shop later. My treat. That is, of course, if you only want to.”

“I’d love to,” you smiled. “Let’s go.”

You held his hand and Peter swore he felt some kind of electric shock. A shock that was so addicting he was willing to get electrocuted if it meant getting to hold you much longer.

“We’re here,” you announced and Peter was suddenly brought back to earth. The ‘secret spot’ you mentioned was a little hill that was just a mile hike away from the park. The pathway entrance was covered with trees so it was concealed from most people. The view from up there was insanely breathtaking. He could clearly see the city bay and he was sure the sun would rise from where the city bay ended. You still held his hand and he assumed you just forgot you were holding it in the first place. There was no way you would hold his hand for this long.

You absolutely did not forget. But you didn’t do it on purpose either. See, the thing in your stomach that you felt yesterday always visited you whenever he was in your presence. For some reason, there was a need for your body to touch his, and as much as you tried to control it, there was no containing it. That was what happened. Your hand acted on its own and it didn’t want to let his hand go. It was kind of embarrassing and you just wished he didn’t mind it.

Oh, he didn’t mind it, that’s for sure. In fact, he was enjoying it. Although it was taking everything in him not to wrap his arm around your shoulders and keep you close.

“Look,” you pointed at the sun that was starting to peek from where the bay ended in your perspective. And there it was, the sun slowly and magnificently rising above the waters. As much as Peter didn’t want to let go of your hand, he needed both of his hands to capture the moment. You glanced at him as you wanted to watch his reaction to his first time witnessing the sunrise. And while his face was covered by his camera as he took a picture of the scene, you saw his lips form a peaceful smile. You found yourself looking back at the sun with the same peaceful smile on your lips.

You knew he was done taking pictures when the once-darkened place was brightened up by the star that was the sun. It was evident since he lowered the camera from his face and adjusted the strap to let it hang by his neck comfortably. What you didn’t know, though, was that before he put his camera down, he sneakily took a photo of your face joined by the hues of the sun.

“This is our secret spot now,” said Peter.

“Yup,” you laughed. “So, coffee?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he teased, offering his hand for you to take.

Peter brought you to a little cafe not far from the park, it was located near a library which you reminded yourself you would visit some other time in the future.

You were taking your last sip of coffee when you heard the familiar click of his camera. This time you actually posed a peace sign for the picture. Peter chuckled at this, and in return, it made you laugh as well. He seized the opportunity to take another picture.

Click.

“It's nice here… the staff, the view, the ambiance, the food, and of course, the coffee,” you commented.

“So, now you get why this is my favorite coffee shop?”

“Correction. This is our favorite coffee shop now.”

DAY 5.

The next day, you met up back at your studio apartment. After your usual morning greetings and coffees, both of you were busy doing your own paintings. You looked over at Peter, seeing him so focused on his painting. You suddenly had an idea.

After one last stroke to complete the body of the faceless person you were painting, you stopped. You stood up and went to the table where Peter put his camera on. He didn’t notice you, he was too busy to even notice you standing. You carefully and quietly put the strap over your head and adjusted it to your comfort. You walked little steps towards him, positioning yourself just behind him where you could see his back as he worked on his painting on one of your easels. You adjusted your eye to the viewfinder and just when you found the perfect view, you clicked its shutter.

Click.

The familiar click of his camera forced his eyes to look away from his painting. He looked quizzically at you. When he realized what you were doing, he smiled widely as he carefully put his paintbrush in a brush holder.

“What are you doing?” he laughed. God, you loved his face when he laughed. You couldn’t resist clicking the shutter for the second time.

“Nothing,” you chuckled. “Just continue what you’re doing. You’ll be the painter and I’ll be the photographer for today.”

Moments later, you probably had circled around Peter just to make sure you could capture every angle of him painting. He was smiling for most of them.

“Am I even doing this right?” he asked, gesturing for you to look at his painting.

You stood beside the stool he was sitting on. “You’re doing great. But I think you should blend this area a little bit more,” you said, moving closer as you pointed out the area you were talking about. “And you might want to go softer on your brush.”

