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silksepia · 21 days ago

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doctor's orders — joel miller.

pairing: jackson!joel miller x reader

requests are: open!

summary: your period cramps are awful. joel just wants to help because he's so caring, no selfish intentions at all.

tags: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, oral (f receiving), smutty, ambiguous reader (i'm keeping it as vague as possible so y'all can fit yourselves in), period sex, joel doesn't care about blood because he's a #real #man, shy/nervous reader, joel miller eats pussy like his life depends on it

a/n: there's something so amusing about this being my joel miller debut fic on here. this bts photo dropped earlier and all i could think of was this man eating you out, so enjoy!

my masterlist

Your period was always a thing of force - heavy and physically taxing, the cramps making you curl in on yourself and unable to stand up straight as they pulsed through you in waves. It was four days of suffering, and you refused to take any of the painkillers Jackson had to offer, not wanting to deplete supplies when there was already a shortage of everything.

You would just have to ride it out, as you always did.

Joel hated your period. Not because it was something that grossed him out, but because you always withdrew from him when it was that time of the month. It seemed like you were almost ashamed of him touching you, cutting him off when things shifted from an innocent kiss to heavy petting on the couch, when his fingers would start to dip into the waistband of your pajamas. It was a week of not being able to shower with you, not being able to dive between your legs after a long day of patrol, and he could feel his frustrations and desires simmering under his skin.

The window of opportunity presented itself when he overheard the town doctor telling you that you should “try making yourself feel good. Orgasms can help loosen up those cramping muscles. Don’t shy away from it.” You had broken off from him on your morning walk to the mess hall, eager to find a natural solution to your pain. Joel had lingered, refusing to go anywhere without you, and those words buried into his head, nestled deep into his mind. You couldn’t refuse doctor’s orders. They looped through his brain as you settled in for breakfast, barely releasing their hold on him when you asked him what he wanted to do on his day off. He shrugged noncommittedly, muttering something about a new project or helping the town as he pushed his eggs around on his plate.

“Joel. Joel.”

His head jerks up. You’re staring at him, head tilted as you frown from across the table.

“Are you even listening to what I’m saying?”

“‘M sorry, darlin’. Just tired.”

He isn’t though, and he almost feels guilty for zoning out while you were trying to talk to him. Eyes softening, you reach across the table to brush against his knuckles.

“Why don’t we just spend the day in bed then? I don’t feel too hot anyway. We can just… exist?”

He turns his hand over, palm sliding under yours, thick fingers wrapping around your wrist to squeeze gently before releasing you.

“Sounds good to me.”

Your meals were tucked away quickly, the promises of warm sheets and warmer touches making you eager to get home and into bed. You can feel the dull ache of your cramps creeping in, shifting in your lower back and sitting there, heavy and present. Your shoulders curl inward and Joel automatically pulls you into his side as you make your way back to your home, his thumb rubbing circles into the base of your spine to try and alleviate the ache.

The silence that blankets both of you is gentle as you enter your home. The kind that comes with knowing that there were no responsibilities calling your name, the world still turning even if you weren’t an active part of it. Your coat slips off your shoulders, Joel hanging it up next to the door as you toe your boots off and shuffle into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. The pain in your back flares and you wince, one hand shifting to cradle your lower stomach.

Joel is hovering.

His presence is large, taking up the kitchen as you exhale slowly, watching you work through the twinging in your abdomen. His hands drop to your shoulders, kneading at the muscle as you try to settle yourself.

“Let’s lay down,” He offers, and you try not to melt when his thumbs catch on the knots of your muscles, meticulously working them out. He guides you out of the kitchen and up the stairs, still hovering over your shoulder as you slowly ascend to the top level of your shared house. He ushers you into the bedroom, gentle and firm hands peeling your sweater off, leaving you in your camisole and jeans before he’s settling next to you on top of the covers. You watch him rake his fingers through his hair as he sits back against the headboard before dragging you into his lap.

“Joel…”

He shakes his head, refusing to hear your protests as he brushes his hands through your hair, moving it out of your face before cupping your jaw and pulling you closer.

“Jus’ wanna kiss you. Been missing you lately.”

You can’t help but smile at his softness. It’s a side to him that rarely peeks out, tucked so deeply away that when you first started seeing him, you didn’t think it even existed. Now it shines every time you’re in the comfort of your home together, where the outside world can’t touch the quietness you two built.

“Alright, one kiss and then we nap.” You grin, leaning forward to brush your nose against his. His mouth quirks into a barely-there smile before he’s dragging you flush against his chest, knees drawing up to bracket you in against him. You slot your mouth against his gently, a whisper of a kiss as your hands land on his chest, fingers twisting in the soft material of his shirt. He lets out a quiet groan, lips immediately parting against yours, the kiss deepening as one of his hands curls around the back of your neck to hold you in place. He licks into your mouth, needy sighs dripping out of you as he pushes further, teeth nipping at your lower lip. You cant your hips down, feeling his growing arousal underneath you as he continues to kiss you senseless.

Joel’s hand glides down the curve of your hip, shifting to your front as he toys with the button of your jeans. He feels you tense above him, can feel your withdrawal before you vocalize it, and pulls back to look up at you. You’re pliant in his lap, cheeks flushed and lips swollen from kissing, eyes glazed over with need.

“I– we shouldn’t–”

“No.”

You frown. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

He frowns back at you, hands moving back up to grip your hips. “I wanna make you feel good, sweetheart.”

“You are, I’m just on my… it’s okay. I don’t–” You flush, and he can’t help but smirk.

“‘M not afraid of a little blood, baby. Just let me take care of you,” He purrs, gently moving to lay you down on the bed. He shifts onto his elbows, hovering over you as he leans down and presses a kiss against your forehead, and then against your mouth.

“Doctor’s orders,” He adds, adjusting his weight to smooth a hand down your chest, your stomach, hitting the top of your jeans and flicking open the button. Your eyes flutter closed as he works his mouth against your jaw, your neck, thick fingers hastily shoving the waistband of your jeans down.

“You don’t have to do this just because the doctor said it’ll help,” You breathe, and he fervently shakes his head.

“Been thinking ‘bout doing this since the first time.”

Your thighs clench at his words, hips tilting up so that he can strip you easier, faster. You can feel yourself growing slick from want, your arousal building slowly in your lower belly as his mouth continues to shift down the column of your neck and over the tops of your breasts. He doesn’t bother with taking your camisole off, his impatience leaching into his actions as he pulls the front of your top down and under your breasts, lips greedy as they move across the unveiled softness of you. He works his mouth over your nipples, one hand coming up to pinch and pull as he sucks on the other. There’s a haziness clouding your head, half-formed thoughts dancing around as your desire builds.

“J-Joel, a towel, we need a towel,” You sputter as he yanks your jeans down your calves. He sits back on his heels, greying curls mussed, cheeks pink, his breathing heavy as he drinks you in. His eyes are dark, pupils blown as they rake over your chest, the way your tank top bunches at your stomach, your underwear that’s hiding your arousal from him.

He licks his lips and your heart stutters in your chest at his unabashed want. Your eyes flit down, taking in the tent of his jeans, his erection straining against the fabric before flicking back up to his. After a brief staredown, both of you unwilling to interrupt the moment, he sighs.

“Don’t move,” He growls out, shuffling off the bed and disappearing into the hallway. You listen to him banging around in the linen closet as your breathing slows, eyes focusing on the chipped paint of the ceiling. Your nipples tighten against the cold of the room and you shift, thighs rubbing together in anticipation. It takes him a minute before he’s back, looming over the bed with one of your lesser towels clutched in his fist.

“Hips up, baby,” He murmurs, spreading the towel out underneath you before nestling himself back between your legs. “Let me take care of you, yeah? Doctor said it’ll feel better, lemme make you feel better. Missed the pretty noises you make when you cum.”

He’s looking up at you, fingers poised at the waistband of your panties. He’s waiting for the go ahead, you realize, and you reach down to card your fingers through his messy curls.

“Okay…” You breathe, and Joel spurs into motion, yanking down your underwear and tossing the pair behind him. He groans at the sight of your cunt, glistening pink with the mix of your arousal and blood, his hands coming up to grip the insides of your thighs as he pushes them further apart.

“Fuck… missed this sweet thing. Making me go a week without tastin’ you, driving me insane. Bet she’s real needy for me too, huh?”

He slides one hand off your leg, bringing it up to trail a finger through your slick. You twitch, hips jerking from the touch as he watches it cling to his skin, pearlescent and sticky, before bringing his hand up to his mouth and licking it clean.

“Tastes good, baby. Don’t know what you were gettin’ all shy on me for.” He grins, draping an arm across your stomach to hold you down as he presses his nose against the top of your pussy, inhaling deeply. His tongue darts out, catching on the hood of your clit and you jerk against him, a whimper spilling out of your mouth.

“Joel, please,” You whine, eager for him to get his mouth on you. Your cramps are still slowly rolling through you, though the weight and warmth of his arm keeps them at bay. He hushes you, pulling back to meet your eyes.

“You’re gonna let me take my time and enjoy my meal, alright, sweetheart?” His voice is low, rumbling in his chest as he stares you down unwaveringly. You swallow, nodding.

“Good girl.”

His mouth is back on you before you could get another word out, licking a stripe up your seam as you shake beneath him, fingers curling into his hair and pulling as he works on you. He's a man starved, moaning against your cunt as you tug on his locks, tongue slipping into your weeping hole before moving up and flicking against your clit. He latches on and sucks, the feeling making your back arch off the bed and your toes curl. The hand that isn’t holding you down trails against the inside of your thigh before one finger dips in, pushing and curling to hit the spongy spot inside you that makes you see stars.

“Fuck…” You moan, writhing against his mouth.

“Yeah?” He breathes, before latching back onto your clit and working a second finger into you. Your eyes squeeze closed, your orgasm building as he curls his knuckles in tandem with his mouth. “Y’gonna come? I wanna see you come, baby, please, let me hear it…”

He sounds as broken as you, voice ragged with need, hips subtly grinding against the mattress as he continues to fuck his fingers into your squelching cunt, the mix of your arousal and blood coating his beard. Your grip on his hair tightens when he crooks his fingers just right, sucking on your clit particularly hard.

“Joel–!”

Your orgasm rips through you, gasps and moans spilling out of you as your thighs clench around his head. He coaxes you through it, murmuring praises against your cunt. So good, so sweet, so pretty when you come on my tongue like that. He's lapping up your juices as you tremble under him, white spots swimming in your vision, your chest heaving from the sheer force of your orgasm.

Fingers withdrawing, he plants a gentle kiss on your skin, right above your pussy, a soft red print of his lips left behind as he pulls back to look at you.

“Good, baby?”

He’s a mess, small streaks of blood visibly clinging to his beard and mouth along with the pearly sheen of your come. There’s a visible stain on the front of his jeans where his pre-cum leaked through from him rutting against the bed. You swallow a shaky laugh, nodding as your body settles into a soft hum. A heady feeling nestles in your bones, and you realize that your aches have fully ebbed away.

“It worked,” You murmur, dropping your head back against the pillows, blissfully fucked out. He grins, pride and satisfaction written across his face as he takes in your satiated appearance.

“Good.” You hear the familiar cling of his belt buckle, and your breath catches. “Because I’m still not done with you, sweetheart.”

taglist: @psychxbby

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal x reader #the last of us #tlou #smut #joel miller fanfic #joel tlou #joel miller smut #jackson!joel miller #reader insert

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mysticalcrowntyrant · 1 month ago

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Yandere Slasher x Reader

Staring down at the icy water below, you sobbed. How could you have known? How could you have possibly known that your life would unravel in a single, dazzling instant? Life was strange that way, you supposed—one moment, you were laughing with your friends, paddling down the river, and the next, their bodies were staining the current red.

You wiped your eyes with trembling hands, the stickiness of sweat clinging to your fingers. Carefully, you stepped over a corpse, its glassy, unblinking eyes staring up at nothing. Your stomach twisted, bile clawing up your throat, but you swallowed it down.

The wind howled through the trees, a bitter, keening sound, and crows cawed mournfully from their shadowed nests. A shudder wracked your body, and you swallowed your anxiety with a gulping, desperate whimper.

That man—that awful, blood-slicked masked man—was still out there. Lurking. Waiting. Watching.

Hours dragged by, and he hadn’t found you.

You were shivering in a tree’s gnarled embrace, the rough bark biting into your arms and legs, when you heard it—the slow, crunching of heavy boots against dead leaves. You froze, breath caught in your chest, fingers digging into the mossy branch beneath you. Your heart hammered, each beat a desperate, panicked drum. Maybe he wouldn’t look up. Maybe he’d think you’d run further. Maybe—

A creak. The tree shuddered. You bit your tongue, stifling a gasp, but your terror gave you away. The masked man’s head tilted up, the crude, dirt-streaked mask covering his face. His clothes hung in filthy tatters, stained dark with mud and crimson blood.

You didn’t even have time to scream. A massive, calloused hand shot up, fingers closing around your ankle like a steel trap. With one brutal yank, you were wrenched from your perch, the world spinning in a blur of twisting branches and sky. You hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. Pain blossomed in your side, but before you could even curl in on yourself, that iron grip seized your arm.

He dragged you, half-limp and stumbling, through the forest. The world around you blurred—tangled underbrush, clawing vines, the endless, shadowed trees whispering in the wind. You tried to fight, digging your heels into the dirt, clawing at his hand, but it was like trying to pull against a mountain.

The cabin appeared out of the mist, an ancient, sagging thing with rotting timbers and a door that hung crooked on its hinges. The windows were black, smeared with filth. Your heart sank.

Inside, the air was thick and stale, the darkness pressing close. The man shoved you forward, and you stumbled, hitting the warped, splintered floor. Rusted chains hung from the wall, and without a word, he looped one around your ankle, snapping the iron cuff shut with a brutal finality.

You scrambled back, pressing yourself against the wall, breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. He loomed over you, his breath a slow, rasping growl behind the mask. For a moment, he just stared—those wild, animal eyes boring into you. Then, without a sound, he turned and left, the door slamming shut behind him.

The hours stretched into a sick eternity. The darkness seemed to pulse, shadows crawling at the edges of the room. Panic gnawed at you, your fingers scrabbling at the iron cuff, but it was hopeless. The metal was old, but solid.

Then, the door groaned open. The masked man entered, a dripping, bloodied slab of raw meat in his grasp. He approached, crouching in front of you. Slowly, he held it out—pushing it toward your face.

Your stomach twisted with a sick, frantic revulsion. The smell was sharp, metallic.

“I-I can’t…” Your voice was a broken whisper, shaking so violently it was barely audible. “Please. I… I can’t eat raw food.”

His head tilted, the mask’s rough edges catching the dim light. He didn’t speak, just stared at you for a long, unbearable moment. Then, slowly, he stood. The raw meat dropped from his hand, smacking wetly against the floor. He turned and stepped out, the door creaking shut behind him.

Silence. Time crawled by, thick and choking. Then, the door opened again. The man entered, now carrying something that was charred black, still sizzling. He crouched before you, holding it out again. The meat was overcooked—burned in places, tough-looking. But it was no longer raw.

He waited, head cocked, those wild eyes watching you with a strange, expectant intensity.

Your shaking hand reached out, and you tore a piece off. It was like chewing ash, but you forced it down, wincing at every bite. His gaze never left you. He didn’t move. Not even a twitch. His unblinking eyes bore into you, tracking every slow, hesitant bite you took. The charred meat was bitter, crumbling between your teeth, each swallow scraping down your dry throat. But you ate. You forced yourself to, your gaze never daring to rise fully to his.

And he never looked away.

When you finally finished, your stomach twisted, but you fought against the urge to throw up. He leaned closer, and for one dizzying moment, you thought he might reach out and touch you. But he didn’t. He only stared. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he stood and walked out, the door creaking shut behind him.

Darkness swallowed the room. Silence wrapped around you. You tried to fight the exhaustion gnawing at your bones, fear pricking at every nerve. But eventually, sleep dragged you under, your body crumpling against the cold, splintered wall.

You dreamed of blood.

Red, staining the water—your friends’ laughter twisting into screams. Their bodies drifting beneath the surface, limbs tangled like twisted reeds, faces pale and empty. The man’s hulking shadow loomed behind them, the crude, grinning mask dripping dark, sticky trails. He moved through the river like a monster, slow and unstoppable. And then he saw you. He lunged—

You woke with a choking gasp, the dream’s claws still raking at your chest. Panic crushed you, your breathing coming in frantic, ragged bursts. Your vision swam, the darkness of the cabin feeling thick, pressing close—

A weight settled on your forehead. A massive, calloused hand, rough and filthy, pressed against your skin.

You froze, your breath caught, your heart a pounding thunder. The masked man was crouched in front of you, his dark eyes fixed on your face. His hand was hot against your sweat-slicked brow, the pressure firm but not painful. He leaned closer, head tilting slightly, as if studying you.

Your breath trembled, but your body was locked in place, paralyzed by fear. He didn’t speak—he never spoke—but something in his gaze seemed to shift.

Then, just as suddenly as he’d appeared, he pulled his hand back. He stood, the old wood creaking beneath his weight, and walked away. The door groaned as it opened, then thudded shut again, leaving you shivering, the ghost of his touch still burning on your skin. You stayed awake after that, too shaken to sleep again. The darkness felt alive, pressing against you from every corner of the decaying cabin. Your breaths were shallow, your pulse a frantic rhythm in your ears. You rubbed at your forehead, trying to scrub away the sensation of his touch.

Hours must have passed. Time twisted strangely in the darkness. Your throat was dry, your muscles stiff and aching. Hunger gnawed at you, but the thought of that charred meat turned your stomach.

The door creaked open again.

Your body tensed instinctively, your hands gripping the cold chain around your ankle. The masked man stepped in, his hulking frame filling the doorway, blotting out the thin slivers of pale light behind him. His mask seemed even dirtier now, streaked with dried mud, one edge cracked, exposing a bit of dark, matted hair. His wild eyes found you immediately.

He carried something in his filthy hands—an old, metal cup, its edges dented and rusted. Water sloshed inside, some of it spilling to the rotting floor as he crossed the room. He knelt in front of you again, and without a word, thrust the cup forward.

You stared at it, then at him. Your mouth felt like sandpaper, your tongue sticking to the roof. But you hesitated. Was it clean? Did it matter?

His head tilted slightly. When you didn’t take it, his thick fingers wrapped around your wrist. He guided your hand to the cup. You flinched but didn’t fight. Slowly, you raised it to your lips, tipping it cautiously.

The water was stale and metallic, but you drank it greedily, too desperate to care. Some of it dribbled down your chin.

When the cup was empty, he didn’t pull away immediately. His hand still gripped your wrist, a faint, pulsing pressure against your racing pulse. Then, his thumb brushed against your skin.

You froze, breath caught in your throat.

He released you, rising in a slow, heavy motion. The cup clattered to the floor, rolling a little before settling. Without a word, he turned and walked out, the door groaning and slamming shut behind him.

Your heart thundered in the silence. You stared at the rusted cup, your wrist still tingling where he’d touched you.

Was he trying to take care of you? Or was this something else—something darker, something worse? Your mind raced with possibilities, each one more desperate than the last. You were his prisoner. His toy. His… his what?

You couldn’t stay here. Couldn’t live in this darkness, in his strange, silent shadow. Your eyes fell to the chain at your ankle, thick and rusted but solid. Your fingers probed the iron cuff—cold, heavy. No matter how you twisted, it wouldn’t slide off.

But there had to be a way. Some weakness. Some escape. Even if you had to…

The door crashed open.

You flinched, a startled gasp escaping you. The man stormed in, faster than before, and your heart lurched. His breathing was louder, harsher, almost a growl beneath the mask. His shoulders heaved, and something dark and wet dripped from his hands—water? Blood? You couldn’t tell in the murky light.

He moved directly to you, and before you could even think to shrink away, his massive hand closed around your jaw. The pressure was firm—not enough to hurt, but enough to lock you in place. His eyes blazed down at you, and his head tilted, that animal curiosity returning.

You whimpered, a tiny, broken sound muffled by his grip.

Then, slowly, his other hand rose, his thick, filthy fingers brushing against your cheek. A dark smear trailed across your skin. His thumb pressed gently, almost as though he were wiping something away. It was water. His hands were dripping with water. But the water on his hands was murky, tainted with dark streaks of grime. His attempt to clean you only smeared the filth across your cheek, leaving a sticky, mud-streaked cheeks. Panic clawed at you, your skin crawling beneath his touch, but your body remained rigid, locked in place by his iron grip on your jaw.

You tried to turn away, but his fingers tightened slightly, forcing your gaze back to him. His eyes searched your face, the erratic flicker within them giving no hint of reason, no trace of humanity. His breathing grew slower, his chest rising and falling like the tide.

“P-Please,” you whispered, barely daring to speak. “Please, let me go.”

His thumb brushed over your lips, smearing another streak of muck across them. He seemed almost… fascinated, watching the way your skin yielded beneath his touch, the tremble of your mouth against his rough, filthy thumb.