“Have I told you how attractive you are when you teach me these things?” he said suddenly.

That caught you off guard, and you weren’t sure what to do so you just looked at him with an awkward smile. Peter didn’t know where his confidence came from, but all of a sudden, he dipped his pointer finger into the orange paint on his palette and smeared it on your cheek. Your mouth widened with shock but you immediately did the same thing to him. And so, you two had a full-on fight which ended up with both your clothes and faces covered with colorful paints.

“Oh, I have to take pictures of this,” he stated before running to the sink and washing his hands so he could hold his camera and not worry about smearing paint on it.

He got back quickly, asking you to do silly poses as he took your pictures. You did the same to him, instructing him to do ridiculously funny poses when you took his pictures. After a while, he set the camera down on a table facing the two of you and set it on a timer so he could take photos of both of you together. You two were having so much fun that none of you even cared or noticed that some of the poses you did were both of you being too close to each other’s bodies.

That was how the day went for the two of you. Covered with paint and indelible memories with each other.

And maybe even growing feelings towards one another.

DAY 6.

Same time, same place, different day.

“Your painting fully dried overnight,” you said excitedly as you opened the door for him. “Would you like to see it?”

“Well–good morning to you too,” he giggled. “Actually, can I go to the bathroom first? I really need to pee.”

“Oh-yes, of course,” you smiled, letting him inside. “It’s up there in the loft beside the bed. It’s the only bathroom so it’s not hard to find.”

As Peter went to pee, you decided to find a painting of yours similar to his sunrise. You were thrilled to show it to him.

You held your painting behind your back as Peter exited the bathroom and went to see his finished painting. “You can touch it,” you reminded him when you saw how his fingers hesitated to touch the canvas in fear of ruining what he’d done. He finally touched it, picking it up with his hand and stroking the piece of art with the other as he admired it. He did this. With his hands.

“It’s beautiful,” you commented. “You seem to be a natural. It doesn’t look like it was your first time. I’m proud of you.”

“Well, I had the best mentor, so…” he smirked. “But in all honesty, thank you so much. For introducing me to painting, for teaching me how to paint, for your wise words—everything. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you said before remembering the piece of art behind your back. “I have something I want to show you. But I’m getting tired just standing, so let’s sit on the couch.”

Once you both settled on the couch, you showed him your painting of the sunset. You put it side by side with his sunrise and it created a perfect contrast together. The same sun, taken from the same secret spot on top of that little hill, but at different times of the day.

“Unbelievable. They’re almost the same,” he whispered, wonder-struck. “May I ask why you painted a sunset?”

“I painted this during one of the hardest days in my life. Why a sunset? A sunset because it reminds me that even though the day is hard, there is an end to the day. A sunset… because it represents the opportunity to rest. It reminds me that if the sun can rest after a tiring day, then there is nothing wrong with closing your eyes for even just a moment.”

He looked at you with deep understanding. “Why did you paint a sunrise?” you asked.

“I’ve always known that a sunrise meant the start of another day. But only when I started to paint it and connect with it did I realize that there is more to that. Why a sunrise? A sunrise because it reminds me that another day isn’t only another ‘day’. It’s also another chance to live and take risks. A sunrise… because it represents the opportunity to start again. It reminds me that if the sun could come back up after a long dark night, then I can too.”

Your eyes glistened with tears as he said those words but you didn’t let him see it. Art really was a voice that spoke beyond thoughts and words. Those paintings weren’t just paintings, they were experiences. Your sunset was a symbol of rest—what you have always wanted to have after all those years. His sunrise was a symbol of hope—what he was searching for for the longest time.

You ended up framing the paintings and hanging them on your wall beside each other. Together, they created the most beautiful contrasting artwork. The two paintings became one—it was like they were always meant to be beside each other.

Click.

“You know, I went through the photos you took while I was painting. They’re really good. The angles? they’re perfect. If you ever want to change careers, just tell me,” he joked.

“I think I’ll stick to painting,” you chuckled. “But thank you, I mean, I had a great mentor so that’s probably why the photos turned out good.”

“You mean me? I didn’t even teach you as far as I can remember.”

“Well, not literally. But when you take pictures, I observe you and the ways you hold the camera. So, I definitely got my ‘skill’ from you,” you admitted.

“You observe me?”

You noticed his lips slowly form a smirk and only then did you realize what you just revealed. “Uhh-let’s not m-make it a big d-deal,” you nervously laughed, feeling the anxiety creep up on you. You never knew how to deal with social situations like this. When things went awkward or you didn’t know what to say, you ran. Hence why you never had a long-time friend. Peter was the only one you lasted this long with.

“I was just teasing you,” he smiled, stroking your arms with his hands to calm you down. You didn’t know how he knew you were slightly panicking on the inside. But somehow, he did. And then he smiled at you with the softest and most caring smile you’d ever seen and suddenly the anxiety and the panic shifted into a feeling of comfort.

You had never felt like this before.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into hours, and almost in an instant, the once bright day outside your windows turned into a dark night.

Time really did fly when you were with someone you loved.

Loved.

None of you would admit it yet, but it was definitely there.

“It’s time for me to go…” he announced.

Before he could fully stand up and start to make his way to the door, you held his wrist to stop him. He looked at you with confusion, but the glint in his eyes said a lot more—he hoped you would ask him to stay.

And that you did.

“You can stay here tonight…” you whispered. “Only if you want to, of course.”

“Do you want me to stay?” he softly asked, glancing at your hand that held his wrist before looking at you again.

“Yes.”

DAY 7.

Different time, same place, different day.

Peter woke up earlier than usual and yet he felt that the sleep he had taken was the most satisfying he ever had. Why? Well, it was because he slept next to you.

Let’s take a few steps back…

Yesterday night when Peter was about to leave, you insisted on letting him stay. He offered to take the couch but you felt guilty that you were about to sleep on a soft mattress while he would sleep on an old couch downstairs so you told him that it was fine if he slept next to you on your bed. He was hesitant because he respected your boundaries but eventually you were able to come to an agreement to put a pillow in between both of you to not make things awkward. None of you knew how it happened, but when you woke up, the pillow was moved to the floor and your hand and his were almost touching. It seemed like your bodies naturally gravitated towards each other—but of course, none of you would admit that. At least not yet.

He quietly made his way down to where you were painting, careful not to disturb you. He grabbed the camera along the way. He would never get tired of capturing photos of you while painting—you were a master of arts in one of their truest forms. You were sitting on a stool with an easel in front.

He pulled the camera close to his face, aligning his good eye with the viewfinder. He adjusted the lens, zooming it in your hand that held a really old—it seemed to be your favorite—paintbrush. But before he could click the shutter, he noticed how your hands were shaking as you stared at the painting. He immediately put down his camera and stared at it as well and only then did he realize that you haven’t made any progress on your painting today. The painting was almost complete, the only thing missing was the face of the man in the middle. Up until now, he was still faceless.

“You know, this is the longest it’s taken me to paint a person,” you said, feeling his presence behind you. “It’s just a face. Why is it so hard?” you sighed with shaking lips. You were battling the tears that threatened to fall from your eyes.

For the first time ever, he didn’t know how to reply.

“No–don’t answer that,” you let out a breathy laugh, but there was pain underneath. “That was a rhetorical question. Of course, I know why it’s so hard.”

With shaking hands that you tried so hard to steady, you started coloring the face with a skin tone color that matched the rest of the man’s body.

One stroke.

He didn’t know what to say, but hopefully, he knew what to do. Peter moved beside you, intertwining his right hand with your left as you painted with your right.

Two strokes.

You felt him squeeze your hand, doing his best to comfort you.

Three strokes.

Painting the structure of the face was done. Now onto the details of the face.

You closed your eyes, trying to dig up the memories you had with this man. But it was hard since the man you were painting only stayed for a little while in your life.

You opened your eyes, picking out a thin paintbrush that was perfect for little details. You started with the lips.

One stroke.

Peter’s presence was giving you not only comfort but courage as well.

Two strokes.

And then another.