You squeezed your eyes shut, tears burning behind your lids.

“Please…”

For one dreadful, endless moment, you were sure he wouldn’t stop—sure that he would press harder, force you to endure the filthy, clumsy attempt at… what? Comfort? Control? You didn’t know. You didn’t want to know.

But then, abruptly, he pulled away. His hand fell to his side, leaving your skin streaked with dirt and cold with lingering dampness. He stood there for a moment, staring down at you. Staring.

Masterlist

#yandere oc #oc x reader #x reader #yandere #male yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #male yandere x reader #yandere fanfiction #yandere imagines #yandere slashers #slasher #slasher oc #obsessive love

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iydiamartinx · 2 months ago

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HOME IS IN YOUR ARMS

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune & @omi-resources word count: 541 synopsis: After a long night, Damian comes home to your arms a/n: Damian is obviously considered aged up for this.

It was just past four when you heard the window.

Not the one in the living room. The one in the bedroom. The one only he ever used.

You blinked awake as the curtains stirred from the breeze, the faint sound of boots landing on hardwood trailing behind. Damian never made a sound unless he wanted to. And tonight… he clearly didn’t.

You didn’t speak. Just watched as the shadows shifted and resolved into him.

His uniform was streaked with grime and the dull red of dried blood. Not enough to panic you—but enough to make your chest tighten. His mouth was set in a tight line, jaw clenched telling you it had been a long night.

He moved silently toward the corner, shedding the armor piece by piece. The gloves, the shirt, the belt—all placed down carefully, as always. But his movements were slower tonight. Stiff. Like something deeper than fatigue was pressing into him.

Once the last of the fabric was gone, he stood still for a long moment, facing away from the bed.

His shoulders were tense. His hands hung at his sides, fingers twitching slightly before one curled into a fist.

You saw the hesitation in him—the way his chest rose, too shallow to be calming. The way he clenched and unclenched his jaw like he was fighting himself. Like some part of him still didn’t know if he was allowed to fall apart.

“Damian,” you said quietly, just his name. Nothing more.

He didn’t turn. But a breath shuddered out of him.

And then—he moved.

Not with his usual confidence. Not with the arrogance or sharp lines he showed the world. But slow and almost uncertain. He crossed the room and climbed into the bed like he wasn’t sure he should be there.

You didn’t hesitate. You lifted the blankets and reached for him, and the moment your arms opened, something in him cracked. He pressed into you, head to your chest, body curled tightly against yours.

You wrapped around him immediately. One leg tucked over his. One arm anchored him close. The other threaded through his hair, stroking in slow, steady motions.

He was quiet. Too quiet.

But you felt the way his fists slowly loosened. Felt the way he breathed, shallow at first, then deeper. Not fully relaxed—but closer.

You kissed the crown of his head, then his temple, lips lingering longer than usual.

You didn’t say it’s okay. You didn’t say you’re safe.

He wouldn’t want the words.

So you let your touch say it for you.

You ran your fingers through his hair again, slower this time. Felt the barest tremble in his exhale.

And for all the ways he tried not to show it, he needed this.

The warmth. The stillness. The unspoken comfort of your arms around him. Your lips at his hairline. Your fingers gently stroking his scalp in endless loops that slowed his heartbeat and silenced the noise in his mind.

He didn’t speak. He wouldn’t. But he stayed. Let you hold him. Let himself be small for just a moment, hidden in the softness he pretended not to need.

In the dark, no one saw him fall apart.

But you did.

And you held him through it.

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #damian al ghul #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n #damian al ghul x you #damian al ghul x reader #dc robin #dcu #dc universe

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sukumna · 2 months ago

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┌─ .✦ SNEAKING INTO YOUR DORM ROOM

𐔌 ─ cw. fem!reader. none.

𐔌 ─ characters. yuji. megumi. todo. yuuta

Yuji Itadori ੭

Yuji is not subtle.

You wake to the sound of grunting outside your window—someone struggling, sneakers scuffing against the wall. A soft thud. Silence. Then another, louder thump. A curse.

Rubbing your eyes, you sit up just as the window slides open.

“Ow—okay, I’m in,” Yuji mutters triumphantly, hoisting a leg over the ledge like he didn’t just nearly break his neck getting here.

You sigh, exasperated but mostly amused. “Yuji.”

“Oh, hey, babe.” He grins, finally making it inside—only for his foot to catch on the windowsill. He stumbles forward, and you barely manage to grab his arm before he faceplants onto the floor.

“Nice catch, baby.” He laughs, breathless.

“You’re the worst at sneaking in,” you scold, but your hands are already cupping his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks. “Why are you even here?”

He leans in, presses a quick, warm kiss to your lips.

“Missed you,” he murmurs. “Wanted to see you before bed.”

Heat creeps up your neck. You huff, pushing him lightly. “You’re so reckless.”

“Only for you.” He grins, arms looping around your waist as he pulls you onto the bed with him. He buries his face in your neck, body warm and solid against yours. “Just a little while, okay? Then I’ll go back.”

But you already know he won’t. And you don’t care, pulling the covers over you both.

Megumi Fushiguro ੭

Megumi has sneaking into your room down to a science.

No clumsy knocking. No tripping over the windowsill. Just the quiet slide of glass, the soft pad of footsteps, and then he’s there—standing at the foot of your bed like a shadow.

You stir, blinking against the dim glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains.

“Gumi?” Your voice is hushed, thick with sleep.

“Yeah,” he says, quiet as always. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You rub your eyes as he steps closer. “You always say that, but you still sneak in.”

He doesn’t deny it. Just leans down, presses a kiss to your forehead before sitting at the edge of your bed, fingers trailing absentmindedly over your thigh.

“You left your door unlocked earlier,” he murmurs. “You shouldn’t do that.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s what the great Fushiguro snuck in to tell me?”

“Maybe.” His lips twitch, just barely, but you catch it.

You grab the front of his tank, pulling him down until he’s beside you.

“You could just say you missed me.”

His hand settles against your lower back, warm and steady. “Didn’t wanna sleep alone,” he mumbles.

It’s as much of an admission as you’ll get. But it’s enough. You smile into his shirt, letting his warmth lull you back to sleep.

Yuta Okkotsu ੭

Yuta always hesitates before sneaking in, lingering outside your window like he’s second-guessing whether he should be here at all.

Tonight’s no different.

You hear the faintest shuffle outside, a barely-there breath before the window eases open. By the time his head pokes through—eyes wide, apologetic—you’re already sitting up.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Tried to be quiet.”

You scoot over, lifting the blanket in silent invitation.

Yuta doesn’t need to be told twice.

He climbs in carefully, shutting the window with practiced ease before slipping into bed beside you. His arms find your waist instinctively, pulling you close as he buries his face in your shoulder.

“Long day?” you ask, fingers combing through his hair.

He nods, exhales shakily. “Just needed this.”

Your chest aches at how small his voice sounds.

You tighten your hold, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I’m here,” you whisper. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

He sighs against your skin, his body finally relaxing.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice already slipping into sleep.

You don’t answer. Just hold him tighter, letting the weight of the day disappear between you.

Todo Aoi ੭

Sneaking in isn’t exactly Todo’s strong suit.

You jolt awake to the sound of your window being yanked open, followed by the heavy thud of boots hitting the floor.

“Babe,” he grins, standing at your bedside like he didn’t just commit a breaking and entering. “Did you miss me?”

You groan, flopping back onto your pillow. “Todo, you’re so loud—someone’s gonna hear you.”

He snorts. “Please. If anyone catches me, I’ll just say I was doing late-night training. Gotta keep these gains in check.”

He flexes dramatically. You try to glare, but the laugh slips out before you can stop it.

“Shut up and get in bed before Yaga finds out.” You grab his arm, yanking him down.

“Gladly.” He practically throws himself onto your mattress, making you bounce slightly. One strong arm wraps around your waist, effortlessly pulling you against his chest.

“Mmm,” he hums, satisfied. “Now this is real training—cuddling with my girl. Strengthening the bond. Deepening the connection.”

You roll your eyes, biting back another laugh. “You’re an idiot.”

“An idiot in love,” he corrects, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Now get some sleep, little one. Long day tomorrow.”

And just like that, he’s out, snoring softly into your hair like he belongs here.

Honestly? You think he does.

#sukumna.#yuji itadori #yuji x reader #yuji fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #megumi x reader #megumi x you #megumi fluff #aoi todo #aoi todo fluff #yuuta x reader #okkotsu yuuta #yuuta fluff

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 5 months ago

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the black sheep

a/n: wrote this at five in the morning after i woke up from a nightmare ✌️

summary: “don’t,” a sharp breath filled your lungs as you shook your head and your eyes instantly squeezed shut, “don’t do that… don’t act like you care just because my father pays you. I know you’re no better than all of the others out there…”

warnings: soft!mob!bucky x mob boss daughter!reader, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, forbidden romance, age gap, sexual references, horrible and abusive family, bullying, mental illness (depression, anxiety, stress), references to being institutionalised at a terrible place against one's will, party, dancing, crying

word count: 1511

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

The creak of a heavy pair of boots crossing over the threshold found your ears, though didn’t persuade your neck to twist around and see who had appeared in the doorway.

“Miss?” Bucky’s tone echoed quietly throughout the room as his metal hand continued to clutch the doorhandle he’d just twisted.

But instead of tearing your eyes away from the night sky that twinkled on the other side of the window, you instead continued to sit on the floor, the fancy dress you’d been forced into wrinkling around your legs, as you faintly began to murmur, “you know, I wanted to be an astronaut when I was little…” your eyes traced one of the constellations gleaming above, “it wasn’t because I had some fascination with space, but it was the one thing I could imagine that would take me as far away from here as possible…” a breath escaped you before your vision finally floated back down to earth and you glanced over your shoulder, “would you mind closing the door? It’s so loud out there…”

As you reunited your gaze to the world outside and you heard the door shut behind you, the mobster then carefully asked, “are you alright?”

“Don’t,” a sharp breath filled your lungs as you shook your head and your eyes instantly squeezed shut, “don’t do that… don’t act like you care just because my father pays you. I know you’re no better than all of the others out there…”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tried to conceal his painful awareness of your situation.