The pinkish-red lips stared at you from the painting. You let out a breath. Next was the nose.

You picked up your pencil to draw some lines for a little bit. You only did some to serve as your guide. Next, you cleaned the thin paintbrush before dipping it in another color—black.

One stroke.

You followed the lines you drew. But they were just lines, you have to paint the details to actually make the nose specific from the rest.

Two strokes.

And then you did some shadows with the outlines to blend them with the skin. It was done.

“I think I’ll continue later,” you sighed sadly, squeezing his hand. “I need to take a breather. S-sorry this is hard for me.”

“It’s okay,” he smiled, squeezing your hand back. “Do you want me to join you?” he softly asked.

“No-I want to be alone for a moment,” you smiled to show him you appreciated his concern.

He watched you leave and was alone for a moment. He glared at the painting, wondering what this person could have done to hurt you this much. How could someone even hurt the most precious person to ever walk on earth?

He heard the door open loudly, making him turn immediately. You were at the other side of the door, looking up at him with your eyes red evidently from crying. He walked past everything—the table and the clutter on the floor—hastily just so he could hug you.

He carefully closed the door as you leaned into him. Your body was weak due to repressed emotions now releasing all at once. He noticed your knees slowly giving up and he guided both of you to sit on the floor.

The camera, the photos, the paintbrush, the painting—all were forgotten the moment he wrapped his arms around you. He cradled your face with his hands, brushing your cheek and wiping your tears.

“I’m a mess,” you said, sniffing.

“You’re beautiful,” he responded, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?” he cooed.

“Will it help?”

“I think so. But it’s still up to you,” he replied honestly.

You nodded. “I know you have questions, ask them.”

“Who’s the man in the painting?”

“My father. Or at least what I remember of him.”

His back was resting on the wall as you leaned into his side, his arm was still wrapped around you.

“And the house in the background, is that your family’s house?”

“It’s the orphanage. I spent my whole childhood there. That’s where I grew up.”

“Did he visit you there?”

“No,” you laughed painfully. “Remember what I told you before? That the best thing about painting is that I can paint whatever I want to see or happen? That painting is one of them.”

He was listening intently. He didn’t want to say anything because he knew that you didn’t want any advice at the moment, you just wanted a listener.

“I never met my mother. The caregivers at the orphanage told me she died when she birthed me. When I asked them how I got there they told me about my father. He took care of me for 4 months, and then I think his heart broke whenever he saw my face because I looked a lot like my mother. It came to a point where he couldn’t look at me or care for me anymore so he put me in that orphanage. I guess the heartbreak was bigger than the joy that I brought.

“I always imagined him visiting me, getting me out of that place, and bringing me home. But that didn’t happen. So I coped with drawing and painting. Until now, I still wonder what could’ve happened if he came back for me… hence why I’m doing the painting.”

“Do you have any pictures of him?” he asked.

“I only had one. It was a picture of my parents at their wedding. I used to stare at it every day until I lost it and I would never forgive myself for being so careless back then. The last time I held that picture and stared at it was when I was 7. It’s been too long and I can’t seem to remember his face that much.”

“Is that why it’s so hard for you to paint his face?”

“Yes. But also because of the realization that my wishes only come true in my paintings. I wanted him to come back for me or at least visit me. I didn’t get that visit, so I’m getting it in the painting.”

“Have you tried looking for him?”

You nodded. “Of course. But you can’t find who doesn’t want to be found.”

“Did you at least have any people who cared for you like a parent?” he asked, sympathy evident in his expression.

“I had this one particular caregiver who made me experience what it was like to have a mother. She was the one who gave me my first paintbrush and painting set. She was the one who made me discover that I had a talent for drawing and painting.

“But she didn’t stay for long because she had to leave the orphanage permanently to take care of her own family. She told me something happened and she had to take care of a little boy.”

Peter’s face furrowed from the familiarity of that exact situation, but he let it slide eventually. This was your story, this wasn’t about him.

“I have some questions for you too,” you chuckled. Tears were no longer falling on your face. Peter was right again. Indeed, talking about your past helped.

“Shit. Do I have to get nervous?” he joked.