“I know what the others say behind my back,” you uttered, your mind haunted by their voices, playing the comments on a loop till they turned into boiling tar, “poor Y/n, weak and broken Y/n who is crazy and could never really be a part of this family… but unfortunately for everyone, I am,” you breathed, memories of your adolescence flooded your system, how they had sent you away to a broken institution at the smallest sign of vulnerability, “so I could never just leave. I couldn’t go out and earn my own money, they would cut off any attempt I made of getting a job in this city,” you pointed out their power, “and if I tried to get away, move to somewhere else, then they would have to take care of that as well because they can’t have a liability just out there. They own me, and they’ve made sure that I am nothing without them, and with them, I’d never be able to accomplish a goddamn thing. They wouldn’t hesitate to cut my life short if I ever stepped out of line again, you know that, it happened to my aunt… for all I know, it’ll probably happen as soon as my brother takes over, it is after all what everyone has surely wished for since the day I was born…”

As those last few venting words escaped your lips, a sinking feeling bloomed in your stomach as you realised those shattering truths hadn’t been contained in your thoughts alone.

“Oh shit…” tears began to blur your vision as you spun around and jaggedly rose to your feet, “please don’t tell anyone about any of that,” you took a panicked step forward, “I–… I didn’t mean any of it, it’s not–…” your chest rose and fell rapidly as you stared back at the gangster, “what do you want?” you attempted desperately, “do you want money? I could talk to my father and give you another leg up? I’ll give you whatever you want, just please don’t tell anyone, I–…”

An idea then struck through your terrified blubbering, and without giving it another thought, you dropped down to your knees before him.

“What are you doing?” he finally spoke, blinking down at you by his feet.

Wiping your cheek as a steady flow of tears rolled down them, you then reached out for Bucky’s belt and sniffled, “you can have me, if that’s what could buy your silence.”

But instead, your father’s right-hand man grabbed your hands, “stop,” he pleaded, “just stop.”

Blinking up into his eyes, your hazy vision then drifted down to his fingers enveloping your wrists before you gloomily concluded, “…right…of course… I get it,” your head bowed even further as you uttered, “why would you think of me any differently… of course, you wouldn’t want me to touch you, you probably think I’m cursed just like the rest of them do…”

But instead of ripping his touch away from your skin as if it was a scorching flame, Bucky’s frame suddenly lowered to be at your level, kneeling by you before he lifted one of your palms up to cup his stubbly cheek.

“I don’t,” a faint shake found his head, “never have,” you found yourself floating away into the ocean of his eyes as he stared back at you, his slow breath fanning across your wet cheeks at the close proximity, “I won’t tell anyone what you said,” he promised, his deep voice nearly at a whisper, “you have my word.”

But as you were filled with equal amounts of uncertainty, as well as shock, footsteps on the other side of the door found you both and tore you apart, just before the door ripped open and in strolled the boss himself.

“Barnes!” your father’s glare landed on the mobster first before it shifted to find you, hastily wiping your cheeks, “oh great, you found her,” he uttered impatiently, “darling, come, it’s time for your brother to cut the cake. You need to be there,” he swiftly waved a hand for you to shadow him.

The storm of the party made you feel as if you could come undone and burst into tears at any moment, pushing and shoving your shaky soul till you felt like just a tiny speck of dust floating around in the air. Keeping your gaze on the floor as you pushed through the bustling crowds, it stayed there as your sibling sank a shiny blade into the ridiculously elaborate cake that was rolled out for everyone to applaud.

Raw and bleeding while the others drank and laughed, your vision finally found enough courage to flicker up, though only to find those same blue eyes, across the room and locked upon you.

When the music soon was cranked up high and people swarmed to the middle of the floor in pairs, you briefly spotted one of your brother’s friends, a guy not too far from your own age, march straight towards you with an air of confidence that couldn’t help but relax your tense shoulders as you were slowly filled with hope.

But as he neared and a greeting fell from your lips, a confused look muddled up his features as he shot you a glance before grabbing the waiting hand of a girl standing in the crowd behind you.

Amused snickers and cruel comments found your ears even though you knew their tones attempted to be silent.

“What a freak.”

“Could you imagine if it had actually been her he’d wanted to dance with? In her dreams.”

“She should just run back to that insane asylum she somehow escaped from.”

With your back soon pressed up against one of the perimeter walls, a shadow then came to darken the spot on the floor your reddened eyes were glued to.

“You wanna dance?” you glanced up with a wide pair of eyes to spot Bucky settled in beside you.

“Why?” your brows knit together, “so that everyone can have another thing to laugh about?”

Holding out his palm, he then let out a sigh, “just take my hand,” and the next thing you knew, your fingers were tangled in his own.

Once he’d led you out onto the floor, your eyes darting around to all the bewildered glances that shot your way, a sudden breath then filled your lungs as his wide palm slid over your waist and dragged you in closer to his frame, causing your vision to cease their torture and meet his own steady gaze instead.

The sway was slow and intimate, though you weren’t sure if the sensation terrified or calmed you, as the intoxicating way he made you feel had previously been something you’d packed far away as just an inconsequential crush back when he’d first started working for your father. Though as he held you in his arms and showed you a rare display of compassion, how could your heart not begin to thump once more?

With your gaze hazily cast over his shoulder as you danced so near that your cheeks almost touched, the warmth of his hand then slid down to your lower back before he whispered in your ear, “I know it won’t fix anything, but if it was up to me, you’d be the one inheriting this whole business, not your brother,” he uttered sincerely under his breath, “he’s a hot-headed idiot, while you are stronger and more brilliant than all of these fools combined.”

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unconventional-lawnchair · 5 months ago

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Good boy, Pads

Poly!Marauders x Reader {Mostly Padfoot x Reader}

Summary: Walking home alone is always scary. Not so bad with an attack dog.

WC: ~2.2k

CW: Being followed, Walking home alone, panic, reader is almost attacked

Part two {Masterlist}

“Goodnight, all!" You called over your shoulder, pushing through the heavy diner door and stepping into the crisp London night. The warm light from inside spilled onto the sidewalk for just a moment before the door swung shut, leaving you in the soft glow of streetlamps and the quiet hum of a city winding down.

Bundled up against the sharp autumn chill, you tugged your scarf higher over your nose, the wool muffling your breath as you glanced both ways down the street. The pavement glistened faintly from an earlier rain, and leaves skittered across the ground, carried by a gentle breeze. You smiled to yourself, enjoying the solitude of the evening and the faint scent of damp earth and fading smoke in the air.

The city felt quieter tonight, slower. A rare calm that let you notice the little things: the way your boots tapped against the pavement, the golden glow of light spilling from a pub window, the soft rustle of branches as the breeze carried more leaves to the ground. You couldn’t help but savor the peacefulness, the way the streets felt like they belonged only to you.

Turning onto a quieter side street, you pulled your coat tighter around you and let out a content sigh. The distant hum of a car engine and the occasional clink of bottles from an alley gave the city its usual heartbeat, steady and familiar. But as you passed under a flickering streetlight, the warmth in your chest faltered.

A flicker of something- movement- caught the corner of your eye. You stopped for a moment, glancing behind you. The street was empty, save for the faint shimmer of rain on the asphalt. You let out a quiet laugh at yourself, shaking your head as you started walking again. "You're imagining things," you muttered, the words misting into the cold air.

But as you rounded another corner, the feeling crept back. A weight you couldn’t explain settled between your shoulder blades, pressing until you glanced back again. This time, the street didn’t feel so empty.

A figure stood at the edge of the light, a shadow against the dim glow of a streetlamp. Hood pulled low, shoulders hunched. You couldn’t see his face, but the sight was enough to quicken your pulse.

You turned back quickly, trying to shake off the growing unease. It’s nothing. Just someone walking home, like you. Still, your steps grew faster, the sound of your boots sharper now as they echoed down the street.

The figure’s pace quickened too.

Your heart thundered in your chest, your breath puffing in the cold as you resisted the urge to turn around again. Don’t look back. Just keep walking. But the sound of his footsteps- deliberate, steady, too close- sent panic thrumming through you.

You turned sharply onto another street, one that was darker and quieter, hoping to lose him in the maze of side roads. But the sound of his steps followed, unyielding.

The knot in your stomach tightened as you risked a glance over your shoulder. The figure was closer now, his face still obscured, his movements calm and measured, as though he knew there was no need to rush.

You kept promising yourself it was all in your head. Every rationalization you’d ever heard about nights like this ran through your mind. He’s just trying to get home. You’re overthinking it. You’re being dramatic. The words looped, each one louder than the growing knot of fear in your chest.

In some lapse of judgment- or sheer stubbornness- you forced yourself to slow down, determined to prove your paranoia wrong. Your footsteps softened, your breath puffing out in measured exhales. See? Nothing’s wrong.

But the figure didn’t slow. His pace stayed steady, deliberate, and for a heartbeat, your stomach clenched.

Then, he walked right past you.

Your breath left you in a rush, relief crashing through you as you watched him slip into an alley just a few yards ahead, his dark silhouette disappearing into the shadows.

You’re so bloody dramatic, You scolded yourself, shaking your head as you tried to laugh off the tension still clinging to your spine.

Your legs felt heavy as you started walking again, still shaking off the tension that clung to you like the autumn chill. The sound of your boots echoed faintly against the damp pavement, the streetlights casting long shadows that seemed to stretch further with each step.

You’re fine. You’re fine. The mantra pulsed in your head, soothing your nerves just enough to keep moving forward.

But as you passed the mouth of the alley, a sharp sound- the scrape of a boot against concrete- made your heart stutter.

Before you could fully process it, the figure stepped out of the alley, sharp and purposeful. He moved with a predator’s focus, his hood still pulled low, but his intent painfully clear as he strode toward you.

Your body froze, fear locking every muscle in place as your breath hitched painfully in your throat. Your mind screamed at you to move, to run, to do anything- but before you could even find your voice-

A deep, guttural snarl tore through the night behind you, vibrating through the air like a clap of thunder.

You stumbled backward, your knees nearly buckling as something massive pressed between them with startling force. Looking down, your breath caught again.

A black dog- no, something far larger than any dog you’d ever seen- stood between your legs, its massive head low and its body tense, muscles rippling under its sleek fur. Its glowing eyes locked on the man in front of you, and its lips curled back in a snarl, revealing sharp, gleaming teeth. The beast exuded menace, an attack dog waiting for the signal to strike.

You didn’t dare move. The sheer size of it, the raw power in its stance, and the intensity of its focus made you feel as though the tiniest twitch would snap the tension in the air.

The black dog let out another terrifying snarl, its teeth snapping together with a ferocity that echoed in the quiet street. The man in front of you stumbled back a step, his hands flying up defensively as if the gesture could ward off the beast.

The force of the dog's lunge had nearly sent you sprawling, but you instinctively clung to its thick black collar, fingers curling around the studded leather as if it were a lifeline. Its massive frame remained steady beneath you, grounding you in a moment that felt anything but stable.