“It depends on what your answers are gonna be,” you joked back. “How did you get your camera? Did you buy it or is it from someone you look up to?”

“The answer is the latter. I had a teacher once in high school, he wasn’t a professional photographer but we shared the same interests. I remember the first time he stepped into the room to teach English but instead of focusing on him the first thing I noticed was his DSLR camera. It was kept and hidden in a bag but I know a camera bag when I see one. I think, over time, he noticed I was always glancing at his camera that one day he called me to stay after his class and gave it to me. He told me that I needed it more.”

“Were you two close?” you asked.

“We were, yeah.”

“Where is he now?”

“He died a year ago. He’s gone now but I still treasure every lesson he’s taught me.”

“And your parents?”

“They died when I was 4 from a plane crash. Since then, I stayed with my aunt before she was gone too.”

“I’m sorry, Pete. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s fine. I feel comfortable around you—the heavy things don’t feel as heavy anymore.”

Silence surrounded the apartment, calming the two of you as you held each other. No one needed to speak at the moment, just you in his arms were enough.

Day almost turned into night and you finally stood up.

“You don’t have to finish it today,” he said as he noticed you staring at the painting anxiously.

“I know. But I want to.”

“Okay,” he smiled. “Then I’ll be there with you.”

He walked towards you and intertwined his hand with yours.

“Thank you.”

Together, you walked until you were in front of the easel again. He picked up the paintbrush and held it in front of you. He gave you an encouraging look and you smiled as you took the brush with courage.

“Here we go.”

You did the eyebrows first, it didn’t take you as long as you did when you did the nose and lips.

The eyes.

The hardest part because the eyes were what looked into the soul.

One stroke.

Two strokes.

Three strokes.

You weren’t shaking anymore.

Four strokes.

Five strokes.

“You can do it,” Peter encouraged.

Six strokes.

Seven Strokes.

“You’re doing great,” his hand held yours tighter.

The last stroke.

You did it. You painted your father. You remembered his face. And above all, you painted him in front of the orphanage, coming back to get you.

You smiled.

Peter stiffened beside you. His eyes widened as he looked at your father in the painting.

“Peter?” you called his name.

He stayed unmoving.

“Pete? Are you okay?”

“That’s him…” he pointed at your father.

You were confused. “Who?”

“My teacher in high school. The one I told you about. The one who gave me my camera,” he collected his camera from the table. “The one who gave me this.”

You were speechless and shocked to the core. “Are you sure?”

“It makes sense now,” he continued. “He once told me in our conversations that the greatest mistake he’d ever made was leaving something he loved because he was so scared he would never be deserving of it.”

You didn’t know what to feel.

“But now I realize, he wasn’t talking about a ‘thing’, he was talking about someone. You.”

“Did he try to come back for me?” you asked, curious but you weren’t hopeful.

“I-I don’t know… I’m sorry.”

“I-It’s okay,” you sniffed, wiping your cheeks. Funny, you weren’t even sure when the tears started to cascade down on them.

“You mentioned your teacher died last year, right? That means he’s…”

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” he softly spoke, even his eyes couldn’t help but tear up slightly.

“It’s not your fault. Besides, he wasn’t even there for me for most of my life. It’s fine,” you reasoned, telling him it was all good but another tear still slipped from your eye.

He hugged your side and stayed like that for a good while as he tried to think of another subject to talk about to keep you from hurting any longer. His eyes caught the brush holder and focused on an old paintbrush that you use almost every time. It seemed to be your favorite. The marks on the wooden handle told him the age of the brush; the bristles that were still intact and usable told him just how much you take care of your art supplies.

“That paintbrush… you use it every time, is that your favorite?” he already knew the answer but he still asked just to distract you.

You didn’t need to follow where his eyes were looking or ask him anything, you already knew the brush he was talking about. “Yes, it is my favorite. Remember when I told you I had this caregiver in the orphanage that gave me my first painting set and paintbrush?” you said before picking up the brush. “This is the paintbrush.”

“You must’ve taken good care of it all these years,” he commented.