“Easy, easy,” You whispered, your voice trembling as you tried to calm your racing heart. It was ridiculous, you realized, trying to reason with a creature that clearly wasn’t just an ordinary dog.

The dog didn’t flinch at your voice, its glowing eyes locked on the man with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. Slowly, the man began to retreat, his movements jerky and hesitant as he kept his gaze darting between you and the snarling beast.

“I- I wasn’t doing anything!” He stammered, his voice shaking as he took another step back.

The dog lunged again, snapping its jaws just short of the man’s retreating figure. The motion was controlled, calculated- a warning that left no room for doubt about what would happen if he didn’t leave.

The man’s nerve broke. With a muttered curse, he turned and bolted down the street, his footsteps echoing in the stillness until they faded completely.

The dog didn’t move for a long moment, its body still taut, ears pinned back as it watched the man disappear into the night. Only when it was satisfied he wasn’t returning did it finally relax, its snarling lips settling back over sharp teeth.

The air around you hung heavy with tension, your trembling fingers still clinging to the black dog’s studded collar. Its massive form didn’t waver, muscles coiled tight as its glowing eyes remained fixed on the direction the man had fled. You could feel the sheer power radiating off of it, its focus terrifying, its snarling lips now pressed firmly together.

Just as you began to catch your breath, a calm voice- low, steady, unfamiliar- broke through the night.

“Padfoot, heel.”

Your head snapped toward the sound, and from the shadows stepped a tall man, his figure shrouded in the dim glow of a nearby streetlamp. He moved with quiet confidence, his amber eyes soft yet sharp as they flicked from the dog to you. His presence was both reassuring and unnerving, as though he had always been there, watching from the edges.

The dog didn’t immediately obey, its ears twitching at the command but its gaze still locked down the street. A moment of silence stretched between the man, the beast, and you.

Then, another voice rang out, softer, almost playful. “You did good, mate. It’s okay now- she’s safe.”

The second figure emerged from the opposite side of the street, his dark hair catching the faint light that his glasses reflected- as he strolled closer with a casual ease. His hazel eyes glinted with sympathy, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he approached.

“Padfoot,” The second man coaxed, his tone softer now, almost affectionate. “Come on, you’ve scared him off. Time to let the lady breathe, yeah?”

The black dog- Padfoot?- finally relaxed, its tension melting away as it let out a low huff, almost as if in reluctant agreement. With one last glance down the empty street, it turned toward you, pressing its massive head against your thigh in an almost protective gesture.

The motion nearly knocked you off balance again, but you steadied yourself, your fingers still curled around the thick collar. You glanced between the two men, your mind racing to make sense of what was happening.

“What- what is this? Who are you?” You asked, your voice unsteady but edging toward firm. Still trying to calm down from the earlier events.

The first man, the one with warm amber eyes, stepped closer, his gaze flickering briefly to the dog before settling on you. “We’re just here to make sure you got home safely,” He said gently, his tone soothing.

“This… thing?” You asked, nodding toward the dog, though you couldn’t bring yourself to let go of its collar.

“Not a thing,” The second man interjected, his grin widening as he crouched next to the dog, running a hand through its fur. “This is Padfoot. And he did bloody brilliant, if I do say so myself.”

As if understanding the compliment, the dog let out a soft woof, its tail giving a single thump against the pavement.

The man looked up at you, his hazel eyes twinkling. “And I’m James, by the way. This,” He gestured to the amber-eyed man, “is Remus. We didn't mean to scare you, but thought a bit too quickly.”

The boys seemed to sense your lingering unease, their expressions softening as they exchanged a glance. Remus stepped forward slightly, his calm demeanor grounding the strange tension still hanging in the air.

“We’ll let you head home now,” he said gently, his voice low and soothing. “But if it makes you feel safer, Padfoot can walk with you. He’ll stay by your side until you’re safely inside.”

You glanced down at the massive black dog, still pressed protectively against your leg. His glowing eyes had softened, but the quiet strength in his stance told you he wasn’t going anywhere until you were safe. “He’ll… come back to you?” you asked hesitantly, your voice quiet.

James stepped closer, offering a warm, reassuring smile. “Always,” he said. “Just tell him to go, and he’ll know where to find us. He’s got a knack for it.”

You bit your lip, torn between wanting to dismiss their offer and the lingering unease that crept up your spine. The thought of walking home alone again made your stomach twist, and the steady presence of the dog at your side was a strange but undeniable comfort.

Remus’s amber eyes met yours, steady and kind. “You’re safe with him,” he murmured. “Padfoot won’t let anything happen to you.”

The dog huffed softly, as if to emphasize the point, and you felt a small, tentative smile tug at your lips despite the lingering fear. Slowly, you nodded. “Alright. I’ll take him. Just… until I’m home.”

James’s grin widened, a glint of relief in his hazel eyes. “Smart choice,” he said lightly, his tone warm but not overbearing.

Remus nodded, taking a step back toward the shadows. “Just keep him close. And when you’re inside, tell him to go. He’ll find us.”

Your gaze lingered on the two of them for a moment before you glanced down at the dog again. “Padfoot,” you murmured softly, testing the name. His ears perked up at the sound, his massive body shifting slightly closer to you as if ready to move.

James gave a small wave as he began to follow Remus into the shadows. “Take care, love. You’re in good hands- well, paws.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the tension in your chest loosening slightly as you turned to continue your walk. The dog- Padfoot- stayed close to your side, his presence a silent but steady comfort. Each step felt lighter, the earlier fear ebbing away with every reassuring glance at the hulking figure beside you.

The streets still held their eerie quiet, but you didn’t feel so alone anymore. London was still beautiful.

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boughclan-clangen · 6 months ago

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what i thought would fix it ended up not, so i have to take my pc into a technician on monday. sorry for the delay!

hi everyone! no page today, probably not sunday either. my pc has been out of commission for over a month so i've been drawing on my laptop--but i'm getting to the point where i really would like to 3d model my backgrounds to make them a little easier on me and give me more energy to experiment/make pages nicer, so i'm going to try to hold out until my pc gets fixed and i can do so for these next couple of pages.

it'll be a lot of front-loaded work, but it'll be worth it in the long run, i think!

#reseating the cpu did not work unfortunately #i googled the bsod loop my partner and i got when we booted it up and it. does not look good ! lol!#wish i knew what happened in the first place so i could prevent it from happening again but... idk we'll see #hopefully the techs can diagnose it quickly and let me know #i've seen sources online say that it's likely a corrupted windows driver and that i should be able to restore it from a system backup but #i don't have a system backup and there's no other way to restore besides that #and since i don't know which driver is causing the issue i can't do the manual browse and delete the problematic driver #ive also seen people say a windows reinstall will work but every time i try to reinstall windows it goes back into the bsod loop #anyway. that's all to say #no pages for a while unless my feeling toward background consistency changes

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vacate-et-scire · 4 months ago

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I Have a Door, Y'know

The loud thud of your bedroom window sliding open nearly scared the life out of you.

“Jesus—!”

Your heart leapt into your throat as a dark figure climbed through the window, moving with a frustrating amount of ease. Before you could react—or throw the nearest object in self-defence—Jason Todd landed on your floor like this was the most normal thing in the world.

You exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to your chest. “Jason. What. The hell.”

He smirked, shoving the window shut behind him. “Miss me?”

“No, but I nearly missed swinging my lamp at your head.” You crossed your arms, glaring. “I have a door.”

Jason had the audacity to shrug. “Yeah, but this is more fun.”

“More fun for who?”

He ignored you, casually toeing off his boots before flopping onto your bed like he owned the place. His arms folded behind his head, his entire body sprawling across the mattress as if he hadn’t just broken into your room through a second-story window.

You stood there, glaring.

Jason cracked an eye open and smirked. “C’mon, sweetheart. You’re not really mad.”

“I should be.”

“But you’re not.”

You sighed, exasperated, but your lips twitched at the corners. “One of these days, I’m going to lock that window.”

Jason grinned. “And I’ll just pick it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What if I booby-trap it?”

His eyebrows rose, and his smirk deepened. “Kinky.”

You groaned, chucking a pillow at his face. He caught it effortlessly, tossing it aside before tugging you onto the bed with a sharp pull.

You yelped as you tumbled forward, landing against his chest with an oomph. His arms looped around you instantly, locking you into his embrace, his warmth bleeding into your skin.

You huffed against his chest. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

Jason chuckled, his fingers lazily tracing patterns against your back. “Because I’m irresistible.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Same thing.”

You tried to glare at him, but the way his thumb brushed over your spine—slow and soothing—made your muscles melt against him instead. His scent—leather, gunpowder, and just a hint of something warm, like home—filled your senses, and, annoyingly, you found yourself relaxing.

Jason pressed a slow, lazy kiss to your temple. “You love me.”

You grumbled into his hoodie, face heating. “No comment.”

Jason smirked, pulling you even closer.

Yeah. He wasn’t going anywhere.

#🌟 drabbles #jason todd fluff #jason todd imagine #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader

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rhyrhy · 1 month ago

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Something Like Sin

Older!Farmhand! Abby x perv!farmers daughter R

CONTAINS: rough draft for a fic idea I had. MDNI. Religious guilt, impure thoughts, short.

She does it on purpose. You swear she does.

The lift of her shirt to swipe sweat from her forehead. Being sure you’re in her line of sight while she works. The small touches when passing by.

How could one woman weaken your resolve so much?

How, after a long day of doing nothing but giving your wet dreams more fuel, could she step into the main house and “report back”?

Listing everything she took care of—

That wobbly fence your belt loop always seemed to catch on. The left tire on your daddy’s truck that made that god-awful squeak when started in the early morning.

Everything but the small flicker of amusement she’d get when she caught your stare—or even just felt it.

The grumbling of your father’s “Sounds good, thanks again, Abbigail,” seeming more frequent than before.

Didn’t she fix that fence last week?

The only relief was writing it out.

The dark green journal that stayed tucked in the back pocket of worn jeans. Pages of thoughts, frustrations, fantasies.

And hidden in the back pages— Not passwords to the Wi-Fi, or the lockbox— Your feelings. The real ones. About her. Starting innocently from last summer, when she filled in for her father.

Jerry did honest work. Only lived a few roads down—he was the first person you called when things went belly-up. But he’s older now. Knees don’t work as well. So naturally, she came.

Quiet. Worked quickly. Efficient. Good hands are always welcome on the hundreds of acres your family owned.

Months of torture.

Farmhands came and went—but not her. She—Abbigail—always came back.

In your dreams.

And in the back pages of that journal.

June 5th, 2025

“She said she liked the top I was wearing last night. The one I swore I’d never wear again because of how tight it felt across my chest. But her eyes—they lingered. Just for a second. Long enough to make me feel bare. I didn’t sleep after that.”

God, you prayed she never read that one. But what was a girl like you calling on Him for? Impurities like that didn’t deserve His protection.

Sinners only thrive when hidden in the comfort of shadows.

When the sun greets the sky, the mask takes its place— In the form of the farmer’s daughter.

She made supper every evening, brought water to those helping hands, leaned into her daddy’s kisses on the forehead.

So busy being the golden girl, you—so worn—you didn’t notice that your back pocket was empty as you entered the house. Sleeping peacefully in your mattress. Farm dog Gracie barking occasionally when cars passed in the distance.

All while the green spine cracked open—

By fingers that didn’t hold the pen that stained the pages. With an ease, nothing rushed—like it had been done millions of times.

The pages flipped until their heart’s content.

Those same eyes watched you the next morning, messy hair falling as you lifted from your bed. In full view of the bay window warming the room.

The new day dances around you. Smiles and “you’re welcome”s, as usual. Until a voice sent panic striking through you like lightning.

“Not doodling in those pages of yours this mornin’?” your father said as you reached the bottom of the stairs, still slightly sleep-ridden.

No caffeine could wake someone faster. Your hand flew to your pockets. Eyes widening as the words stuck in your throat.

Where is it? Why didn’t I double-check last night? Did someone else find it? Your mind raced.

“Oh sweetheart, relax—you probably left it in your room,” your mother called out from the kitchen

Before they could say another word, the screen door flew open. Your boots crunched the gravel, bolting for the barn. You’d been there last night, writing to your heart’s content. Dreams of the future. Leaving the fields behind one day. Sending postcards to Momma with different cities attached.

But those weren’t the ones you were worried about.

A heaving chest and shaky fingers reached for the rusted latch. Greeted by moos, and Gracie sleeping near the ladder. Eyes searched the wooden floors, hands and knees warming as you looked.

And looked.

Where the hell is it? The furrow in your eyebrow deepened as did the pit in your stomach.

“You alright?” a voice called out a few feet away.

Your body jerked, a small gasp leaving you. Not expecting anyone else to be here. So early anyhow. Slowly lifting your head, trailing up the woman who almost seemed to have appeared.

Heavy boots, dark-washed jeans. That thick brown belt, silver buckle. A white beater lifted just enough to see that blonde happy trail that made your thighs squeeze together.

“Jesus, you scared me—yeah, I’m alright.”

You glanced to the woman with a quirked eyebrow at your position. Realizing how ridiculous you must’ve looked, you pushed to your feet. Hands dusting off your knees.

“Good morning, Ms. Anderson.” You stood slightly awkwardly, with a small head nod.

“I always tell you that just Abby is fine.” She smiled. “But good mornin’” The silence stretched out. Abby cleared her throat and spoke once more. “What are you looking for… in here?”

“Nothing, I just… thought I lost something in here. And now that I’ve checked… I’ll be on my way.” You gave a small smile, shifting to turn on your heels. Unable to hold that eye contact any longer.

“You sure?” “Because I found this—“ short fingers grazed something as she turned, reaching behind her. “on the floor.”

There it was. Thank God. Maybe He was listening.

“Oh! Thank you—little squirrel brain of mine sometimes.” A joke you forced out.

She huffed at the attempt and hummed “Don’t mention it.”

Your fingers brushed as you went to take it from her. Your heart rammed against your ribs. Pausing when she lifted it again slightly like she’d changed her mind. Eyes flickered to her face, meeting hers. Your hand now left with nothing as she teased it backwards. Only you heard her say—

“The way she moves—like she knows time will wait for her.” You froze. Your breath caught. Abby only tilted her head “That’s pretty, y’know? Like poetry.”

Oh, how sweet, you thought. Yet, Your heart pounded louder. How far did she read?

“Thank you…It’s nothing really. Just something I do when I’m bored.” You barely managed the words. They sounded distant, hollow in your mouth—like they belonged to someone else. Your hand closed around the journal like a secret you couldn’t bury fast enough. And then you turned. Quick. Too quick. Boots scraping against the barn floor. already vowing to be more careful next time.

That was a close one. Just leave, get this book of sin from her. Wanting to throw lighter fluid on it even. However, before you could make your escape she continued, the words burning in the light—

“Her eyes lingered. Just for a second. Long enough to make me feel bare.” Then with a small chuckle “That’s the line, ain’t it?”

Her silky voice cut through the air behind you, amusement wrapped around every word. You stopped cold. Turned slowly. “Didn’t sleep after that, huh?”

“What—what did you—” you stammered. “Oh lord—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for you to read—”

She cut you off with a soft laugh, stepping closer. “It’s alright, really”

“That’s a filthy little thought for a girl who says good morning like a church bell.” Her eyes flicked to the journal still clutched in your guilty hands.

“What else keeps you up at night, sweetheart?”

#abby anderson #abby anderson smut #older abby #abby anderson the last of us 2 #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x female reader #abby tlou #rhysdrabbles #cowgirl abby #abby x fem!reader #x reader #abby anderson tlou2 #abby x reader #abby the last of us #abby anderson x reader #lgbtq #abby x you #abby smut

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lazy-ahh · 2 months ago

Note

just biting mark…. wrapping a bow around his bicep and using his other as a pillow. kissing his thighs and groping him tbh i need to feel him 😔 i know he’s all giggly and blushing the whole time

-honey (hehe)

YOUR PERSONAL CHEWTOY

pairing mark grayson x male reader

what started as a silly tiktok trend quickly spirals into something far more intimate when you convince your superhero boyfriend to try the viral "bow challenge." but between mark's effortless strength, his flustered giggles, and the way he melts under your touch, you quickly realize this is about so much more than snapping a piece of silk.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HONEY (heheh)!!! <33 hope you enjoyed this one, and i hope you enjoyed your birthday as well! here's a little mark grayson tiktok for you teehee : https://vt.tiktok.com/ZShJmjdVj/

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro

it started as a silly little tiktok trend, something you stumbled upon late at night while curled up in your bed, the glow of your phone screen the only light in the room as you waited for mark to return from yet another mission. the video showed couples wrapping delicate pink bows around their partner’s arms, giggling as they flexed to try and break the silky fabric—and something about the way the image of mark’s muscles tensing under his superhero suit, the way his biceps would strain against the tight material, made your breath hitch.

what if—

you huffed a quiet laugh at yourself, rolling onto your back. really? this is what you’re thinking about at 2 AM? but the idea stuck, playing on a loop in your head—mark’s arm flexing, the silk straining, the way his veins would pop under the pressure. god, that’s so stupid. he’d laugh in your face. but then again… he never really laughed at you. with you, sure, but never like you were ridiculous.

what if he actually did it?

okay, it wasn’t going to be a what if because it would happen. after school, you immediately rushed to the nearest shop, fingers skimming over rolls of ribbon before settling on the softest pink silk you could find. you bought a few, just in case, and then waited for mark in your bedroom like you always did, the ribbons tucked neatly in your drawer. anticipation curled hot in your stomach, and (embarrassingly) you attempted the challenge yourself while you waited for night to fall, twisting the bow around your own arm and flexing. let’s just say it took you a frustratingly long time to get the damn thing to snap—your muscles trembling with effort, cheeks flushing at the thought of how effortlessly mark would do this.

when he finally came knocking on your bedroom window, the sound barely audible over the pounding of your own heartbeat, you nearly tripped over yourself getting to him. the second you pulled the curtains aside, there he was—mark, silhouetted against the moonlight, his suit clinging to every damn ridge and curve of his body like it was painted on. fuck. even rumpled from battle, hair tousled from the wind, he looked like something out of a wet dream. the fabric of his suit strained across his chest, the way his shoulders flexed as he braced himself against the window frame.

you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to act casual as you let him in, like your throat wasn’t suddenly dry, like your fingers didn’t itch to trace the definition of his abs through that stupidly tight material. but the moment his boots hit your floor, his usual cocky grin faltered, replaced by something softer—guilty. "hey," he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck, and god, even that simple motion made his biceps bulge, the fabric of his sleeves pulling taut. your mouth watered.

"i’m sorry—" his voice was rough, exhaustion and something apologetic lacing the words as he stepped closer. the heat of his body radiated off him, the faint scent of ozone and his stupidly expensive cologne filling the space between you. "i know i promised we’d go on a date after school, but there was another emergency, and—"

you barely heard the rest. your brain short-circuited as he ran a hand through his hair, the muscles in his arm shifting under the suit, the veins standing out in stark relief. christ, how does anyone expect me to function when he looks like this? his thighs—fuck—his thighs were thick enough to crush you, the material of his pants stretching as he shifted his weight, and you had to physically bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from staring.

get it together. he’s apologizing. say something.

you rolled your eyes, cutting him off with a playful shove—your palm pressing against the firm plane of his chest, the heat of him bleeding through the fabric of his suit. "mark, you big idiot," you laughed, the sound bright and warm in the quiet of your room. "you don’t ever need to apologise for saving people. c’mere."

just like that, the tension melted from his shoulders, his posture softening as he let out a breath—something almost relieved in the way his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in like he was afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough. the two of you collapsed onto your bed in a tangle of limbs, his weight familiar and comforting as he half-draped himself over you, his nose brushing against your temple.

"you’re heavy," you grumbled, even as your hands found their way around his narrow waist, fingers skimming over the damp fabric of his suit clinging to his back.

"m’sorry," he mumbled into your hair, but he didn’t move. just nuzzled closer, his breath warm against your skin.

"you’re also gross. and sweaty. and—oh my god, is this blood?" you squawked, jerking back just enough to glare at him.

mark blinked at you, all wide-eyed and guilty, like a kicked puppy. "it’s—uh. not mine?"

"not mine," you repeated flatly. "wow. that makes it so much better."

he had the audacity to grin at you, crooked and tired and so stupidly fond it made your chest ache. "you still love me though, right? love me so much you'll let me cuddle with you like this since i'm so tired?"

you groaned, shoving at him again—but he didn’t budge, the asshole—before finally relenting with a sigh. "unfortunately, i do. and unfortunately, i love you too much that i'll gladly help you wash up. so get up, you disaster. i’m not letting you stain my sheets with mysterious supervillain blood."

mark let you peel him out of his suit with only minimal whining, though he did yelp when you dabbed at a shallow cut on his shoulder with antiseptic.

"ow—what is that, acid?"