“I did. It’s special and it holds a lot of good memories.”

“What’s your favorite memory?” he asked, interested.

“Me as a little kid doing my first painting with my caregiver. She was encouraging me every step of the way.”

“What’s her name?”

“May.”

His eyes widened with realization. He remembered asking his aunt what her job was before she took him in after the incident that killed his parents. She had told him she was a caregiver at an orphanage. But the city is wide and big, it never occurred to him that that orphanage was the same one you were from.

“May Parker,” he breathed out.

You looked at him. “Yes! That’s her–I forgot her last name but that’s her. Do you know her?”

“She’s my aunt.”

Now everything made sense and all the why’s were answered. No wonder why you felt a sense of familiarity the first time he put his camera down and you saw his face. No wonder why your heart jumped when you learned his name. May Parker… Peter Parker… holy shit. How come you didn’t notice that before?

“You’re the little boy she always talked about. Her little nephew who loved taking pictures so much,” you said, eyes once again starting to tear up.

“And you’re the little painter girl she always mentioned,” he smiled. “She promised me she would introduce me to you but life got busy and that never happened.”

“But look at us now. I guess fate still found its way to introduce us to each other,” you stated softly.

Peter once again cradled your face with his hands, slowly stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. “Can I tell you something?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“That day I met you at the park, I was at my ending point with photography. That day, I was determined to find the last project worthy of my dying passion. Then I met you. And in just a matter of days, I knew you, and it changed my life,” he started.

“You taught me lessons about art and life. You gave me something I’ve been trying to get back for a long time—hope.

“Above all, you made me remember why I even started taking pictures. You made me realize my purpose. I know now that I never lost the flame, the candle just stopped burning. But you… you rekindled it and suddenly it was back again… and it’s stronger and hotter than ever.

“Now, I can admit, to anyone and myself, I love photography. This is my passion. It’s not just the flame… but the fire within me that sways with the wind.”

He felt your hands gently wrap around his wrists as he continued caressing your face. “Oh, Peter…” you whispered.

“T-there is something beyond words that I feel for you. I-I don't know how to properly say it but I’m still gonna try,” he whispered back. “You’re not just the muse of my favorite pictures, you are my camera. Without you, I’m unable to reach my full potential. You’re the perfect angle I’ve always wanted to find. And now that I’ve found you… everything makes sense. The blank spaces in my heart and in my life aren’t blank anymore because your name is now written all over them.”

You moved closer so your forehead could touch his. “And you, Peter… are the colors that I paint on my canvases. The sunrise to my sunset. Ever since you came, the meaningless life I had before became meaningful.”

Silence surrounded you for a moment. Your foreheads were still touching while both your eyes were closed. Tears stained both your cheeks as the two of you couldn’t stop crying out of adoration and love for each other.

“All the ones who guided us are gone now,” you breathed out.

He placed a long kiss on your forehead before speaking.

“From now on, it’s only you and I.”

After uncovering the past and embracing the present, you were looking forward to the future.

It truly was amazing how art could connect people together.

The hopeless photographer was once again hopeful;

The restless painter wasn’t exhausted anymore.

And soon the two of you would realize that the love you shared was a testament of…

Interlacing fates,

Intertwining lines,

and

Connecting arts.

SLYTHERHEIGN TAGLIST: @writingstoraes @joshiiieeenesx

TASM!PETER PARKER TAGLIST: @mymilkducts @i-am-woman-strong @lauraneedstochill @jeanettexkillian @ms-mandalore @enaraism @alessandralol @sad-darksoul @sincericida @mentallystablepotato @mich0731 @logolepsic-insomniac @k0miiki @dreamsarecloserwithyou @jumilzzz @primroseparker @preciousbabypeter @myheartonthemove @rebecca-johnson-28 @silkholland @ellievickstar @okkulta @geekygamerchick @starqwerty20 @the-quiet-observer @softiepeterpan @willowhaired @sflame15-blog

me, as the author, connecting with the story through writing is further proof of how art connects us all together. i can only hope that i wrote this well so that you can connect with it too through reading. thank you all for being patient, this is for all of you.

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