"it’s hydrogen peroxide, you baby," you shot back, but your fingers were gentle as they smoothed over the bandage afterward, thumb brushing the edge of it just to feel him shiver. "there. all better."

he pouted. "kiss it better too?"

you flicked his forehead. "no."

(you totally did. and the way his breath caught, the way his fingers curled around the bathroom sink—god, it was worth it.)

"arms up," you ordered, holding out one of your hoodies—soft, well-worn, yours—and mark obeyed with a quiet chuckle, letting you tug it over his head. his hair stuck up in every direction afterward, wild and sleep-mussed, and you couldn’t resist smoothing it down, your fingers lingering just a little too long.

"you’re staring," he murmured, voice low and teasing.

"you’re obnoxious," you fired back, but your face was warm.

the sweatpants were next, and god, the way he had to shimmy into them—his thighs straining against the fabric, the waistband sitting just a little too low on his hips—was absolutely not doing things to your heart rate.

"these are tight," he complained, plucking at the material.

you threw a pillow at him. "that’s because you’re built like a goddamn tank."

mark grinned, flopping back onto your bed with a sigh. "i'll take it as a compliment."

for a while, you just stayed like that—his warmth seeping into your skin, his heartbeat steady under your ear, a slow and reassuring rhythm that made something in your chest tighten. god, he’s so… you didn’t even have the words for it. the way he always smelled like his cologne, something woodsy and warm, mixed with the faint metallic tang of his suit—like safety, like home. your fingers absently traced the lines of his back, feeling the shift of muscle beneath your touch, and you had to bite back the stupid, giddy smile threatening to take over your face. this idiot. this ridiculous, perfect idiot.

but then—

"hey," you murmured, nudging your nose against his shoulder, your voice honey-soft and coaxing. your heart was doing something traitorous in your chest, pounding hard enough that you were half-afraid he could hear it. calm down. it’s just a dumb trend. except it wasn’t, not really—not when the thought of mark’s biceps flexing, the silk snapping under the sheer strength of him, had been playing on a loop in your head all day. you could already feel your face heating, your stomach twisting with something between excitement and nerves.

he turned to you, eyebrows lifting in that fond, amused way of his, the one that always made your stomach flutter. "can we try something?" you asked, and your voice came out a little too breathless, a little too eager. smooth. real smooth.

"uh, depends," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck with that stupidly endearing half-smile of his—the one that made his nose scrunch just a little. "is this gonna be one of those things where you take a picture and i end up as a meme later?" his voice was warm, a little sheepish, but his eyes were already flickering to your figure as you lifted yourself up, curiosity winning out over his usual flustered hesitation.

you grinned, shifting closer on the bed until your knees brushed against his thigh. the pink ribbon was soft between your fingers as you pulled it from the drawer, the delicate fabric whispering against your skin. "you do wanna make up for cancelling our date, right?" you teased, letting the silk trail over his forearm just to watch the way his breath hitched—subtle, but there.

his laughter was quiet, breathy, filling the space between you as you looped the ribbon around his arm. your fingers lingered a second too long, tracing the curve of his bicep—god, it was thick even relaxed, the muscle firm under your touch, warm from the heat of his skin. you could feel the shift of it as he moved, the faint tension already coiling beneath the surface like he was holding back.

"c’mon," you urged, voice dropping lower, thumb brushing over the inside of his elbow just to feel him shiver. "flex for me, pretty boy."

and then—

mark exhaled, slow, his gaze locking onto yours as his arm tensed. it wasn’t some exaggerated show of strength, just a smooth, effortless flex—his bicep swelling under the ribbon, veins rising like rivers under his skin, the muscle hardening into something sculpted and perfect. the bow strained for half a second, silk biting into his skin before—snap.

it gave way so easily, the sound sharp in the quiet of the room.

your breath caught.

he hadn’t even tried. no dramatic grunt, no over-the-top strain—just a single, controlled flex, like snapping the ribbon was nothing. like his strength was so innate, so easy, that he didn’t even have to think about it. and the worst part? he was smiling at you, that stupid, lopsided grin, his cheeks tinged pink like he was the flustered one—like he hadn’t just short-circuited your brain with a single twitch of his arm.

"that, uh," you managed, voice embarrassingly rough around the edges, "that shouldn't be as hot as it is." your fingers twitched against his arm, still tracing the faint imprint where the ribbon had been.

mark's laugh was startled, bright, his free hand coming up to cover his face as his ears turned pink. "dude." he peeked at you through his fingers, that lopsided smile doing stupid things to your pulse.

you didn't let him recover. with a grin, you reached into your drawer and pulled out another pink bow—softer this time, the silk nearly translucent between your fingers. "one more?" you asked, leaning in until your nose almost brushed his. you could see the exact moment his breath hitched, his pupils blowing wide as your lips ghosted over his cheekbone. "c'mon, for me?"

mark made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, his hands hovering awkwardly at your waist like he couldn't decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. "you're- that's- unfair," he stammered, his usual eloquence (hahah eloquence) completely gone as you trailed the ribbon along his forearm.

"you love it," you murmured, watching the way his throat worked when you pressed closer, your knee brushing between his thighs. the bow slipped easily around his bicep again, your fingers lingering just a second too long as you tied it—tight enough that the silk dug into his skin, highlighting every ridge of muscle when he flexed instinctively under your touch.

and then—something shifted. the air between you went thick, electric, his dark eyes locking onto yours as your fingers lingered on his skin, suddenly too warm, too aware. you could see the rapid flutter of his pulse in his neck, the way his chest rose with each shallow breath, the pink tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips like he was already imagining how you'd taste.

"snap it again," you whispered, your mouth so close to his you could feel the shudder that ran through him.

mark exhaled sharply, his bicep flexing effortlessly beneath the ribbon—and god, the way it strained for just a heartbeat before giving way, the silk tearing with the softest sound that somehow felt louder than anything else in the room. his free hand found your hip, fingers digging in as you both froze, caught in that breathless moment where laughter tipped over into something hotter, heavier. you should not be getting hot and bothered by someone snapping a bow off their bicep. but then again this someone was mark grayson.

one second you were grinning, the next your hands were tangled in his hair, his breath hot against your mouth as he pulled you closer, whispering your name like a prayer between kisses that started sweet and turned desperate fast. his grip tightened on your waist as if he couldn't bear even an inch of space between you, his body rolling over yours until the weight of him pinned you to the mattress, all hard lines and desperate touches.

and then you ended up exactly where you are now—breathless, his body heavy over yours, the taste of him still lingering on your tongue and the torn remains of pink silk scattered across your sheets like some kind of victory flag. but you're not about to let him have all the control, not when he looks this pretty beneath you, all flushed and panting and yours.

with a sudden surge of strength (and mark letting you, always letting you), you flip him onto his back, the mattress dipping under his weight as you straddle his hips. the dim glow of your bedroom lamp spills honey-gold across the sheets, painting mark's flushed skin in warm, flickering light as he squirms beneath you, his laughter spilling out like champagne bubbles—light, effervescent, intoxicating.

"look at you," you murmur, dragging your fingers down his chest, reveling in the way his breath hitches. "so pretty like this, all wrapped up for me." the silky pink bow you'd tied around his bicep (once again) is barely holding on now, the fabric straining against the flex of his muscle as he grips the sheets.

his other arm curls behind your head, fingers tangling absently in your hair, twitching every time your teeth graze his shoulder after you had taken off the hoodie he was wearing—a silent plea for more, even as he gasps your name. "fuck," he breathes, arching up into your touch, his hips canting against yours in a way that makes your head spin. "you're— god, you're gonna be the death of me."

you grin, leaning down to nip at his jaw. "that's the idea, pretty boy." the way his breath stutters at the nickname, the way his fingers tighten in your hair—it's everything. you kiss him slow, deep, swallowing his moans like they're yours to keep, and when you finally pull away, his lips are red and kiss-swollen, his eyes dark with want.

"all mine," you whisper against his mouth, and the way he nods—desperate, eager, like he’s been waiting his whole life to hear you say it—is better than any victory could ever be. you’ve got him exactly where you dreamed of, pinned under your weight, his strong bicep wrapped snugly in a silky pink bow (your doing, because how could you resist? he’s art like this, all mussed hair and parted lips, his chest rising fast with every shaky breath, every hitched inhale when your teeth graze his skin).

you don’t tease him with words. you show him.

your mouth finds the curve of his shoulder first, biting down just hard enough to make him jolt—his gasp is a symphony, his body arching under yours like a bowstring pulled taut. fuck, he’s responsive, every twitch and shiver cataloged under your palms as you map him out: the way his thighs tremble when you squeeze, the way his stomach tenses when you scrape your nails down it, the way his hips stutter up, begging, when you suck a bruise into the soft skin above his hipbone.

he smells like vanilla body wash and the faintest hint of sweat, something so him it makes your chest ache—warm and sweet and alive, and you want to drown in it. when you bite down again, sharper this time, just to hear that pretty, startled yelp, he arches, his hands fisting in the sheets like he’s holding on for dear life.

"f-fuck—!" he whines, but it’s sugar-sweet, dripping with that breathless laughter that sends sparks skittering down your spine. you savor the way his body opens for you, pliant and wanting, the way his breath comes in ragged little punches when you press open-mouthed kisses along the delicate skin of his inner thigh—just to feel him shiver, just to hear him break.

and god, the way he looks at you—eyes blown black with want, lips swollen from your teeth, his chest heaving like he’s run a marathon. like he’d happily let you ruin him forever. like he’s yours.

"you’re such a tease," he accuses, voice wrecked, but the way his hips jerk when you suck another bruise into his inner thigh betrays him. his free hand fists in the sheets, knuckles white, and you smirk up at him, licking a slow, deliberate stripe over the mark you just left. another wave of heat crashes through you when you finally hear that familiar, soft snap as the pink bow falls onto the mattress, useless now—just like the way his thighs tremble when you pin him down with your free hand, your grip firm over his hipbone.

"you love it," you murmur, and he whimpers, face burning scarlet as you palm over the front of his boxers, relishing the way his breath hitches. his body arches into your touch, desperate and pliant, but you don’t give him what he wants—not yet. instead, you lean down, biting at the sensitive skin just above his waistband, and he gasps, his back bowing off the bed.

"f-fuck—"

"shh," you soothe, dragging your tongue over the sting. "you’re doing so good for me, mark. so pretty like this." your hand slides up his chest, fingers splaying over his pounding heartbeat, and you press down just enough to feel him squirm. "you wanna come?"

he nods frantically, his hips twitching up again, but you tut, squeezing his thigh in warning. "use your words, sweetheart."

"please," he chokes out, and the sound goes straight to your dick.

you hum, pretending to consider it as you trail your fingers back down, tracing the outline of him through the fabric. "i don’t know… you did break my ribbon."

his groan is half frustration, half disbelief, and you laugh, low and dark, before finally—finally—slipping your hand into his boxers. his whole body jerks when you wrap your fingers around him, his breath coming in ragged pants as you stroke him slow, torturously so.

"you—" he tries, but you cut him off with a sharp thrust of your hips against his thigh, grinding down just to watch his mouth fall open.

"me?" you prompt, thumb swiping over the head of his cock just to hear him break.

he doesn’t answer. just moans, loud and wrecked, his fingers scrambling for purchase on your shoulders. and when you lean down to bite at his collarbone, your grip tightening on his waist to hold him still, he shakes, his whole body tensing like a live wire.

"that's it," you murmur, lips brushing the shell of his ear as your hands slide down his sides, savoring the way his breath hitches when your thumbs dip into the delicate hollows of his hips. "so good for me, baby. just let me take care of you." your voice comes out rougher than you mean it to, all warm honey and devotion, and you feel the shiver it pulls from him more than hear it.

mark's laugh is breathless, shaky at the edges as he squirms under your touch. "y'know," he starts, voice wobbly in that way it gets when he's trying (and failing) to play it cool, "if i knew this was how you'd—oh—how you'd act after a year together," your teeth graze his nipple and he squeaks, "i would've—ah—would've dated you way sooner, holy shit—"

you can't help the grin that splits your face, nuzzling into the heated skin of his neck as your hands map the familiar planes of his chest. "shut up," you mumble, but it's soaked in so much fondness it barely counts as teasing. your mouth finds his pulse point, then the dip between his pecs, then the soft swell of his stomach—kissing every inch of him you can reach like you're trying to memorize him all over again. "like you weren't just as gone for me from day one. remember when you tripped over your own feet trying to impress me at the arcade?"

"hey!" mark whines, but it dissolves into giggles when you bite playfully at his hip, his whole body curling toward you instinctively. "that was—nngh—sabotage. you're distracting. look at you." his hands find your hair, tangling in the strands as he tugs just enough to make you look up at him—and god, he's radiant like this, cheeks flushed pink, lips parted around uneven breaths, eyes so stupidly soft it makes your chest ache. "my pretty boy," he sighs, like it's a secret, like he can't believe he gets to have this.

and mark—mark just melts under your touch, pliant and giggly and so fucking sweet, his laughter bubbling up between little punched-out gasps every time your mouth finds a new spot to worship. he arches into your hands like a sunflower chasing daylight, all clumsy affection and whispered praise, and you think—not for the first time—that you'd happily spend forever unraveling him like this, tender and slow, until he's nothing but a blissed-out, blushing mess in your arms.

3.8k words!! yippee! and i know we had a talk in the comments about smut and stuff but uhhh-

#lazy-ahh #invincible #mark grayson #male reader #invincible x male reader #invincible x reader #mark grayson x male reader #mark grayson x reader #HAPPY BIRTHDAY HONEY (heheh)#NEED THAT INVINCIDIH #are you sure?

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gweelczz · 2 months ago

Text

“Roots and Remedies”

Elias “Stack” Moore x Honey (OC)

Genre: Fluff with slight violence

Summary: Somebody tries Stack’s woman and Stack ain’t fucking with it

The sun was low and hot, spitting fire across the cracked concrete outside Roots & Remedies. Honey was standin’ on a stepstool inside, fixin’ a jar of bay leaves onto a shelf when she heard the ruckus — a voice, loud and ugly, barkin’ out over the quiet hum of the evening.

“Witchcraft! Devil’s work!” the man hollered, spittin’ onto the sidewalk like the ground itself owed him somethin’.

Honey set the jar down slow, wiped her hands on her skirt, and stepped outside. The man was a wiry little thing, face already turnin’ beet red, sweatin’ through his cheap button-up.

Her deep cognac eyes narrowed. “Ain’t nobody botherin’ you, sir,” she said, voice smooth but firm, her thick 4c coils tucked away in a pretty deep-purple headwrap that caught the light. “You best go on ’bout your business.”

“Business?” the man barked, takin’ a step toward her. “This ain’t business, it’s blasphemy! You sellin’ evil! Cursin’ folks!” He jabbed a finger toward the sign painted on the window — Herbs, Remedies, Roots.

A few folks lingered at the curb, watchin’.

Honey didn’t flinch. “Ain’t no curses here,” she said coolly. “Just folks tryna heal a little. You don’t like it, you can move along.”

The man puffed up, lookin’ like a rooster about to pop a vein. “You better shut this place down ’fore somebody shuts it down for you!”

Before Honey could open her mouth again, she heard it — that low, heavy scrape of boots on pavement. She didn’t even need to turn around.

Stack.

He moved like a storm rollin’ in — tall, broad, dressed in a suit with a red tie and hat accompanied by a cigar. Smoke flanked him dressed in a tweed suit with blue, cigarette in hand that Stack had rolled for him, cut from the same rough cloth.

Stack stopped right between her and the fool, thumb hooked lazy in his belt loop, a dangerous gleam in his eye.

“You heard the lady,” Stack said, voice a slow southern drawl, gritty like gravel. “Get the hell on.”

The man sneered, takin’ in Stack and then Smoke, eyes bouncin’ back and forth.

“Y’all supposed to be twins?” he asked, snickering like he thought he was clever.

Stack smirked his voice low and laced humor. He tilts his head down a bit, grills showing, “Nah we cousins.”

The fool laughed — a nervous, ugly sound — and shoved Stack right in the chest.

That was it.

Stack’s fist cracked into his jaw before the man could even blink, knockin’ him flat on his back. He let out a pitiful grunt, lyin’ there, stunned.

Smoke stepped up, starin’ down at him, his gold tooth flashin’ when he gave a cold, sharp laugh. “Told you, you dumbass.”

Honey watched it all with her arms crossed, lips pursed, but there was a little curl of pride under it too.

Stack turned back to her, brown eyes softer now when he looked at her. He reached out, thumb brushing lightly over her jawline.

“You alright, baby girl?” he drawled, low and rough like molasses.

“I’m good, sugar,” she said, voice just as slow, just as thick. Her hand slipped up to lightly squeeze his wrist — strong, calloused, warm.

He dipped his head a little, like he might kiss her right there if there weren’t still folks watchin’. Instead, he tucked her close under his arm, leadin’ her back toward the shop.

Smoke lingered just long enough to nudge the groanin’ man with the toe of his boot, makin’ sure he stayed down.

The door to Roots & Remedies swung shut behind them, the bell jinglin’ soft-like. Outside, the street buzzed with whispers and side-eyes, but inside, it was just them — the sharp scent of dried herbs, the creak of old wood under their boots, and the feelin’ that, no matter what foolishness tried to stir up outside, this was Honey’s ground.

And Stack?

He’d fight the devil himself before he let anybody take it from her.

⸻

Inside Roots & Remedies, the air was heavy with the scent of cedar and lavender, the last light of the sun stretchin’ long across the wooden floors.

Stack let the door fall shut behind him, the little bell jinglin’ once, then nothin’ but the sound of their boots against the worn floorboards.

Honey pulled away just enough to turn and look at him — her thick lashes low, cognac eyes glintin’ warm but wary. She untied her headwrap slow, lettin’ some of her thick black coils tumble free down her back, a habit she always did when she needed to breathe deep.

“You ain’t had to do all that, Stack,” she said soft, but the way she was lookin’ at him said she wasn’t mad about it neither.

Stack shrugged like it was nothin’, shoulders rollin’ slow under his tank, tattoos catchin’ the low light.

“You know I ain’t gon’ let no man talk crazy to you,” he said, voice thick, drawlin’ rough around the edges. “Ain’t gon’ happen, not while I’m breathin’.”

Honey leaned her hip against the counter, arms crossed, watchin’ him like she was tryin’ to see right down into his soul.

“You always been hardheaded like that,” she teased, but there was a tremble in her voice. One she couldn’t hide.

Stack stepped closer, boots heavy on the old wood, until there weren’t no space left between ‘em. His hands found her waist easy, rough palms slidin’ over the soft curve of her sides, holdin’ her like he was afraid she’d slip away.

He dipped his head low, forehead nearly brushin’ hers. His breath was hot against her lips.

“I gotta ride out soon,” he muttered, voice grittier than gravel. “Handle somethin’.”

Honey’s heart kicked up hard. She knew Stack’s somethin’ was never clean. Never easy.

Her fingers twisted in the hem of his shirt, holdin’ on tight. “Stack, don’t you—”

“I ain’t makin’ no promises I can’t keep,” he cut in, his thumb strokin’ slow over her hip. “But I’m tellin’ you right now… when I get back?” He pulled her closer, voice low like a prayer.

“I’m puttin’ a ring on that pretty lil’ finger. You gon’ be mine, Honey. Whole town gonna know it.”

Honey blinked up at him, heart slammin’ against her ribs, tears burnin’ the backs of her eyes — but she didn’t let ’em fall. Not yet.

“You betta come back to me,” she whispered, voice breakin’ just a little.

Stack gave her a half-smile, all sharp teeth and reckless heart. He kissed her forehead slow — a kiss that felt like it was settin’ a mark only she could see.

But before he could step away, Honey caught his hand, holdin’ him still.

“Wait,” she said, voice steady now.

She moved behind the counter quick, grabbin’ a small velvet pouch and two tiny bottles filled with oil. She handed one pouch and one bottle to Stack, the other set into Smoke’s calloused hand.

“Keep these on you,” Honey said, voice low, almost sacred. “I blessed ‘em myself. For protection. For strength. For comin’ home.”

Stack looked down at the little pouch in his hand, then back up at her — somethin’ hot and tender flashin’ in his eyes that he didn’t dare speak on.

Honey stepped even closer, pressin’ her palm flat against Stack’s chest, right over his heart. She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer, her voice thick with old words passed down from her grandmama and the women before her — words stitched with faith, strength, and stubborn hope.

When she finished, she pressed one last kiss to his knuckles, the ones already bruisin’ from the earlier fight.

Then she let him go.

Stack headed for the door without lookin’ back, pushin’ it open so hard the bell above it jangled wild, like it knew somethin’ was comin’.

Honey stood there, chest tight, clutchin’ the edge of the counter, watchin’ him disappear into the blood-red dusk — feelin’ in her bones that whatever Stack was walkin’ into, it might not let him come back easy.

If he came back at all.

Next chapter

#x oc #stack sinners #smoke sinners #sinners film #sinners fanfiction #sinners #smoke and stack #smokestack twins #talks with red

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